He rubbed his cheek. “You are so fucking sexy. My God. What can I say or do to get your sweet little ass in my bed tonight?”
“Don't ever come near me again.”
“I don't back down from a challenge.”
That sounded like something Gavin would say. She had to repress a shudder. “it's not a challenge. I'm not a challenge. I'm not something that can be won.”
“Anything can be won. Or bought.”
She shoved him. “I said no. Leave me the hell alone.” She wasn't daring enough to turn her back on him and so edged towards the doors. The skin on her arms and face tingled in response to the warm room as her eyes scanned the room for her friend. Over the sound of the song playing Val heard the creak of the doors behind her and quickly slipped into one of the small crowds as Vance entered the room.
He hadn't seen her. Was he looking for her? She watched him settle down at the bar and help himself to a rum and coke. Within a few minutes, he'd found another girl to prey on.
She forced a shaky smile and turned to the group of people now looking at her like she couldn't wait for her to leave. “Hi…um, I'm looking for my friend. Have you seen her? Dark skin, black hair, hanging out with a tall blonde guy?”
Hanging all over a tall blond guy?
“Yeah.” The speaker was a girl with badly dyed hair. “She went into the kitchen a while ago.” “Careful,” one of the guys remarked cryptically.
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪ Mary was sitting on the table in the empty kitchen with her arms around Alex's neck. The two of them were making out. Val let out a gasp and moved to leave just as Mary finally looked her way.
“Val—oh my God, what are you doing here? Where's Vance?”
Alex leaned against the table. “I told you she'd scare him off.”
“Alex!”
“I did not scare him off. He's a total asshole.” Alex rolled his eyes. She looked to Mary instead. “It was awful. He blackmailed me into dancing with him and then he…tried to force himself on me outside.”
“He did what?”
“I think he might have done more if I hadn't pushed him. He got both hands under my shirt.” Mary looked at Alex now too. He threw his hands up defensively. “It's been a while since I've been the guy. He's probably drunk.”
“He didn't look drunk.”
“He's your friend. You should know whether he turns into, like, a drunken rapist.”
“Hey—I barely know the guy. I mean, yeah, he buys a round occasionally when we play pool.” “You said he was your friend!” “Yeah, a drinking buddy. Not the same thing. God, Mary what the fuck is your problem? It's a blind date, not a goddamn arranged marriage, for fuck's sake.”
“Not for the people arranging it, you jerk! You didn't even bother talking to him first, did you?” “I told you, Mare. He's a drinking buddy. Jesus, what don't you get about that?”
Mary shook her head. “I can't believe this. Alex Crawford, you are an asshole.” Thank you .
“Do you want me to kick him out?”
“No, Alex.”
“Do you want me to make a goddamn scene? Is
that it? Pound his ass into the cement?”
“I want you to apologize to Val.”
Alex lost his bluster as if a switch had been flipped. “Baby, no. I suck at apologies.”
Ugh. He even says 'baby'—just like Vance.
Mary remained unmoved. “Practice makes perfect.” “This was your idea, in case you'd forgotten. It's not like I did this on purpose. I mean, there's only so many single guys I know. And she liked Jade. I can't help it if she's a total ice queen. Maybe you should apologize to Val,” he added, saying her name like a curse.
“I'm leaving,” said Val. Mary shouted something at her departing back. Val couldn't make it out over the music and she did not care enough to go back and find out what it was.
As she passed him Vance raised his drink at her in a silent toast, his new victim at his side.
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪ Stupid party.
A shadow passed over the moon.
Stupid Mary.
The buildings receded to faint, shadowy outlines
highlighted in dull silver.
Stupid Vance.
Val shivered. She knew the campus layout well enough now but suddenly, she felt lost.
Stupid Jade.
Maybe she should have waited for Mary instead of walking back alone. No. No, she wasn't a child. She didn't need anyone to hold her hand.
Stupid Val.
