20. Briar
Chapter Twenty
brIAR
Ican’t stop shivering. The thick blankets Drystan left behind press heavy against my skin, one folded beneath me and the other draped over my body, warm enough to chase away the chill of the stone, yet the tremor runs deeper than cold.
A dark sensation crawls at the back of my skull, persistent and heavy, whispering that something truly terrible waits just beyond this moment.
I don’t think I will ever leave this place.
Drystan is insane. He placed cameras throughout my house. He watched me shower. He watched me touch myself in the privacy of my own bed. The memory burns hot through my chest and between my thighs at once.
But you knew he was watching and still touched yourself while the video played, my mind reminds me. You watched him lick you and let your fingers move faster.
I am no better than he is. I allowed him to touch me. I wanted more. He came all over me and instead of disgust I felt a rush of dark pleasure. The sight of that six-foot-seven massive man, his eyes burning with raw lust and desperate yearning, left me aching in ways I cannot forget.
Why do I always attract such fucked-up men? Maybe because I am a little fucked up myself…
Yes, I am. But I would never lock someone in a cell. Not someone I claimed to love. Not someone I said I wanted to protect.
I wonder if Drystan was there when it all happened. If he would have stopped them. Stopped the one who—no. I cannot go there. If I let those memories surface now I will drown in them and never come back up.
Will Lucille search for me? And if she finds this place, will he hurt her?
My thoughts drift to the twins. Their skull masks. Their combat gear. They stood shorter than Drystan, perhaps six-five, but broader and more heavily built, with tattoos visible along the lines of their necks. They carried the same unhinged darkness in their eyes.
I am surrounded by lunatics.
Also what did he do with Tom’s body? The woods stretch vast and endless. Did he bury him out there among the trees? Surely this could not have been his first time. He moved too comfortably, too certain in the violence.
I don’t know what to do. My fingers twist into the blanket as confusion and something far more dangerous twist inside my chest. Even now a part of me wants him here.
I want the weight of his green eyes on me, heavy and consuming.
I wonder how those piercings would feel against my tongue, against my skin, cold metal and hot mouth.
No. He is a kidnapper. A stalker. He is not some prince charming.
Prince charmings are always boring anyway.
They could never fuck with the kind of violence that makes you feel like they want to break you in half and put you back together again.
I curl tighter beneath the blankets, the stone bed hard beneath me, the mansion silent and oppressive around my small cell. The shiver returns stronger than before.
I can feel the faint rays of sunlight from the small window warming the stone wall. Morning has come. I actually slept through the night, my mind spinning endless scenes of what might happen next until exhaustion finally pulled me under.
I turn over and sit up. My breath catches hard in my throat. Drystan sits motionless on the silver chair near the door, watching me. How did I not hear him enter?
He wears a plain black t-shirt, black jeans, and heavy boots. His arms rest on his thighs, body leaned back in quiet dominance. His black hair falls messy over his forest-green eyes.
Jesus Christ, he is beautiful.
“I’m giving you another chance, Briar.” His words roll out slow and deep, heavy with warning. “One more chance to behave. If you try anything again, I will lock you in here forever.”
A chill races down my spine. I swallow hard against the tight knot in my throat and nod.
“Words,” he orders.
“I won’t do anything,” I reply.
He stands and points toward the door. I rise and follow him out. As we climb the stairs, soft sunlight filters through the tall windows. No rain today.
“Upstairs,” he commands. I climb the massive staircase to the first floor with him close behind me, his presence pressing heavy against my back.
He points right. I walk down the long hallway.
“Were these paintings also done by the twins?” I ask.
“No.” That is all he offers.
We stop before two huge black wood doors carved with hellebore flowers. He opens them. My heart stutters.
The bedroom stretches vast and dark. Black walls absorb the light.
Dark wood furniture fills the space, dominated by a gothic bed with four thick columns and rich purple bedding.
Fabric drapes between the posts like something from an ancient nightmare.
A fireplace faces the bed, its stone mantle cold and elegant.
A huge black rug covers the floor. Two deep armchairs sit near the floor-to-ceiling window.
Through an open door on the left I see the bathroom, all black tiles and silver fixtures.
It feels beautiful in the darkest way. A strange, dangerous peace settles over me here.
“Candles,” I murmur.
“Your favorite ones,” he replies.
Only then do I notice how perfectly this room reflects me. Purple tones everywhere. Soft blankets. The fireplace. Candles. A massive shelf packed with hundreds of books lines the wall opposite the window.
“You did all this for me?” My voice shakes.
“I did.” He leans closer. His scent wraps around me, dark and masculine. “I told you. I will give you anything you have ever wanted or needed.”
My heart sinks. No one has ever done anything like this for me. Lucille was the only one who ever tried to learn who I really was and what I loved. And Drystan—
I turn to face him. He straightens to his full height. His forest eyes burn into mine with terrifying intensity.
“Why?” I shake my head as a tear slips down my cheek. “You don’t know me.”
