35. Briar
Chapter Thirty-Five
brIAR
Cold… so cold.
I can barely feel my fingers or my feet anymore.
My body aches in one endless, dull throb, and I have lost all track of time.
Is it night? Day? Has it been days? Weeks?
The stone presses in around me, damp stone and the faint, musty smell of earth and decay.
Drops of rain seep through cracks in the ceiling, pattering coldly onto the floor like slow tears.
Outside, the wind howls, a lonely, mournful sound that echoes down here like a dying scream.
He keeps giving me injections. I sleep. I wake. That’s all I do–
I turn my head and dry heave, but nothing comes up. There is nothing left inside me. I just wish death would finally take me. Quietly. Mercifully.
Tears slip down my cheeks again, hot against my frozen skin. It is all I do now, locked in this tomb.
Lawrence Rowe. Drystan’s father. The name alone brings fresh waves of nausea and fear.
“He will blame himself forever,” I say gently to her coffin.
Aurora Rowe Rest in Peace.
Her coffin forgotten...
It’s not his fault. I would never blame him. But I know Drystan, and what scares me most is not dying here in the dark—it’s him never finding closure. Ending his own life thinking I hated him for what his father did. That thought hurts worse than any bruise or cut.
“Drystan…” I say softly, curling tighter against the cold wall. The small, wet blanket does nothing to ward off the chill. It clings to my skin like a second layer of misery. The chains on my ankles keep me in place.
I can feel it—my body shutting down. My mind fractures, showing me things that are not there: shadows that move like hands, whispers that sound like his voice. But it’s never him, it’s tricks from drugs, from desperation. It’s never him.
Cuts and bruises cover me, raw and stinging whenever the drugs wear thin. When Lawrence walks in, I no longer fight. I close my eyes and slip away to another place. To him. To Hellebore.
The pain becomes distant for a moment… until Lawrence makes sure I feel everything again. Every brutal thrust. Every cruel touch. He laughs while he does it, low and satisfied, telling me how delusional I am to think Drystan would ever come for me. That he will never find me here.
I bite back the sobs and retreat deeper inside my mind, clinging to memories of dark green eyes, strong arms, and the gothic halls that once promised safety.
The wind howls louder outside, rain drips steadily onto the stone floor.
I am so cold. And so tired of waiting to die.
Steps echo outside.
No. Please not again. Let me die before he comes back. Please. Just let me go from this earth.
The heavy door creaks open. I curl tighter into myself, arms over my head, eyes closed tight, trembling.
“Please…” I sob, voice broken and small. “Just… make it quick.”
Silence.
“My love.”
That voice. Tears flood my eyes instantly. My heart shatters because it is not him. It cannot be. My mind is lying again, dangling cruel hope that no longer exists.
I don’t look up. I can’t. It’s not him…
“Briar…” He whispers, raw and desperate. Then he falls to his knees in front of me.
I snap my head up.
“Drystan.” The name rips out of me in a scream. Sobs tear free, uncontrollable, shaking my entire body as I scream and scream until my throat feels raw. The despair I have carried for so long cracks wide open, flooding everything.
His warm arms wrap around me, pulling me hard against his chest. I feel his massive frame trembling, the way his breath catches like he is breaking too. “I found you. I found you,” he whispers over and over, voice hoarse and wrecked.
“I—” Another scream tears from me, cracking into sobs. “Please, be here. Please don’t be another hallucination. Please—”
“I’ve got you, my love. I’ve got you.” He cradles me closer, one large hand cupping the back of my head, his body a shield against the cold stone and the dripping rain.
His heart hammers wildly against mine. I can feel the wetness of his own tears on my hair, the way his grip shakes with the same desperate need that has kept me clinging to life.
Drystan. He came. He found me.
I sob harder, fingers clutching at his shirt as if he might vanish any second. The despair that had swallowed me whole still claws at the edges, but I grab onto him with everything I have left.
I feel his hand moving to my ankles, there’s a cracking sound of the chains opening and the pain rises through my spine from how sore my skin feels.
His arms wrap around me and then I feel my body floating. He moves slowly, careful, like I might shatter in his hold. The damp air of the crypt shifts as he carries me outside, the faint scent of wet earth and night-blooming flowers drifting around us.
