Chapter 9
9
T he last rays of sunlight filter through the glass beside me, casting a golden glow over the room. The sky clears long enough for the sun to make a brief appearance, painting the surrounding clouds with deep tones of red and orange—along with every shade in between. Its slow descent into the horizon a dramatic countdown, each fading hue like the ticking of a clock.
I’m proud of myself. My white-knuckled grip on the arms of this surprisingly comfortable antique chair is the only outward show of my building anxiety. I dragged it over to sit beside the window a little over a half-hour ago, snuggled into the comforter, and haven’t moved since. The goal is to appear unaffected, as if the show in the sky is more interesting than their arrival—no matter when they come for me.
I learned to use this trick years ago to needle Josiah. It was most effective in public when all eyes were on us. He’d call my name or stand beside me, and I’d pretend not to notice, as if he were the least interesting thing in the room. I tested the limits of defiance, then greeted him with the barest amount of enthusiasm. Nothing embarrassed him more. It was my way of fighting back—though my small rebellions always came at a price.
I never let it stop me.
Chasing the vibrant display of color, twilight holds its breath, just as true dusk arrives. I resist the urge to glance over my shoulder, I know they’re watching me—I can feel it. I force myself to breathe normally and maintain my aloofness.
Any minute now…
I keep my gaze trained on the dying embers of daylight, the night sky on full display, while clouds allow glimpses of stars shimmering in greeting. I pretend not to feel the weight of their attention pressing against my skin. The silence stretches—uncomfortably so, wrapping around me in ribbons of anticipation.
A floorboard creaks behind me, but I don’t react. The only movements are my twitching fingers that still grip the arms of the chair. A whisper of movement and the almost imperceptible brush of fabric are the only sounds they make. The air shifts once more—I know they’re right behind me now. I can feel the heat radiating from them.
I part my lips, intending to greet them with a cool, unaffected tone. Before I can speak, a hand ghosts along the curve of my shoulder and grips me firmly by the throat.
A sharp breath escapes as I tilt my chin up to see three masked figures looming over me. “Wait,” I say, my voice steady despite the rapid hammering of my pulse, which I know Red Mask can feel. “Before we play our game, I need to talk to you.”
They remain silent, their presence loud enough. Orange Mask tilts his head to the side—I take it as permission to continue. I force down a swallow as the hand still wrapped around my throat squeezes a little tighter before releasing me.
“I want my purse,” I say, forcing my voice to remain even, “and everything in it. It’s interesting that you call me the thief when you’re the ones stealing things.”
“We’re not thieves—unlike some people,” Orange Mask drawls. “Nope, all we did was pick up something we found lying around our home. How’s that theft?”
“Because it’s not yours!” I snarl, my facade cracking.
Blue Mask steps around my chair and leans against the window, shaking his head as he tsks several times, considering me. “Isn’t it?”
“N—no,” I choke, knowing the entire plan is about to crumble around me.
I yelp when the electric-blue glow of his mask suddenly appears mere inches from my face as he grips the arms of the chair, leaning into my space. “It belongs to us, because everything—and I do mean everything—” the tips of his fingers trail down the side of my face, “in this house belongs to us. The chair you sit in, the comforter you so diligently wrap around yourself, the slip of silk that skims your curves in the most delicious way…”
“But you took my clothes,” I whisper as he fingers the thin strap.
“No one’s forcing you to wear it. Consider it our charitable contribution.” He pushes off the arms and goes back to lean against the window.
“I’d be…” my breaths come in gasps.
Oh, God. What if they take everything?
“Not that it matters.” Orange Mask laughs, tossing that insufferable knife in his hand. Not a second later I scream. There are only a handful of inches between his blade, buried in the chair, and my head. He leans in, wrapping his fingers around the handle as his voice turns low and dark. “We might not own you yet, but you will be ours.” He yanks his blade free and steps back, tossing it again in his hand like he didn’t just throw it at me.
