17. Drystan
Chapter Seventeen
DRYSTAN
Her breathing is fast and shallow, chest rising and falling in erratic bursts. Her eyes are shut tight, lashes wet with sweat that drips down her temples and along her pale neck. The sheets beneath her are already soaked, clinging to her skin, a feverish layer.
She really thought I would do to her what I was doing to that worthless piece of shit in the basement?
After everything I’ve said? After I’ve waited six fucking years just to have her?
If you wanted to see my other side, my love… you’re seeing it now.
“Noo—please…” she whimpers, small and empty. If she’d drunk the full dose she wouldn’t have survived. But there was still enough to give her a taste of what hellebore can do when it sinks its teeth into the mind.
It could have been so much worse if she’d been awake. That’s why I drugged her. The hallucinations, the fever, the terror, they’re safer while she’s under.
She suddenly convulses. Vomit spills from her lips sliding down her chin and across her chest, staining the sheets.
I move fast, turning her onto her side so she doesn’t choke. Her body jerks again, another wave forcing its way out of her. I hold her steady, one hand on her shoulder, the other brushing damp hair from her face.
“Oh, Briar,” I murmur, low and dark, “you are going to pay for all of this. If you think being locked in this mansion was bad… wait until you wake up and see your new quarters.”
Once the vomiting stops, I head to the drawers and pull out an IV bag and tubing. I take her pale, limp arm in my hand, searching for a vein. It takes three tries, my fingers are too big, too rough for this delicate work. I never trained for saving lives. Only for taking them.
I finally slide the needle in and secure it, watching the clear fluid drip steadily into her bloodstream. It should flush most of the serum out faster.
“You’re hurting me… please…” she cries out again, weak and slurred, tears slipping from the corners of her closed eyes.
I tilt my head, studying the pain twisting her beautiful features. Her skin is flushed and slick with sweat. The sheets are drenched. The nightmares are still tearing through her mind. If she were awake right now, the hallucinations could stop her heart.
I grab a fresh cloth, soak it in cold water, and gently press it to her forehead.
“My beautiful—my love…” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “You have no idea what I would do to keep you safe. Even from yourself.”
I watch her like a hawk, unblinking, as her body continues to betray her.
She keeps vomiting even when there’s nothing left in her stomach, dry heaves that rack her frame, leaving her trembling and slick with sweat.
Her forehead glistens, strands of black hair plastered to her skin.
Then the real hallucinations begin. She mumbles incoherently, eyes moving rapidly beneath her lids, whispering about flowers crawling into her eyes and blood sliding down the walls.
“You did this to yourself,” I grunt roughly.
“Drystan—” she whimpers, the sound of my name on her lips sending a cold thrill through me. “Knife… your heart… no.”
Is she dreaming of stabbing me? It’s probably because of the painting. Her mind is twisting every memory into fresh nightmare fuel.
This is why I love hellebore. It drags every hidden fear, every buried darkness, into the light and makes it scream.
Three hours pass before she finally settles, breathing ragged but no longer fighting invisible monsters. It’s time.
I remove the IV carefully and bandage her arm.
Then I strip her soiled clothes, piece by piece, until she lies completely bare before me.
I carry her to the bathroom and lower her into the warm bathtub.
I wash the sweat and vomit from her skin with slow, possessive strokes, my fingers tracing every curve, every inch of pale flesh that now belongs to me.
Her nipples harden under the cool air when I lift her out.
Her bare pussy glistens faintly in the low light.
I’m too pissed at her reckless stupidity to truly enjoy it right now.
I dry her gently, dress her in soft black sweatpants and a hoodie, and tie her hair back with a band.
This black hair has grown on me. The contrast with her pale skin and those wide blue eyes…
it suits the darker creature she has become.
This reckless, self-destructive woman who would rather poison herself than trust me.
I wrap her in a thick blanket, lift her into my arms, and carry her down to the basement.
I kick open the first cell door. The stone bench is cold and unforgiving. I lay the blanket down first, then place her on top of it.