Too stupid to live? It started to rain. Gently at first, and then more intensely. “Fuck,” she hissed. The rain was liquid ice against her bare arms and back. She began to run, shedding droplets; the air was cold enough that her breath formed a shivery cloud of fog. The sound of her footsteps echoing against the cement was the only sound apart from the rasp of the leaves and the quiet hiss of the rain as she hightailed it from Primavera.
Ignoring the wavering shadows distorted by the falling rain and swirling clouds, Val focused on getting home. It's so dark tonight.
Her hand went to her hip and slid against the pocketless skirt. Mary had the room key. Her own was missing, lost somewhere inside their apartment no doubt. Val swore again, slamming her hands against the door and wishing it was something living that could transfer some of her pain.
And I still haven't figured out who 'sin' is. Val slid forward until her head was pressed against the wood. “Crap,” she whimpered.
“Something wrong, darling?” Hands closed around her wrists, drawing her back against a warm, strong body. She didn't have to look around to know who it was. She recognized him by his scent, by the fit and feel of him.
“My, my, my—you're shivering.”
He leaned forward.
“And wet.”
Her eyes stared blankly ahead. If his clothing was dry, that meant he wasn't caught in the downpour. Had he been waiting for her this entire time?
“Look at you. Dressed to kill.” “Why are you here?” His fingers tightened painfully around her wrists and she gasped, “Ow.”
“Why was he touching you?”
“You were at the party.” “Why was he touching you, Val?” He whirled her around, caging her in against the door. He kissed her hard, biting on her lower lip, holding it between his teeth for a second before lowering his head and hissing into her ear, “I won't ask again.”
“I didn't let him,” she said weakly. “I didn't want him to.”
He grabbed her ass through the skirt. She tilted her head back and he kissed her again, and it burrowed as deep as death into her blood. He squeezed her again, his fingers brushing the underside of her skirt. Needles of sensation prickled at her inner thigh. “That's not what I asked.”
“You know what he wanted. And you know it's not my f-fault.” A shiver snaked through her at the intent look in his eyes. “You're jealous.”
Cold, cruel jealousy. His was a more potent variant of fiery passion, as hard as marble and frosted in glittering malice. He stroked the underside of her breast through the shirt. “So forward. I'm not sure I like this side of you.”
Val laughed: a bright, piercing sound shimmering with madness. “Fuck you.” “Yes, you like that, don't you? Having me on top of you, inside of you. Having me in total control.” His grip on her waist strained the fabric, until her breasts threatened to spill over the neckline of the halter. She heard his breathing pick up a little. “Well, perhaps you'll get your wish.”
She was breathing too hard to properly voice her complaints, though, and the tight, fitting friction of him scratched an itch, satisfying pangs of desires she hadn't known she had even possessed until he commandeered her body for his use.
His eyes locked with hers. “Kiss me,” he commanded, and though she was sure neither of them had moved, suddenly their mouths were a snarl of lips and teeth, and his free hand was cupping her backside, grinding her against his pelvis. “I think I shall take you right against this wall.” His hand stroked down her
side. “You won't mind, I'm sure.”
She couldn't speak. She could only stare at him. He smiled—and then froze. In the darkness, the whites of his eyes flashed as his gaze cut to the side. He was staring at the vending machines down the hall. His grip on her thigh tightened. “What—”
He covered her mouth with his hand without looking away. He had gone rigid, like a cat that had just spotted prey. In the dim red glow of the soda machine she could make out a human form. She flushed and wrapped her arms around his neck to hide her body against his shirt. She felt his chest vibrate and heard the low sound issue from his throat like a note of warning.
The figure moved closer. Then paused uncertainly as though noticing that she weren't alone. Gavin's grip on her body tightened. He pressed her more firmly against him so his coat engulfed them both. His heart was beating hard, faster than she could ever recall hearing it.
One look at his face informed her that he wasn't scared, or even concerned. No. He looked…excited.
The shadow hovered a moment longer, then disappeared. Something fluttered from its pocket. He or she had dropped a piece of paper on the floor.
