The Art of Obsession (Savage Stalkers #1)

41. Oh, sure, let’s blame the traumatic crypt incident for summoning me

41

Oh, sure, let’s blame the traumatic crypt incident for summoning me

Chapter Playlist:

“Dear Agony” – Breaking Benjamin

“The Downward Spiral” – Nine Inch Nails

“Lithium” – Evanescence

“Shatter Me” – Lindsey Sterling ft Lzzy Hale

EVERLEIGH

The chains lower with a slow, metallic groan, and my arms drop like dead weight.

I collapse into Cal’s waiting arms, my body shaking as if I’ve been wrung dry of everything. He holds me together when I feel like I might shatter.

A moment later, he’s sitting against the coffin with my back to his chest, his clothed chest. I’m more vulnerable than ever, but the cold stone floor chills the welted flesh of my ass. And his strong arms hold my quaking body. I barely feel the blood droplets against my shoulder, the ones I spilled when I stabbed his chest.

“Shh…” he whispers against my ear, holding me through the pain.

Other than my ragged breaths, the air is so eerie and still. The dim moonlight filters through the cracks above, casting long, jagged shadows that stretch across the damp stone floor. A faint, earthy scent rises—soil, moss, and something faintly metallic, like the ghost of old blood.

I feel Cal’s heartbeat against my spine. Then, his voice comes low and steady, grounding me. “Everleigh,” he says, the word both a question and an invitation.

I close my eyes, leaning into his warmth, and let the words tumble out. “It was a cemetery.”

His arms tighten around me, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“It was years ago,” I continue, my voice cracking like an old tombstone. “I was on assignment, researching this ancient cemetery deep in the Appalachian Mountains.”

The memory rises, vivid and relentless. I can almost feel the crisp autumn air again, cool and sharp against my skin. The towering trees had loomed overhead, their fiery leaves glowing like embers in the fading sunlight. The cemetery was tucked away in a hollow, hidden from the world, its iron gates rusted and twisted with age.

“I thought it was just another job,” I say. “Documenting inscriptions, mapping the grounds, taking notes. But then I went inside this crypt… and the door—it just closed behind me. Slammed shut.”

A shiver runs through me, and Cal’s grip tightens, his warmth anchoring me to the present. “I thought it was a prank at first,” I whisper. “Maybe some local kids messing around. But when I tried to open the door, it wouldn’t budge. And the windows—they had iron bars on them. I was trapped.”

I can almost see the crypt again, its walls cold and unyielding, the faint smell of decay lingering in the air.

“I was alone in there for three days,” I continue, my voice barely audible. “Three days with nothing but my bottled water, a couple of protein bars, and a coffin.”

His body stiffens slightly, but he doesn’t let go. He feels like a shield, protecting me as I spill my darkest secret.

“I started talking to Cherry then,” I admit, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “I’d never done that before. But I needed someone—something—to keep me sane.”

Oh, sure, let’s blame the traumatic crypt incident for summoning me. She rolls her eyes and turns her wings toward me, sticking out her tongue. Not your penchant for dark, brooding fantasies.

“I started imagining all these…twisted things. Like some dark ghost or vampire coming to save me, but only after…” I hesitate, my cheeks flushing with shame, but Acheron doesn’t press. “Only after making love to me against the coffin.”

Three days in a tomb with a coffin and no vampire? Talk about false advertising.

“It was the only way I could cope. Fantasizing about someone strong and dark and relentless coming for me. It got me through. That, and the hope that someone would find me.”

Honestly, I should’ve charged you for the emotional support services back then. Therapy doesn’t come cheap, honey. She inclines her head to me and blows me a kiss. But you could’ve imagined a knight in shining armor. You went straight for the coffin smut. Respect, sweetie pie.

The flickering light above seems to dim, the shadows deepening around us as I relive those endless hours.

“At one point, I even opened the coffin,” I whisper, my throat tight. “I thought maybe there’d be something inside to help me—a brooch with a pin, anything. But it was empty. Completely empty. Not even a corpse. Probably a good thing.”

Let’s not forget, darling, I was the one who made that coffin seem interesting. Cherry winks, wings fluttering. Without me, it’s just a box. Not a vampire smut fantasy.

Cal’s fingers trace soothing circles on my back, his silence an unspoken promise that he’s listening.

“If it hadn’t been for those hikers…” My voice breaks, and I bury my face against his chest. “If they hadn’t found me, the red flag I left hanging from the bars, I wouldn’t have made it out. I know I wouldn’t have.”

Tell him the red flag was your undies.

“And ever since then,” I whisper, “I can’t stand being underground. It’s like I can’t breathe. That’s why I didn’t want to go back to the exhibit. I just needed to feel the air on my skin, even if only for a little while longer.”

