Chapter 19
Alina
Fear slithered through my veins like a cold-blooded serpent as I stood frozen in the foyer. The portraits of long-dead aristocrats glared down at me, their oil-painted eyes thick with judgment, as if they too condemned my absence.
Balthazar’s footsteps thundered down the corridor, his face twisted in rage. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put and watch the prisoners?” he bellowed, voice sharp enough to flay flesh.
I forced steel into my spine and shouted back, “I did! But I got tired of playing your guard dog. So, I went to Raul to get something to help us finish this! We’re wasting time torturing them. They’re never going to break. We need to kill them. You should be thanking me!”
I raised the jar, praying it wouldn’t break or leak. Its lethal contents pulsed with menace.
But Balthazar didn’t calm down. He transformed.
With a howl of fury, his body distorted before my eyes—expanding, seething, rotting.
Maggots writhed beneath his pale, hanging flesh, the air around him growing thick with decay.
His eyes flared a hellish red as he roared, the paintings on the wall rattling from their nails and crashing to the floor like judgment passed.
“I could have done it alone!” he thundered, shaking the entire estate.
“Of course you could,” I shot back, heart hammering against my ribs. “But look at this.” I thrust the jar forward. “This poison could kill us all if we’re not careful.”
Without waiting for permission, I slipped around his putrid form, fighting the gag rising in my throat. I reached for my overcoat hanging limply on the rack, dug into the pocket, and retrieved a pair of pristine opera gloves.
As I pulled them on, I dared another glance at him. “At least let me show you what it does,” I said with urgency. “You can murder me afterward.”
And with that, I hurried past him, careful not to let even a thread of fabric brush his maggot-riddled skin.
A bloodcurdling shriek erupted from Balthazar’s grotesque maw, echoing through the corridor like a demon’s war cry. It rattled the iron sconces and sent a jolt of fear down my spine. I staggered forward in a blur of reckless terror, nearly tumbling down the dungeon stairs in my frantic descent.
The air grew thick with mildew and dread as I reached the cells. My breath hitched as I peered through the narrow viewing port. Malik lay sprawled on the stone floor, still, unmoving, his face frozen in an expression of pure, silent horror. His eyes stared into nothing.
Was he dead?
I hesitated. My fingers tightened around the poison jar.
No. This would be no fun if he were already comatose. Maybe dragging Layla in here—forcing her into his line of sight—would jolt him back into this nightmare.
Setting the jar down carefully, I spun on my heel and shoved past Balthazar’s reeking form.
I didn’t stop until I reached Layla’s cell.
Unlocking the door with a clatter of iron, I seized her by the ankles and dragged her limp, broken body along the cold stone.
The sound of her skin scraping the floor was music to my ears.
I hoped their pathetic love would jolt them awake enough to taste their final moments.
“What the hell are you doing?” Balthazar roared from behind, his one eye bulging grotesquely, nearly falling from its socket.
“Killing two birds with one stone,” I snapped, unable to mask my disgust as I caught sight of his dangling, twitching eyeball.
He snarled. “You can’t have all the fun. I must be the one to make her suffer.”
With a grunt, I dropped Layla’s legs. They hit the floor with a sickening thud. I gazed down at her bruised and battered body, so marred by my hand that she was almost unrecognizable. For a moment, something stirred inside me—but I crushed it. There was no room for softness here.
I turned my glare on Balthazar. “Fine. Be my guest.” I waved a hand with dismissive flair. “But fix yourself first. You look like a rotting carcass. We want them afraid, not catatonic.”
He leered at me, inching closer. “I thought you found me arousing in my true form.”
He leaned in, lips peeling back, his monstrous mouth poised for a kiss.
I recoiled inside, my skin crawling with the memory of Raul’s hands still ghosting over my body. I couldn’t bear it—not now, not with the scent of another man still clinging to my skin.
“Later, my love,” I purred, stroking the bloody muscle stretching over his raw cheek, pretending to savor him. “I ache to bed you—but first, we have two pests to exterminate.”
His grotesque form shimmered and receded, the slick, rotting skin folding inward until the Balthazar I could tolerate reemerged—smooth, handsome, composed.
He pressed his lips to mine in a kiss full of fury and falsehood, all teeth and heat. I kissed him back with the same rage, then pulled away.
“Let’s finish this,” I said with purpose.
I glanced down at Layla’s crumpled form beside my legs.
“We still know nothing about the daggers,” Balthazar muttered, rubbing his now-stubbled jaw.
