Chapter 14 #2
I look around, seeing no faces, but feeling them.
Eyes on me, attention on me, on this, on us.
They want me to do this. They want us to pass this.
I feel it in my bones like I’ve never felt anything so real before.
A horde of people, all of them with the same intentions, all of them with the same hopes.
They’re here not to criticise, but to support, and in this moment, I’m not sure how I ever thought otherwise.
It’s as though there’s a drug in the air. Something suddenly snapping me awake, and the words I was, only moments ago, too hesitant to speak, flow out of me so naturally, it’s as though even I truly believe them.
“I offer myself to The Obsidian. To the trial. To my Pair. If I am to be undone, let it be here, tonight, before the eyes of those who judge me and who welcome me.”
The room erupts once more, the underground labyrinth that led me here, providing an endless echo of their unity, everyone in perfect sync.
“Then begin and let the Box of Fatum reveal you. If you endure, you are chosen. If you fall, your flesh will be a warning, and your soul will be a hymn for those who follow,” Gore’s rumbling voice booms.
And there’s not even a tremble in me when the chanting begins again, new words this time, “Fatum. Fatum. Fatum.”
Four red-robed figures close in on us, two for Billy, two for me, each of them taking our hands in theirs, holding them behind our backs.
They stand me in front of the big wooden wheel, my back to it as they begin to tie my hands to its spokes.
Billy stands before me, watching as the robed figures back away, leaving my arms spread wide, my fingers curling tightly over the leather bindings.
It’s another thing that surprises me, the softness of the leather, how I automatically expected something rough and sharp, something too tight and intended to hurt. It makes me bite my lip, worrying it as I glance around.
The cavernous room is filled with people, no one shoving or pushing, no fighting, no one speaking when Gore speaks, everything and everyone is in synchronicity.
Harmony.
I suddenly feel too hot, too aware of my own skin sitting tight on my skeleton, it feels like it hurts to breathe, because what if I’ve gotten this all wrong. What if everything I think is not real, what if everything Billy’s been telling me, how this isn’t a cult, it’s a community, a family.
What if he’s right.
Billy steps up in front of me, the red-cloaked figures at his back, not holding his hands anymore, instead they just hover there, faces hidden, heads dipped, and Billy’s bringing his hand up towards me, a short silver dagger clutched in his fingers.
“Nellie,” he whispers on an exhaled breath as he comes in close, our noses almost touching, “Nellie, you are so perfect for me.”
And I know it, as his lips brush mine in a hidden kiss, his scent lingering in my nostrils, sharp grapefruit, earthy musk, those words are only meant for me.
And then he’s slicing down the front of my black dress, tearing it in two. The tip of the blade scoring my skin without cutting, my breath sucking into my lungs as I gasp, a tremble rolling through me.
Goosebumps erupt, my hot flesh feeling cold despite a wet sheen of sweat glossing my skin, and I’m desperate for his mouth again, for his lips to be on mine, for him just to touch me.
Billy uses the same blade to slice through the front of my bra, and then both sides of my knickers causing them to fall to the floor.
My bra and dress clinging on only by my arms, the masses of fabric hanging off of my biceps, leaving me bare.
Billy moves back, snagging the blade between his teeth before hooking his thumbs down the sides of his trousers and pushing them to the floor, his boxers going with them in one swift movement.
Stepping out of them confidently, he doesn't look around at anyone or anything else, he looks completely comfortable being naked, his eyes only for me.
He takes the dagger from his mouth, his muscles flexing, his warm brown skin glistening with a thin gleam of sweat in the candlelight as he reapproaches.
Cock standing proud, jutting out from his body, his stride leisurely but determined.
Billy takes the blade to his just-healed palm, a scar we both share, reopening the fresh red line with the silver dagger, delicate engravings on its hilt.
Billy moves in, his body finally touching mine, bringing us flush, and it feels like relief. Having him this close, breathing him in, his blue eyes on mine. My fingers tighten around my leather bindings, desperate to touch him but unable to, my toes curling into the cold stone.
He brings his bloody palm to my mouth. The rich red claret tastes familiar, earthy and metallic, I lap my tongue over it, keeping my eyes on his, his jaw tightening as I suction my lips over the cut, sucking hard and swallowing.