Knowing I had something to do helped—cataloging priceless, significant artifacts. But once I got a taste of the outside world…

The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of my confession. When Cal finally speaks, his voice is a low rumble. “You’re stronger than you think, Everleigh,” he says. “You will overcome it as you overcame your menstrual trauma.”

I huff but nuzzle my head against his neck. “I didn’t overcome it. Not yet. It…helped—what you said about “miraculous”. But it’s not like it just goes away overnight.”

“Naturally. Trauma doesn’t work like that. But I will be here to remind you…again and again if necessary.”

“What will you do?”I snort. “Get me a fern you can fertilize with my period blood.”

“If you insist…”

A giggle escapes my throat. Ugh, I’m so crazy.

You’re not crazy, darling. Just… beautifully unhinged. There’s a difference. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her draped over the coffin, lounging with her red wings relaxed. But I’d have gone with a carnivorous plant. Much more dramatic. Like you.

I lift my head to look at Cal, my eyes searching his. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like I can breathe.

Ugh, trauma bonding over ferns. Is this what romance looks like these days? Someone get me a fainting couch. She feigns a yawn.

Cal lowers his fingers until he is rubbing my clit. I gasp and cling to his shirt, fingers digging in as he pleasures me, rewarding me for finally opening up for him. When he captures one hypersensitive nipple between the red diamonds, I hiss, then whimper from the little burst of pain, but the endorphins work their wonder. I’m lifting my hips, begging for more. Heat drowns my pussy, and Cal slides two fingers inside my center, pumping, stimulating my inner flesh.

He opens his lips along the sensitive spot beneath my ear. “That’s right, Little Quill. Take your pleasure from me.”

“Oh! Cal, please!”

The next thing I know, he has my back against the crypt, my legs spread, and his face buried in my pussy. I scratch along the stone behind me with one hand and reach for his hair with the other—but he doesn’t let me. A low growl rumbles in his chest before he grips my wrists and pins them to my stomach, giving him all the control. He drags his tongue along my clit, licking and lashing the swollen nub. I buck, my pelvis jerking, my body needing more.

“Rewrite the story,” he purrs darkly against my pussy, kissing each side of my wet folds as I gasp. “Tell me how much you want this, how much you want me. Make me your vampire.”

“Cal,” I whisper, shutting my eyes. “Please don’t stop.”

“Tell me…” he blows cool air against my labia, flicks his tongue along my clit, then pauses, tormenting me.

“I want…your tongue there,” I moan, arching my back.

“Here?” he coos in a low voice, swiping his tongue against the hypersensitive bud.

“Uhm, Cal!”

“Fuck, look at you…” I lower my eyes to find him sliding two fingers inside me, my pussy making an embarrassing squelching noise. “Soaked for me. You love when I fucking dominate you, when I discipline you, punish you.”

He attacks my clit, tonguing me so fiercely, my toes curl, and liquid fire fills my veins with hot pleasure.

I’m so fucking close when he pulls his fingers out. I shriek my protest until he turns onto his back, positions me on top of him, and commands, “Ride me, my sweet, dirty girl. Grip onto the edge of that coffin…and ride your Master.”

The coffin is ice cold beneath my fingertips, but I grip the edge and start to move my hips. Cal’s cock fills me deeper than ever this way. He feels thicker, harder. And I’m so spent from everything, the flesh of my ass still red and pained. So, I don’t protest when he grips my hips and moves me up and down on his dick—lifting me up, then slamming me down, stealing my breath.

I can’t deny the way I see him. His dark eyes have melted to a warm ink. Even the crimson glints seem heated like rubies caught in a flame. As he begins to plow into me from below, his thrusts rough and vicious, slamming into me, I meet him as much as I can, grinding my slippery clit against his length.

Once he lifts his hands to my breasts and softly thumbs my sore nipples, it sends me over the edge. Like a fix, a high I can’t control, I come hard, my addiction striking its drugging pleasure through my body. “Ahh! I’m coming!” I throw my head back.

Cal groans and spears me deep, ramming me and coming himself. Waves of pleasure soak me at the same time that he releases his cum, filling me. I can’t help but remember how I’m likely ovulating as he carries me out of the crypt and back to the bathroom before tucking me into the bed in the exhibit.

I don’t panic like I did on the balcony. I want to deny how our time in the crypt helped me, but it would be a lie. The exhibit walls still feel tight in my chest, but I can breathe. I soften against Cal as he closes his arms around my naked body, brings my sore ass against his pelvis, and hums a low, unfamiliar tune in my ear until I fall asleep.