6. Drystan
Chapter Six
DRYSTAN
The moment she walked into Bauhaus my heart actually stuttered, a violent, painful lurch that reminded me I’m still alive. She looks… different. Devastating in a way I wasn’t ready for.
Those black shorts ride high on her thighs, hugging every curve like they were painted on.
The sheer lace crop top clings to her pale skin, the hem sitting just beneath the swell of her breasts, teasing the eye with every sway.
Thigh-high stockings disappear under the fabric and her combat boots give her that dangerous edge.
She looks beautiful, lethal, ready to poison every man in this club and walk away smiling.
The soft, golden girl in my head has turned into this sexy, dark creature.
It unsettles me. I still miss the old Briar, the one with honey hair catching the light, the one who blushed instead of cursed, the one who looked at the world with wide, nervous eyes.
But I can’t deny how fucking sexy she is now.
It hits me as if a blade was pierced through my ribs.
Even with all the changes, she is still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The soft light I used to worship has turned darker, and it makes my blood burn hotter than it ever did.
I want to pull the emergency button, force her to go home but I’m also curious to see this side of her. Although I hate every eye on her.
She wanted to post that full-body picture earlier? Fuck no. She is not posting anything now that I’m here. Nothing. No one gets to see her except me.
I walk inside, the music is loud, the lights are red and there’s a soft smoke in the air.
I look around and there she is, dancing alone in the middle of the floor, hips rolling slow and deliberate, hands sliding down her waist. A beautiful siren making all the men in here want a piece.
Those fucking hips will be my death. The way the lace catches the red lights, the glitter sparkling on her pale cheeks, the long black hair swinging with every movement, it’s torture. Beautiful, exquisite torture.
She is a little tipsy. I see it in the way her balance wavers when she decides to climb down from the high table. My body moves before my mind catches up. I stride through the crowd, cutting between the dancing bodies and I reach her the exact moment her foot slips.
Her back is to me. I reach out without thinking, one hand wrapping around her waist, the other catching her arm. The moment my palms touch her skin my entire body freezes.
She is so soft. Warmer than I expected. Her waist fits perfectly under my hands, delicate and strong at the same time. Her top brushes my knuckles. Her scent, sweet cinnamon mixed with something darker, hits me so hard my knees almost buckle.
This is the first time I have ever touched her.
Years of dreaming, of carving her name into every wall of my cell, and this is the first time my hands have been on her.
I shouldn’t have touched her, but she was going to fall. She would have hurt herself. I couldn’t let that happen.
Still… the feel of her skin lingers, burning against my palms even after I force myself to let go.
I want more. I want to pull her back against me, slide my hands under that lace, feel every inch until I memorize the exact temperature of her body.
I want to drag her home to Hellebore and never let anyone else get close enough to touch this soft skin.
She turns. Those blue eyes, still the same blue I used to drown in, meet mine. “I’m so sorry—” she says, that sweet, kind voice I remember.
My Briar. The one I have never heard directed at me before.
I don’t think she has ever spoken a single word to me, and this is not the time.
I nod once, silently, then step past her into the crowd before the urge to grab her and drag her out of here snaps the last thread of my control.
I stop at the bar on the opposite side, pull the mask down just enough to breathe, and grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white.
“Fuck!” I grunt under my breath.
She changed, yes. I still miss the old her, the soft, sunlight version, but fuck me if she isn’t driving me insane in a completely new way. The gothic creature she has become is poisoning me from across the room, and I am letting it happen.
My hands still burn where they touched her.
I want more.
God help me, I want so much more.
I shove the mask back over my mouth and nose, forcing my breathing to slow. I need to keep an eye on her. Keep her safe. That is all that matters.
I turn, scanning the pulsing red haze of the dance floor. There she is.
Dancing alone.
Lucille is gone, vanished with some random guy, leaving Briar completely exposed in the middle of all these hungry eyes. I don’t like that. Not one fucking bit. That girl needs a lesson. If I wasn’t here, who knows what could have happened to my Briar. Shitty friend. Useless.
I stare at her through the smoke and strobing lights.
She moves slowly now, almost lazily, hands sliding up and down her torso.
Her long black hair catches the crimson glow and shines, falling almost to her hips with every sway.
