23. Rourke
Rourke
Mere days have never felt longer. I continue to catch my reflection, sure, I’ve grown whiskers and grays in the insufferable time that I’ve kept my distance.
Yet, my black hair and youthful complexion persists.
I tasted her from the tap—not just a trickle but a roar.
My cock leaked on my bedsheets. It took everything in me not to hold her down and pound myself inside of her.
I didn’t even make it a few minutes without releasing the pent-up need.
With the new intake of the healing elixir came the blinding white light of clarity.
She didn't want me to run my tongue along her seam, to suckle from her tender valleys. And yet, I devoured her anyway. I became my familiar monster. She seemed to enjoy my attention between her legs, but it doesn’t matter.
She fought me at first. She hates me—evident by her speedy exit after coddling me into slumber.
I don’t blame her. I hate myself. That’s not new, but this time the feeling suffocates me tenfold.
I’m drawn to Belle, but with each drop of her blood, my consciousness wraps its spindly fingers around my throat—the things I’ve done, the violence created by my deformed body.
That’s why I’ve kept my distance. I can’t take much more reality.
I don’t need more blood to retain my clarity.
I’m not falling back to madness without her near— her blood truly is the fix to my afflictions—but I still crave her more than air.
I can’t stay in my chambers any longer. I have no plans to bother her, just to watch, just to survive off the remnants of her scent as they cascade through the hallways.
I’m dizzy from the blinding brightness of the day as I stumble down the corridors.
I’ve locked myself away for the past few days, drawing my blinds, barring my doors, and only opening them for the food.
No more raw meat. The staff sears my meals upon my request. I can’t stomach the uncooked flesh as I did before.
Father will be cross, but he’ll be furious about numerous things, most of all the barren womb of his prisoner, the pixie that I can’t bring myself to displease, even to steal an ounce of pleasure.
Except that’s not true. I took from her already.
As if the stars truly torture me for my wicked thoughts, the whisper of her laugh bangs against my eardrums. It should be enough for me. I shouldn’t draw nearer to the source, and yet my legs move on their own accord, following the sweet sound of her voice until I’m at the open library doors.
Just a peek, that’s all I need. I creep forward, my heart soaring at the sight of the sunshine from the open windows on the far wall catching strands of her hair. Her pearly white smile curls to the round bulbs of her cheeks. The blue only winks as her eyelids clamp together with laughter.
I’m a greedy bastard. A peek is not enough. I push myself deeper.
Another voice speaks. “No, I promise. There’s a picture of an old wrinkled arse in here somewhere. I remember it from my youth.” Peter smiles as he hunches over a large text, flipping through the pages. Belle laughs and leans over his lap as he searches.
She’s touching his thigh.
His thigh.
All he’d need to do is lean over to suffocate himself in her bosoms.
Ah, there’s the familiar red, clouding the corners of my vision. I’m not completely healed yet.
I storm into the room. “What’s going on here?” I roar, not taking a moment to think.
Their attention turns to me, wide-eyed horror, but Peter’s only lasts a moment before his smirk creeps at the corners. “He speaks.”
“Rourke.” Belle stands.
“What are you two doing?” I repeat the question. I can’t look at her, only Peter.
He pops to his feet, rolling up his long white sleeves, revealing his lean muscles, veins bulging. He laughs. “Ah, and here I thought you were just pretending to be an idiot all this time. Daddy’s pet just learned a few words.”
“Peter,” Belle scolds.
He reaches out to me. Pats my chest. The red grows.
I swing, my fist meeting the ridge of his beak.
Belle screams.
Peter cups his nose, blood already seeping down his lips.
I’m not angry enough. I should have caused more damage than his stumbling backwards with a busted nose. I should obliterate him upon contact. Perhaps I want a fight.
He takes a step toward me, throwing his arm so his fist meets my nose. I nearly fall, but steady myself, cupping my bloody injury, droplets already falling to the ground. I’m surprised. That hurt. Who would have thought my brother would prove a worthy opponent?
I grin and charge, picking him up by his shirt and slamming him into the shelf behind him. I note the bloodied rose mark on his nose where I’m sure my ring made contact. I most likely have a matching scar from his punch—the only part of us that’s the same.
