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She winces slightly, but recovers as she walks to me, slowly. My jaw clenches, chest tight as she fights the pain she feels. “Are those mine?” She asks, shyly. Her cheeks pinking as I look down to where she points.
Right, the stupid fucking flowers.
“Yeah.” I hold them out, eternally glowing when she accepts them.
“They’re lovely. Odd choice of vases.” She examines them.
“They’re the larynx of my kills from the hunt today.”
“Oh.” But she doesn’t let them go, only holding them closer to her chest. “Thank you.”
And they say romance is dead.
Her arm slips through mine and I almost stiffen at the touch. No one has willingly touched me in so long. The fuck is wrong with her? I’ve shown her so much darkness and she still smiles at me, touches me.
She’s scrambling my mind.
I lead her to a locked double door. Taking out the skeleton key, I turn it. The doors open, revealing a dark library. Carved, high arches. Thousands of books in rows, making little secluded areas. The middle free of everything, making it feel more of a passageway. Passionate sculptures on each end of the rows all in compromising positions. The library breaks off into anotherroom, this one round with a fireplace and sliding ladder. Comfortable furniture in silks and furs. And in the middle, an ivory piano with carved black roses. “As long as you breathe, this is yours.” I whisper.
I feel soft lips on my cheek, her tiny panting breaths on my neck. “Thank you.”
“Little Bird,” I warn. “Get your lips away from me if you don’t want to be fucked on top of your prestine piano.”
She hesitates for a moment, her scent far to close, her body heat… too fucking close.
She takes her flowers, placing them on her piano and walks towards the collection of books sitting by the fireplace. Ones I’ve been reading lately. The Art of War by Sun Tzu. The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allen Poe. The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene. But then she pauses at the worn paperback, one I’ve handled since ninth grade. The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell.
My personal favorite.
She looks up to me, a smile twisting her face. “I remember this book. Before it was banned, we had to read it in ninth grade. It’s a little cynical but I can see it now.”
“See what?” I ask, far too curious for my own good.
“You.”
Chapter 14
“It’s amazing how someone can break your heart and you can still love them with all the little pieces.” - Ella Harper.
He doesn’t like me,but he gives me a library.
That’s all I can think about while I pull the thick bandages off my feet. It’s taken a couple of weeks, but they’re finally healed. Sure, the bottom texture of nasty scars is not pretty, but since I’m destined to stay here until he decides to kill me, what does it matter? Also, I don’t think Atticus will kill me.
He’s been out of sight since he gave me the library. I don’t dare make my way into the west wing, no matter how bad I want to see him.
It’s crazy, is it not? To be obsessed with someone who barely cares if I’m breathing, but I can’t help it. I want to feel his heavy body on top of mine. I want him in my mouth, making me cry and choke on his cock. I want his imprint inside me. I want every bruise, cut, scar and mark he can give me. I want the shape of his teeth tattooed into my collar bone.
Ugh. Why?
I know he feels this electricity between us so why not do something about it?
When I go to bed that night, knowing tomorrow is the fifteenth and I’m healed enough to participate, I wrap my legs in white stockings, lace with little flowers sewn in. A white silk thong that sits high on my hips. A small little bralette that does nothing to hold my breast up. I slip on a simple white dress, falling asleep with a smile on my face.
I’ll get what I want.
When I wake,I’m in the dungeon, but no one is around me. I push my thick hair out of my face. When the wall rises, I tilt myhead. Waiting. Waiting to see if others scatter from somewhere else, but none do.
I rise gently, walking slowly until the clouded sky is in full focus. I do a tiny spin, looking around and flinch when an arrow buzzes by me.