Fuck. I can’t stop the image from slamming into me, my fist wrapped tight in that black hair, yanking her head back while I pound into her from behind, bending her over until she forgets every other man who ever looked at her.
The fantasy burns so hot my vision starts to tunnel but the leather-jacket dick is back.
The fuck is this asshole doing?
He’s circling closer, that same smug smirk on his face, holding up something small and purple, her lipstick. It must have fallen when I caught her. How the fuck did I miss that? I was too busy memorizing the feel of her waist under my hands, too busy trying not to drag her out of here right then.
Now he’s using it as an excuse to lean in close, whispering something against her ear. And she’s letting him. She’s fucking letting him. That flirty little smile curves her lips again, the same dangerous smile she gave her reflection in the mirror earlier.
Disappointment slices through me.
This isn’t my Briar. The sweet girl I knew would never let some random leather-jacket prick get that close. She would blush and look away. She would stay mine even when she didn’t know it.
Rage and jealousy twist together in my chest until I can barely breathe. My hands curl into fists so tight the knuckles crack. The bass of the music vibrates through my bones, but all I hear is the roar of my own blood.
Oh no.
Not gonna happen.
Not now.
Not ever.
Briar, baby… I will keep killing them.
Every single one who thinks he can touch you.
I stay in the shadows, eyes locked on her, control hanging by the thinnest thread. The mask hides my smile, but the darkness inside me is already sharpening its teeth.
He places his hand around her waist, right where mine just were.
I’m going to cut his fingers off. One by one. Slowly. No hellebore this time. This one will feel everything. Unlike Luke, whose mind I let slip away into flowers and nightmares, this leather-jacket prick is going to stay wide awake for every second I take from him.
I watch from the shadows as she nods at whatever he says. They start walking together toward the exit.
I move, slipping out of the club, I stride straight to my car, and start the engine. The tracker app blinks red on my phone, her car. Good. Perfect.
They climb into her VW. I see him pull her in for a kiss through the windshield.
Lips on my Briar.
I’m going to cut his lips off too.
Fingers. Lips. I pray for his sake they don’t fuck in that miniature car, because if he gets inside her tonight his dick will be next.
I pull out of the parking lot, taking a shortcut, keeping one eye on the red dot. It follows the familiar route back to her building. Good girl. She’s bringing him home.
Her street is quiet when I arrive, rain still falling soft and steady. I park one block away, walk without hurry, and let myself into her building with the key I copied. Up the stairs. Her door opens without a sound.
She will want a glass of wine when they get here.
I know her now. I pull a small vial from my pocket and drip the clear liquid into her open bottle of red wine.
Just in case, I slide a syringe into each of the three water bottles in her fridge and push the plunger.
The drug is tasteless and will act fast.
I check my phone one last time. Her car is parking just down the block.
Good girl.
I walk into her bedroom, open the closet door, and slide inside, pulling it almost shut behind me. The darkness swallows me whole. I want to be here in case neither of the drugged drinks get touched. She fucked Luke once. She is not fucking anyone else. Not tonight. Not ever again.
The front door opens.
“Come here, Briar.” the guy slurs. Drunk. Of course he’s fucking drunk.
“Water?” she asks. Silence stretches. I pray he drinks the water. Or the wine. Anything.
Then something heavy hits the wall. He grunts. The bedroom light flips on. They tumble onto the bed together, his hands already yanking at her shorts, trying to drag them down her thighs.
I watch through the narrow gap in the closet door.
What a fucking disappointment. With a goddess like her and all he can think about is getting into her pussy.
He mutters something slurred. She kisses his neck, but her eyes are closed, movements slow and clumsy. Her hands don’t seem to know what they want.
Yeah. My little mix is already working.
Five more minutes of slow, fumbling touches and they both go still. Out cold.
I push the closet door open and step into the room.
I grab the fucker by the collar and yank him off her like the piece of garbage he is, letting him fall to the floor. Then I turn to Briar.
I pick her up slowly, carefully. Her body is limp and warm in my arms. Her skin is silk and sin under my fingertips, so soft it makes my hands shake. I cradle her against my chest, breathing in the scent of her hair, her perfume, the faint trace of wine and smoke from the club.