He smirks, dark and slow. His pupils dilate.
“I don’t know you? Briar, my love. I know everything about you.
I know you have loved purple since your mother sewed that dress for your favorite doll when you were small.
I know you burn candles because you believe they cleanse your soul.
I know you take long hot showers while mumbling your list of things you want to do before sleep.
I know you drink your tea scalding hot even in the height of summer and always choose honey over sugar. ”
His hand rises. His fingers brush my face with possessive gentleness. He rubs his thumb across my lower lip. “I know you always forget your skincare before bed, then toss and turn until you get up and do it because you cannot sleep otherwise.”
My lips part. His thumb slides between them. I move my tongue slowly, tentative, over the pad of his finger. His breathing grows heavier, rougher, filling the quiet room as the weight of his obsession presses down on me.
“How do you know all that?” I ask, stepping back. His touch has left my skin too warm, my legs unsteady beneath me, heat burning across my cheeks.
He remains still, hands resting at his sides, eyes never leaving me. “Years of watching you, Briar. Years of listening to every conversation you had with your friends. Years of reading every secret note you hid under your desk in that drawer.”
“You were inside my bedroom?” Fear and something dangerously close to admiration twist up my spine. “At my parents’ house? And the dorm in college?”
“Your dorm, yes. At your family home, no. I was only eighteen then. I did not yet possess the skill to enter and leave without leaving any trace.” A dark smirk touches his mouth.
“So you have been following me since you were eighteen?” My mind spins. “Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”
He leans against the wall, hands sliding into his pockets, that dangerous smirk deepening. “You were too perfect. Too pure for the darkness I carried. I knew you were not ready for a man like me.”
“And I am now?” I interrupt.
“Yes.” His voice drops, low and certain.
“Because my hair is black now? Because I no longer carry that innocent look you once wanted?” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. The knowledge that my trauma changed me into someone he now desires more makes my stomach twist painfully.
“No, Briar.” He pushes off the wall and steps forward with slow movements.
“I was always going to take you. The moment you graduated, I planned to make you mine. But they locked me away for six years. When I saw you again… it did not make me want you more. It proved you were always meant to be mine. Even after everything that tried to break you, you remained perfect. You are still my other half. My obsession. The only soul that fits the empty space inside my chest.”
His words hit right into my soul and all reason flees. The fear, the warnings screaming in my head that this man is unhinged, that he has stolen me, caged me, watched me for years, they all fracture under the weight of this unbearable yearning.
I stride toward him.
The moment he sees me moving, he surges forward. Our bodies collide with desperate force. His hands claim my waist and the back of my head, fingers threading tight through my hair as I grip the collar of his black shirt and pull him down to me. Our lips crash together.
But the crash does not stay violent.
Drystan slows instantly, as if he has waited years for this single moment and refuses to rush it.
His mouth moves against mine with reverence, firm yet achingly gentle.
The heat of his lips sends fire racing through my veins.
I taste the faint salt of his skin, the hunger he has kept leashed for so long.
His breath trembles against me, rough and unsteady, betraying the storm raging beneath his control.
I feel his body shift under my hands. The hard muscles of his chest tighten, then soften as he presses closer, molding his massive frame against mine until there is no space left between us.
One of his hands slides low on my waist, fingers pressing into my lower back with possessive strength, anchoring me to him.
His other hand stays buried in my hair, tilting my head exactly how he wants so he can deepen the kiss.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, slowly asking to enter.
When I part for him, he groans softly into my mouth, a low, broken sound that vibrates through my entire body.
He tastes like sin and obsession, like every dark fantasy I have tried to bury.
Our tongues meet, sliding together in a slow, sensual dance that makes my knees weaken.
Heat pools heavy between my thighs. My nipples tighten against his chest as I arch into him, chasing more.
He pulls back just enough to speak against my lips, his voice hoarse, ragged, and dripping with what sounds like starvation.
“Briar…” he breathes, forehead resting against mine, eyes burning into me.
His pupils are blown wide, the forest green almost swallowed by black.
“I have dreamed of this mouth for endless years. Every night I imagined how soft you would feel, how sweet you would taste. You are my damnation and my salvation. Let me ruin you slowly. Let me worship every inch of you until the only name you remember, the only breath you draw, belongs to me.”
His words sink deep into my bones, dark and velvet-wrapped.
I should be terrified. This man is dangerous.
He is obsessed. He has already taken my freedom.
Yet my body betrays me completely. My fingers tighten harder on his shirt as I pull him back down, craving more of his mouth, more of his heat, more of the terrifying devotion that makes me feel both prey and goddess at once.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, slower, as if he wants to memorize every second.
His tongue strokes mine with devastating patience while his hand grips my hair tighter, sending delicious sparks of pain and pleasure down my spine.
I can feel the hard evidence of his arousal pressing against my stomach, thick and insistent, and the realization sends another rush of wet heat between my legs.
I am losing myself in him. And for the first time, I am not sure I want to be found.