“You’re wounded.” I hear a man’s voice and flinch hard against Drystan’s chest. He tightens his arms around me instantly, protective and fierce, shielding me from everything else.
I finally look up at him. His jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful, a thick vein pulsing in his neck. He looks almost sick—tired, defeated, the weight of everything carved deep into his face.
“You hurt?” I whisper, voice cracking.
“It’s nothing.” He looks down. His beautiful green eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. He looks like he has not slept in days. Like he has been unraveling right alongside me.
I can’t control the fresh wave of tears and sobs that return.
He stops walking for a moment, lowering his face to mine until our foreheads touch.
I wrap my freezing hands around his neck, clinging desperately, needing to feel his warmth, his pulse, his realness.
Needing to know this is not another hallucination that will vanish when I blink.
“I’m taking you home,” he whispers, voice rough and trembling, breaking on the last word.
I collapsed during the car ride home and slept in his arms until the sun came up. He patched my wounds while Enzo gave me pills to help with the pain. Now I see the gates of Hellebore and my heart beats a little faster.
I’m back. I actually made it back.
The car stops. Drystan slides under me and pulls me gently into his lap.
“What if this is a dream?” I whisper.
“Then don’t wake up.” He presses a soft kiss to my forehead. I close my eyes. The sunlight peeking through the trees still hurts them.
He carries me up the stairs into the mansion.
I catch the faint scent of orange blossom and open my eyes.
He is walking toward our bedroom. The moment I see the familiar purple shades of our room, another sob collapses out of me.
Drystan doesn’t say a word. He just holds me tighter, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You are safe now. I promise Lawrence will never hurt you again.” Anger flashes in his gaze for a second, then disappears. “No one ever will.”
He leans over the bed and places me gently onto the mattress. “I’m going to prepare you a bath, okay?”
“No.” I rush forward and grab his hand before he can move away. “Don’t leave me alone.”
I see the pain in his eyes—the raw fear—as he looks at me. He nods, picks me up again, and takes me to the bathroom. He sets me down on the floor and I slide weakly against the cold tiles.
“Briar…” He tries to pull me up, but I shake my head.
“I’m okay. Just let me sit here…” I whisper. My entire body hurts so much that the cold tiles almost feel soothing, numbing the worst of it.
“After the bath we need to get you to the hospital. They need to check—”
“No,” I cut him off, more tears spilling over. “Not again. No one will touch me. No, Drystan. No, please.” I don’t even realize I am dragging myself away from him across the floor.
“Briar, okay. We won’t go. Just—” He reaches his hand toward me, voice breaking. “Please don’t move away from me.” Tears gather in his eyes.
“I’m not my father. I’m not Lawrence.” His voice cracks completely.
“I just don’t want strangers touching me,” I try to explain, but I can tell I am failing by the way his face falls even more.
He nods slowly and turns to the tub. Warm water fills it as he adds oils and salts. “These will help with the soreness and wounds,” he explains gently.
He stands and walks back to me, extending his hand and waiting. I place my trembling fingers over his. He leans down, lifts me, but this time a short grunt escapes his throat. I watch fresh blood spread across the fabric near his shoulder and chest.
“Oh my God, you’re bleeding.” I press my hand over the wound, trying to stop it.
“I’m okay. I’ll get stitches once you’re in bed, resting.” He brushes it off like it is nothing.
“Drystan—” I press but he ignores it.
He sets me near the tub and turns around. “Get undressed, and I will help you if you want.”
I place my hand on his shoulder. I feel his muscles tense under my touch.
“Please don’t do that—” It comes out broken, my voice shaking so badly I barely recognize it.
He turns slowly. “I thought, after what happened, you didn’t want me to—” His beautiful, sad green eyes meet mine. I give him a soft, fragile smile.
“Just don’t say anything,” I whisper.
I turn toward the tub and remove my shirt.
I hear his breathing hitch. Lawrence hit me whenever I didn’t behave the way he wanted, whenever my body couldn’t do what he demanded.
I know I have bruises blooming across my chest, my hips, my thighs.
I feel dirty. Disgusting. And knowing Drystan is seeing all of it makes me feel painfully vulnerable… but also powerful in a broken way.
I survived it all.
I turn to face him. His hands curl into tight fists at his sides. His jaw pops, but he does what I asked. He doesn’t say anything.