Chapter 13 #2
"Agreed." Juliette pulls out a small bottle from her bag. "Which is why I also brought this. Concentrated digitalis. Causes heart failure, mimics a natural heart attack in someone with Morrison's risk factors—overweight, high stress, family history of cardiac issues."
"You want us to poison him?"
"I want you to survive. Both of you." She hands me the bottle. "He's staying at the Marriott in Lake Placid. Room 412. Every morning at six, he gets coffee from the lobby before his run. Very predictable."
A car door slams outside.
We all freeze, then I move to the window.
Sheriff Sterling's SUV sits in my driveway, but he's not getting out.
Just sitting there, engine running, staring at my cabin.
"I'll handle this," I say, but Celeste stops me.
"No. We handle this together."
We walk out into the snow, Juliette following.
Sterling watches us approach, sees the ring on Celeste's finger catching the porch light.
His window rolls down.
"Engaged already?" His voice is hollow. "Jake's not even in the ground yet."
"Dad—"
"I know what you are," he says to me. "Both of you. I know what you did. Jake, the others, probably more I haven't found yet."
"Then arrest us," Celeste challenges.
Sterling laughs, bitter and broken. "With what evidence? Everything points to Jake. The state police are satisfied. Case closed. Town safe." He looks at his daughter. "You're really going to marry him?"
"Yes."
"He's a killer."
"So am I now."
Sterling flinches. "I failed you. Failed to protect you from Jake, from him, from yourself."
"You failed those seven women who complained about Jake. You didn't fail me. I chose this."
"I know." His eyes move to Juliette. "Ms. Lockwood. Shouldn't you be in the city?"
"I came to check on Celeste. And my brother."
"Your brother." Sterling's laugh is humorless. "Do you know what he is?"
"I know exactly what he is. What he's always been. The person who saved me from parents who would have destroyed me completely." Juliette steps forward. "I also know what you are, Sheriff. A man who protected a predator until that predator came for his own daughter."
Sterling's face darkens. "Careful—"
"Or what? You'll arrest me? For what? Telling the truth?" She pulls out her phone, shows him something. "Sarah recorded your conversation when you convinced her to drop charges against Jake. I've had it for two years. One click and it goes to every news outlet in the state."
The sheriff's face drains of color. "You're blackmailing me?"
"I'm protecting my family. Just like you tried to protect yours. The difference is, my brother actually removes threats instead of enabling them."
Sterling shifts the car into reverse. "The engagement ring. I recognize it. Your mother wore it to every town council meeting. Flashed it around like it made her better than everyone else."
"Now it's mine," Celeste says simply.
"Yeah." Sterling looks at all of us. "I guess it is. Merry fucking Christmas."
He drives off, leaving us standing in the snow.
Back inside, Juliette gathers her things. "Morrison will be a problem if you don't handle him quickly. The interview won't air until tomorrow afternoon, which gives you a morning window."
"We'll handle it," Celeste says, and the 'we' sends warmth through my chest.
"Good." Juliette kisses my cheek, then Celeste's. "Try not to get caught. I don't want to have to find a new star author."
After she leaves, Celeste and I sit by the fire, planning.
She wears nothing but my shirt and the ring, the diamonds catching the firelight with every gesture.
"Morrison's a detective," she says. "He'll be careful, paranoid. We can't just grab him like Jake."
"No. It needs to be subtle. The digitalis is good, but getting it into his system—"
"I have an idea." She pulls my laptop over, starts typing. "He runs every morning, you said? Even in winter?"
"According to his social media, yes. Posts about it constantly. 'No excuses' mentality."
"The trail he runs—it goes through isolated areas?"
I see where she's going. "Several. Particularly the stretch by Miller's Pond. No houses for a mile in either direction."
"So, we intercept him there. Make it look like a heart attack during his run. Older, overweight man pushing too hard in the cold."
"You've thought about this before."
"I've written about it before. Chapter twelve of my third book." She shows me her laptop screen—she's pulled up the scene. "Victim jogging, killer uses a paralytic agent first to immobilize, then administers the fatal dose. Body isn't found for hours, chemicals break down, looks natural."
"Fiction becoming reality."
