by Addison Cain
She shook like a leaf as he cooed and fussed, kissing healing bruises, whispering words of love against her skin. “Come now, my Pearl. Let me show you my love.”
It was almost impossible to speak. “This is not love.”
Groaning out a blissfully broken laugh, the man licked her tears. “In my thousands of years ruling our kind, I have never cared for a single female with such devoted attention. Not one of my own flock have I used since you became my possession—no matter how the slavering bitches beg for it. I have filled your home with treasures; drained many humans night after night so my face might please you and my blood might be sweet.” A lingering kiss was pressed to her slack mouth. “My entire existence is faithful to my delicate daywalker and the light she shares with me.”
Too much had been done in the short hours since she’d woken in the cursed room. Clinging to a pillow as if it could offer salvation, she buried her face and cried, “You promised to be gentle.”
“Is this not bliss?” Tangling his fingers through her hair, he forced her head back, drew her body to his chest, and sighed. “When you weep for me, I can taste the sunshine in your tears. When I drain you almost to the point of death, I can even stand in it for a few short minutes before I begin to burn. Whoever raped your mother and left her alive after the feed has my gratitude.”
That wasn’t love, his words were not soothing, and Pearl was in misery. “I don’t have a mother.”
“I know.” Amused, he nipped at her ear. “The fact you were even conceived, given the odds, is miraculous… almost impossible. She would have died in labor as you fought your way out.”
“What?”
“I know all your secrets, Pearl. I know about the Jesuit priest at the Mission Orphanage in California. I know how he hung you by the neck from a tree for three days when you were a little girl because he found you drinking the blood of rats. I know about the exorcisms, the beatings, the rapes. You have told me everything about you. Despite your misgiving at this moment, you adore me. I’m your savior. No soul can hurt you but me, and I always put you back together.”
He was insane, absolutely crazy, and she felt the evil in him with every breath they shared. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me if I was obedient.”
“You enjoy pain, Pearl. You crave the things only I can do to you. How can you fully embrace pleasure otherwise?”
He had just ripped out her insides and swallowed them while she’d screamed for mercy. God might not be real, as he’d never once answered her prayers, but Pearl grasped that the devil existed. He’d found her as the priests said he would, and now he was going to eat up her soul. “I don’t want you to hurt me.”
“No?” A smile made his voice playful. “What is it that you think you want?”
Sobbing she said, “God’s forgiveness.”
“For what, being born? There is no creature more evil than this false God you think to worship over me.”
She knew her prayers and her sins. “I want to go to heaven.”
“I was turned before your Christian God came into being. This religion, like all others, was created by humans so they might rule over other humans. Your Jesus never existed. There was no virgin birth or cantering angels in the skies of Bethlehem. Every last drop of it is a lie.” Turning her body into the crook of his, he promised, “What is real is what is before you. Now, tell me you love me before I grow jealous.”
He was talking her in circles, and Pearl felt he’d done so thousands of times. Her own tongue could not break from the cycle. “I was obedient and still you hurt me. If I tell you I love you, you will hurt me again.”
“True.” The monster seemed appeased, even gratified by her statement. “My Pearl, isn’t honesty a beautiful thing?”
Before she could answer, Darius had her splayed on her belly with supernatural speed. Face pressed to the blankets, she bit back a scream, the feel of something boiling hot penetrating the cavity he’d torn apart. True, the damage had healed, but unlike the first time he’d taken her that night, she was ill prepared for such brutality.
Clawing at the bed, trying to find purchase, she pitched deeper into the mattress with his every thrust.
Struggles and pained grunts only drove him on. He wanted her to fight back.
He wanted to steal.
Going limp did not save her either.
A muscular forearm flexed around her throat, a fist once again knotted in her hair, and he bent her back until her spine screamed. Roaring like the devil he was, Darius slammed his cock into her body, snapping his hips violently against her backside.
He denied her air. Twisted as she was, there was nothing but him to hold on to. She couldn’t even see his eyes, only red velvet bed curtains that blurred as her world tripped between conscious and unconscious. Pain and true suffering.
But in there, under all the malevolence was a twinge and a lesson.
She was only allowed to be limp if he made her limp. She was only allowed to scream if he made her scream.
Pearl was a possession. She was a treasure.
One he could control physically or mentally, the point driven home when the tendrils of his dominion invaded her thoughts and tempted her to revel in the violence.
The instant her cracked psyche gave in, flashing fangs tore through his wrist and the spurting wound was pressed to her slack mouth.
Absolution arrived. She swallowed.
As he fucked her, she drank.
Gurgling around a mouthful, Pearl felt herself dragged to a higher state of being. High on his power, she could feel everything: each shredding thrust of a veined cock moving through skin not quite lubricated enough to facilitate smooth passage. She could feel the microscopic tears healing even as they split open anew. Overwrought nerves throbbed from both pleasure and pain, for he had found a place inside her body where, textured skin ached for punishment.
Under her knees, the bedsheets were slimy with blood, with bits of her that had escaped his feast, and with the very fluid he had accused her of spilling earlier.
She had indeed wet the bed, but it was not with piss.
