Chapter 22
KATARINA
Massimo took me back to my room early, before anyone noticed I hadn’t slept there. The institute ran on a skeleton crew. Clearly the unholy trinity had been wary of having too many people coming and going. They’d felt the threat even if they weren’t sure where it was coming from.
I fell into a heavy sleep and woke up when the midday sun was already streaming in the window. My stomach growled painfully. Shit. Why hadn’t the alarm gone off?
I pushed myself out of bed and stretched. My body twinged in new places. I still felt tingly in certain parts after this morning. I could still imagine his mouth on my skin. I could still feel what it was like to orgasm on his fingers and tongue.
I flopped back on the bed, my thoughts hazy and unfocused, lost in that pleasurable memory.
So, it turned out that sex was worth making a fuss about. No wonder everyone was obsessed with it. I coasted my hand down my body, over my breasts, and then lower, and parked it between my legs.
Heat flooded through me knowing that my panties still held Massimo’s cum. It was wrong. A sin. My poor mother would faint dead away if she knew I was writhing around on my bed, touching myself, thinking about the man who’d come in my panties and made me wear them so I’d smell like him all day.
What was I doing? Shame collided with the heat in my blood, and I dropped my hand to the bed and stared at the ceiling. The wooden crucifix on the wall watched me. I crossed myself quickly.
I was going to hell, but at least I’d have good company.
Massimo. Despite knowing how much of a devil he was, how bloodstained his hands were, how marked his soul was .
. . I was falling. He was on my mind all the time.
He’d infected me with his poison, and now I burned for him.
What would I do when we were done with our agreement?
When he moved on? A chill went over me at the very thought.
To the girl who had always been alone, finding someone and then losing them felt like the final blow.
Would the world afterward feel emptier, with my knowing he was out there somewhere and done with me?
Or would it have been better never to have known him at all?
My brain wasn’t in the state to ponder big thoughts, and besides, I was pretty sure there was no good answer to those bittersweet musings.
I got up and stretched, thinking I should try to shower while knowing that I wouldn’t.
The awful truth was that I didn’t want to.
I wanted to prolong the memory of what had happened between us.
An experience that had painted over the horror of yesterday.
A shiny new memory that blotted out the others.
When my stomach rumbled too loudly to ignore, I went to the door and pulled at the handle.
It didn’t budge. That was odd. Usually the rooms were unlocked for patients to come and go—well, the ones who were unmedicated enough to go anywhere. I pulled again, but it still didn’t move. It was definitely locked.
I peered out at the hallway through the observation window. It was empty.
What was happening? Did they already know about Benedict? Did they suspect me, or was everyone locked in?
I watched the hallway for a while, searching for any signs of life.
The thought that I’d wake up one day and everyone else would be gone was a persistent nightmare I’d suffered through for months when I first came here.
I’d wake up and discover that everyone else had left Hallow Hall, but I was stuck locked inside my room.
I’d cry and rage, but no one would ever come.
That nightmare had been particularly haunting.
I banged on my door, fear overtaking my patience. Where is everyone?
I banged again, as loudly as I could. The sound echoed through the metal and along the hallway. A glimpse of scrubs at the top of the hall sent relief crashing into me.
“Alonso!” I cried out as a familiar face appeared.
He hurried toward my door and slid the food slot open to speak to me.
“What’s going on? Where is everyone?” I asked quickly, bending to put my mouth near the slot.
“Did you leave your room last night?” Alonso asked quickly.
“What? No, of course not,” I lied.
Alonso was quiet for a long moment.
“What’s going on?” I pressed.
He sighed. “I don’t really know. They aren’t telling us shit. Something went down with the higher-ups. Pavol’s freaking out. I think Benedict quit or left or something. I’m not sure. Anyway, Pavol doesn’t want anyone out of their rooms today.”
“But what about food and the bathroom?” I asked.
“You’ll have to use the one in your room today, I’m afraid.”
All the rooms had a toilet and a small sink in them, just like prison cells, but I hated using them. I always felt exposed.
Dark figures appeared at the end of the corridor. Massimo, dressed in his black robes, walking quickly with Dr. Blackwood.
He didn’t glance in my direction, but Blackwood stopped to talk to Alonso for a second, instructing him to have the cook prepare trays for all the rooms.