“N—no, I can’t.” Tears stream down my face as my body reels from the very real fear of his knife.
“A bit too comfortable, don't you think, Celest?” My head jerks over to Red Mask, the sound of my name on his tongue is terrifying, yet somehow feels right.
I swallow hard, but before I can answer, he sighs, as if he regrets whatever he’s going to say next.“Guess it’s our turn to get a bit more comfortable with you.”
“What does that mean?” my voice so soft it’s nearly impossible to hear.
“Run, Celest—run fast. We won’t be giving you any warnings tonight.” I stagger to my feet and fumble with the comforter, before I bolt through the doorway. Their laughter follows me, dark and terrifying, yet also?—
What is wrong with me?
One of them threw a knife at me, for heaven’s sake. My body flinched, I screamed in horror—these are all normal reactions. The same cannot be said about the darkness within me. Tilting its head to the side, curiosity piqued. Like a cat it stretches, the movements slow and languid, ready to come out and play.
I contemplate letting it take over, but fear holds me back. What if I can’t get myself back? What if I fall too far into sin—unknowingly offering my soul to be devoured?
Letting go feels as terrifying as holding on.
What’s the right thing to do?
I can’t think about it right now—the game has begun.
I don’t worry about what hallway I turn down, or what stairs I take—I’ll never take the same path twice. The way the manor shifts no longer unsettles me; it’s become an expectation over the last two nights. Even knowing the dangers, the consistency is somehow comforting.
I jump through a moving doorway as the wall slides past me and end up in the same library where I found myself that first night. Just like the first time, it takes my breath away, but still, there’s no time to enjoy it. Confident footsteps echo down the hall—a sound I know is intentional, meant to heighten my fear.
It’s working.
There’s no time to hide, so I slip into the maze of towering shelves, crouching low, hidden from view. The sound of movement—methodical, slow—catches my attention from the far end of the library. I peek around the corner, catching a hint of crimson glow before jerking back, forcing myself to slow my breathing.
Looking once more, I clamp my lips together when I see how much closer he is. Keeping low, I inch toward the opposite end, ready to dart into the next aisle as soon as his red glow reaches the shelves. My bare feet make no sound as I slip into the next row, pressing my back against the worn wood, careful of creaking floorboards.
Thud.
A book falls to the ground in the row I just fled. I snap my head toward the sound, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Then, like a predator toying with its prey, another book thuds—closer this time. I slink behind the next row, disappearing around the corner just in time.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Books fall faster as his pace increases, forcing me to do the same. My legs start to shake—I won’t be able to maintain this crouch for much longer. I slide between two more shelves just as the books stop. My heart is in my throat as I force myself to peek around the edge of the previous aisle.
He’s not there.
Blood roars in my ears, and my breaths come in shallow bursts. I know, with a sick certainty, that when I peek around the next corner, he’ll be waiting for me, a predator eager for the kill. The darkness inside me—quiet, hungry—purrs at the promise of being caught, as if craving the moment of no escape. I take a shaky breath, my mind screaming at me to resist, yet I can’t help but look.
He’s not there.
For some reason, that’s even worse. I’m so on edge that every little sound makes me feel like I could jump out of my own skin. There’s no way he’s given up and left. No. He’s here somewhere, and I can’t stay in the same place for long. I turn toward the aisle I just checked?—
A hard chest.
Strong hands.
The glow of red light floods my vision.
I barely have time to suck in a breath before fingers tangle in my hair, yanking me violently against him and letting the comforter fall. The scent of leather, mixed with something rich and intoxicating, invades my senses as his grip tightens, forcing my chin up.
“Game over, Celest.” His voice, deep and laced with amusement, caresses my ear, sending a shudder through me.
“Time to claim my prize,” he says as a hand travels down my back to grip my rear—hard. He lifts my leg against his hip at the same moment my back hits the shelves. I feel the fabric of his pants grind against my bare core, the friction ripping a shocked moan from me.
Oh, my God.
