27. Belle
Belle
The wind whips at my tear-soaked face. How could I be so stupid?
I stare out at an endless sky, one inch closer and I’d tumble off the edge of Neverhaven.
Except that’s not true. I can’t even hurt myself.
But it turns out I don’t need a Darling to succumb to Lord Pan’s ill will.
I’ll spread my legs and ride my captors’ cocks, practically begging them to impregnate me.
To give myself credit, which I’m finding hard to do, I was too busy trying to murder him—and coming, can’t ignore the coming—to realize he was near the brink of his own orgasm.
I thought sitting at the edge of the Hollowbrook property would keep the panic attacks at bay, but it turns out that staring over an eternal death drop doesn’t have the calming effect I hoped.
I bring my knees to my chest, trying to suppress my sobs.
A soft pelt brushes against my leg. Weasel places his head on my lap, and I pull him into a tight embrace, avoiding his pointy antlers.
He’s always popping up when I need him most. Well, most of the time.
Okay, some of the time. If I ever get off this floating hellscape, I’m bringing him with me.
The raccoon hug comforts me somewhat, enough to think more clearly about my situation.
Okay, Peter came inside of me. Yeah, that sucks, but it doesn’t mean that I’m pregnant.
I knew this was a possibility the moment Lord Pan declared the challenge.
At least, under these circumstances, I wasn’t forced.
I don’t know if that makes it better or worse, but I’m pretending it’s a win.
If anything, this proves that I need to get out of here, not just to escape my captors, but to save myself from falling for them.
Which, if I’m honest, is more the cause of my tears than my cum-riddled vaginal cavity.
Despite my attempts to kill Peter yesterday, I can’t deny the large part of me that didn’t really want to.
He brutalized the guy who tried to attack me—the guy who used to be his best friend before he disrespected me.
I never thought I’d be turned on by an unconscious body, but goddamn if Hollowbrook isn’t teaching me new and disturbing truths about myself.
And then there were his words…
He went from bragging about how chicks love banging him, to declaring that I heal the most damaged part of his soul or some shit. Who the fuck is this guy? He turns my brain and my lady bits into a frothy mess. How am I supposed to kill him?
But no, really.
I have no idea how to kill him.
I tried his blood, practically straight from the source, and it didn’t work.
Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough. Yeah, I definitely wasn’t trying hard enough.
I was so close to my release that I was only half motivated to stop his beating heart.
I’ve spent years of my life annoyed at men for not making me come, and now when a guy does it so spectacularly, I’m gonna stab him through the heart? Seems crazy if you ask me.
No. No. No. What’s crazy is thinking just because my captor does a superb job of fiddling between my legs, I should pop out his offspring, all while wearing a fucking collar.
“Where’s that damned maid?” I growl under my breath, swiveling my head to look around the desolate courtyard. It’s been days since I last saw her. I need more of her annoying, ominous hints to lead me in the right direction.
“Guess I’m going to have to keep fucking reading.
” I groan as I pull the large textbook from my side, flipping mindlessly through the pages.
I’m no longer wary of reading out in public as I don’t feel close to claiming my freedom.
I turn to the dog-eared page that gave me the bright idea to try to stab the Pans. A phrase catches my eye:
The blessed’s blood may cure all wounds, but from their fingertips, they may break all bonds.
Okay, yeah. Got it. My blood can heal. I used to have magic fingers.
No new information there. But what if this book is implying my blood is the cure to break my Darling?
I can’t disregard the part I read earlier about the binder’s blood, which seems relevant.
Perhaps I must mix our blood together. This is all starting to feel like a child’s science experience—a weird child—but until that pretty little handmaid shows up and I can question what she knows, I must hold onto any idea that crosses my mind.
The problem is, I can’t hurt myself. So how do I get my own blood?
I could potentially get Rourke to poke me with his hook again, but I heal too quickly to get a second alone to mix it with the vial of blood I collected from Peter’s nose, still hiding inside my corset.
I could probably figure something out while riding his dick, but I know all too well how dangerous that is when I’m distracted.
I need my blood now. There’s got to be a way I can get some.
The fuzzy mass warming my thigh seems like the perfect place to start.
I grab the critter by the armpits and bring him to my line of vision.
“Weasel, I need you to stab me with your antlers.” I place him on the ground again so he can fulfill my request.
He gives me a confused look.
“What? Now you don’t understand English?”
He shrugs.
I’m beginning to think it’s not a shrug at all, but a raccoon-shaped tick.
“Ugh, fine! I’ll figure something else out.” I pace in small circles, my silk dress grazing against my shins. “What if I tripped,” I pull out my beloved dagger hidden between my breasts, “and fell on the point of a blade?”
Weasel shrugs again, or whatever it is he’s doing.
I stick the handle into the ground, shimming it deeper so only the metal part sticks out. “Could you make yourself useful and run in front of me or something?” I stomp away from my booby trap and cover my eyes with my hands as I walk forward.
I only make it two steps before a low voice rattles my core. “What are you doing?”
I halt, but don’t remove my hand. “I thought you stopped stalking me.”
“Who said that?” Rourke sighs, grabbing my hand and pulling it away from my face. “I thought you stopped trying to kill yourself?”
“Who said that?” I smirk.
He does too, his coal eye turning to a diamond. His thumb brushes against my goosebumped flesh.
I shake away his effect on my ovaries. “Want some blood?” I stick out my finger.
His eyebrow raises. “No.” He turns from me, lowering himself to the ground and falling to his back, hands behind his head.
I stand in front of his sun. “What? Why? I thought you wanted my blood. I thought that was the whole point of all of this?”
His eyes flick to mine. “All of this?”
I plop to the ground next to him, my knees growing weak from staring down at him. “Remember, captured pixie, magic blood, blood harvest, all that jazz?”
“I’ve had my fill.”
My cheeks heat, recalling the night he drank from my cunt. He sure drank a lot, but I didn’t think it was possible to satiate his hunger. This realm slaughtered all pixies and still wasn’t satisfied.
I don’t believe him. Surely he wants something more from me, but I remember a few nights ago, when I fucked him, and he didn’t even request a drop of my blood.
In fact, I’m pretty positive he saw the knife I attempted to lodge through his heart and didn’t bat an eye.
Why are my satin panties flooded at the thought?
Just as wet as I was when it all happened.
“So that’s it then? You don’t need me anymore?”
He chuckles. “I didn’t say that.”
“Ah, right, your father's game. You want me to have your baby?” Would I be willing to bargain my womb for my freedom? It seems I might have given it away freely already.
He grabs my arm, pulling me down to lie in the grass. His fingers feather across my lips. “You’re healing me, healing this wretched place, but I don’t need your blood; just your lips could sustain my inner workings.”
My lids heavy as I lean closer, drawn in by his delectable words. “So no more blood?”
“Whatever you give me, I’ll devour. But I’ll do everything in my power to ensure not an inch of your skin is harmed.”
“Oh.” It’s all I manage to utter. The Pans have a way of stunning me speechless. I do the one thing I’m good at, pulling myself closer to my captor. My lips find his. My hand rests on his firm chest, his even breath under my fingertips.
With his simple kiss comes clarity. I can’t do it. I can’t kill this man.
I hate Neverhaven. I hate Hollowbrook. I do. But right now, with the wind seeming to blow us closer, the birds chirping in the distance, and the sun nothing but a warm sheet tucking us in together, I don’t mind the place. I don’t mind the beastly man beside me.
I let the moment take hold, not rushing, not demanding more. And it’s not until a frightening realization appears in my mind that I pull back.
I didn’t beg Rourke for my freedom this time.
Because the truth is, maybe it’s not the biggest desire of my heart.