Gavin pushed away from her. She trailed after, watching as he stooped to pick it up. “Let me see,” she said, snatching at the paper.
It was covered in letters clipped from magazines and newspapers like a ransom note. The message was: I pray the Lord my soul to take. Her mother used to have her say that prayer as a child. The first part was—she gulped—If I die before I wake.
“You're coming with me tonight.”
She looked up at him in alarm. “You're blackmailing me.” “Mm-hmm. You wouldn't want to miss this next round. That reminds me—have you solved my clue? Time grows short.”
“I've been thinking, yes.”
“And?”
“I think—I think it's the queen.”
He looked interested. “Why?”
“Well, she's the only female piece—” thinking of
Mary “—and they've all been religious clues so far, so I thought, perhaps, Original Sin?”
“Very clever,” he said, “but wrong.” “W-what?” She tried to wrench out of his grip. “How do I know you're playing fair? How do I know that you're not lying?”
“You don't. Perhaps I am.” His amused smile disappeared. “Come.” Chapter Eighteen
Dahlia
The pale frightened face in the mirror hardly seemed to resemble hers at all. Of course, Val could no longer remember what she looked like, only that she had changed and that the subtle nuances of this changing were invisible until some visual threshold was breached—then, they were all too apparent.
Val stripped off her rain-soaked clothing, trying to avoid looking at her breasts. Their presence made her uncomfortable; they sexualized her body against her will. She had never understood why the sight of them seemed to drive men wild, even when separate from the female body, but they did.
Not even Gavin was exempt. She did not glance at the mirror again until she had put on the nightgown he had given her for the evening. The cotton was virginal white—surely his quiet way of mocking the innocence he had so methodically destroyed, the bastard.
The sleeves were full, her shoulders and throat bared by the wide boat-neck cut, which was discreetly trimmed with lace. The bodice laced up in front with a red satin ribbon, very Little House on the Prairie.
She found Gavin sitting in the armchair she had sat in, when he told her the terms of this new, horrendous game. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed. She doubted he was sleeping, though.
The scar tissue was pink and shiny under the light and it struck her as a particularly vulnerable position for him, of all people, to be in. Baring your throat was submissive behavior. An appeasement display. Gavin had been quick to tell her as much.
His trench coat was crumpled in a heap on the ground. He was wearing a thermal Henley, the two topmost buttons undone. A few stray curls of chest hair poked through the gaping fabric.
He stretched, then, pulling the fabric taut, and regarded her through half-closed eyes before letting his hands fall back on the armrests. Like he was posing for her. She watched him sourly, resenting the stirrings she felt whenever she looked at him.
Resisting him felt as if she were trying to swim against the tide. She knew he was death, and yet she continued to court him ceaselessly, recklessly.
She could have killed him for that. Yes, in that moment, she could have killed him, because he made her want the very things that she hated most in herself.
Gavin straightened a little as she approached, his posture relaxed but ready as she straddled his lap, compressing his muscular thighs with her knees.
He looked up at her, and said, “What are you doing Valerian?”
She took hold of his wrists, using him to brace herself more firmly on the chair. Boxing him in. There was a note of warning in his voice she chose to ignore.
“I'm doing to you what you do to me.” His eyes narrowed like a hawk's, but he didn't say anything. Didn't even resist when she kissed him, though he didn't kiss her back. She bit his neck, and he didn't flinch. His eyes were cold when she pulled back again. “Enjoying yourself?”
“No. No, I'm not.” She knotted her hands in the fabric of his shirt and pulled, hard, scattering the buttons with several small, muted pops. It must have hurt, had to have hurt, but he continued watching her steadily.
“I don't recall giving you permission to touch me.”
Fear sparked through her at the look in his eyes. She was playing with fire—but part of her wanted to be burned. “Since when have you ever given a shit about permission? Or consent?”
“Don't be crude,” he said coldly.
