A knife fell from her jacket pocket, striking the bones of my foot.
Fuck.
A compass tumbled after it, rolling under the bed.
I flinched and backed up with her balanced in my arms. My speed jostled her. I froze, searching her face to see if her eyes would open.
She didn’t wake.
Perhaps she wouldn’t. Maybe I’d done irreparable damage, and I wouldn’t get my answers, after all.
Fear filled me as I stalked from the bedroom with the stranger in my arms, leaving her knife that had already hurt me on the carpet.
It wasn’t fear for what I’d done to her but fear of what would happen to me.
What if others came?
I had weapons and was skilled at defending my home, but if they came in a mob? If they arrived for war, my carefully crafted existence would be over.
I glowered at her as I descended the staircase, her weight hardly noticeable in my arms.
How dare you.
How fucking dare you ruin my life.
I hated her.
I downright despised her.
My cock twitched as I reached the foyer, the heavy length hitting my thighs as I headed toward the back of the house and the hidden door beneath the staff staircase. My balls throbbed as a whiff of her scent invaded my nose. She smelled like leaves and earth. A musty combination that laced the air in the valley, thanks to living in a jungle of ivy and tree branches.
My skin burned where she rested against my chest.
My body tightened, eager to take everything from her.
I wanted her.
I didn’t like her. I didn’t know her. I still planned on killing her, but fuck, the longer I held her, the worse those urges became. The hotter and fiercer my need grew.
I trembled and gritted my teeth, cringing at her closeness.
Get away from her.
Rushing to open the cellar door, I almost dropped her as I pulled it wide. She moaned a little as I tightened my hold.
Christ, who would’ve thought a quiet moan would almost buckle my knees?
My mouth watered. My mind turned black. My cock thickened to excruciating levels.
Tightening my hold again, wishing I could squeeze the life out of her and the disgusting lust out of me, I climbed down another set of stairs. Unlike above ground, these steps were entirely entombed in the dark.
My blood continued to hum with desire as I climbed down, lower and lower. Sixteen steps to the bottom. Fourteen steps to the cell. Ten steps in either direction marked the size of the square dungeon.
A dungeon that lurked beneath a house full of finery, slowly festering with filth and pain.
The air turned stale, the temperature shifting from muggy warmth to dank coldness. My chest burned where I touched her, but my back welcomed the chilly dampness. It helped soothe the chaos inside me. The bloodlust and the violence.
I felt as if I had a fever. I was sick, and I was shaking. I wish she’d never fucking come here.
Striding deeper into the chilly dungeon, I didn’t care about the dark. This place was more familiar to me than any place in the valley.
I didn’t pause to turn on the lights. I’d memorized every divot and imperfection. I rushed to drop her so I could run.
Reaching the wall, I bent and lowered her to the ground. Barely visible, she slumped to the side as I let her go, her shoulder bashing against the floor as she slid into a fetal position. Her head cracked on the concrete.
The darkness was almost absolute. Small slivers of light crept in from the stone where the mortar had crumbled to dust, thanks to ivy roots wriggling their way through the foundation.
But I saw enough to study her. To drink in the youngness of her. The innocence of her sleep. The collar of bruises I’d caused around her white, breakable neck.
I waited.
Eyes didn’t open.
Lips didn’t move.
Hair slipped over her face, obscuring what I’d done.
Straightening up, I fought with myself again.
Just do it.
Get it over with.
The urge was almost unbearable—almost as unbearable as the uncommon feeling of lust.
I wanted both. To touch and to kill. To take and to ruin.
But I fought for patience.
Scanning the tiny cell, I checked the bucket was there, nice and clean from previous inhabitants. The fresh water tap still dripped through the wall, providing hydration. And a scratchy blanket—that was probably woven with thorns and rat hair with how uncomfortable it was—rested neatly folded in the corner.
If she woke, she’d stay alive for however long it would take to get my answers.
And then, I’ll kill her.
I wouldn’t be reckless this time.
I would restrain myself in the lust department.
I would get my answers, and then she’d be gone.
She’s secure and can’t leave.
I can wait.
Needing air, I spun and crossed the ten steps back to the door.
My cock bounced on my thighs in frustration. My heart kicked with age-old hate. And I swung the heavy wood closed.