I drag the steel chair from the corner, sit down, and watch her.
Night has fallen outside. The only light in here is a single old oil lamp flickering on the wall, casting long, dancing shadows across the damp stone. It feels like a tomb. Perfect.
She grunts, hands flying to her head as consciousness returns. Then she screams, raw, terrified, and sits up so fast she nearly collapses against the wall.
I don’t move.
“Where—” Her swollen eyes dart around the cell, landing on me. She curls into herself instantly, pressing against the cold stone as if she could disappear into it.
“No… I drank that poison thing.” she says, her voice cracking.
“Who said it was poison?” I lean back in the chair, arms crossed. “He was screaming, wasn’t he? Still alive. That should’ve been your first clue.”
Her gaze drops to the blood on my skin. She covers her mouth, looking sick.
I point to the bucket in the corner. She stumbles toward it, falls to her knees, and dry-heaves violently, though nothing comes out.
“How am I alive?” she rasps, sliding down to sit against the wall.
“It was not poison,” I say calmly. “It was a serum. Hallucinations. Nightmares. Vomiting. The works.” I crack my neck, the sound loud in the stone cell. “Don’t worry. The diarrhea part didn’t happen to you.”
Her cheeks flush with humiliated embarrassment. I smile, slow and cruel.
She is so fragile.
“Don’t worry, my love,” I murmur as I stand and walk toward the door. “You’ll learn to enjoy it down here.”
“No—” She tries to stand but collapses back to her knees.
I pause at the threshold, looking over my shoulder at her trembling form curled on the stone.
“It’s peaceful,” I whisper, closing the heavy door behind me with a final, echoing clang.
I climb the stairs and step into the private security room, the heavy door sealing shut behind me. I drop into the chair and power on the wall of screens. The feed from her cell flickers to life.
She’s curled into a tight ball on the stone bench, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The blanket I left her is clutched desperately against her chest. I should feel something, pity, guilt, regret. But all I feel is cold satisfaction.
She did this to herself. I gave her everything. The mansion. Safety. Freedom within these walls. And she chose to swallow what she thought was poison rather than trust me.
Her phone dings on the console. Lucille.
“Briar, where are you? I’ve been calling you for hours. I went to your apartment. I’m worried sick. Heading to the cops now.”
Eighteen missed calls. Four frantic voicemails. I roll my eyes and type back, trying to mimic her tone.
“I’m safe, girl. Don’t worry.”
Lucille replies instantly.
“This is not Briar. I’m calling the cops.”
I smirk. Let her. No one will ever find this place. Hellebore is hours from everything, buried deep in the woods where the world ends.
It’s almost morning. I watched her all night through the cameras.
She cried until her voice broke. She screamed until her throat was raw. She kicked the heavy wooden door until her foot bruised and bled. And every single second of it fed the darkness inside me.
She really believed there would be no consequences for her recklessness.
I stand, grab the small bag, and descend into the basement. The stone stairs are cold beneath my boots. The single oil lamp flickers as I approach her cell, casting long, trembling shadows that look like reaching hands.
I unlock the door and push it open without a word.
She jumps violently, scrambling backward until her back hits the stone wall. A small, terrified scream escapes her before she slaps a hand over her mouth.
“Where were you?” she cries, it comes out hoarse. “You left me here—”
“I told you this was your punishment,” I say softly, stepping inside and closing the heavy door behind me with a final, echoing clang.
The second the lock clicks, she bolts, trying to run past me for the door. I’m faster. My arm snakes around her waist and yanks her back against my chest. She kicks wildly, screaming, but I hold her easily, her smaller body thrashing against mine.
“Bad, bad girl,” I murmur against her ear. “Now I really need to punish you.”
I drop her onto the cold stone floor. She crawls desperately to the far corner, pressing herself against the wall, eyes wide with terror.
I open the bag slowly and pull out one perfect black hellebore bloom. The petals are velvety and dark, glistening faintly in the lamplight.
“You won’t kill me,” she breathes, staring at the flower.
I smile, slow and cruel. “No. I won’t. And that scares you even more, doesn’t it?”
