Chapter 45 The Poisoner #2
I sank down until his hot tip slipped inside of me.
I sat down fully, possibly moving too quickly to adjust properly, and I flinched.
I held him close, wrapping my arms around his neck as I sat down on his length, desperate to get it as deep as my body would allow.
I had not forgotten how thick he was, and I loved the feeling every time.
It added an extra sensation that I could no longer distinguish, pain and pleasure feeding each other like a mated pair of songbirds.
Silas’s proximity allowed me to hear every gasp, every moan that came from him as he buried his length inside of me.
“More . . . please . . .” I begged, riding his lap.
“You can have it all . . . I want to give you everything,” he growled, biting at my shoulder as one of his hands held me by the back of my neck.
My knees were scraping against the tiles below us as I rolled my hips. He stopped going deeper, cautiously limiting himself so that the spines could not reach me, which meant he was close.
“Do it,” I whispered to him, licking his ear playfully. “Make me yours,” I begged, becoming rougher with my movements.
He let out a strained moan before he let himself go, forcing my hips down and holding them there.
Pain shot between my legs as his spines hooked into the wall of my vagina, holding me in place as he pulsed, emptying with every throb.
I laid my head on his shoulder, holding on to him as I focused on the pulsing rather than the pain, though that faded as the venom from his spines did their job. Even with the concentrated dosage that I made for myself, nothing compared to Silas. No bliss could compare to my angel-haired woe.
His arms wrapped around my waist, holding my hips firmly as he caught his breath. “I like when you’re selfish,” he whispered in my ear.
“You were just here at the right place, right time. Do not fool yourself.”
“That’s not what it sounded like when you were begging me to—”
“Quiet.” I pinched him.
“So this isn’t a good time to tell you that you smell extra fertile today?” he teased.
I shot him a panicked look before pinching him again. “That isn’t funny; you said we’re biologically incompatible.”
Swiftly, he switched our positions, my back hitting the floor a bit rougher than anticipated, his hand gripping my jaw.
He let out a subtle laugh, his fingers digging into my cheeks to kiss me, rolling his hips slowly with his cock still spined inside. “That doesn’t stop me from fantasizing.”
“You are a sick man.”
“Does that make you an illness, infecting every part of my brain until I know nothing else?”
I pushed his face away, my head bumping against the tile as I refused to look at him. I don’t know what came over me, but I was too exhausted to care. The floor was cold, and my cramping was gone, and I had an insane urge for a bath.
The energy of the ground floor contrasted starkly from the one within my room, because it seemed brighter. In the main foyer area, there were many seated around in the scattered chairs and couches as the girls enjoyed each other’s company.
We collectively decided that the Nest needed a communal area, so we designated the first floor to be shared spaces.
One of the flats served as a library now, the room with the most up-to-date kitchen was the dining room, a lounging room for the one with the largest fireplace, and so on.
The general foyer area had many collections of furniture for people to lounge and converse, with a long rug leading from the stairs to the skinny hallway that led to the front door.
“Someone woke up late.” Phoebe greeted me at the bottom of the stairs. “Heading out finally?”
“I have to feed Edith after I get some work done at the lab. I shouldn’t be too long,” I assured her, wincing when my abdomen pinched again.
“Do you need something for the pain?” Phoebe offered, glancing from my abdomen to my face again.
“No, no. First day is always the worst. If it gets unbearable, I have tinctures in the lab.”
“If you insist.” She shrugged. “No need to go to the market today; we have enough from yesterday to make something new. Thinking of a hunter’s stew tonight.”
“Noted.” I gathered my coat.
Phoebe threw me an odd look, something lingering under the impression of politeness.
Something awkward, like she wanted to wrinkle her nose at something she wanted to say but chose not to in the name of being proper.
The moment was short-lived before she returned to a group enjoying their morning tea.
I don’t know what it was about our group, but we were different. In a way, we were all closer. A trauma bond from everything we had built together, all that we had survived.
Though some of them, Rebecca namely, had reverted to cold shells, as if she had not known us all these years. I could just be intellectualizing her trauma. I couldn’t imagine it, but even her interactions with her friends were reserved. She could barely look at Mary.
I looped my scarf around my neck before reaching for the door. A hand yanked my wrist.
“Are you sure you should go out like that?” Silas eyed me critically.
“I am wearing nothing unusual—”
“That is not what I meant.”
My cheeks grew hot. The way he lowered his voice made me feel entirely dirty.
Phoebe threw a glare at him as she whispered something to Mary nearby.
“I’ll be out for not even an hour. I don’t see the problem.”
“Can’t someone else do it?” He argued. “It’s a petty task; get someone else to go. Someone not as . . . noticeable.”
“I’m beginning to think you’re insulting me.” I tore my wrist from his hand.
“Let me help.”
“With what? Holding my wicker basket?” I laughed.
