Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
The last rays of sunlight brush against the horizon, pink and gold fingers reaching across the sky as if seeking purchase on something that will let them stay.
I want to reach up and twine my fingers with the fading light, feel the warmth of sunshine and happiness bathing my skin, keep it here with me and stave off the darkness a little longer.
But night always comes, and with it the cold certainty of what must be done.
It wasn’t always like this. I used to anticipate the setting sun, breathless and eager, because it meant I’d have a chance to be with her again.
Why does it have to be like this? Why can’t things go back to how they were before?
Asking these questions is pointless. The compulsion oozes from a pit in my chest, spreading with each beat of my heart like a slow-moving poison. Tainting me with its sticky, clinging, sick purpose. Changing me more and more as time goes by, inside and out.
Soon, it will be all I am. Soon, I won’t remember what it was like before.
Any traces of the day are long gone when the tug in my sternum tells me it’s time to start again.
I release a shuddering sigh as I trace the bone-white mask that covers my face. Each night it gets easier to wear it. Less suffocating and more freeing.
Another shudder wracks my body at the realization that I actually like how the mask feels now. That the crimson markings dripping across it like blood evoke excitement instead of disgust.
There’s no time to examine that horrific new reality as the familiar, cozy cabin comes into view.
She’s at her own home tonight. Still snowed in, but no lights decorate the exterior of the cabin.
A frown curves across my lips. The holiday lights strung on her cabin were the one thing making these recent dreams bearable. I could look at them as I lurked in the darkness and remind myself that there was still some light and hope left.
An absurd spike of anger at the loss surges through me as I stomp toward the cabin, not bothering to keep my boots from crunching loudly in the packed snow. This isn’t how things are supposed to go, but I’m sick of everything good being stripped away.
She may be terrorized by me, but she’s supposed to at least be enjoying the holiday season, dammit!
Storming over to one of the glowing windows to look inside, it takes me a moment to realize that my indignant huffs of breath and heavy footfalls are being drowned out by another sound.
Music. Soft, twinkling melodies accompanied by singing. Not just the voices on the recording, but her voice.
It’s been so long since I’ve heard anything from her other than panicked begging and screams. The husky, warm tones seep into my frostbitten limbs, pins and needles stabbing into me as the ice dissipates and something unexpected replaces it.
Something new, burning like a banked coal low in my abdomen.
I press my hand against my stomach as I peer into the window, the game of lurking in the shadows forgotten entirely.
There’s no sign of her at first. Only her living room bathed in flickering golden light from the fireplace.
Red bins are stacked up against one wall, some of their contents laid in a pile on the coffee table, and a deep red and green throw adds a splash of color to the normally stark space.
I drink in the new details, the anger from before settling some as I see she’s putting up decorations.
“Come on out, Princess,” I murmur, body trembling with the need to see her.
The plan was to hide in the shadows and let the sensation of her being watched build until it became so unbearable that she went outside to check, and that’s when I’d strike. But when minutes pass and there’s no sign of her other than her soft singing, I’m the one that grows agitated and restless.
I leave my post at the window and head to her front door, yanking on the handle and finding it unlocked, stepping inside before I can think better of my actions.
This definitely isn’t how things are supposed to go, but rather than the sick, dizzy feeling that often accompanies any attempts at deviating from my purpose, that molten sensation in my gut grows.
With at least enough sense not to let the door slam shut behind me, I slip into the living room and get a better look at her collection of decorations.
There’s a pair of stockings for the fireplace, cream and gold to match her normal decor.
Something about them upsets me, though I have no clue why.
With an irrational, irritated huff, I toss them on the floor and kick them under the couch.
The music crackles as one song fades to another, spun from a vintage record player in the corner. My heartbeat hammers in my ears in the moment of silence, light from the fireplace dancing across my skin and casting unnatural, eerie shadows on the walls.
The sudden urge to flee rises at the sight.
I don’t belong here. My presence taints everything, ruining this sliver of peace and happiness she’s found. Her song swells again, bright and resonant, and my shame becomes so potent it threatens to choke me.
I’m paralyzed by guilt as the siren finally enters the room, and I stand there in her space in plain sight, rather than darting behind cover so I can strike when she comes closer.
