Chapter 29
Corwin
The cabin door shuts behind me with a soft thud. My boots drag across the floor, carrying me upstairs slowly. I push the bedroom door open just enough to slip in.
There they are.
Evander’s in the bed with her. Arms wrapped around her like he owns her. Her head tucked against his chest. Sleeping. Like it’s normal. Like she chose it.
I drop the bag on the dresser. Gas masks inside knock together, glass eyes flashing in the moonlight through the window. I brought them for later. For the shoot. For us.
But I can’t look away from her.
Her legs tangled in the blanket. Lips parted, breath steady. Sleeping while held.
Something twists hard in my chest. It should be me in that bed. My arms around her. My face the one she turns into. Evander always slides in first, quiet, calm, like he’s owed it. She lets him.
Not forever.
My fists curl at my sides. I picture myself climbing in on her other side. My hand gripping her thigh. My mouth against her throat. Her waking up and seeing me instead of him. I wouldn’t let go. I wouldn’t give her an inch to run.
All women leave. They prove it every damn time. Except Mom. She stayed. Agatha won’t get the chance to do what the rest did. She’s ours.
I lean against the wall, eyes fixed on her. She shifts in her sleep, lashes flickering like she knows I’m watching. Evander’s arm tightens, pulling her closer.
My teeth grind. I want to wake her. I want her to look at me instead of him.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I let her sleep. Let him play guard. But one day soon, it’ll be me in that bed. And when it’s my turn, I won’t be letting go.
Grabbing the bag with the masks, I force myself to back out of the room, slow, careful, so the floorboards don’t creak. I can taste blood from biting my cheek so hard.
In my room, the door clicks shut, I toss the masks in the closet to surprise her with later, and collapse onto the mattress.
My hand fists in the sheets first, then my body betrays me.
Heat pools low, sharp, insistent, and I can’t stop it.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and she’s there the way she always is—glaring, smirking, mouth parted like she’d curse me even as she whimpered for more.
I slide my hand under the band of my pants and wrap it around my cock. It’s already hard, already throbbing for the kind of need only she can feed. The mouthy little woman curled against my brother in the next room.
I grip myself tighter and drag my fist down slowly, groaning as I picture her lips painted black and wrapped around me. I pump harder, no mercy, imagining her grin, her eyes locked on mine as her teeth scrape the underside just enough to sting. Pain laced with pleasure, the way I crave it.
The heat builds fast, spilling over until my release coats my hand. I smile through it, chest heaving, head full of her.
It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. Not until it’s her lips, her body, her fire breaking and burning under me.
I grab a T-shirt from the floor and clean up quickly.
Sleep drags me under roughly. When I dream, she’s there again, wearing black, blood dripping from her mouth, whispering my name like a curse and a vow.
I wake to sunlight cutting through the blinds. My head feels heavy, but the sound that pulls me up is laughter. Low, soft, carried from downstairs.
I throw on a shirt and stomp down the steps, ready to find out what the hell’s so funny.
The smell hits me first. Bacon. Grease popping in a skillet. Garron’s at the stove, spatula in hand, moving slow and steady like he’s been doing this his whole life. Evander’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, that unreadable calm pasted on his face.
And Agatha.
She’s sitting on the counter, barefoot, legs swinging, a mug of coffee in her hands. Her hair’s loose around her shoulders. She’s glaring at Garron for hovering too close to the pan, but the corner of her mouth keeps twitching like she can’t help almost smiling.
For a second, I just stand there. Watching. My gut twists with something sharp and ugly and hungry all at once. Because she looks like she belongs here, perched in our kitchen like she’s always been part of it.
And if she belongs here, then she belongs to me.
I step in, shoulders loose, mouth already twitching with the grin I know will piss her off. “Well, well. Look at our little prisoner. Sipping coffee like she’s queen of the place.”
Her eyes cut to me sharp as a blade. “Better than sitting in your room jerking off, I guess.”
I laugh, loud, clapping once just to make her flinch. “Touché, Little Horror. But let’s not pretend you weren’t thinking about me while you sipped that.”
Her lips twitch, fighting not to smirk, and it makes my cock twitch.
