by Zoe Blake
Through the distorted glass of her window, she could see the burnt orange and crimson glow from the macabre dance of flickering flames as black-cloaked figures ran about with torches.
Casting a glance to her left, she could see a faint halo of light surrounding the cracks at the edges of the door. Through it was the dark outline of a heavy bolt. The door was locked tight. Of course, someone had managed to get into her locked room before this.
It had been a warning.
A warning to stay away, to leave this place.
A warning she was putting herself in danger.
A warning she had ignored.
It was a small, single-room chamber with just enough space for a bed, desk and cozy chair in the corner. Barely larger than a student’s dorm room. Surely she would know if someone had entered the chamber.
Leaning over, she flicked the switch to the dome ceiling light. Phoebe both craved the security the brightness would bring and dreaded what it might show.
Nothing happened.
Darkness still reigned.
She felt a fresh wave of terror. It took Phoebe a moment to recall she had removed the light bulb herself earlier in case he had tried to search her room looking for her. She’d wanted the darkness to shield her, to hide her from his prying, intense gaze but now she wondered what else the darkness was hiding. Had someone else learned of her true purpose for being there? Learned about the lies she’d told to get to the truth?
Again she scanned the darkness. The chamber was silent and still save for the distant shouts and cries from those outside.
Maybe she was just imagining it?
Her nerves were already strung tight from hiding from him…from lying to him. It only made sense her imagination would lean toward the dark and forboding, that her mind would conjure up monsters under the bed and a mad monk specter to go bump in the night.
Hush now, Phoebe, do not you fear
Never mind, Phoebe, the Mad Monk is near
The raspy voice was definitely coming from inside her bedchamber.
Phoebe launched herself at the door. Throwing the bolt, she ran into the hallway. She was halfway down the long corridor before the chill of the flagstone seeped through her thin socks. In her haste, she had not even grabbed her boots. Throwing a nervous look over her shoulder, she saw the corridor remained empty. The darkness was broken by shafts of weak, blood-stained light. Its source a row of tall, cathedral windows along one wall. Each window had a ruby red cross of Saint John in its center, a remnant from the school’s monastic past. A luminous full moon shown through each cross, bathing the space in an eerie red glow. Keeping an eye on the empty corridor, Phoebe reached into her back pocket for her phone. Needing a sense of safety no matter how meager, she leaned against the cold stone wall, protecting her back. She pressed the power button and waited for the screen to come to life.
No bars.
The earlier storm must have knocked out what passed for cell service in this remote area. Phoebe didn’t even know who she would call. The police? Would they even dare to cross through the gates onto the property? Probably not. Worse, they would probably just call him and expect him to handle the situation. At that very moment, she wasn’t certain what she was more afraid of…the possible murderer haunting her…or his wrath when he found out she had disobeyed him.
One thing was for certain, she needed to keep moving. Needed to find someplace to hide. Someplace no one would think to look for her.
For a brief moment, she wondered if she dared to return to her chamber for her boots but then thought better of it. She would go to the gymnasium. The locker room would be a bright open space and perhaps she could borrow a pair of shoes from one of the open lockers.
With at least an immediate plan in place, Phoebe headed off down the corridor, feeling more confident the further away she got from the twisted rhyme and whoever was singing it. Stopping before a somber-looking portrait of some old man in a white wig who seemed to be staring down at her in disapproval, Phoebe tried to remember where the gym was in the labyrinth of old hallways and buildings.
The moment’s distraction cost her dearly.
A strong arm wrapped around her middle as a large hand covered her mouth, stifling any hope of a scream for help. The hard, unrelenting form pressed along her back radiated masculine strength. Phoebe kicked out as her nails clawed at the hand covering her lips. Desperate to escape, she tried twisting and turning her body. The band of muscle wrapped tightly across her stomach squeezed harder, pressing painfully into her ribs, cutting off her air. Wrenching her head to one side, Phoebe tried to break his grasp. Her stockinged toes scraped along the flagstone for purchase as, with his superior strength, he easily lifted her off her feet.
Still she fought.
Then she heard a deep, throaty chuckle.
Warm lips skimmed the shell of her left ear. She could feel the faint touch of his breath along the exposed delicate skin of her neck. Inhaling precious air through her nose, she caught the spicy scent of his cologne.
“I warned you what would happen if you defied me, princess.”
Phoebe’s bright green eyes grew wide at the darkly whispered threat cloaked in an endearment. Her pleas were muffled nonsense from beneath his hand.
Already lightheaded from her fevered gasps for breath, she failed to fight when he shifted his grasp to effortlessly lift her over one powerful shoulder.
“You need to learn that no one… no one… defies my command.”
She could feel him pivot. Just as he crossed a threshold and slammed the door shut behind them, she reclaimed her voice.
The faint echo of her cry was swallowed by the dark shadows of the cold, uncaring stone corridor.
“Let me go!” she raged as she pounded on his lower back.
Michael had flung her over his shoulder and carried her down another long corridor and then into a darkened room. As he flicked the light switch, she saw the familiar chairs and desks of her own classroom. Striding to the front, he finally dropped her back onto her feet.
