Chapter 28 Estella
My skin hums, a dangerous current of excitement heating my blood. My heart drops in my stomach as I sprint up the metal-grate stairs to the second floor. Each step rings out beneath my boots, sharp echoes rising with me.
At the top, the world shifts. The cold distortions below dissolve into hallucinated color.
The space is almost empty—wide, open, the walls a seamless matte black.
The air carries a faint trace of theater fog, mixing with the sugary fumes of my adrenaline.
Hidden LED panels pulse along the ceiling beams, and every few seconds, the entire room erupts in violent light.
Ultra-violet purple flares into toxic lime, which fractures into electric scarlet, then melts into glacial blue. The beauty of it drags my mouth open, stealing my breath—until a sudden blackout slams everything into absolute darkness.
My breath catches and freezes, and my heart surges to my throat. I take a few careful steps forward, squinting, straining to find an outline or shape.
Nothing answers me. The world is pure void.
A chill settles into my bones, turning my blood into splintered ice. Goosebumps shiver up my arms as I stand frozen, disoriented. The colors still burn behind my eyelids like afterimages—phantom stains ghosting in the dark.
“My little shadow,” he whispers, his voice splintering into thousands of shards, just like the broken reflections downstairs.
It comes from everywhere. Every corner. Every inch of the dark.
Hot breath grazes the back of my neck before the lights burst on. I tear myself from the spot, scanning the room as paint explodes into view. Glossy enamel splatters the walls—Pollock chaos—wet-looking in the light, dripping, almost red.
In the dark, they disappear completely.
“You can’t run away from me.” Another whisper rolls across the space, low and predatory, sliding cold fingers down my spine. A breathless smile curls onto my lips, and I push myself deeper into the endless corridors.
The entire room beats like a heart—light to dark, dark to light—each shift so abrupt that time itself becomes stroboscopic.
Within moments, the space begins to synchronize with me—the hammering of my pulse, the sharp pull of my breath, the sweat prickling across my skin.
Every time I think I’ve put distance between us, the lights vanish again, plunging me into the void.
It feels like my life without Dante. Every attempt to escape ends in darkness swallowing every scrap of color.
A flash sparks, and I catch him—a tall silhouette at the end of the hall. His movements appear in jagged cuts, not because he moves that way, but because I only see him in the single frozen frames of light.
The place reminds me of a rave without music. A glitched dream that decided to become architecture.
I try pulling in slow breaths, steadying the shake under my ribs, but it’s useless. The relentless flicker disorients me, turning my limbs into numb echoes. I feel like I’m running when I’m still, standing when I’m moving, my own body betraying me in the shifting light.
He’s no longer trailing behind me like a shadow. He’s hiding now—close. Unbearably, impossibly close.
I spin through the room like I’m caught in a storm, every nerve straining to predict where he’ll appear next. The blade strapped to my thigh should make me feel prepared, but instead, I feel stripped bare.
Exposed.
I know the moment he reaches me, my brain will fog over, smothered by him until I’m reduced to something soft and useless, a helpless noodle who forgets everything.
A low, dark chuckle drifts through the air, brushing over my skin. My adrenaline spikes, flooding my chest with a sharp, burning rush.
The lights flash on again. A punch of anxiety strikes me hard, and I break into a full run. Sweat slicks down my back, and my wings itch where they rest against me, sparking a stupid wish—that they’d turn real, carry me into the air, let me escape and taunt him from above.
But we both know I wouldn’t. Not when the swelling headache of everything he makes me feel clenches around my mind. His emotions choke me, grip me with both hands, while some tiny shard of my consciousness scratches at the heavy fog I fall into whenever he’s near.
“I’m going to catch you.”
My eyes widen. I twist sharply and bolt in a different direction. The hallway erupts in red light, a pulsing heartbeat of color, and I dash through it—right into something solid.
It takes a moment for my mind to catch up and realize I’ve lost the game.
“Gotcha.” His voice is a breath against my ear right before his hands clamp around me.
I scream before my sound folds into his warmth and the musky, intoxicating scent that envelops me.
He lifts me clean off the ground, and my legs hook around his waist without thought, my body betraying me instantly.
