by Addison Cain
She had no idea where she was.
There was light, golden and soft around the strangest room she’d ever seen. Not a single window contributed to the glow, only weighty gilded candelabras, ancient in design, strewn about. A small portion of the candles had burned to stubs, beside them fresh tapers with wicks white and untouched waited to be lit.
She was in a bed larger than any she’d ever seen. It gave off the subtle fragrance of teakwood and was foreign in its design and height. Above it draped a canopy, heavy curtains of embroidered gold, tied and gathered by anchors implanted in crumbling stone walls. Layered around her body were red velvet coverlets, the pillows sumptuous and plentiful at her back.
Between the candelabras and bed, there was scant other furniture in the small room. A writing desk took center stage, a thick tome open atop it. Beside the blotter were pens, a brush, a hand mirror. Even a pot of rouge.
There was more, other things littering hoary somber stone. Strange fabric against her skin...
Over her breasts was not the familiar uniform the Palace Delight had charged her three dollars for, but black chiffon. So sheer her nipples were on display, it hung gathered at her shoulders like some tart’s version of a nightgown.
Someone had dressed her in this. Someone had put her in this room.
Memories of a man holding her down in the snow, of pain, left her colder than ice. Had he brought her here after he’d finished? Hadn’t she killed him?
There had been so much blood…
A sour flavor.
What was going on?
There was no exit save a wooden door straight from a medieval movie set. Leaning against the portal, half concealing the frame, was a massive mirror. Like the candelabras, it was overly ornate, gaudy, and looked far too heavy for her to move.
Untangling from the covers, Pearl’s feet landed on a woven rug of burgundy and cobalt. Under the brightly colored wool lay rushes that crunched the instant she placed weight on her foot. With her every step, the drying grass’s scent mingled with the room’s must, the smoke from the candles, and the smell of ambergris.
Her wrists had been perfumed.
Nose to her arm, she inhaled, and noticed an ornate ring sparkling on her hand. She had not felt the glimmering collection of stones, but now it held her complete attention. The piece was much larger than the art deco jewelry in fashion; the stones were much grander. In the center was a ruby rounded smooth, as big as an eye, anchored by tarnished gold and surrounded by seed pearls.
Unlike the other objects in the room, something about it was wrong. It pinched and felt unwelcome. Yanking the ring from her finger, she cast it off as if it were cursed.
Chest rising and falling in panicked breaths, Pearl tried to make sense of it all—of the stone walls half hidden by pastoral paintings, of the feeling of foreboding—and knew this was a bad place.
Hurtling toward the low, arched exit, she found herself caught by the mirror before her shaking hand might even try the knob.
There was a reason the colossal furnishing had been left there... the door was only an enticement. The true aim of the object was to get her close enough to the reflective glass to see.
Her hair was no longer clipped into a sleek bob. Wrongly, it hung past her shoulders, tangled from sleep. The shape of her body was foreign as well. Where were her prominent ribs, the dark marks under her eyes?
Yes, she’d always been attractive in her way, but she had never glowed with health. She’d never had soft curves or full breasts.
Blue eyes lacked the makeup she’d painstakingly applied every day. She didn’t need the kohl, or the cake mascara. Had she shown up to the Palace Delight looking like this, Mr. Weller would have never fired her. He would have promoted her.
Hell, he would have married her.
“Most nights when I come to you, you have yet to look in the mirror. It’s the journal that habitually grabs your attention, Pearl.”
An unladylike shriek came from the girl, Pearl spinning to find a stranger stepping toward her.
Pinched between long fingernails, he held the ring she’d rejected. He offered it to her, smiling and splendid, but all she could see were his eyes.
They were red as fire and so utterly wrong she thought she might be sick.
Putting the desk between them, she took in the face of what every last woman in Manhattan would deem perfection. He was beautiful, cheeks shaven smooth, dark hair slicked back in the style of Gary Cooper—more handsome than Gary Cooper, if such a thing were possible. But he was not dressed as a gentleman. In nothing more than a long black robe tied with a sash at his waist, he was hardly dressed at all.
Something about him, beyond the blood red of his eyes, set the hairs on the back of her neck to attention.
His gaze lost the crimson glow, growing into an almost soft brown as he smiled. “I am Darius.”
Red eyes, cold stone, and the scream of a dying man in the pitch black… fragments of memory echoed until the room with its finery looked like something else.
A tomb full of monsters.
“Where am I?”
His gaze tripped over her breasts, admiration all over his face. “I did not mean to startle you, Pearl. Come closer so I might see that you are well.”
Dizzy, Pearl put her fingers to her cheek. It had been torn open last she recalled, held together by a red-eyed demon who’d crept through her mind and asked her his questions.
A single candle in a room colder than death.
A corpse’s body moving against and inside her.
Mumbling to herself, caught between the present and the past, Pearl said, “The light went out and you came in.”
And now golden light was abundant, the red-eyed demon was back, wrapped up in beautiful skin and walking toward her with a smile.
She dared to counter his advance with a retreat, and a face that was beautiful grew twisted with impatience. “Kneel, my Pearl.”