He let go of my hand and furrowed his brows. His posture was rigid, clearly uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure if it was from our encounter upstairs or because he was worried. Either way, I didn’t need a chaperone.
“Promise me you will not follow,” I warned him.
“Tell me where you’re going, and I’ll stay put.”
I clenched my jaw, feeling a twitch in my brow. “Just the shop, then straight to the hospital. I may pick up things for this week’s dinners.”
He studied me, as if trying to detect a lie, a plan. While we were on lukewarm terms, it didn’t take any particular attention to feel the residual anxiety in Silas that I was quickly coming to know.
I walked into town rather than by saddle.
Nothing much could be told about the lab. I would have liked to say that I was productive, but I spent most of my time getting distracted or daydreaming. The most I could do was wash the glassware before I did a fresh blood draw for Edith.
The blood transfusion apparatus was propped tall and proud on the workbench next to some gauze in preparation for the extraction.
When I opened the drawers to grab the tourniquet, I caught sight of the bottle with my special venom solution in it.
There was hardly any left, but I wasn’t able to spare any for myself from recent extractions.
I ignored that insufferable itch at the back of my neck for now; I had to focus on the task at hand.
I set the apparatus up on the table, one tube resting in a glass bottle, and the other tube was intended for my arm—functioning similarly to a standard transfusion.
Tying the tourniquet around my arm, I inserted the needle into the vein in the crook of my arm. When the needle was set, I could use the apparatus to control the flow, sluggishly filling the cylinder. When it reached about a liter, I turned a dial to allow it to flow out and into the glass bottle.
I pinched the needle from my arm and wiped it with gauze, but before I took off the tourniquet, I grabbed the bottle of venom at the bottom of the drawer and a brass syringe.
I might as well use the rest.
I drew the last of the golden solution up into the glass of the syringe, studying it as I held it up to the light.
One more.
I placed the needle in the nape of my arm, and the solution shot through my veins, invading my nerves and instantly numbing me into a state of tranquility. Any pain from before dissolved along with its memory.
I placed the needle on the table, rubbing my face with my hands. It was like the air was cleaner when I breathed, cooling me from the inside out. I felt like a passenger in my own life, so I might as well do something that I could control.
I barely remembered putting my coat on. I was floating through the scenes like a picture book.
First, I was at the lab, then downstairs, then watching my skirt collect snowflakes as it dusted along the sidewalk.
I had my basket in hand, needing to check three times to see if the bottle for Edith was still inside.
Memory loss aside, I was lighter. Maybe the memory loss was a part of that.
Along with my memory, time must have also escaped me, as the sun had already disappeared mostly, leaving a purple dusk across the sky. The streetlamps would likely be turned on soon.
I stopped for a minute, looking up at the stars that appeared. I couldn’t help but smile as they winked at me, fading in and out as I viewed them from glassy eyes.
My thoughts were interrupted by the only thing that could jolt my heart enough to panic me. A muttered gargling from a strained throat sounded from across the street.
There were no carriages passing at this time; most had gone home, and shops were closed for the day after Christmas.
On the other side of the street was a hunched man covering his face with a hat. He was nicely dressed, with a finely tailored coat, though his resolve was anything but as put-together as his outfit. His shoulder slumped to one side, and he limped as he approached the street.
My gut curdled, and a wave of skittish energy overcame me.
He froze.
He lifted his head, shaking as if it took significant effort to do so.
Slowly, I could see his face appear from under the rim of his hat, a pale, sickly face that made even the snow look off-white. He started to hobble forward, limping faster as he set his sights on me.
I quickly backed up, a spell of vertigo making it hard to stay coordinated from the sudden spike of adrenaline.
The man approached faster than I anticipated before he wrestled me into the snow of the alleyway.
His hoarse throat strained as he hissed and clawed at me. I held my hand out, and he bit down on my palm. I screamed and couldn’t pull it from between his teeth.
I reached for my basket and my shaky free hand grabbed the bottle, swinging it across his face and making some of my blood spray into his mouth.
As I scrambled to my knees, he dug his fingers into my leg and clamped down on it with his jaws, growling like some wild animal as he shook his head, tearing at my calf.
The howl that escaped me was muffled quickly by a breathless sob.
There was no time to think. I couldn’t afford to go into shock now.
I shattered the bottle against the brick alley wall, plunging the shards into his neck, his shoulder, wherever I could hit him.
He didn’t let go of my leg until I plunged the broken bottle into his face, then kicked the bottle with my free leg to bury it further. I assume a shard must have gone through his eye and into his brain, because the slump of his body was so sudden.
As I dragged myself across the ground, the searing pain in my leg was too great to be fully disguised by the venom in my system, but it certainly helped me stay calm. I held myself against the wall, my bloody hand pressing against the wound on my leg.
I was seeing specks of color in my vision one by one until it fully clouded my eyes.
The sounds and colors blended in a symphony of unconsciousness, until all I could see was the red blood behind my eyelids.