Twisted by the glory of such perfect pain, what was dry became drenched. It ran down her thighs, clung like droplets of rain to the hair on his tight balls.
He abused her, left her aching and bone broken, and drew her greedy cunt through the worst sort of debasement and bliss.
Belly sloshing with his blood, she moved past fear straight into the red fires of the hell he’d designed for her. She came with such power it fractured her crumbling mind into pieces no amount of sweet words or broken promises would ever put back together.
You worship only me. He whispered the word into her mind. I am your God.
Darius slid from her twitching insides, cock hard as rock and pulsating as its master rolled his drooling conquest to her back. Thighs straddling her head, glorying in the smears of his blood over her chin, lips, and cheeks, he commanded, “Open your mouth. You are to swallow this too.”
She didn’t understand, and from his feral grin, it was obvious he took great pleasure in her innocence. Though could it be called innocence? Night after night did he not use his treasure, do unspeakable things to her, and work his evil over her body? After he was done, did he not strip away her thoughts and leave her a shell to wake again in this cold room, startled and scared.
A blank slate he could paint with blood.
A stupid girl he could pin down, where he might relish the pleasure of watching the shock on her face as he forced his cock past her lips and down her throat, choking her and denying her air.
Tongue pressed flat, her blunt teeth scraping the sides of his shaft, he ruthlessly fucked her mouth. When she began to bite, something changed, a look in the fiery red eyes, and Pearl swore that meat down her throat kicked.
The devil roared, pressing forward with such strength he tore out bits of her hair.
Salty tang burned like bile, coating her tongue, stinging her throat, and dripping from the corners of her
swollen lips. Mashing his pelvis to her skull, Darius ushered more of that poison down his pulsating shaft and straight into her belly.
He held her that way after the last drop was spilled, watching her suffocate as if the view were magnificent.
Frantic for air, she begged with wide, wet eyes.
He smiled, yet did not move. “Speak of your God again, Pearl. Name him.”
Scratching at his thigh, working her throat around his softened tool, she garbled, desperate to form the sounds of his name in a bid for freedom.
A satisfied cock popped from her lips, bloody vomit and tears following.
Much of what he had given her was spilled, come and blood pooling on the bed. As she heaved, he patted her head, as if a good dog has performed well.
Arms came around her. Cuddled to her back despite the mess, he pressed his lips to her ear. “There is no reason to be afraid of the demands I make on your body. I would never truly harm you past the point your body might regenerate.”
She was sobbing, coughing between gasps. “And tomorrow I will have forgotten, and you will do this again.”
“Hush, child.” Darius kissed the back of her head, sliding his fingers over her ribs, across a sick belly, and lower still, until he cupped her bruised sex. “You’ve pleased me. As a reward, I swear to be the sweet lover you wish for tomorrow. I’ll fool you into smiles and laughter. When I fuck you, I won’t draw blood. You have my word.”
His word meant nothing to her. “And you have mine that I will hate you tomorrow as much as I hate you today.”
He smiled, and let his finger penetrate where she was slippery with his come. There they played no matter her sulking or lingering discomfort. “You love me, kara sevde, of that I have no doubt.”
Chapter 7
There were so many pages, unfamiliar entry after entry—all of them in her handwriting. Yet, each lacked a date, filling up the tome that sat upon the room’s solitary desk with a vague story of her time in this stone room.
I did not sleep last night, and when Darius came to me again, he smiled as if he knew I’d waited for his return. Bone tired, I was poor company, but he was kind to me. He even offered an explanation. My sentence in this room, he claimed, is twice the lifetime of the man I killed.
Chadwick Parker had not been a young man, and I worry I might be trapped here for near a century.
How many times had Pearl read this first entry? It was impossible to know, but the page was growing worn and the book was filled with hundreds if not thousands of similarly pinned memories.
Darius held my hand when I grew sad at this news, claimed he hated to see my anguish. That is why he enforces his gift. My memory each night is wiped away so I might be spared from a monotonous eternity in prison. One day he’ll hold my hand as I am set free. One day, I’ll be allowed to meet others like me. I’ll never be alone again.
Flipping through the journal, Pearl looked for something she couldn’t pin. Over and over this Darius character was mentioned, but so far, she’d seen no sign of anyone in the cramped cell. Which was well and good. Yet something about the book was disturbing, obvious in its wrongness, but with no explanation.
Pages were missing, torn out. Gone forever.
Why?
Why remove pages from the journal? What had been written on them that Darius didn’t want her to see?
Had she torn them out? And if she had, why do it?
Letting the book thump back on the desktop, Pearl looked over the grotesque grandness of the items piled inside her cell. From the red velvet draping the walls, to the jewels scattered over desk and crevice, everything seemed staged—like an altar.
Like an offering.
What would a girl locked in a room need with jewels? She was hardly even dressed in little more than lace bound by a sash around her middle.
She was also sporting dried blood under her nails and she smelled in need of a bath.
But there was no water, no urn, only a chamber pot of sorts that was uncomfortable to use.
There wasn’t even a rat scurrying around for her to catch and eat.
Then again, according to the massive tome on the desk, she drank her meals from the mysterious Darius. In flowery language she even described the taste and how addicting it might be.