“At this point, I doubt they ever knew anything,” I replied with a shrug. “We’ll find the knives on our own. They’ve served their purpose.”
His gaze turned murderous as he looked at Layla. Then, without warning, he growled, “Unlock Malik’s door.”
I obeyed, stepping aside to let him drag Layla’s limp body across the threshold. Once inside, I slammed the door shut behind them, the heavy click echoing through the corridor.
Inside, Malik stirred. His brow twitched. His lashes fluttered apart, and he blinked in confusion before his gaze landed on her.
Layla.
His battered body shuddered as he pushed himself upright. He reached for her like a man dying of thirst.
I watched through the small glass port, breath caught in my throat, hands clutched beneath my chin like a child before a stage play.
They were awake.
Let the performance begin.
Their bloodied forms entwined, bruises pressed against bruises, lips meeting in a kiss that made me want to retch.
“I knew you’d be merciful, Balthazar,” Malik murmured, his voice hoarse from agony, his eyes shining with love. “I knew you’d let us live. Now we can search for the daggers together… You’ve had your fun.”
Balthazar let out a guttural roar that cracked the air. His body spasmed as if overtaken by a storm of fury. He staggered, muscles twitching, face twisting in a grotesque contortion of rage.
My hands flew to my mouth.
Oh, God. He was transforming again.
“You think this is mercy?” he bellowed, his voice a warped blend of human and beast. His body contorted mid-transformation—patches of skin sloughing off, bone jutting unnaturally beneath flesh. He lunged, wrenching them apart with supernatural strength.
Layla shrieked, crawling toward Malik. Malik thrashed, trying to reach her—but they were weak, broken things, shells of who they’d been.
And still, they loved.
That was what enraged Balthazar most.
He loomed over Layla, his monstrous face tight with cold finality. “I’ve heard enough of her wailing. This ends now.”
He seized her throat in one monstrous hand. She gasped, eyes bulging, her bloodied fingers scrabbling at his wrist.
With a sickening crack, he snapped her neck like a twig.
Her body crumpled.
Malik’s scream tore through the dungeon, pure grief and helpless rage as he watched the woman he loved die in front of him, and there was nothing—nothing—he could do.
Balthazar’s laughter echoed off the stone walls as he stumbled from the cell, panting like a beast sated on slaughter. When he reached me, he straightened, his face wild and glistening with sweat.
“Do your worst, my love,” he hissed, a gleam of challenge in his eyes.
I forced myself to look away from the viscera clinging to his skin and dropped to my knees, fingers trembling. The poison jar. It had to be now.
I shoved the jar through the cell’s feeding slot, heart pounding.
But as I pulled my gloved hands back, one caught on the edge—and the jar slipped.
It shattered.
Glass sprayed like crystal rain across the stone floor.
“No!” I shrieked, jerking my bare hands back just as the vapor hissed upward like a demon exhaling its final breath. The slot door slammed shut with a soft snick, sealing the chamber tight—but not the dread curling inside my stomach.
Silence fell.
Heavy. Absolute. Final.
And I could no longer tell if the pounding in my chest was fear… or dark, twisted triumph.
Would Balthazar and I suffer the same fate? Would we rot like the ones we’d sealed in that cell?
I stumbled backward and collided hard into him.
My breath hitched in terror.
His skin, half-shifted into rot and sinew, peeled away at the edges.
Maggots writhed from open sores like worms from grave soil, and they spilled onto me, crawling across my neck, jaw, and cheeks.
My scream ripped through the hall as I scratched at my flesh, desperate to rid myself of their revolting touch.
Malik’s cries tore through the air inside the cell, raw and ragged.
The toxic vapor crept in like a phantom, curling through the stone.
He convulsed violently as he cradled Layla, rocking her limp body in his arms. His sobs choked in his throat, swallowed by the poison.
Veins bulged along his neck as the last shreds of life clung to his dying frame.
He screamed her name, pounding the floor with his fists, coughing blood, fury, and grief.
But I turned away.
I couldn’t watch anymore.
Not because of horror, but because my lust had returned.
I craved Balthazar’s body again—his grotesque form, half-man, half-monster. Something about his decay only made me burn hotter.
I whirled toward him, breathless. “See?” I said, my voice dripping with pride. “I did the right thing going to Raul. You should be thanking me. We’ve committed the ultimate crime. You and I are bound now—in love, blood, and death.”
I tore at his half-shredded vest, fingers dancing across torn muscle and warm, still-human flesh. Bloody sinew stretched beneath my touch.