I stared at the side of Massimo’s face, wishing that he’d look at me, but he didn’t. Of course being suspicious right now wasn’t a good idea, but still, I sought reassurance from the only ally I’d ever had.
“Katarina, everything okay?” Dr. Blackwood asked me suddenly.
My eyes snapped to him. I nodded and leaned down to speak through the food flap. “I’m okay, just curious what’s going on.”
Dr. Blackwood nodded. “Well, once you have your meds, you’ll feel better. Maybe you can have a little sleep. I know they make you tired. In fact, everyone should eat well today and then rest. The day will pass faster that way.”
I nodded and stepped back to watch as Blackwood and Massimo walked away.
“You heard the man, I better get on.” Alonso’s voice was heavy.
“Okay, come tell me if you find anything out,” I said.
He just shrugged and walked away.
It didn’t look like I was going to get any answers right now. All I could do was wait.
Luckily for me, I had a lot of experience with that.
I sank down on the floor, my back to my bed, and stared at my wall and the mess of black chalk that lived there: scribbled notes to myself, and words and names of things I’d tried not to forget.
And I waited.
Come nighttime, my stomach screamed for food.
The only thing that had been delivered all day was a single mystery-meat meal.
I’d been desperate enough to eat it, but after a few bites, a strange chemical taste had lingered in my mouth.
I stared at it, then leaned in and inhaled. There it was—a bitter chemical smell.
Drugged.
Blackwood had had the food drugged with a sedative, probably so everyone would stay in their rooms docilely.
I pushed the rest of the plate away, my stomach still painfully empty, but knowing that I couldn’t eat anymore.
After a while, I went to bed and lay down. There was just enough of the drug in my system to make me sleepy. I closed my eyes and let myself drift off.
My dreams returned me to Massimo’s bed this morning and the feeling of melting into the rough sheets, under the control of his strong, confident hands. My skin felt hot, feverish with want. I writhed on my bed, knowing it was a dream but not wanting to wake up and lose the sweet pleasure.
In my mind, Massimo’s tongue worked up my inner thigh, and the cool air of the room against my wet skin had me shivering.
Wait . . . It really did feel wet.
I opened my eyes to my darkened room. I looked down and saw him.
My demon. He was just a shadow against the white sheets in the semidarkness, but I knew it was him from the way his scent wound around me, filling my head. I knew it was him from the way he touched me, those calloused fingers that were becoming so familiar.
He lay between my legs, having worked my pants off while I was sleeping. Now he kissed between my legs, his long, hot tongue working up and down my slit. Lapping me up.
The fact that I was extremely close to orgasming dawned on me as I came fully awake.
I sank my fingers into his hair and tugged his face up.
His eyes were pits of shining darkness.
“You’re awake?” he murmured, his voice throaty.
“Now, yes . . . What are you doing?” I asked softly.
“Taking care of my things. You were having a nightmare, micetta—you needed distracting, and I needed to taste you.”
He leaned up, and I clutched at his shoulders.
“What are you doing?” I repeated, panicked. I was so close to coming, the thought of him stopping now was horrifying.
He chuckled, low and dark. “Why?”
“You know why . . .” I trailed off, my cheeks hot.
He shook his head. I could only just make out the movement in the dark.
“No I don’t. I need you to tell me.” He stood beside the bed, looming over me in his black robes.
“I-I don’t want you to stop.” The confession felt damning.
“Because?” he encouraged.
I sighed, my cheeks burning at this point.
“Because it feels so good and I want more. Because I didn’t know it was possible to feel the way you make me feel. Because even if it’s a sin, it feels like heaven.” I tore off the stream of shameful truths as he pressed his fingers to my lips.
“Stand up,” he instructed me.
Slowly, I followed his instructions, standing beside the bed.
He settled himself on the end of the mattress, thick, muscular thighs digging into the edge, and reached for me.
He stroked his fingers over my cheeks and then cupped my face.
Those hands slid downward and ringed my neck.
His forehead rested on mine, and his chest expanded like he was breathing me in.
Right then, in that loaded, wavering moment, my stomach let out a loud growl.
I cringed, and Massimo chuckled.
“Have you eaten today?”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk about food. I was still lingering in that place where he’d coaxed my body while I was sleeping. So close to coming I could cry.
“I brought you something to eat. You don’t like the hot food, right?”
“It’s drugged.”