I step closer. “Stand up, Briar.”
She hesitates, trembling. I tilt my head.
“Stand. Up.”
She rises on shaky legs, back pressed to the stone. I close the distance until I’m towering over her. My fingers find the hem of her hoodie and pull it up slowly, exposing her pale skin inch by inch. She shivers as the cold air kisses her.
Her breasts rise and fall rapidly with each panicked breath, nipples hardening in the chill. I toss the hoodie away and lift the hellebore, brushing it, feather-light across the swell of one breast. The petals barely touch her skin.
She gasps, body jerking.
“So sensitive,” I murmur, dragging the flower lower, circling her nipple with the softest graze. “One hard touch… and this beautiful skin would turn red. Burning. Like fire under your flesh.”
I move the bloom to her other breast, tracing the curve, watching her flinch and tremble.
“Hellebore is a cruel flower,” I continue, sounding almost loving.
“It can stop your heart. It can make you vomit until your insides tear. It can fill your mind with nightmares so vivid you beg for death. Some say it opens the veil between this world and the next… lets the dead whisper to you while you’re still breathing. ”
I drag the petals slowly down her stomach, stopping just above the waistband of her sweatpants. Her entire body is shaking now, breath coming in short, terrified gasps.
“And yet,” I lean in until my masked mouth brushes her ear, “I could crush this flower against your cunt and rub it into your clit until you scream. The pain would be exquisite. The fear even better.”
A broken sob escapes her. Tears slip down her cheeks.
“Behave, my love,” I murmur, brushing a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “Because next time I won’t be this gentle.”
“You’re insane,” she whimpers softly, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
I step back, holding the black hellebore between us.
“I’m insane?” My tone drops into something low and venomous. “I wasn’t the one who swallowed poison just to escape me.”
She’s still shaking. I place the flower carefully on the chair and her eyes follow every movement, wide with terror.
I move fast and she screams.
Grabbing her waist, I spin her around and slam her front against the cold stone wall. Her bare breasts press hard into the rough surface. She gasps, the sound broken.
“I bet you’re soaked,” I growl against her ear, my breath hot on her skin. “I know you crave the danger, Briar. That’s why you ate the cake. That’s why you wanted me to fuck you while you were unconscious and helpless—mine to ruin.”
“I—” Her tone cracks into a whimper as my hand slides down her stomach and dives into her sweatpants.
I find her cunt bare and dripping. One finger presses firmly on her swollen clit.
“Drenched,” I hiss, satisfaction curling dark and vicious in my chest. “Your body doesn’t lie, even when your mouth does.”
“Please—stop,” she begs, but her hips twitch, pushing back against my hand.
I chuckle, the sound is cruel as I tighten my grip on her delicate throat, feeling her breath catch.
“You say stop, but your greedy little cunt is grinding on my fingers like it’s begging for more.” I circle her clit slowly, feeling her tremble. “You want to come all over my hand, don’t you, my love?”
“No—” The word dissolves into a needy moan as I push one thick finger inside her tight heat. She clenches around me instantly, slick and scorching.
I thrust deeper, curling my finger against that perfect spot while my thumb keeps tormenting her clit. Her nipples are flushed and hard, scraped red from the rough stone. Every time she tries to pull away, I press her harder against the wall, controlling her completely.
“Look at you,” I growl, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Pressed against stone, dripping down my fingers while you tell me no. You were made for this. Made to be ruined by me.”
I add a second finger, stretching her, pumping faster, feeling her walls flutter and squeeze. Her moans grow louder, more desperate. Her thighs shake. She’s so close, right on the razor’s edge, so I stop, and pull my fingers out completely, leaving her empty and aching.
A broken sob escapes her.
“Not yet,” I murmur, bringing my soaked fingers to her lips and pushing them inside her mouth. “You don’t get to come until I decide you’ve deserved it.”
She whimpers around my fingers, tasting herself, eyes glassy with frustration and dark need.
I smile against her neck, teeth grazing her skin.
“See you later, my love.”