32. This Show is Rated TV-MA. In Case You Hadnt Noticed
Selene
"Shh!"
Carolina's arm shoots out, stopping us dead in the kitchen doorway.
Ron and I halt abruptly. He immediately rests a hand on the small of my back, stopping a millimeter behind me. I look down at Carolina: she's wearing yet another skimpy t-shirt. This one is black, cropped above the navel, with bold white letters that read: SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A TWIN.
She gives us a frantic head nod toward the scene unfolding inside the room.
It looks like someone hit the pause. Cole, Cade, Indya, Levi, and Emma are all scattered between the stove and the coffee maker, but no one is actually doing anything. They're all chuckling under their breath, exchanging looks, pretending to be busy.
Melusine is lounging casually on the counter. Her ankles are crossed, dangling over the edge, and a diabolical, almost feral smirk is plastered on her lips. She's watching Lucien.
Who is sitting at the table across from her, his elbows resting on the wood, busy cutting into and eating a massive stack of pancakes.
He chews calmly. Then, suddenly, he stops. He swallows slowly, his eyebrows knitting together in an expression of pure, lethal suspicion. He lifts his gaze from his plate and locks it dead onto his sister's face.
Oh. Holy. Shit.
I hold my breath, only now noticing what Melusine is holding.
She's pulled out a neon pink plastic tube. A tube of strawberry-flavored personal lubricant. She runs her thumb over the plastic cap, running her nail over the surface in a slow, circular, terrifyingly and deliberately sensual motion.
The air in the kitchen suddenly becomes highly flammable.
"What the fuck did you do?" he roars. His voice is a low, raspy thunderclap that rattles the mugs on the shelves. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Melusine doesn't back down an inch. Her smile widens, sharp and venomous.
"I thought you might need a little... lube," she murmurs, her voice oozing sarcasm and pure provocation, tilting her head to the side. "You know, for that giant stick you constantly have shoved up your ass. So... I glazed your pancakes for you."
Cade chokes on a sip of coffee in the corner. Ron, behind me, lets out a silent, strangled laugh into my hair.
Lucien stands up.
The wooden chair scrapes violently against the floor. In three strides he's towering in front of the counter, trapping her. He plants both hands flat on the marble, right on either side of Melusine's thighs, locking her in a cage.
He lowers his face a breath away from hers. Lucien's dark eyes drop to Melusine's lips, lingering in a way that is absolutely not brotherly.
"I think you might need it, too," he whispers in a guttural growl, his breath brushing her face.
Melusine stares at him, her breathing suddenly turning shallow and visible beneath her t-shirt. But her pride doesn't cave.
"Fuck you, Lucien," she hisses against his lips.
Lucien doesn't flinch. He lifts one hand off the counter, extends two fingers, and gathers a thick, sticky glob of pink lubricant from the plate he set down next to her.
Then, he brings his hand back to her face.
He presses his lube-coated thumb right against her lower lip. He presses firmly, smearing her mouth with glossy pink. Melusine gasps, trying to pull her face back, but he stops her, slipping his other hand behind her neck to hold her steady.
"Eat," he orders.
Melusine's eyes go wide, rebelling for a second, but he presses his thumb harder, forcefully parting her lips.
Under his burning gaze, she surrenders. She opens her mouth and takes Lucien's finger inside. She sucks on it slowly to clean off the strawberry glaze, her eyes locked onto his in a silent challenge reeking of perversion and pure desperation.
Emma, standing next to Carolina, has her mouth hanging open so wide she's risking a dislocated jaw. She's as white as a sheet.
She leans close to Carolina's ear, her eyes wide and glued to Lucien's fingers inside Melusine's mouth.
"But... aren't they brother and sister?" she whispers, scandalized.
Carolina, never taking her eyes off the X-rated scene, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and shrugs, a cynical smirk on her lips.
"Technically, yes," Carolina whispers back, her voice dripping with pure gossip. "But... she's adopted."