Pearl didn’t use flowery language. A great many of the entries she scanned didn’t sound like her at all.
Had he told her what to write?
More importantly, if she had been the one to tear out a page, where would she have hidden notes in this crypt?
Running her hands under the heavy mattress had led to nothing. Nooks in the wall were explored, the space behind paintings, even the trunk of scandalous clothing at the foot of the bed.
There was nothing but dust.
Dust?
Stamping her foot, Pearl felt the earth under the room’s sumptuous rug. Things could be buried in dirt.
Like bodies.
Or trapped women.
Throwing back a corner of the rug, brushing aside dried rushes, damp earth met her fingers. Clawing at it here and there did naught but pit the ground. Fueled by a growing need for answers, Pearl threw handfuls of earth aside, careless of where they fell.
“You won’t find what you’re looking for there.”
Crouched like a spider and panting as if she’d just run a race, Pearl cut a glance over her shoulder and hissed.
The mystery man himself stood like a beautiful beacon. And he was smiling at her, serene and unthreatening.
“Darius?”
A winged eyebrow arched. “Yes, Pearl?”
He obviously knew what she was up to, and seemed unconcerned. Tickled even. “Where are the missing pages?”
Walking toward a fantastical painting of an ancient warlord, the stranger pulled back a bit of torn canvas to display a nook. “Sometimes I find them here.” He then changed course, moving to a stone in the wall that came away easily when jiggled. “And often here.”
Both cavities were empty. Whatever she’d hidden away had been lost. And he had known to look for them. Nervous despite his kind expression, Pearl asked, “Why do you take them away?”
The handsome man’s smile grew charmed. “Take them? I collect and keep them for you.” He pointed to a small, obvious box on the desk. A place Pearl had ignored in her hunt.
Wiping dirtied hands on the impractical lace gown, Pearl crept forward, untrusting and cautious. It was as he claimed. Inside the jeweled box, the folded notes were haphazardly stacked.
Once she stood before them, he crossed the room. Appearing out of thin air behind her body.
His heat met her back. Lips to her ear, breath warm, he asked, “Do you want to play a game?”
Her fingers hovered over the notes. Buzzing nervously from the intimate way he brushed against her, Pearl whispered, “What kind of game?”
“For every note you choose to read, I earn a kiss from my beloved treasure.”
It was a trick. Men were never forthcoming. But there was something deeper than cautious intuition that warned she needed to see what was on those stolen pages. “One kiss for one note?”
A rich smile in his voice, the man nuzzled closer. “A kiss, my love, nothing more.”
Delving in, a random scrap of paper was chosen, pulled free, and unfolded.
Darius is the devil and you are in hell.
A hearty chuckle shook her body, the man pressed to her back extremely amused. “I do so love the look on your face when you read that one. In those first precious moments, you don’t want to believe it. You’ll turn and look me over from head to toe. Where are the horns? Where is the tail and cloven hooves? What reason might you have to think I am this character from your nightmares? Maybe it was written as a joke. Maybe, we’d argued that day… Perhaps you’d fallen gravid and grown difficult.”
Fear crawled up her spine and blood ran cold no matter how warm the body at her back. Turning her head so she might glimpse the one wrapping his arms around her torso, Pear
l met his glowing red eyes.
His gaze burned all the brighter, fangs slowly descending behind a positively elated smile. Teasing in the meanest voice she’d ever heard, Darius hummed, “Or, maybe it’s absolutely true.”
Mortally afraid, she stood there, a hairsbreadth from those teeth, and asked, “What does gravid mean?”
He brought a hand to her cheek, reminding her that there was a price. A kiss for a note. After all, there were rules to this game. Fingers pinched her chin, turning her attention back to the box. “I never claimed questions were a part of our fun.”
One folded page would not be enough. Snatching up another, she tore in her haste to read what was waiting.
He raped me over and over until I bled from every hole a man might abuse on a woman. I begged him to stop, and he laughed.
“That’s two kisses now, my Pearl.”
Fat, silent drops slipped over trembling cheeks. She reached for a third.
He’s never going to let you out. Find a way to kill yourself.
A tongue traced the shell of her ear, followed by a low rumble. “But how would you do it? All your wounds heal almost instantly thanks to the strength my blood has given you.”
Shivering, Pearl wrapped her arms around her middle, the heat emanating from the man pressed to her back worthless. “I don’t want to read anymore.”
“Three kisses are owed me then, sweet treasure.” With a flourish, he spun her about, the desk cutting off any chance of retreat. Sniffing at her hair, he demanded like a spoiled prince. “I’ll claim the first one now.”
After only a few moments in his presence, the idea was repugnant no matter how handsome the stranger might be.
“We had a deal, Pearl. Honor it, and see how reasonable I can be. Why be so frightened of words on a page?”
Because unlike the book, those hidden words seemed real. Very real, as if a locked corner of her mind was pounding against a wall, trying to warn her danger was here.
Play his game or resist, what would lead to a more favorable outcome when trapped with the devil?
Standing on tiptoe, Pearl pressed a chaste kiss to sculpted, smirking lips.