A jolt of pure thrill sparks through my veins. I giggle breathlessly, the echo stretching it into something dark, something feral.
But the sound cuts off when Dante slams me against the wall, the impact rattling straight through my bones. Instinctively, I cling to him, gripping tighter as the moan caught in my throat turns into silence the moment his mouth crashes against mine.
The kiss is brutal. His tongue drives into me, claiming space, tasting, provoking, dragging every breath from my lungs. His hand fists in my hair, tugging hard enough to send a bright sting across my scalp, guiding me where he wants me, how he wants me.
I can only gasp into his mouth while he devours me whole.
I tighten my legs around him, pulling him in, my hips rolling instinctively against his body. He freezes for a heartbeat, his breath turning ragged as I grind again, each movement sending sharp, electric flickers of pleasure racing through my nerves.
The lights flare on in a burst of vivid violet, washing over his face, catching the hunger in his eyes as he holds me tight, dazed by whatever holds we have on each other.
“I can’t stay away from you,” he rasps.
I still, my gaze locking with his, letting his confession sink into the burning spaces between us.
Slowly, deliberately, my hand slips down between his legs.
I rub the thick bulge straining against his pants, rolling my eyes at the friction before I grab him, rough and sudden, and the dark, guttural moan he releases shoots straight through me.
I smile as I keep rubbing him, leaning in until my breath ghosts across his lips. “Then stay with me.”
A shiver rips through him at my words. His tongue flicks over his lower lip, a reflex he doesn’t control, just as the room drops into total darkness again.
My breath parts on a quiet gasp when he forces me back down onto my feet. His hands clamp onto my shoulders, pushing downward until my knees touch the chilled floor.
When the lights snap back to life, he’s staring down at me, already undoing his belt. The LEDs blaze behind him, painting him in fractured shadows, his body outlined in a thin, predatory glow. His gaze spears straight through me.
He looks devastating. A beautifully broken creature carved out of sin, built from every dark thing this world has ever tried to hide.
My clit pulses with a deep, aching throb as I take in the sight of him.
Before he can finish, a spark ignites in my mind.
While he works on his pants, my fingers crawl behind my back.
I pull at the laces of my corset, loosening them quickly.
Cool air brushes over my bare chest, and within seconds, my nipples tighten, turning into hard, eager peaks.
His hand finds the side of my face, and I wrap my fingers around his, guiding it down over my body, pushing it to my breasts. His nostrils flare, desire sharpening his eyes into something feral.
My gaze drops to his cock, already hard, veins standing out in thick, pulsing lines. My mouth floods with the urge to take him, to devour him, to sink teeth into skin and leave him trembling.
A wild, consuming hunger twists through me—I want to tear him apart just to rebuild him, piece by piece, with my hands.
Slowly, I lean in. A line of spit drips from my tongue onto his cock, sliding down the length of him. He inhales sharply, his stomach tightening as I tilt my head and smear my spit across him with the flat of my tongue.
“Good girl, get it nice and wet,” he commands, his voice low and guttural, sending a thin line of heat skittering up my spine. I spit again, coating him, feeling the warm, slick slide of it before he fists my hair, yanking me backward. “Now give me your pretty tits and stick my cock between them.”
A weak whimper tears from my throat, heat pooling low in my stomach, wet and molten. The idea in my mind was one thing, but hearing him say it, obeying him, and feeling his demand in real time—it’s a whole other animal.
I do as he says. My trembling hands cup the sides of my breasts, lifting them until his cock is trapped between the soft, warm flesh. I moan as I push my head lower, spitting more to slick him up.
“There you go,” he breathes, airy, taut with want. “Now fuck your tits with it.”
I move, sliding back and forth, wet heat slicking against my skin.
The lights cut out again, but I don’t stop.
Pleasure radiates from the base of my spine, shooting in little electric arcs up to my head.
Each impatient growl and low moan from him drives me faster, and I squeeze harder, until pain and pleasure blur into one exquisite knot.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he groans, jerking my head back again. The lights flare, strobe-like, and I close my eyes as the warm spit lands on my lips. I let my tongue dart out, tasting him, letting the sweetness coat my mouth, heightening everything beyond reason.