It was as if some unseen force shoved her down. Legs hit the floor, the girl folding downward, her body utterly out of her control at his command.
“Look at me.”
In the attitude of prayer, body prostrate and hands clasped before her, Pearl stared up at what come to tower over her. A manicured hand reached forward as if to bless her.
His fingers were warm, soft, but a ghostly touch of memory came with it. Sandpaper, claws… pain in the dark.
And then memory of something that wasn’t pain. The intimate sensation twinging in her belly was profane, as was the urge to reach between her thighs and rub.
The man chuckled. “Your mind goes interesting places, dear girl. You are afraid and aroused all at once. It makes you taste particularly delicious. Are you trying to tempt me? I would hate to neglect my treasure.”
A pulsing heart grew between her legs, sweat breaking out over her brow as Pearl’s breath grew shallow. “Is this hell?”
The stranger raised her from the floor. “If it was, would it be your hell or mine?”
With no preamble, he cupped her breast, his tongue wetting his lower lip.
Impulse brought her to raise her arm. She struck him.
All her strength, and the slap didn’t so much as turn his chin. Instead, it inspired ravenously heated eyes and a growing smile full of unsavory promises
Run.
But there was nowhere to go.
The door met her back, the man pressed indecently to her front. Lips came to her ear, warm breath offering, “You may lie upon the bed, legs obediently parted, and I’ll see that you feel the pleasure of my mouth where you itch. Or, you may kiss my hand and beg my forgiveness for such rudeness, and I might find it in my heart to be patient and see to your other needs first.” His hand came to her face, taking her jaw with enough strength to be more sinister than sweet. “But never strike me, child, unless you’d like your night to be one of suffering.”
She had known enough pain in her life. Seeking mercy from a thing that terrified her very soul, she beseeched, “P
lease. I didn’t mean to kill that man.”
Smirking menacingly, the stranger, Darius, captured her fingers. “Darling, kara sevde.” He did not break eye contact. The ring she’d thrown slid home, nestled where he desired it to be, and then he lifted her fingertips and kissed them. “You have a weakness for desiring to live in the past. I require you live only in this moment. What came before and what will come after do not matter. They do not exist to you. Nothing but this room and my attention exist to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
His hand came back to her breast, the red-eyed man daring her to slap him again. “What is there to understand? I am your everything, and you are my beloved treasure.”
Skin crawling, she knew more than anything that she wanted out of that room—just as much as she wanted the man to stop kneading her breast. “I don’t want to be your treasure.”
A low growl, demonic in nature preceded, “Where is your gratitude today, Pearl? I do not appreciate when you wake in a temper.”
“I belong to God.”
“And what would God do for my darling one? Where are you safer than here? Where could you be more comfortable? As you are, you’re buried so far under the city no soul could ever find you. No one will take you from me. No others will know the taste of sunshine in your veins. I made them all forget. You exist in my world alone.”
Eyes cast to the ceiling, she offered a prayer. “Jesus, help me.”
“There is no God for you but me. There is no heaven waiting for you. I own your soul and your body. I own your mind, daywalker… your blood.” All of this was spoken gently, lovingly, each word acidic and tainted by evil. His voice burned her. “I am your life and your only reason for existence. Without my care, you would live alone in this tomb for eternity… forgotten by the thing you would pray to.”
Stroking her hair, ignoring her incantations to the Christian Lord, he cooed, “Your affection will earn a reward. Give me a kiss and cease these theatrics at once. I’m giving you one chance to avoid punishment today.”
She shook her head.
He caught her hair with clawed fingers and forced her neck to bend where he willed it. On the straining column of her throat he licked a path all the way to her ear. “I told you to kiss me, Pearl.”
Breath shaking, unable to move from the strength of his grip in her hair, Pearl whimpered, stopped the prayer, and gasped when a little sting set her neck to jumping.
“Delicious. Your fear is almost worth the trouble.” A tongue ran over her pulsing vein. “But I have another flavor in mind today.”
Stepping back, he released her hair, smirking as she sagged against rough stone.
Twisted in his sweet offer was a much more sinister threat. “Last chance. Kiss me, beg my forgiveness for your rudeness, and let’s begin anew.”
Pearl didn’t want pain, she’d known enough in her life. She didn’t want terror, but it was staring her in the face. Swallowing, certain she was going to be ill, she reached for the door handle at her back, and found it frozen.
It would not be moved.
If he was keen to the scrambling of her fingers at her back he said nothing, the gloriously beautiful devil seemingly patient.
Brick it shut, he’d said. She remembered the sounds, the human trying to claw his way out. She remembered what this room truly was.
A crypt to be buried in.
There was no way out.
God did not hear her prayers.
Her tongue tripped, and out of her mouth came the only slice of salvation she could reach. “I’m sorry for my rudeness.”
“And?”
He may have been handsome, but she remembered the monster who’d spoken to her from the throne. It was almost impossible to lean forward and press a kiss to the man’s cheek, certain he would stink like a rotting corpse.
Instead, he smelled of sandalwood and fresh blood.
Something about it made her mouth water and brought a tingle to empty tooth sockets. The tingle became a sharp pinch, two small teeth descending to burst through the gum-line and end as useless points too short to be of any use.