Her perfect, plush pink lips fall open in a gasp, the trinket in her hand falling to the ground and shattering, punctuating the loss of her dulcet voice.
She stumbles backward, her shoulder colliding with the doorframe to her bedroom, hand coming to her chest to rest over the abundant swell of her breasts.
Breasts that are practically spilling out of her robe, the fabric made almost transparent by the firelight.
The vision makes my mouth water, my eyes roving over the rest of her hungrily.
The coals in my stomach are stoked into a searing flame by her soft, rounded belly, wide hips, and thick thighs, all on tantalizing display.
“Who are you? What do you want?” she gasps, clutching her robe tighter as she watches my eyes rake across her body.
A dark sound halfway between a laugh and a groan pulls from my lips. “You know who I am, Princess. And you know what I want.”
My feet unfreeze, and I’m across the room, pinning her against the doorframe before she can get away.
“I d-don’t know you,” she protests, trembling in my grip. Her wide, glossy eyes search my mask in horror as she takes stock of me and the danger she’s in.
I scoff, wishing I could tell her just how wrong she is, but the words stick in my throat, coming out as a growl instead.
“I’m s-sorry!” She winces at the feral sound. “P-please don’t hurt me. I’ll give you whatever you want,” she begs, tears spilling down her pale cheeks.
Her terrified voice rakes against my senses. I want her song back, even though this is what I’m meant to hear. My fingers flex, ready to wrap around her throat once more, but when I place them across the delicate column of her neck, I don’t squeeze.
“Whatever I want?” I’m not sure why I’m bothering with the question. This has never been about me. What I want is meaningless.
And yet… that flame inside me rises even higher as her chest heaves and something new sparks behind her eyes. Something other than fear.
“Y-yes,” she stammers, more tears splashing from her face down to where I’m gripping her.
Her breath hitches when my fingers twitch, and I lean in closer, my tongue darting out instinctively to lick the rivulet gliding down her impossibly soft skin. A feral sound tears from me at the salty taste. She whimpers, trembling in my hold but not fighting to get away.
Fuck, this is wrong, but so, so right.
“What if I want you to sing for me again, Princess? How can I get you to make those pretty sounds again?”
She lets out a soft moan as my tongue trails down, following the path of her tears.
“Mmm, like that,” I rasp, the sweet sound from her making my body prickle with awareness and need.
“Please,” she begs, but I’m not sure what she’s asking for.
My purpose for being here tangles with the way she’s looking at me and the heat inside me that nearly drowns out the compulsion to destroy her. It mingles until it’s all a muddied blur, and I can’t think. Until it feels like the only thing that will save me is pressing my lips to hers.
My mask bumps against her nose as my mouth crashes against hers. I always wondered why it didn’t cover my lips and chin, and this must be why, because, fuck, the way she keens as my tongue licks into her mouth is even better than her singing or her cries.
She writhes against me, pressing closer, and my nails dig reflexively into her throat, needing to keep her still so I never have to stop tasting her mouth and consuming her gasping, shocked, sensual noises. She hisses, and a trickle of warm liquid dances across my fingertips.
The familiar feel of her blood on my hands snaps me back to my senses, and I pull back from her lips with a ragged gasp.
“No,” she whimpers, struggling to breathe. My nails sink deeper, making her cry out in pain.
Matching despair washes over me as she panics, thrashing in my hold, finally trying to fight even though it’s far too late. Why did she let me hope that tonight would be different? Why did she give me a taste of something new only to make me hurt her again?
The cruelty of the brief offering of her desire makes the flames of anger replace those of lust, fueling the violence she demands of me. She manages to get a hand free from where I’ve pinned her wrists together above her head, clawing down to scratch at the exposed skin of my throat.
The bite of her nails barely registers against my toughened skin, and I watch fear take root as she realizes my flesh isn’t normal, her eyes flaring even wider.
“Who are you?” she whispers with her fading breath, fingers catching on the edge of my mask in a futile effort to tear it away before going limp in my hold.
I release a shaky exhale, my actions yet another scar turning me into a creature I don’t recognize.
“Your nightmare.”