Pushing her hair back, she stormed, “What the fuck, Michael?”
Getting right down in her face, he paused a hairsbreadth away from her. Raising both his hands almost to her neck, he then clenched them into fists before turning away without saying a word. She watched as he restlessly paced a few steps away from her. He was dressed in a long black robe. A monk’s robe. It gave him an even more ominous air as he stomped from one end of the small classroom to the other in his agitation.
A few hours ago when she’d jumped out of the taxi the moment it was out of view of the academy grounds, she was resolute in her purpose. This was her investigation. What kind of reporter would she be if she left before it was over? Before the climax? She also admitted she was curious to see the pageantry of Mad Monk’s Night. All the midshipmen running about in black robes carrying torches. The energy and excitement that would culminate in the lighting of the bonfire at midnight. How could she possibly leave before seeing it all? Besides, it was not as if she didn’t know to suspect Mrs. Ludtz. The other victims hadn’t been so lucky. That was probably why there had been no signs of a struggle. The poor things hadn’t realized they were in danger until it was far too late. She knew better. It was not like she would blissfully follow Mrs. Ludtz into the dark forest, for fuck’s sake! She was smarter than that, and besides, the sheriff had probably arrested her by now. How could she give up the opportunity to possibly interview Mrs. Ludtz in jail? No. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She simply had to stay.
Had to defy him.
Yes, a few hours ago in the waning daylight it had all seemed so clear. Michael was being over-protective, letting his Marine training kick into hyperdrive. She would be perfectly fine on campus among the midshipmen.
Then everything had gone wrong.
The voice in her chamber. The eerie sight of the faceless midshipmen as they scattered about the grounds. The feeling of isolation…of danger. She’d known then with icy certainty th
at Michael would be furious. Her arguments, which had felt so solid and definitive earlier, now seemed weak and petulant. After all, Michael could have had her escorted off campus for her duplicity…or worse. Instead, he had listened to her theories on the murder and decided to act immediately even though technically she had no proof of her suspicions. He believed in her. Despite her lies, her outright deception.
All he’d asked in return was that she be safe, even going so far as to promise her all the exclusive details about the arrest, in exchange for not having to worry about her being Ludtz’s next target.
Fuck. She had made a mess of things.
“Michael, I—”
“No! No! You don’t get to speak, Phoebe,” he shouted as he abruptly turned to face her, his features tight with anger. “Goddammit! Do you have any idea what it felt like to hear you cry out? To see you running in terror?”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Oh, babygirl. You’re damn right you’re about to be sorry.”
Chapter 13
Phoebe took a frightened step backward as Michael ripped off his black robe. Underneath, he was wearing a pair of black cargo pants and a fitted black T-shirt. His muscled chest rose and fell with his harsh, angry breathing. Without thinking, she turned to run.
Snatching her by the upper arm, he pulled her against his hard length. “Bend your ass over that desk.” The words were forced through his clenched teeth in that clipped, abrupt manner of his.
“Wh…what?”
“You heard me, princess. Bend over that desk.”
“You can’t mean to… to—”
“Tan your ass with my belt? You’re damn right I do. You want to act like a petulant princess, you will get punished liked one.”
Phoebe’s cheeks heated. His playful spanking the night before had sent illicit tremors up and down her body. Being draped over his lap with his hand on her ass had come dangerously close to her recurring fantasy dream of him as a schoolmaster disciplining her, the errant schoolgirl. But now… holy shit… he wanted her over the very desk in the very position which featured prominently in her dreams.
Still, fantasy was one thing. Reality, on the other hand…
Shaking her head, she begged him, “Please, Michael. I promise. I’ll leave.”
“It’s too late for that. Bend. Over.”
Giving her a slight shove in the direction of the desk, he released her arm only to unbuckle his black leather belt.
Taking a tentative step toward the desk, she turned to offer one last plea. “Michael, I didn’t mean to defy—”
“No more lies, Phoebe. You did mean to defy me. Deliberately putting yourself in danger. You’re just sorry you got caught. Now if you don’t fucking bend over that desk, I swear to God.”
The rest of his unspoken threat was enough to motivate Phoebe to obey. Her rational mind screamed for her to stop, to run, to scream, to tell him no, but nothing about her feelings for Michael were rational.
Not the speed in which she fell under the spell of his rough charm, and his authoritative manner.
Not her reaction to his mere presence…or even the mention of his name.
This man enthralled her. There was no denying it.
And now after receiving his forgiveness for deceiving him, she had blatantly disregarded his order, the order of the commander of the academy, of her Commander.
She deserved this punishment, whether she wanted it or not.
Taking a deep breath, Phoebe laid her cheek on the cool surface of the desk.
“Pull down your pants. I want to see them around your thighs,” he gruffly ordered.
With trembling hands, her fingers dug into the waistband of her simple black yoga pants. Pulling them over her ass, she shimmied them down till they were wrapped around her lower thighs.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she heard him take a step forward. Unable to suppress a jump when his warm fingers trailed over her lower back, Phoebe bit her lip to keep from crying out. His fingers caressed her back before lifting the thin elastic band of her thong up. Pulling on the bright pink material and forcing the thin strip of fabric to brush and tighten over her cunt. Phoebe moaned in response as her hips shifted.
