24. VERENA GRAVENHURST
TWENTY-FOUR
VERENA GRAVENHURST
Warm, lazy fingers tease circles over my sensitive bud, sending small bursts of pleasure straight into the tips of my toes.
Two of them dip inside of my pussy, dragging me from my slumber in a torturous come-hither motion, and I groan, stirring awake, grinding my hips greedily against his palm.
His fingers slip deeper inside of me, swiping a thumb over my clit, and I release a soft whimper.
With my eyes closed, still half asleep, I slowly run my hands down my chest, savouring every pleasurable second.
As they roam over the peaks of my full breasts, I lazily roll my nipples between my fingers, and the sun pours through the window, drenching my skin in a delicious warmth.
“It’s time to wake up.” Reed’s whisper slithers through my haze. I groan in disagreement, not wanting to leave the serenity of the space between my dream world and reality. If I could live in this grey area forever, I would.
My orgasm builds inside of me as Reed pumps his fingers in and out. There’s a peculiar silence in my brain, a feeling entirely foreign to me, and I revel in it, only allowing myself to feel the pleasure licking at my core.
“I said it’s time to wake up, Gravenhurst,” he demands again.
“No,” I whimper. “Please,” I breathe, “just a little longer.”
Reed doesn’t say a word, just pumps his fingers faster, and I feel my climax just out of reach.
He uses his other hand to rub my clit, and the friction sends flutters of ecstasy down my spine.
“Fuck, yes.” I tip my head back against the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut.
Is this what heaven feels like? “Please, don’t stop. ”
“You take my fingers so well, baby.” I don’t have to look down to know Reed is grinning.
An arm slides over my stomach from somewhere behind me, and goosebumps spread across my skin from their touch. They pepper gentle kisses along the expanse of my neck, and when a large palm grips my breast, another wave of pleasure washes over me. Stars burst in the back of my eyes.
“Wake up, little crow. Now.”
Loxen.
I wake with a gasp, straining against a firm hold, a dull throb between my thighs.
Warm rays of sun no longer kiss my skin as they had in my dream.
No, it’s still well before dawn, and the storm has yet to calm.
Rain whips violently at my bedroom window, and my vision blurs, suddenly aware of my surroundings.
Four cloaked figures surround my bed. The room tilts as two of them grip my wrists.
Their hoods are pulled down over their masks, one the skull of a fox, the other an animal I can’t quite decipher.
I open my mouth to scream, but The Fox reacts quickly, stifling me by pressing a rough cloth over my nose and mouth.
I make the mistake of gasping for air, and chemicals burn the back of my throat like wildfire.
Within moments, my vision grows cloudy. I buck against their hold, landing a swift kick to the ribs of the person at the end of the bed, restraining one of my ankles.
The Fox presses the cloth harder into my face, and I try to fight against the heavy sinking of my eyelids, but calmness settles into my limbs within seconds, and before I can make a sound, my vision surrenders to darkness.
Low, muffled voices have me stirring, guiding me back to the living.
My thoughts are unhinged, fading in and out, slowly drifting through the labyrinth of my mind.
Inhaling a shallow breath through my nose, I notice the air is torrid and heavy with the scent of smoke.
I try to swallow, but my mouth is bone dry, and the effort feels exaggerated, like shards of glass are now embedded in my esophagus.
A thick piece of fabric is pressed between my teeth, and something tightens around my abdomen when I attempt to move.
A gentle pull restrains my wrists. My brain is foggy, but I shift and feel ropes scraping against the soft flesh of my wrists.
Wiggling my fingers seems to be a feat of its own, because they’re so numb it’s like I don’t have any at all.
Memories filter in slowly, then all at once, and visions of cloaked figures standing in my room, surrounding the bed, flash in the back of my mind.
My eyelids fly open, as if I’ve just been doused in a bucket of ice water.
Panic overcomes my entire being, and I yank on the rope, willing it to come free, but the attempt is futile, and all I see is darkness.
My eyes, hands and body are bound, and whatever drugs I had inhaled are keeping me weak and sluggish.
It takes half a second longer than usual to instruct my limbs to move, but they do, and I thrash against the bindings with what little strength I have in me.