"Our specialty." She closes the laptop, straddles my lap. "But first, we have tonight. Our first night as an engaged couple."
"What did you have in mind?"
She kisses me, deep and consuming. "I want you to fuck me while I wear her ring. I want to consecrate this symbol of their wealth and cruelty with our darkness. I want to transform everything they were into what we are."
I grab her hand and yank her out through the back door.
The night air bites sharp as we step out of the cabin, the snow crunching under our boots like brittle bones.
Celeste's breath fogs the air, her cheeks flushed from the cold and the rush. She's bundled in my coat now, too big for her frame, but she wears it like armor.
The forest around the cabin is a white expanse, untouched except for our tracks. I glance back at the cabin's glow, then at her.
"I need you, Cain." Her words are a spark in the freeze, igniting something primal.
The snow falls soft, blanketing us in silence broken only by our steps.
We stop at the edge of the frozen pond, the ice thick underfoot, reflecting the moonlight like shattered glass.
I pull her close, my hands framing her face.
Our kiss is rough, teeth clashing, tongues battling in the chill.
She tastes like whiskey and vengeance, her lips cold but warming fast under mine.
"Here?" I murmur against her mouth, already knowing the answer.
"Yes," she breathes, her fingers fumbling with my belt. "Out here, where it's raw. Where we can feel everything."
The snow swirls around us as I back her against a sturdy pine, its branches heavy with white.
My hands shove up her shirt, exposing her bare skin to the biting wind.
Goosebumps rise instantly, her nipples hardening into tight peaks under the cold.
I pinch one roughly, rolling it between my fingers until she gasps, her head falling back against the bark.
"Cold," she hisses, but her eyes are wild, pupils blown with lust.
"I'll warm you up," I growl, dropping to my knees in the snow.
The freeze seeps through my pants, numbing my shins, but I don't care.
Her pussy is bare underneath the shirt—no panties, the little tease—already glistening despite the chill.
I spread her legs wide, hooking one over my shoulder, and bury my face between her thighs.
My tongue lashes out, hot and flat against her cold folds.
She shudders, a moan ripping from her throat as I suck her clit hard, the warmth of my mouth contrasting the icy air whipping across her exposed ass.
Snowflakes melt on her skin, dripping down to mix with her arousal.
I thrust two fingers into her tight pussy, feeling her walls clench around them, slick and greedy.
"Fuck, you're soaked," I mutter, pumping faster, curling to hit that spongy spot inside her. Her juices coat my hand, warm against the frost.
Celeste's hands fist my hair, yanking me closer as she grinds against my face. "Deeper, Cain. Make me forget the cold."
I oblige, adding a third finger, stretching her wide while my teeth graze her clit, nipping just enough to sting.
The pine's rough texture bites into her back through the coat, adding another layer of bite to her pleasure.
She comes fast, her thighs quaking around my head, pussy spasming as she floods my mouth with her release.
I lap it up, savoring the salty tang mixed with the faint metallic hint of adrenaline.
But I'm not done.
I stand, shedding my coat and shirt in one go, the snow stinging my bare chest like needles.
My scars stand out pale against the red from the cold, and she traces them with her nails, drawing thin lines of blood that freeze almost instantly.
"My hero," she whispers, dark and filthy, before dropping to her knees herself.
The snow packs around her, but she doesn't flinch.
Her small hands free my cock, thick and throbbing, veins pulsing in the frigid air.
It's half-hard from the cold, but her breath warms it as she leans in, tongue flicking the head to lap up the pre-cum beading there.
"So big," she murmurs, then takes me deep, her lips stretching around my girth.
I groan, the heat of her mouth a shock after the ice, her throat relaxing to swallow me whole.
She bobs her head, sucking hard, one hand cupping my balls, rolling them in the cold while the other strokes what she can't fit.
Snow dusts her dark hair, turning it white like a crown of winter.
I thrust into her mouth, fucking her face with shallow pumps, the wet sounds obscene against the quiet forest. "That's it, choke on my cock," I rasp, my fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her rhythm.
She gags slightly, tears freezing on her lashes, but her eyes lock on mine—defiant, aroused, mine.
I pull her up before I finish, spinning her to face the tree.