Peter laughs in my face. I grit my teeth and slam him harder against the shelving.
He winces in pain. “There he is, the violent creature. I thought she pussy-whipped it out of you.”
Gone is the autumn-colored boy. Only red remains.
Someone grabs my arm, but I swing off the feeble attempt at a restraint.
“Belle!” Peter shouts. Her name clears away the fog. Peter slips out from my grip, my distraction granting him freedom.
Belle rests on the ground below me. I pushed her to the ground. I could slit my throat with my hook. I kneel next to Peter. “Are you okay?” I ask, my voice panicked.
I’m comforted by her pinched eyebrows, rage simmering under her cheeks. She’s angry, much better than wounded.
“Look at you two! What are you fighting about?” She yells, pushing to her feet and backing away.
For once, Peter is at a loss for words, staring at Belle with a helpless expression.
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Of course, always worried about my safety. Is that why you came in here raging, after begging to eat my cunt and then avoiding me for days?”
“He did what?” Peter’s voice simmers in a low boil.
Belle pokes his chest. “What, now you’re jealous? Is it because you’re eager to impregnate me first and win the throne? Just like your Daddy wanted?”
“No!” Peter yells.
“Then what is it?” She gives a humorless laugh. “Am I supposed to believe you both actually care for me?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes. I do.”
Peter stares at me, eyes wide.
Belle turns, stepping closer, examining me skeptically. “Okay then. Let me go.”
“What?”
She shrugs and tugs her Darling. “You say you care for me, but you still have me as your prisoner.”
There’s nothing I can say. So instead, I stare at her helplessly.
She chuckles, turning to Peter. “What about you? You ready to let me out of this thing?”
Words seem to struggle behind his lips, and yet, nothing comes out.
“That’s what I thought.” She backs away from us. “Let’s all stop pretending. This is clearly some fucked up sibling rivalry. Leave me alone, or rape me as your father ordered you to, just stop acting like this is something it’s not.”
I step forward, arm outstretched. “Belle.”
In her descent backward, she stumbles over a fallen book.
I crouch down to help her, not missing the quick movement as she swipes up the droplets of my blood from the floor with a white handkerchief, quickly stuffing it in her skirt pocket.
“Don’t touch me,” she barks. She turns her attention to Peter. “Neither of you touch me again.”
My chest tightens as I watch her run out of the library. I’m ashamed of myself—furious, but my anger is quickly redirected. “You touched her?” The words roll out of my mouth before I turn to him.
Peter scoffs. “Didn’t even have to beg. You should have seen how prettily she moaned for me.”
I roar, charging and pinning him back against the shelves.
He winces as blood smears across his face. I revel in the sight of his disarray. Never before have I seen him covered in red. It suits him. A bemused grin transforms his full lips; his half-lidded eyes track me.
He’s always been so at ease, usually drunk, but always without the heightened nerves that riddle my veins.
Even now, with his life in my hands, he can’t even muster an ounce of fear.
Is this what she sees in him? Is she drawn to his jovial spirit?
Perhaps the glint in his rose-colored eyes?
His strong jaw, the curve of his lips? All of it makes sense.
I wonder what he tastes like.
The space between us disappears. I crash my lips against his, tasting his blood, sweet yet sour. He parts slightly, allowing the affection, but his acceptance is short-lived.
He jerks back, pushing me away. I let his feet hit the floor.“ What the fuck are you doing?” he yells, his breath heavy and his eyes wild. Gone is his cocky demeanor.
“There’s no reason she should want you. I surmised your lips held the secret.” My eyes trail the expanse of his rigid form, stopping at the hardened mast, the outline visible through his tight pants.
He notices my gaze and becomes even more unnerved. “Well you heard the pixie. It seems neither of our mouths are enough to please her.”
“We’ll see about that.” I cross my arms over my chest.
His brows pinch together as he shakes away his unease. He steps closer, studying me. “Hmm, I guess we will.” He turns away, exiting the library.
I’m left alone with my whirling thoughts, bloodied, and sporting a matching ridged cock—similar in size to my dear brother’s.