I strain my ears, the only valuable sense I have left, and listen for anything that could possibly explain where I am.
Where they’ve taken me, whoever they are.
But the only sound I hear is the crackling of a fire nearby.
I have an unnerving feeling of being watched, though, causing the hairs on my arms to stand.
My skin crawls with a million imaginary spiders.
The need to scream, to cry, to run, to escape from this body is overwhelming—but I can’t do any of those things.
I feel trapped, and suddenly I’m struggling to breathe.
Dread, like I’ve never felt before, becomes a living, breathing thing within me.
My chest heaves as I struggle to take a deep lungful over the cloth, but I can’t seem to get a full breath, and anxiety curls itself around my throat like a serpent.
“Look who’s awake,” says a voice I recognize, but can’t pinpoint through the haziness of my mind. His tone is bored, entirely unamused, but it startles me nonetheless.
A woman laughs. “Better take the blindfold off before the girl panics to death.”
My breath comes in ragged, uneven pants just as the thin blindfold is ripped from my face, and my eyes flutter open.
It takes my vision a long moment to adjust, but when it does, my heart stalls in my chest. Fear seeps into the deepest parts of me.
Flames from the sconces lick against the stone wall, casting a dull light around the room I’ve become all too familiar with over these past few months.
A not-so-secret spot Reed and I called our own.
The old meeting room for the founding families.
Cloaked figures stand in a wide circle around my chair, trapping me in like a spectacle, each one wearing masks that look to be made of various animal carcasses.
A brazier is placed in the middle of the circle, in front of the dais, its flames flickering wildly against the metal, casting warmth into the air around us.
Yanking at my binds, I attempt to scream, but it only comes out as a muffled cry against the fabric.
I jerk forward again, the chair screeching across the stone beneath my feet.
“Easy…” a man drawls. Amusement laces his voice in a way that makes my stomach twist. I recognize him as the one who was in my room moments before my world went dark.
The one with the fox mask. He breaks from the formation, pacing slowly in circles around my chair.
He twirls a sharp knife between his leather-clad hands like he’s itching to use it.
Who the fuck is he? And what does he want from me?
A frustrated scream rips through me. It comes out as an embarrassing, muffled growl, which seems to amuse one of the other members.
She chuckles at my expense, and a single tear runs down my cheek from pure, undiluted anger.
I jerk in my seat again like a rabid animal.
“Let me go!” I try to scream, though the words are inaudible.
The Fox comes to a slow stop before me and lowers himself to my level.
I can somewhat make out a pair of dark green eyes behind the hollow sockets of the mask, but when he speaks again, low and rough, I stiffen, my eyes darting to the mouth of the skull.
Sharp teeth protrude from the jawbone, and I force myself to stay still, despite my fight or flight being in full effect.
“I like them feisty,” he muses, and I shift in my seat.
Despite my best efforts, my leg bounces uncontrollably as he calmly, menacingly, draws the blade up to my cheek.
The cold metal bites at my skin as he presses the flat side against my flesh, dragging it with leisure down towards my lips.
My heart drops into my stomach. I wrap my ankles around the legs of my chair to stop them from moving.
Any sudden movement, and I’ll be flayed like a fish. This fucker would probably enjoy it.
“Such a pretty little prey,” he whispers so only I can hear, brushing the cool steel against my bottom lip. “I can’t wait to hear you sing for me.” He applies more pressure, and I hold my breath, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the sting.
“Order!” a voice booms from somewhere behind me, cutting the tension like a gunshot in a cathedral.
A heavy door slams shut a moment later, echoing throughout the large room.
The Fox hesitates for a long moment, refusing to ease the knife from my skin, his attention never wavering from me.
When the sound of heavy boots approaches, he pulls away and saunters back to his spot in the circle, still twirling his knife between his gloved fingers.
Silence settles around the room, and the sight of masked heads turning towards the voice behind me steals all the air from the room.
It’s an eerie sight, like the devil himself has just walked through the doors.
Hair rises on the back of my neck as a dark presence looms over me. I keep my eyes fixed on the flames from the brazier ahead. “There is always a price to pay for what you desire,” a deep, low voice that I’d recognize anywhere, rasps next to my ear. Reed.