Val ran her fingers down his chest, over his stomach, and felt the muscles beneath the skin bunch and tense. “Why not?” He inhaled sharply when the tips of her middle and index fingers traced the tops of his pants, almost but not quite dipping below the waistband. “Why the fuck not? Why shouldn't I be crude?”
Another man might have thrown her off. Gavin remained seated in his throne, crowned by his own peculiar brand of cruelty. “This is most unbecoming.”
Val tossed her head, scoffing. “You really don't want me to touch you? Or is it just that it's no fun when I'm willing?”
“I don't think you want to play this game with me. You won't win.”
“Oh no?”
He leaned in. “No.” She gave him a smile that was all teeth and slid her hand down his pants. His pupils contracted to small points as he made an involuntary sound that appeared to be a cross between a growl and a moan.
He was hot and hard to the touch. She could feel the veins pulsing in time to his heartbeat. She ran her thumb over the damp tip and squeezed, laughing in his ear, “You're a goddamn liar.”
“I warn you, there will be severe penalties if you do not cease this disgusting display.” “What are you going to do to me?” She tightened her grip on his penis just to see him wince and felt a rush of heat as he shifted uncomfortably beneath her. The slightest hitch entered his breathing.
Yes, she thought, see how you like it. “My grades…are shit. My family…thinks I'm crazy. I have…no friends. No support. No dignity.” She punctuated each bit of emphasis with another squeeze. “Oh, and some psycho wants to kill me. Besides you, I mean.
“I have nothing, absolutely nothing. I spend most of my life wishing I would die. So tell me, Gavin, what will you use against me? What do you have left? Your body? Well, it looks like I've beaten you to the punch.”
He was breathing hard. “You have five seconds.” She gave him a swift, smooth jerk that made his hips buck.
“Two seconds,” he ground out.
“Fuck you.”
“Very well.” He got to his feet, yanking her up with him. She stumbled and had to grab on to him to
keep from falling. His mouth mashed against hers and she winced as his teeth dug painfully through his cruel smile. “We'll play it your way
.”
“I'm leaving.”
“No.” His fingers dug into her sides. “You're going to finish what you started.”
She tried to pull away. “Touch me, and I'll kill you.” “Try.” He swung her around, trapping her against his body. “It's midnight.” He yanked the ribbon on her bodice, ripping it, and slid the two pieces out of their laces. His fingers stroked down the center of her ribs, slipping neatly into her underwear. “Of the third day.” Val tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go, and he half-walked half-pushed her to the mattress. “You're mine.”
She couldn't break free from his mouth to protest or scream. The two of them fall against the sheets in a tangle of limbs. He rucked the hem of her nightgown up to her thighs. His fingers, outside her panties now but no less tortuous because of it, hooked in the waistband and pulled. Val winced, and then cried out when the stitches broke with a snap, lashing painfully against her hip.
He slipped his hand into her nightgown. She winced as he explored the tender landscape her body had become. “Did you really think to conquer me? To kill me?”
Val made a low, helpless sound.
“Did you think you would succeed?”
“Go to hell.”
“Oh, yes. We shall. Your hell. Wreathed in pleasure twined with pain, thorns and roses, all of them weeping blood. Once a flower is picked it immediately begins to die.” His lips curled into a sinful smile, laced with simmering anger. “Fitting, wouldn't you say?”
She spat in his eye. “Of course, all that requires obedience, which must be cultivated like a hothouse flower.” He rolled her over. One of his hands cupped her breast, twisting and pinching the nipple in time with each painful thrust. “Precise measurements, to be meted out as necessary, signifying the difference between life—” he used his nails, and she let out a hoarse scream “—and death. You still think you can kill me?”
“Yes.” His belly slapped against hers as he slid deeper, the cords on his arms standing out in stark relief. His hair was damp, and stuck to his forehead with a curl not present when dry.
“Really?” He laughed—his temper restored the moment he took her—and her body was nothing more than a cavern to echo his amusement. In that moment, she saw what it would be like, being his.
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