Kiss Me Like I Didn’t Kill You (Where All Saints Burn #1)
Ophelia
There is no reality in which I should find myself here, certainly not at this gathering, in these woods, beneath this crest.
From the moment I agreed to Adelaide’s plan, I sensed the beginning of our undoing. We do not belong among these people, nor hidden behind masks that proclaim bloodlines rather than conceal identities.
The silk ties press against my temple, a pressure that speaks of my own concession, of the foolish belief that we might trespass on hostile ground and leave without consequence.
Music drifts through the forest, threading between the trees. A haze lifts from the stone fire pit at the centre of the clearing, curling around figures dressed in black, their tailoring immaculate.
People drink, smoke, some make out in the shadows, while others go further in plain sight. A sudden commotion draws my attention, and I turn just in time to see a boy press a blade to another’s throat.
He grins, and the other narrows his eyes. Everyone else carries on, accustomed to such scenes, their indifference confirming it as nothing more than a recognised part of their world.
Beyond the treeline, an estate looms, barely visible, built mostly of glass, and I am certain it belongs to one of the heirs present here tonight.
I remain at the edge of the crowd, watching everything blur into a single indistinct scene. My eyes search for my sister, Octavia, but she is nowhere to be seen. The last I glimpsed of her, she was following a man in a mask, the unmistakable mark of one of the Ferrum Syndicate’s five.
Eleanor slipped away moments later, and Piper excused herself with little explanation before heading in the opposite direction. Adelaide never once looked back. Whatever brought her here, it had nothing to do with us, or perhaps it had everything to do with us, only I have yet to understand why.
My fingers rest against the stem of the crystal glass, the amber liquid catching the light though I have not touched it. I rarely drink at gatherings, truthfully, I allow myself a glass only on the rarest occasions, for with my condition the aftermath is never worth it.
The atmosphere here feels strained, or perhaps it is only in my mind, yet it unsettles me all the same. I was taught by the life I was born into to notice every detail, to trust instinct above all else. If something feels wrong, it is wrong.
I take out my phone and unlock the screen, intending to send a message to the girls in our group chat. I have had enough of this facade, and nothing is keeping me here. I am ready to call it a night and leave.
Before I can type a single word, a pair of strong arms circles my waist from behind. The touch feels at once familiar and strange. A kiss falls against my neck, and I am met with a scent I have known many times before.
A small smile lifts at the corner of my mouth. Amber and musk, yet beneath it another note hovers, this one unfamiliar. The difference unsettles me precisely because it is slight, almost right, yet not entirely.
I turn slowly, and dark eyes meet mine through the angular cuts of a black mask. Its surface is smooth, matte, defined by a bold diamond motif that stretches across most of the face. He does not speak. Instead, he takes my hand in his and begins to lead me toward the trees.
We move together into the woods, the pulse of the party fading until it becomes little more than an echo.
The ground is damp, and the narrow heels of my shoes sink into the softened soil with every step.
The air smells of earth and moss, and the canopy filters the moonlight into faint strands upon the undergrowth.
A cool draft slips beneath the hem of my dress and spreads across my skin, leaving a chill, and though a tremor passes through me, I cannot determine whether it is stirred by the air itself or by the silence that lingers between us.
He stops when we reach a smaller clearing, set apart from the rest. The faint light catches along the edge of his mask as his hands close firmly on my hips and his mouth presses against mine in a hungry kiss.
Just then I hear the faint crunch of leaves, so soft I could have imagined it, but before I can pull back to look, he claims my attention again, holding me fast as he deepens the kiss, rough and stripped of the tenderness I had known these past months.
My back stiffens and I draw away, pushing lightly against his chest in an effort to create space between us.
“We need to talk,” I say.
He doesn’t acknowledge my words, his grip on me only tightens as he leans down, his mouth seeking mine again. I press my palms more firmly against his body this time, forcing him back while I push my voice to sound more forceful. “I said stop.”
I see the moment his eyes change, it is subtle, but it is there.
He looks darker, more unhinged, and before I can react he drives forward, the ground leaving me as I am thrown down.
I land with a wheeze, pain spreading through my back and making it difficult to draw breath. His weight on top of me is suffocating.
I can’t make sense of what’s happening, it feels as though I don’t recognise this person at all.
He shoves one hand beneath my dress while the other pins me down, and though I feel tears threaten, I refuse to let them fall. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
I twist and struggle, trying to break free from his grip, but his strength is greater. He curses and drives his knee between my legs, forcing them apart even more.
“No,” I rasp, my throat catching on the word. “Get off me.”
He won’t relent, as if caught in some kind of trance.
My hands fall free at last when his grip slips, and I flail uselessly at my sides, but he doesn’t even seem to notice.
He is too lost in his own twisted pleasure, one hand roaming over me, pinching my nipple through the fabric of my dress, while his other hand fumbles clumsily at my underwear.
I search blindly across the ground for anything I can use, anything at all, desperate to push him off me.
My hand closes around a stone, and without a second thought I swing it at the back of his head.
The crack when it connects with his skull makes my stomach heave, and a second later I feel the warmth of blood spilling down his neck and onto my face and chest, enough to make me gag.
He falters and looks at me with such hatred it seems impossible that one person could hold it all. He collapses on top of me, his weight so heavy it crushes my body into the ground until I can’t move.
For a moment I lay still, trapped beneath his weight and struggling to breathe, the faint echo of music from the party reaches me from afar, however, my ragged breath overpowers it.
My hands shove at his shoulders with everything I have until, at last, I manage to push him off me and his body falls lifeless at my side.
I drag myself back into a sitting position, my legs barely holding me. My breathing is shallow, my pulse pounds in my ears. I look at him lying so still, not moving, not even a little. Panic rises in me because this can’t be real.
It isn’t real.
I refuse to believe I’ve done this.
Did I kill him?
Oh God.
I force myself up, my legs shaking, and instinct takes over, pushing me into a run. I tear past the trees, branches scratch at my arms, every stone and thorn cut into my feet, and only then do I notice they are bare. Whether I lost my heels in the struggle or somewhere along the way, I can’t tell.
I don’t know how long I keep going, only that I don’t stop until the trees break open onto a road, faintly lit in the dark.
In my disorientation I stumble onto the asphalt, and a horn blasts so loud it seems to tear straight through me.
The tyres screech as the headlights flare, so bright I can’t see anything beyond them, and before I can even process what is happening the force slams into me, knocking me off my feet and pulling everything into darkness.