“I give you my life,” he whispers just loud enough for me, the blade coming to the freshly healed wound in my thigh, all while his eyes stay on mine, only the feel of his hand between us when he cuts deep.
“Will you give me yours?” he breathes as I hiss, my teeth clenched as blood rushes down the inside of my leg.
“Yes,” my voice is barely recognizable, the chanting, the stomping, the ancient-sounding words being bellowed around us, everything adding to the feeling bubbling inside of me, euphoria. “I give you my life.”
My blood.
My heart.
My soul.
Billy drops down to his knees at my feet, looking up at me as I drop my chin to my chest, watching him as he follows the trail of blood with the tip of his tongue, lapping at the deep cut when he reaches it.
He holds out his tongue, showing me my blood, letting some of it drip off before he swallows it down.
Licking his lips dramatically, he smiles, making my stomach flip, and then he’s rising to his feet like a god called forth and plunging his cock inside of me.
My head slams back, grinding against the wooden spokes.
Neck arched, eyes squeezing closed, hips tilting, I’m holding my breath, Billy’s fingers spread wide, holding up my thighs, my legs wrapping around his waist. He’s not moving, and despite my earlier hesitation, despite everyone in this room watching, all I want is for him to fuck me.
The sound in the room is slowing, quieting, dulling, it makes me feel suddenly so exposed, when seconds ago I didn’t care where we were, I just wanted Billy.
Now I just want to be able to pull my arms in, cover myself up. It no longer feels safe, like all of the air in the room is sucked dry. And as I open my eyes, I see it in Billy, the restraint, not fear, but something that tastes like it.
Gore steps up beside us, his eyes on the glass box in his hands, “Together, you must endure. Their bite spares no one, but it favours those who do not stand alone.” He opens up the box, my entire body trembling now, terrified of what’s inside, as he lifts the triangular arched lid.
“Survive,” he looks between us, his green eyes looking black, pupils wide, in the red flickering candlelight, “and you are bound,” he says with finality.
Carefully, Gore tips up the box, and as Billy moves in even closer, eradicating the scant amount of space between us, Gore pours out the box's contents directly onto Billy's bare shoulder.
Billy doesn't look at them as they tumble down his arm, creeping their way down his chest. He just keeps focusing on me.
But I can't help looking.
Watching the spiders.
All different varieties, some small, some large, black, brown, bright backs, red leg tips, smooth ones and hairy ones. All of them making their own journey across his body.
I track the one that starts working its way down his bicep, a glittering web trail along Billy's skin.
It makes its way towards me, moving for my shoulder, its front legs making contact, and then Billy is grinding himself deeper into me, his cock hitting a spot so high inside me that stars burst across my vision forcing my eyes to close.
I forget all about the spider as Billy fucks me, his hot breath like steam down the side of my neck.
Underground, in this cave-like hollowing, an entire buried city, it's hot. All of the bodies, despite the winter weather however many feet above our heads, with all of these people packed in together, it's like burning in a fire pit.
Sweat slicks my skin, slicks his, both of us coated in each other's perspiration.
His lips find mine, open mouthed, our tongues finding each other without needing to be forced.
Everyone is watching, the chanting starts again like a hymn and a prayer, and it fills me, like some ancient magic, these people, their presence, all of it lifts me until I feel as though I'm floating.
My knees tighten into Billy's sides, my crossed feet at his back locked, heels digging into his lower spine. His thrusts get faster, harder, like he's trying to join us together, no stitching, just one seamless entity.
One heart.
One soul.
One divinity.
But then I feel it, a different sort of heat, a searing intensity in the cap of my shoulder. Burning fire scorching my flesh.
Immediately, I stiffen, my eyes flying open, my head banging back, disconnecting my mouth from Billy's.
“Penelope,” he breathes, his eyes hard on mine, “trust in me, you'll be fine.”
He says it with such certainty, such trust, such passion, in this moment, I believe him. The sincerity in his voice, the plead in his expression, it makes all logical judgment feel almost laughable. Like my fear, this horror that is weaving its way through my veins, is a waste of time.
And when he speaks again, “Don't panic,” he whispers, forcing his tongue into my mouth and twirling it with my own, my teeth wanting to clamp down onto it to stop his distraction, make him take me to a doctor and get me help.
“Trust me,” he speaks into my mouth, willing me to listen, and unwillingly or not, I do.