Chuckling, the demon drove her back until her head hit the impenetrable door and his tongue was deep in her mouth. He licked each smear of blood, toying with her stumped fangs as if she’d performed some cute act.
It was less a kiss and more a scouring, the whole time red glowing eyes staring straight into hers.
With one final tongue curled lick, he pulled away, teasing, “Hungry, are you?”
Yes? No. She wasn’t ravenous, not in the ways she remembered. But under the terror, she was hungry for something—something sweet and filling that healed the soul and fattened the flesh.
Something that made it all better.
She wanted that delicious succor as one would pine for a drug. Breaking eye contact, she looked to the stranger’s neck, whining low in her throat and completely lost in unfamiliar need.
Stretching forward, Pearl caught herself inches from setting her useless teeth to the devil’s flesh when it gave a warning tut.
He took her chin, tapping her nose as he counseled. “It is a good thing you stopped yourself this time. Never take what isn’t offered. Though I never allow your mind to cling to the memory, I promise you, it is the worst of punishments I can offer.”
Again her blood went cold. “You make it sound as if I have been here a long time.”
Rolling words full of smoke and brimstone, he asked, “What did I tell you about time? The only time of any worth in your life are the moments you spend with me.”
“How many moments have there been?”
“Not nearly enough.”
What had he done to her in the days she’d lost in this place? What would he do? “And you punish me?”
“When I feel so inclined. But I’m not eager to harm your sweet body tonight.” Turning his back and walking across the room to settle his mass on the edge of the overly large, ornate bed, he said, “This evening I have come to my pet for pleasure. If you please me, I will let you drink your fill. Disappoint my appetites, and I will bring you great pain. For I have no patience for an insolent treasure. Save yourself the torment.” He crooked a finger, calling her forward. “Come here.”
She knew nothing about pleasing men. The men who had used her, had done only that—leaving her sullied and shamed as they’d tucked their cocks away and abandoned her where she’d bled.
It was to be one pain or another.
Pearl could submit now and spare the girl who would wake tomorrow to some unforeseen horror. Or she could refuse, earn the demon’s wrath and know suffering immediately.
She was in hell.
Killing Chadwick Parker had landed her here.
One foot in front of the other, ten steps total, and she stood before her tormenter.
Darius took her wrist, brought it to his lips to gently kiss, before yanking her face first into the mattress. Tense and trembling she lay as she fell, cheek to red velvet. He stood and moved behind her, flipping the girl face up.
“It’s like the first time every time, isn’t it? My Pearl is practically a virgin. Always fresh. Always frightened.” Creeping over her body, he took her gauze-draped nipple into his mouth for a sharp suck. Once it popped free, he teased, “But I know how to make the virgin a whore.”
Eyes to the bed curtains, fingers fisted in the sleeves of the man’s robe, Pearl tried to lay still. Let him do what he may, let him take, knowing the night would end and she would forget all of it.
Tomorrow would be better.
Chapter 6
There was no tomorrow.
The first time he’d fucked her had been slow, deviously tender. It didn’t feel like the same frightening creature who’d taunted, threatened, and mocked.
He took her as one takes a lover, a cherished wife. Long kisses, sweet touches, even the sweeping entry of his engorged cock had been smooth. Long nailed fingers drifted over her body, delving into places that brought unimaginable p
leasures. She could have wept knowing love like that might truly exist in the world and that she’d never know it.
This thing didn’t love her. The proof was there in his violence when he’d grown bored of soft moans and fluttering cunts.
With his semen dripping from her slit, Pearl had panted, satisfied in body from a kind of release she’d never known.
Or had known many times but could not remember.
He’d pulled out, kissed her on the mouth as if she’d behaved perfectly, then abruptly shunted his arm straight inside the place he’d just used—all of his fingers, his fist to the wrist as she bucked, screaming for him to get them out.
Ripped and bleeding, he’d just as brusquely tore them away, leaving her hole gaping, oozing a blend of her pulped flesh, his come, and a steady flow of blood.
Her womb had been torn, her tunnel ruined, and with his teeth growing long and sinister, he met the screaming girl’s eye and watched her try to escape. He licked up the mess, swallowed bits of flesh, and savored her every cry.
Healing under those teeth and tongue, her insides knit back in place, her vaginal passage grew once again tight, and all the damage his nails had done disappeared into new flesh that was pink and engorged from vigorous attention.
The cruel lover concentrated his tongue near the top of her sex. What he did there arched her back in both loathing and unbearable sensation.
Restraining her with ease, he licked and sucked her swollen nub, twisting her nerves until she came, sobbing for mercy.
He stared down at the quivering mouth of her cunt, smirking at the pink fluttering lips that framed a hole empty and aching no matter how hard she’d climaxed. Shelving his chin atop her mound, Darius ran his gaze upward over her wildly heaving ribs to meet frantic eyes. “You wet the bed.”
Too far gone in her terror, all she could do was sob and wildly shake her head. She even begged him for help as if he were not the root of all her torment.
“Poor dear.” His weight came off of her thighs, Pearl curing into a ball.
It was a short reprieve, for the contented devil was eager for more flesh.