“Are you dripping for me, thief?” he growls out as he presses into me harder. “Your greedy little cunt’s soaking—making a mess all over my pants.”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment and I desperately try to look away, but he only grips my hair tighter.
“Ah, ah, ah… don’t try to hide from me. Look at you—pupils blown wide, skin flushed red, and pretty little breathy moans—you’re a work of art like this.”
There’s something rising inside me, unfamiliar and overwhelming, slipping beyond my control.
“Fuck, you’re close aren’t you? Well, we can’t have that can we?” Abruptly, he pulls away and just before he fades into the shadows, he says, “It won’t be long now, Celest.” Leaving me panting against the bookshelf.
Oh God.
What just happened?
Why do I wish he’d come back?
Something inside me must be broken—that’s the only explanation. I shouldn’t want their hands on me.
I shouldn’t. And yet?—
No—Get it together, Celest. You still have two other masked demons to survive.
I could claim I was dreading the next two encounters. I could say their touch reminded me of Josiah’s. I could say a lot of things.
They’d all be lies.
The manor is eerily quiet, the usual creaks and groans of its ever-shifting structure have been absent for the past half hour. The silence tells me everything I need to know:
Someone is hunting me.
I’ve been searching for a place to hide, but my nerves are frayed, and the idea of waiting for one of them to find me is too much. I’ve been quietly moving from room to room hoping to walk off some of this...whatever it is.
I thought the music room would win the award for creepiest place in the manor, but this one is worse. From the chair rail to ceiling, the room is filled with hundreds of portrait paintings.
That alone would make this room the winner, but that’s not why I want to run screaming out of here.
It’s their eyes.
They follow me.
For the first time since my… stay began, I wish the moon were hidden behind clouds. At least then, I’d be spared the sight of the portraits and their shifting eyes.
I don’t mean they appear to move—no, they literally move. I watch as one portrait locks eyes with another before shifting its gaze back to me, communicating in some unspoken language. It’s unsettling—unnatural, even—yet somehow, not unexpected.
Several of the portraits glance toward the oversized antique mirror hanging on the wall. It’s the only other thing in the room, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s larger than the manor’s front door. I know I shouldn’t inspect the mirror, especially with how the ghostly portraits seem to be urging me toward it, but now I’m curious.
A trait—one of many—that Father hates.
The mirror is?—
I whip my head around, my breath catching. I could have sworn I saw Blue Mask standing several feet behind me. It must be this room and its impossible portraits playing tricks on me. I glance back at the mirror, and my heart stops—Blue Mask is there again, only closer.
Only… he’s not.
I inhale deeply and close my eyes. I should leave this room and never glance in that mirror again. Unfortunately, I’ve always been a curious girl. I turn back but keep my eyes down as I step closer.
Maybe there’s a trick to it, and I just need to look closer. I lift my eyes, heart pounding, and try to scramble backward. Blue Mask hasn’t moved any closer behind me—but now he’s on the other side of the mirror.
I barely have time to scream before cold fingers close around my wrist, yanking me forward—through what should be solid glass.
Endless reflections stretch around me, distorting my sense of direction. Everything is bathed in a soft blue glow, yet he’s nowhere in sight. I spin around, seeing my image thrown back at me from a thousand angles.
“Oh, no,” I murmur, followed by a pained cry.
Distracted by the chaos of the mirrors, I didn’t notice what was missing. When he grabbed my wrist and pulled, I must have dropped it.
“My comforter.”
It’s silly—I know it is—but tears threaten to fall anyway. I blink several times, inhaling deeply through my nose. It’s not lost forever—I’ll just find the room of portraits again. Of all the things to cry over, I never thought a blanket would be one of them.
My reflection shifts with every hesitant step I take. The disjointed walls create sharp turns and dead ends, causing me to collide with them more than once. I swallow hard and wrap my arms around myself, moving cautiously forward. My mirrored movements follow?—
Smack .