Then, a deafening screech of microphone feedback shatters the air.
BZZZZZT!
We all flinch violently, breaking the spell. Emma claps her hands over her ears with a whine. Carolina's eyes go wide, pushing off the counter.
The interruption snaps Lucien and Melusine out of it.
He freezes. The darkness in his eyes falters for a fraction of a second. Slowly, he slides his thumb out of Melusine's mouth, a thin string of saliva and lubricant glistening under the kitchen's neon lights.
He takes a step back, breaking the physical contact. He wipes his fingers on his jeans, his jaw clenched in a hard line.
"Clean up this mess," he growls at her under his breath, his tone harsh and detached, but his breathing is still hopelessly heavy.
Melusine doesn't answer. She turns away sharply, her cheeks on fire, hopping down from the counter and turning her back to him, crossing her arms over her chest to hide the tremor shaking her shoulders.
"ATTENTION, LOVEBIRDS, VAMPIRES, AND RESTLESS SPIRITS!"
Aunt Tina's shrill, amplified voice blasts from the hidden speakers in the corners of the room. Her tone oozes a macabre, unspeakable satisfaction.
"I hope you've all fueled up on sugar and... syrups," she trills, maliciously emphasizing the last word.
Cade starts coughing again, while Cole slaps him hard on the back.
"Because playtime is over. The demon of Haunted Spurs demands its daily tribute. And this time... it wants you close. Very, very close."
I stiffen. Ron's thumb starts absentmindedly stroking my spine.
"Head immediately to the old estate cellar for the Next Official Trial: The Coffins of Judgment!"
Tina announces with feverish enthusiasm.
"Ancient legends say there is no escape in this house for those who cannot face the dark. You will be locked, two by two, inside custom-built wooden crates down in the basement. Sealed tight. In pitch black."
I watch the blood drain from Emma's face. "W-wooden crates?" she stammers, terrified.
"Exactly, my dear!" Tina answers her indirectly through the speaker. "And there's a small catch. The interior space of each coffin has been calculated to the millimeter to comfortably fit... one single person. But the rules are clear: you must enter in pairs."
My brain stops processing oxygen.
In pairs. In a space built for one.
"You will be standing up, crushed against each other," the producer continues, her voice dripping with sadism.
"To earn your freedom, you must find and undo a series of knots and padlocks in the absolute dark. Time is your only enemy. Whoever comes out last will be eliminated! I'll be waiting downstairs. And remember... in the dark, no one can hear you scream."
A dull beep signals the mic cutting off.
Silence falls in the kitchen again. But this time, it's a silence thick with claustrophobic horror.
"Oh, fantastic," Carolina comments, breaking the ice. She turns to Indya with a brazen smile. "Zero personal space, pitch black, and hands fumbling around looking for padlocks. We'll survive, bestie."
Indya clicks her tongue. "At least we aren't huge."
I swallow hard, my throat bone dry. Being sealed in a wooden box, in the dark, pressed tight against Ron Willers' body. Crushed chest to chest. My legs pressed against his. His hands moving around looking for keys.
It's a logistical nightmare. And another one of my dark, twisted fantasies coming to life.
"Hey..."
Ron's whisper caresses my ear. He leans toward me, ignoring the commotion of the others who are starting to head toward the cellar stairs, muttering complaints.
I turn slightly, looking up. His blue eyes are narrowed into two shining slits, that lopsided smirk dancing on his lips, dangerous and promising.
"Make sure you don't take advantage of me in the dark, Queen of Darkness," he murmurs, his hot breath brushing the skin of my neck. "We're in a confined space. If you start grinding against me... I don't think I can vouch for my self-control."
My knees threaten to buckle. I shoot him a glare loaded with challenge, even though my heart is beating a frantic rhythm.
"Just focus on finding the padlocks, Willers," I hiss, turning my back to him to head for the door. "Or that coffin is going to become your permanent residence."
I hear his low chuckle trailing me like a shadow as we head down into the basement.