18. Rourke
Rourke
The men before me morph together around the large oak table, their laughter clawing against my eardrums. I stand, the center of their attention, just a boy, a damp and warm mass resting in my hands.
The room still blurs, red dots floating around my vision, fading as the grating sound clears the fog.
Bunny.
My attention focuses on the word as consciousness materializes.
Not many things bring me comfort, but my bunny, the one I found in the garden, centers me, calms the tremors that wake me from the night.
Memories come back to me, my bunny and I playing in the greenhouse.
He jumped along as I placed carrots to guide his trail.
Father found me there, deeply disturbed by my activities.
He told me to come with him so he could introduce me to some visitors from across Neverhaven. He even let me bring my bunny.
My smile faded once I saw the group of men in the room. I didn’t know them, but from their harsh eyes and sneering grins, I could tell what they wanted from me, the same as the men before.
The beginning is always the worst. When I’m still present in my body.
Father grabbed my shoulder, addressing the crowded room.
“Now, men, Rourke will demonstrate just how bloodthirsty us Pans truly are. Whereas we hide our violence, Rourke shows his true nature with his fangs and claws.” Father grabbed my bunny from my hand, holding him by his feet as he sliced his neck.
Red rained down upon me, droplets landing on my lips.
The world disappeared. It always happens quickly.
I don’t know where I go, but I guess the crocodile heart takes over.
I stare down at the wet mass in my arms. Bunny. Except barely. Only the bottom part of him remains—his pulsing organs, his long feet, his fluffy tail—all painted in red. My bunny. My only friend. My only semblance of comfort. I killed him. I ruined the one thing I cared about just like I always do.
The laughter gets louder, and I turn my attention away from the carnage and to the squawking geese licking their chops at my mangled friend.
I pounce, grabbing the man nearest and pulling him to the ground.
I’m fully present as I tear through the man’s uniform, decorated with flags and pins, digging my hook into his tender flesh.
He screams and terror swims in his eyes.
It’s beautiful. The laughter has stopped, and for once I feel as if I did something right.
Until I’m slashed across the back and a sharp pain brings me off the man and onto the floor beside him.
Father stands above me, his nostrils flared, his eyes barely visible underneath the anger.
He raises the whip he always keeps at his side into the air again.
I flip to my stomach. The constant ringing in my ears always makes it hard to form thoughts, but I know enough that the lashings will hurt less on my back, where my scars have already formed hard barriers.
I scream as the pain rains down upon me.
I keep screaming until I wake, no longer in that room, no longer a boy.
I’m alone, except I’m not. A blue-eyed angel coos as she runs a hand down my damp cheek.
I sit upright, and she pulls away, tucking her legs into herself as she sits at the edge of my bed.
Surely I’m still dreaming. My heartbeat doesn’t settle from the nightmare; if anything it quickens—seeing Belle in my bed, so near and unmade.
My cock stiffens and I thank the Second Star for the placement of my sheets to cover me.
I flex my hand as a test for reality. The room around me is dark, everything exactly how it was before I closed my eyes, hoping to drown out the sounds of the party happening beneath me.
Crowded rooms, crowded courtyards it’s all the same—a reminder of pain, a recipe for disaster with me at the center.
I turn back to my pixie. She's still here.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice low. “I heard you screaming when I walked by.”
She came to comfort me. It’s hard to believe but everything indicates this isn’t a dream within a dream, but reality that I never want to wake from.
Even in the darkness I can make her out perfectly, at least in one eye.
I grab her shoulders, pulling her onto my lap just to make sure.
“What happened to you?” I ask. Red appears at the outskirts of my vision as I place my thumb above her lips, sparkling for some reason, swiping away the blood.
I fight the urge to lick my finger, too concerned for her to worry about my thirst. Her golden hair sits in disarray.
Her sky eyes are sunken in. “Who did this to you?” I keep roaming downward.
I smell him.
I pinch the cotton undershirt. “Peter?” It’s not until now that I remember our rivaled task placed upon us by our father. Of course, he posed a threat to her. How could I let this happen?
“No!” She grabs my wrist, her fingers unable to reach all the way around. “He didn’t hurt me.”
I want to ask more. She reeks of him. Did he force her or did she give herself freely?
I don’t know which one I hate more. Jealousy and outrage war for my attention but they’re both washed away once I notice another scent.
The large shirt covering her is bunched up, revealing her white undergarments, speckled with blood.
I gulp, unable to hold back my desire for any longer.
My hands fall from her shoulders, trailing down her arms, hovering over her abdomen and stopping at her lower half.
“You’re bleeding.” My words are forced, sloppy.
Her cheeks bloom and her eyes widen. “Oh, yeah. My period.” She attempts to pull off me, her legs straining to close, but I grab her thighs, yanking them wider.
I push her back on my bed, and loom over her, settling myself between her thighs.
“Rourke, what are you doing?” Fear swims in the ocean of her eyes, a sight I usually enjoy, but ever since I’ve tasted her blood I’ve felt differently, especially when it comes to her.
I wish she wouldn’t look at me like that.
I’m not strong enough. Her scent overpowers my reserve, especially as it wafts from such a delicious source, the place I’ve feasted upon in my dreams.
“Belle.” I clench my eyes, trying to contain myself. “I must taste you. I need your blood.”
“Okay,” she says, the word cushioned by a heavy breath. “Here, prick my finger and you can have some.”
“No.” I almost growl. “I need it from where it freely flows.” My hips twitch in anticipation, my cock aching to submerge inside of her, but I need to taste her more than anything.
I lower myself, fanning my breath over her cheek, lowering to her neck. She trembles underneath me but she has stopped fighting. It might be because the edge of my hook rests against her temple, but as she arches slightly into me, I know the truth.
“Rourke," she whispers, caution in her tone.
I don’t stop my descent, settling between her breasts, pebbled under the thin fabric of my brother's shirt.
“You entered the room of a monster in the dead of night, while your cunt drips with the sweet nectar of your pixie blood. I am weak, Belle. You may detest me for my bloodlust, but you will find a way to forgive me as I pull as much pleasure from you as I take.”
Perhaps I could gather some reserve if she begged for it.
Surely my devotion would overpower my hunger, but she doesn’t refuse me, only lets her legs fall open around me, a quiet moan spilling from her lips.
The sound drives me wild and I move quickly to pull away the material covering her sex.
I’ve always despised my added bits, but she makes me thank the Second Star for my reptilian eye, just for the chance to make out her red-slick cunt even in the cover of night.
I’ve never seen anything more mouth-watering.
I bring my lips to the source, lapping through her with a shaky tongue. I buck into the softness of the bed beneath me, growing frantic as more of her coats my mouth.
Her hands tangle in my hair. I vow that if she yanks me back, I’ll stop, if only to show her how much pain I’ll endure for her comfort, but to my utter joy, she buries her tiny fingers into my locks, moaning as she presses herself into my lips.