I step back, my heart pounding faster with each wrong turn. I try to control my breathing, but panic twists in my chest, making it harder to calm myself. What if I never find my way out? What if the last thing I see is my own reflection dying?
I move faster, then turn a corner?—
Smack.
I collide with another mirror, my nose nearly smashing against my reflection—when something catches my attention.
It’s him.
He watches me from a distance, never moving. His electric-blue mask glows brightly in the corner of every mirror. I jerk away, spin in the opposite direction, and slam my hands against the glass as I hit another dead end. I glance at the corner of the mirror, where I know I’ll find him—he’s moved.
Closer.
My breath catches in my throat. I dart down another path, ignoring how each wrong turn brings him closer to me. My vision blurs with my frantic movements.
Smack.
I slam into another mirror.
He’s there?—
Closer.
I backpedal until my spine presses against cold glass, my pulse thrumming wildly in my throat. I let out a shaky exhale, pressing a hand to my forehead.
I have to calm down.
I have to?—
I scream.
Arms wrap around me from behind as a firm body pins me against the mirror. A hand slides up my throat, forcing my head back against his shoulder. The other snakes around my waist, locking me against him.
“Finders, keepers.” His voice is a breath against my ear, low and smooth. “Keep your eyes on our reflection.”
His hand slides across my body, the other gliding down my sternum, palming my breast. I inhale sharply as he catches my nipple over the silky fabric, his fingers teasing. A jolt of heat shoots between my legs. I press my thighs together, searching for relief but find none.
His hands drag in opposite directions, switching places to give my other breast the same treatment. He slides the straps from my shoulders, baring my chest to the cool air. I don’t have time for embarrassment; the moment his hand grazes my nipples I cry out in surprised pleasure.
I never knew touch could feel like this.
“I can’t wait to have my mouth all over these.” I’m too lost in the sensation to process his words. My head tips against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut—until a sharp pinch snaps them open. “Eyes open, Celest.”
I don’t look away again.
“Oh, princess,” he murmurs, ghosting a hand over my core, causing me to whimper in frustration. “What sweet sounds you make. I can’t wait to hear the way you scream impaled on my cock.” One hand glides up my neck, the other slides down between my thighs, so close to where I need it most.
“Fuck,” he groans, pulling his hand away and holding it up, moisture glistens in the neon glow. “Look how your pussy begs to be fucked. Don’t worry, princess, I’ll own that cunt soon enough.” He drops his hands and vanishes into the shadows. The only light left is the illuminated doorway to my left.
With shaking hands, I fix my straps. When his hands were on me, it was like being sucked into a bubble where nothing else existed. Now that the bubble has popped, the intensity of his touch overwhelms me.
I need my comforter and a small, enclosed space to decompress. I just need a moment—preferably one without Orange Mask finding me.
Stepping into a sitting room, I groan. Finding the portrait room again will be a night?—
I freeze. Draped over the back of a chair is my comforter. This doesn’t make sense. How did it get here? Did one of them leave it for me?
Don’t be silly, Celest.
But what if?—
Shaking off my thoughts, I wrap the comforter around me like a warm hug, the relief immediate. I feel ridiculous—being so attached to a blanket—but right now, I don’t care. I clutch it tightly and move toward the hallway.
My steps are silent; the only sound is the faint whisper of the comforter brushing against the floor. I move quickly, searching for a small, enclosed space. Somewhere dark that offers a moment of reprieve from the overwhelming sensation still coursing through my veins.
I search every shadow, expecting them to be there watching and waiting. My already frayed nerves prepare to be taken at any moment. Each safe turn only feeds the feeling that I’m running straight toward my impending doom.
I’m stranded in my own skin, burning with a need I don’t understand, while memories of rough hands, teasing touches, and vulgar words leave me breathless. It’s too much. I need to disappear, to fold myself away before I unravel completely.
The first narrow door I try leads to a linen closet, but the shelves leave no room to squeeze in. A few doors later, I find exactly what I need—a small coat closet, just big enough to sit in.