“Eat,” Garron rumbles, sliding a plate her way. Eggs, bacon, toast. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t need to. His whole vibe screams don’t push too far.
I lean closer to her, palms braced on the counter. “Better eat up. You’ll need your energy tonight. Cemeteries take it out of a girl.”
She stares right back, bites into a strip of bacon slowly, like she’s taunting me. “Energy for filming. Not for whatever fucked-up fantasy you’re building in your head.”
I chuckle, low. “Sweetheart, my fantasies are tame compared to what’s coming.”
Evander’s voice cuts through, smooth and even. “Corwin.” Just my name, but it’s a warning.
I straighten, flashing him a grin. “Relax, little brother. I’m just making conversation.”
Agatha sips her coffee, eyes flicking between us like she’s enjoying the cracks in the walls. She shouldn’t be, but she is.
Garron slides another plate across the table, one meant for me. “Sit and eat, or shut the fuck up.”
I take it, drop into the chair, but I don’t stop watching her.
The way her bare legs swing against the cabinet.
The way she refuses to shrink. She thinks she’s playing with us, testing the edges of the leash.
She doesn’t realize I like her best like this—sharp, mouthy, pretending she’s not halfway to breaking.
I pop a piece of bacon into my mouth and point at her with the fork. “Better hope your little Valentine shoot comes out pretty, Little Horror. Because if it doesn’t, I’m voting we re-shoot. With me as the director.”
She rolls her eyes so hard I swear I hear it. “Over my dead body.”
I grin, teeth flashing. “Careful. You might get what you ask for.”
The room hums with it, tension thick as smoke. And Agatha? She sits there on the counter, sipping her coffee, daring us to push her harder.
And we will. Tonight.
Garron drops more bacon on my plate. Evander doesn’t move, still propped against the counter like he’s carved there. Agatha finishes her coffee slowly, eyes on all of us like she’s tallying sins.
“When do we head out?” she asks finally.
“Eleven thirty,” Garron says, steady. “Gives us time to get there and set up.”
Her eyes narrow. “And where’s the dress I asked for?”
Evander’s mouth tips, infuriating. “I ordered one I liked. It’ll be here later. Don’t worry.”
Her head snaps toward him. “Excuse me? I told you what I wanted.”
“You gave an idea,” he says. “I just picked something that I think would look better. Still black, still short. Don’t worry, Little Horror. ”
She mutters something into her mug that I don’t catch, but her cheeks go pink.
Garron wipes his hands on a towel, sets a bag on the table, and pulls out props like some demented show-and-tell. Lanterns. Tall black candles. A fake pickaxe that looks too real. A plastic heart still in its packaging.
Her whole face changes. Hungry. Focused. She pushes her empty plate aside, jumps off the counter, and drags the supplies closer. “About time.”
I lean back in my chair, watching her light up. “Look at you, Little Horror. Like Christmas morning.”
“Shut up,” she says, but her voice is distracted.
She rummages through the bag, pulling out corn syrup, cocoa powder, and food coloring. She tips them into a glass bowl, measures by eye, mixing, stirring, humming low in her throat like she’s in a lab. The smell hits quick, sweet and sharp.
She dips her fingers in the red mess and smears it across the fake pickaxe head. It drips slow, thick, clinging to the grooves. She grins, sharp, satisfied. “Better. Murdered, not manufactured.”
Evander moves closer, watching every flick of her wrist. “Show us the heart.”
She pulls the hollow, cheap plastic item from the package. She paints it with slow, careful swipes, layering red, a touch of blue. The shine turns slick, ugly realistic. My cock stirs just looking at it.
Lanterns next. She flicks her fingers, spattering red across the glass so it looks like they’ve seen shit they shouldn’t. The droplets dry in streaks. Perfectly wrong.
“Beautiful,” I murmur.
She looks up at me, eyes blazing. “It’s grotesque.”
“Same thing,” I shoot back.
Garron clears his throat. “Props are done.”
She drags her tongue along her syrup-covered thumb, just to watch me twitch. “Shot list is already written. You’ll get your assignments later.”
Evander’s eyes never leave her. “Then tonight, we see if you follow through.”
Her smirk cuts sharp. “I always do.”
The room hums with anticipation. Her in charge. Us circling. Tonight already feels too far away.