“Briar, my love,” I breathe against her ear, voice raw and trembling. “you really need to stop bringing these shits home. I don’t think my garden is big enough if you keep this up.”
Her long black hair spills over my arm as I lay her gently on the other side of the bed, head on the pillow.
I remove her heavy combat boots one by one, then roll the thigh-high stockings down her pale legs.
Every inch of skin I reveal makes the starved thing inside me growl louder.
I pull the blanket over her sleeping body and just stand there, staring.
Fuck. She is so beautiful it hurts.
I take one last deep breath, forcing the beast back into its cage, and turn to the leather-jacket prick crumpled on the floor.
He looks heavy. Thank fuck for every weight I lifted in prison.
I haul his dead weight over my shoulder like a sack of meat and carry him out of the apartment. The hallway is empty. The street is empty. No one cares about a guy carrying another drunk guy at this hour.
I shove him into the back seat of the car, slam the door, and check the time. Three hours to the mansion. The drug will last four. Plenty of time.
I look up at her window one last time.
“Fuck, Drystan.” I mutter to myself, locking the car and walking back to her building.
I let myself into the apartment again and return to her bedroom.
She looks so peaceful lying there. Sweet. Ethereal. The old Briar and the new one tangled together under the blanket, black hair fanned across the pillow, purple lips slightly parted.
Just one little touch. Just a taste. I’ve waited six years.
I pull the blanket down slowly. She stirs but doesn’t wake. Her round breasts rise and fall with each breath. Her legs are slightly apart. I slide one finger along her thigh, up over her torso, feeling the heat of her skin, the softness that makes my mouth water.
I lean in and breathe her in, my eyes roll back. I press my lips to her neck, then her cheek, then her mouth. I lick the seam of her purple lips. She tastes sweet and my cock throbs so hard it hurts.
I move my hand down to the waistband of her shorts.
“You were going to let him touch you,” I murmur against her ear, voice cracking with hunger. “You were going to let him inside what’s mine.”
I slide my fingers under the fabric, under her panties, and press. She is soft. Warm. A little wet. My finger finds her clit and I circle it once, slow, reverent. Then lower.
I should stop, I have never touched her. I always kept my distance, she was too pure, too innocent. But years without seeing her, remembering her face until it almost disappeared. I need this, I need just to feel her.
I push inside her entrance, just one finger, sinking into her tight pussy.
She lets out the softest moan.
I freeze, buried knuckle-deep inside her, heart slamming against my ribs.
No. No. I will not do this. It’s just a taste. Just one taste.
I keep repeating it in my head while every cell in my body screams for more. I leave my finger there for one long, perfect minute, feeling her pulse around me, feeling the wet heat that belongs only to me. Then, with a growl I can barely swallow, I pull out.
I lift my finger to my mouth and lick her off me slowly.
I taste her, slowly, dragging my tongue along the length of my finger as if it were the last sacrament on a dying earth.
She is sin incarnate. She is ruin and absolution, sweet and unbearably alive, and the flavor of her rips something open inside my chest.
My hand trembles. For one fractured second I nearly lose the last thread of restraint, nearly rip the blankets away, spread her open, and bury my face between her legs until she wakes screaming my name. The need claws at me, demanding I take what I have earned in blood and patience.
“Oh, Briar,” I whisper, voice hoarse and broken.
“I will drown you in pleasure until every thought, every memory, every name that is not mine dissolves into nothing. You will speak only my name in the dark, like a confession, like a curse, like the last word you will ever need. And when the time comes, I will bury myself so deeply inside you that you will feel me for days afterward, a constant, heavy presence, a secret you carry in your body, binding you to me long after I leave your bed.”
I draw a black silk handkerchief from my pocket and wipe the last traces from my finger, folding the fabric reverently so that her scent remains trapped within its folds. I will press it to my face later, in the silence of my own room, and let the craving consume me again.
I pull the blanket gently over her sleeping form, tucking it around her with a tenderness that would fool anyone who did not know the depth of my obsession. It takes all my will power to leave but I lock her door behind me, and walk back to the car.
The leather-jacket fucker is still passed out in the back seat.
“Now it’s just the two of us.”