Chapter 18 #3
The moment my back hit the hay, a flood of unwelcome memories rushed up—memories I buried deep. But I bit them off and gave Raul what he wanted. I gave him more than he deserved. Because this wasn’t about pleasure, it was about power. Purpose. Survival.
When it was over, Raul pulled away, straightening his clothes with mechanical precision.
“You’ll stay behind,” he hissed, not meeting my eyes. “I’ll go first. I won’t have gossipmongers disturbing my peace. Come to the back door in thirty minutes.”
“But—” I began, the bitter taste of regret already forming on my tongue. He was treating me like a common whore.
He silenced me with a kiss—deep, possessive, final—then disappeared through the barn doors without a word.
I stayed there a while, plucking hay from my hair, cursing the choices that had led me back to Raul Costa.
Nearly an hour later, I sauntered to the front door and rang the iron knocker gripped in the lion’s mouth. It echoed with a deep, hollow clang.
The door swung open.
Raul stood in the threshold, his expression carved from stone.
“I said thirty minutes,” he hissed. “And the back door.”
“I have no timepiece,” I said sweetly, batting my lashes. “And I was in such a daze from earlier... I didn’t quite memorize your instructions.”
I smiled, sugary. He could sneer all he liked—he’d fucked me like he used to. Wildly. Hungrily.
“Alina, I—” he began, but a feminine voice floated in from deeper in the house.
“Raul? Could you come here for a moment?”
His spine stiffened.
“I’ll be there shortly, dearest one,” he called over his shoulder. Then, with a forceful shove, he guided me outside and slammed the door behind us. His grip squeezed my arm.
“Stop manhandling me!” I snapped, wrenching my arm free.
“You’re going to get me killed,” he hissed.
“You should’ve thought of that before you shoved your cock inside me a few meters from your cozy little family home,” I said, teeth flashing.
He growled under his breath and yanked open the door to an outbuilding. Inside, rows upon rows of shelves held carefully labeled jars, glass glinting like jewels under dim light.
“Don’t touch anything,” he barked, storming past me. “Most of this will kill you if you even breathe near it.”
I pulled my hand back just before it brushed a jar.
Raul reached a shelf, grabbed a dark bottle, and swiped a cotton cloth over its label.
“Yes,” he muttered. His face darkened. “This is the one.”
He shoved the jar toward me but didn’t let go. “Open this and you’ll be the first to die. Keep it sealed until you’re ready to use it.”
My brow tightened. “How am I supposed to use it without dying?”
He studied me for a moment. “Are you placing it inside a cell?”
I nodded.
“Is there a slot or an opening you can push it through?”
I nodded again.
“Then wear gloves. Slide it through. Don’t inhale. Don’t let it touch your skin. Once inside, seal the cell completely—and leave the gloves in. The vapors will do the rest. Quick. Painless. Final.”
A delicious shiver rippled down my spine.
Balthazar would be thrilled. One whiff of this poison’s effectiveness, and all his rage would vanish like mist beneath a rising sun.
Raul handed me the jar, now carefully swaddled in cloth. His gaze burned—hungry, unapologetic.
“One more fuck before you go?” he asked, voice low and wicked.
Heat pulsed between my thighs. I placed the jar back on the shelf, cautious not to disturb the deadly contents. “Surely not here. Surrounded by poison?”
He smirked. “I have a study out back. Where I keep my drawings.”
He led me past rows of lethal concoctions into a shadowed room. No preamble. No pretense. He drove into me with brutal grace against the wall, one hand covering my mouth to catch my cries. It was raw, fast, filthy, and over too soon.
When he finished, he tucked himself back into his trousers with a nonchalant air, then strolled to a desk with neatly arranged illustrations.
“You can see yourself out,” he said, not sparing me a glance as he picked up a drawing. “Don’t touch anything but the jar I gave you. You won’t like the consequences.”
I sneered. “Where might I find lodging until I’m ready to return to Balthazar?”
I kept my voice light, revealing nothing of my time-traveling abilities or where I truly belonged.
Raul’s lips curled into a knowing grin. “Does this mean I might get to taste the sweets again?”
“We’ll see,” I said, hating how easily my resolve crumbled around him.
Raul’s chuckle was low, satisfied. “There’s a lodge just outside town. It is run by an old woman who minds her own business. Tell her I sent you—she’ll offer a fair price.” He paused, winked. “And leave the door unlocked. You never know who might come calling.”
My gaze dipped to his cock, still stirring beneath his breeches. A dead woman, that’s what I was, for even considering him again. But what was I to do until the next full moon? I couldn’t risk being seen in town. People remembered too much. Said too little. Acted poorly.
So, I remained cloistered in that modest room for nearly a month.
The furniture was humble yet charming—a single bed with a thick quilt, a small writing desk, and a few wooden chairs gathered around a low table.
A large painting of the mountains hung on the wall, and a small hearth flickered with warmth at night.
It was a fairy-tale prison, quiet and forgetful—a temporary dream.
The old woman left a tray of food at my door each morning. Each night, I waited. And when Raul came, we fucked like wolves—rough, breathless, hungry. Then he’d vanish before dawn, and I’d feel wanted, claimed.
But his visits stopped. Days passed. Then a week.
My pacing grew frantic, and when the full moon finally rose, I fled without paying the old woman.
Let her demand her coin from Raul—he had enough.
And after his sudden disappearance, at least I wouldn’t return home drenched in the scent of another man’s seed.
Not that it made a difference.
When I arrived in the moon-drenched yard of Balthazar’s estate, my heart thundered like hooves in my throat. I clutched the jar of poison to my chest, approached the door, and eased it open.
I hadn’t even drawn breath when a thunderous roar split the air from within.
“Where have you been, you bitch?” Balthazar’s voice lashed out like a whip.