He pulled harder.
Phoebe’s lips fell open on a gasp. The pressure on her sensitive clit increased.
She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or upset when the flimsy elastic band snapped. The thong fell to the floor.
The first snap of his belt came without warning.
She heard the crack of the leather before she truly felt it. After a moment’s delay, her skin erupted in burning stings.
“Ow!” she cried out as she stood up in indignation, grasping her injured bottom.
“Back down on the desk,” he growled.
Pouting, she resumed the position. Stretching her arms out, she gripped the edge of the desk, bracing for the next strike.
The leather strap cut straight across the middle of her ass. Her skin was on fire. All her senses alert and humming. It was as if the pain were awakening her whole body.
“You will learn to obey my command.”
His emphatic order was followed by another stinging strike from his belt. Phoebe raised up on her toes as she cried out. The belt struck her again. Her whole bottom was tormented with agonizing pricks and stings. Still, the force of his voice chastising her like the stern schoolmaster of her fantasy, the feel of the leather against her skin, the heat rising between her thighs…her hips shifted again. This time it was to grind against the sharp edge of the desk, pushing the rim against her clit, easing the building pressure.
Without thought, she moaned, “Yes, punish me.”
She could hear him utter a curse below his breath, then the sound of the metal belt buckle striking the wooden floor. Next there was the scratch of the fabric of his pants as his hips rubbed against her now red and swollen skin. Phoebe bit her lip as pulsing pain mixed with anticipation. In the silence of the classroom, she could hear him lower his zipper. His large hands spanned her hips as he lifted her up onto her toes.
Leaning over her prone body, he whispered into her ear, “Oh, I’m going to punish you, princess.”
She felt the rounded head of his cock moments before his thick shaft pounded into her body straight to the hilt.
Phoebe’s torso wrenched up as her mouth opened on a silent scream. The burning sting of his violent intrusion mingled with the pain from her earlier punishment. Bracing her palms against the desk, her body stayed arched as she rocked forward with the power of his thrusts.
“Oh God, it hurts!” she called out in a broken gasp.
“Good,” he growled as he thrust harder, impaling her on his cock. Forcing her to take every thick inch.
Her body strained to accept him. Phoebe shifted her feet to open her legs wider, easing his entry. The swift movement of his hips caused a delicious friction deep inside her body. God help her, she loved the pain of his hard fucking.
His hand ran up her back to fist into her hair. Pulling roughly, he yanked her head back even further. She was bound and restrained within his grasp. His tongue flicked the sensitive spot below her ear before tracing a path to her shoulder. Phoebe groaned as his sharp teeth sunk into her shoulder. Marking her.
Panting from his powerful exertions, he said, “Don’t ever disobey me again, baby. I couldn’t stand it if I lost you.”
Phoebe closed her eyes against the gathering tears. There was no mistaking the deep emotion in his voice. This large powerful Marine truly cared for her. As impossible and improbable as it sounded, given her deception.
Reaching her arm back, she grasped his neck, pulling him closer. “I won’t. I promise. Never again…Commander.”
Her words only spurred him on. Using his grip on her hair, he forced her body back down onto the now-warmed surface of the desk before driving into her harder and faster than before.
Her climax was so intense it was almost painful. She was only dimly aware of his own roar of complet
ion before his large strong body fell forward on her own.
She loved the feel of his weight. Shielding her. Protecting her.
Owning her.
“You can’t be serious?”
“Does it look like I’m kidding?”
After her punishment fuck in the classroom, Michael had wrapped her in his black monk robe and carried her across campus to his home. Their movements were shielded by the dark and the chaos of the midshipmen already running about the forest. He had now placed her on the bed and was standing over her with two nylon ties.
“I promised I wouldn’t disobey you! I’ll stay right here,” she pouted.
“Forgive me if I wait for less dangerous circumstances to test that possibility out,” he sniped back.
They were both thinking about what he had relayed to her during their trek to his home.
His earlier conversation with Mr. Ludtz had confirmed their suspicions. He did have an affair with Mary Bruen. The husband had also suspected that his now-unhinged wife had been responsible for his lover’s death but was reluctant to go to the police, feeling enormous guilt over having caused her mental imbalance. He then had shown Michael what Mrs. Ludtz had scratched onto their bedroom wall. It was the symbol of the wendigo.
In her now-twisted mind, Mrs. Ludtz had banished one wendigo only to become one herself. It was hard to fathom how a completely normal person could become so unraveled in such a short period of time, but it was the only explanation for the bizarre murders which made sense.
The sheriff had served a search warrant on Mrs. Ludtz based on her husband’s connection to one of the victims, but to no avail.
Mrs. Ludtz was nowhere to be found. They did, however, find the empty packaging for a black monk’s robe and a half-eaten liver in the freezer.
The entire police department, which in this small town meant only three officers, was now looking for Mrs. Ludtz to arrest her for murder.
Problem was she was probably hiding somewhere among the midshipmen celebrating Mad Monk’s Night, dressed in an identical black robe.