"Bend over," I command, and she does, bracing her hands on the trunk, ass presented like an offering.
The snow has melted into slush around us, soaking her knees, but she arches her back, spreading her legs.
I kick them wider, then slap her ass hard, the crack echoing.
Her cheek jiggles, turning pink under the cold, a handprint blooming fast.
I line up my cock at her entrance, rubbing the head through her slick folds.
She's dripping down her thighs, the warmth cutting through the freeze.
Without warning, I slam in, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
Her pussy grips me like a vice, hot and velvet against my chilled skin.
"Fuck!" she cries, pushing back, her walls fluttering around my length.
I set a punishing pace, hips snapping forward, balls slapping her clit with each drive.
The cold air rasps my lungs, but the heat building between us is a furnace.
Snow clings to her hair, her back, melting from our sweat. I reach around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing circles that make her buck. "Come on my cock, Celeste. Milk me dry."
She does, her orgasm hitting like a storm, body convulsing as she screams into the night.
Her pussy clamps down, squeezing me rhythmically, pulling me deeper.
I don't hold back, pounding through it, my own release coiling tight.
But I want more—pulling out, I spin her again, lifting her against the tree.
Her legs wrap my waist, and I thrust back in, the new angle letting me grind against her g-spot.
The bark scrapes her back, mixing pain with pleasure, her nails raking my shoulders bloody.
"Harder," she demands, biting my neck, drawing blood that trickles warm down my chest before freezing.
I oblige, fucking her up against the tree, the wood groaning under our weight.
Her tits bounce with each thrust, nipples scraping my skin, sending jolts straight to my balls.
I shift, one hand under her ass, the other pinching her throat lightly—not choking, just possessing. "You're mine," I growl, feeling her pulse jump under my fingers. "In the blood, in the snow, forever."
"Yes," she gasps, her second climax building.
I drop us both into the snowbank, the powder cushioning as I lay her down.
It's shockingly cold against her heated skin, making her arch and moan.
I cover her body with mine, thrusting deep, the contrast of ice below and fire above pushing us both over.
She comes again, walls pulsing, and I follow, roaring as I flood her pussy with hot cum, spurt after spurt filling her until it leaks out, warm against the snow.
We collapse, panting, the cold seeping in, but our mingled heat keeps it at bay.
Her head on my chest, fingers tracing the new scratches, we lie there—partners in every dark sense.
After we’re done, I carry her to the bedroom and dry her off with a towel, then lay her on the bed where I've imagined her so many times.
The ring catches the moonlight through the window, just like it did the night Patricia died. But now it's on a hand that's killed, a hand that will kill again, a hand that chose darkness instead of having it forced upon her.
"Tell me about tomorrow," she whispers as I undress her. "Tell me how we'll kill him."
So I do, describing each step as I worship her body.
The interception. The paralytic. The digitalis. The staged scene.
She gasps and moans not just from my touch but from the plan, the violence we'll create together exciting her as much as my hands.
"We're really doing this," she says after, lying across my chest, the ring leaving cool circles on my skin. "Getting married. Killing together. Building a life on blood and darkness."
"Having second thoughts?"
"Never. This is what I've been writing toward my whole life. I just didn't know it was possible in reality."
"Everything's possible in reality. Fiction has rules. Reality just has consequences."
"And we're both willing to live with those."
"Or die with them."
She props herself up on an elbow, studying my face. "Would you? Die for this? For us?"
"Yes. But I'd rather kill for it."
"Good answer." She traces the scar through my eyebrow. "Christmas Eve wedding?"
"If that's what you want."
"I want to marry you on the anniversary of your first kill. The night you freed yourself and Juliette. It seems appropriate."
"That's in two weeks."
"Perfect. A Christmas wedding where the bride and groom have matching blood under their nails and a fresh body in the woods." She smiles, wicked and perfect. "Very us."
"Very us," I agree.
We spend the rest of the night planning two things: a wedding and a murder.
By dawn, we have both perfectly arranged.
Morrison will die on the trail by Miller's Pond.
We'll marry at midnight on Christmas Eve in the abandoned Lockwood estate, with Juliette as our only witness.
Two ceremonies.
Both sacred in their own way.
Both binding us together forever in darkness.