I slip inside, drawn to its promise of solitude. Pressing my back against the cool wood, I pull the comforter over my legs. My breath comes in shallow bursts, but the tightness in my chest begins to fade. This is the only darkness I feel I can trust. There’s only one door, and no way to sneak it open without me noticing. I take my first deep breath of the night, and feel safe enough to sort through the riot of emotions bombarding me.
They’re unraveling me, piece by broken piece, pushing and pulling, keeping me teetering on the edge of a steep cliff—the unknown waiting at the bottom.
I hate it.
Lie.
There are two things I know for certain: my peaceful moment is running out of time, and he’s coming for me.
Orange Mask.
I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes with a sigh. Out of the three, he frightens me the most. His actions seem more impulsive, more wild, and I don’t know if I can handle playing his game right now. I feel fragile, and I don’t trust him not to break me.
“I’m surprised you picked something as obvious as a closet, Celest.” It’s as if I’ve conjured him out of thin air.
“How did you get in here?” I ask, my voice thin, betraying just how breakable I am right now. It takes me a second to realize there’s no orange glow filling what was once my dark sanctuary. “And where’s your mask?”
“I left it behind. It didn’t seem necessary. It’s not like you can see me.” He sounds… different. Relaxed instead of the chaotic energy I’ve come to expect.
“Oh.”
“Come now Celest. Up you go,” he says cheerfully. I feel him moving before his touch. His hands feel around until they find mine, hidden beneath the comforter. I don’t resist when he pulls me to my feet; I’m too stunned by his gentleness.
His fingers trace the contours of my face, and I ache to do the same. As if sensing the need, he brings my hands to his bare skin.
My fingers drift over his brow, tracing the slope of his nose. His lips are full—and smirking. Of course they are. As I run my fingers down his sharp jaw, the roughness of his stubble tells me he must shave every day.
I’m not sure if I’m allowed to touch his neck, but I do it anyway. He grabs my wrists, and for a brief moment, I think I’ve pushed too far—until he places my arms over his shoulders. He cups my face, his touch soft, as if he’s about to?—
His lips press to mine, slow and deliberate. It takes far too long for my brain to catch up. When it does, my lips part as I gasp in surprise. His tongue invades my mouth the moment the opportunity presents itself.
I’ve never been kissed like this. It’s as though he’s consuming me as quickly as he’s giving himself. All I can do is hold on and let him take the lead.
His hands slide from my face, trailing down to the back of my thighs before lifting me. Wrapping my legs around him feels natural as he presses me against the wall, the position bringing my core firmly against him.
It’s instinctual—I think—to roll my hips against him. We groan against each other’s mouths, the sound swallowed between us.
I do it again.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re killin’ me,” he groans, his voice thick and rough. He dives back into my mouth, his hands gripping my rear to support my weight. The moniker he gives me is unexpected, clashing with the image I’d constructed of him. He feels like two people sharing one body.
A hard body.
I roll against him several more times, tension coiling inside me, rising with each movement. I pant against his mouth, while he devours the sounds of my pleasure.
Just as I’m close to finding out what happens when I finally tip over the edge, he gently lowers me to the ground while I whimper my complaints.
He presses his forehead to mine and breathes, giving us a moment to catch our breaths. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Not just yet.” I feel him step away, and I know he’s gone.
Except—the door never opened.
He vanished.
I touch my lips, slightly swollen, still tingling from his kiss.
I wish he had stayed.
Oh, God.
Something is seriously wrong with me. There must be. Maybe the first thing I’ll do once I get out of here is go to the hospital.
Yes. That’s what I’ll do.
Inside me, the once shapeless darkness begins to take form, morphing into the silhouette of a woman. She watches me, tilting her head the same way Orange Mask does. It feels like she knows something I don’t—which is unsettling. She throws her head back, laughing manically, the sound a chilling, terrifying promise.
But of what?