Chapter 2 Velra
Velra
“This place is fucking creepy. Remind me why the fuck we came here?”
I flick the stick across the coarse strip on the matchbox, and immediately my fingers glow with orange flames. I fight my eye roll. I mean, I get it, the macabre isn’t for everyone, but the complaining is getting old.
“It’s not that bad,” I tell Carey as I move to light the candles adorning the top of the oak dresser. The flames cast flickering shadows across the room. She’s not wrong—it is kinda creepy here. And I love it. “Let’s just try to make the best of it.”
“Why did I let you guys talk me into this?” she huffs as she throws herself down on the bed.
Carey has been my best friend since second grade and has been by my side through a lot of shit.
She held my hand when my first crush told me my nose was too big, she raged with me when Chris Peters said my boobs were too big for him to want to dance with me at the eighth-grade school dance, and she was there for me when my mom got sick.
She’s been a great friend. But if we were to meet today for the first time, without our shared history, we’d probably hate each other.
I’m everything she’s not, and she’s everything I’ll never be.
“Because you love me,” I snark as I continue to light candles.
From my periphery, I can see her lying across the crisp white duvet.
Her blonde hair is fanned out like a halo around her perfectly shaped face.
Her beautiful blue eyes and high cheek bones are further enhanced with her perfectly done, natural looking makeup.
Her perky breasts rise and fall, barely managing to stay trapped beneath her pink tube-top style dress as she huffs again.
She’s very pretty—if you’re into preppy chicks.
“Yeah, but I’m starting to think there are boundaries to how far that love goes, babe,” she snickers as she stares at the ceiling.
You and I both.
I move to light more candles. The house we’re staying in this weekend is rumored to be haunted.
We found it online on a site listing the most haunted locations in Maine.
It seemed like a great idea to spend a weekend away in a haunted manor, or at least it seemed smart when my friends and I got drunk and booked the trip months ago.
My friends and I are into that kind of stuff—spooky shit some call it.
I’ve never been popular. I was always ‘that weird kid.’ In high school, I fit in much better with the goth kids than the jocks.
Our little group of misfits formed out of a combined history of ostracization.
We listened to emo music, wore dark eyeliner and ripped jeans, and dark Chucks with doodles all over the rubber were the only acceptable shoe option.
It wasn’t until after my mother died that I really got more into the paranormal, but it was pretty on brand with my vibes, honestly.
Now that my friends and I are older, we still hang out, we still do weird shit that others probably wouldn’t do.
Including renting a haunted house to stay in for the weekend.
So far, though, we’ve seen no paranormal activity, unfortunately.
I don’t usually invite Carey. She’s not part of our group.
Since middle school, she’s become sort of like my secret friend, the one I talked to when no one else was around to see us together.
She’s my best friend, but she’s also not in my friend group.
And honestly, she doesn’t get it, doesn’t get us.
She was never bullied, never tormented, never left out.
She’s a perfect pink princess. But I barely even thought about it before inviting her here after we booked the rental.
I have no idea what possessed me to do it, and I have no idea why she said yes.
Rain pelts the window loudly, pulling me from my thoughts.
As I continue across the room, lighting candles, I pass a gothic-style, full-length mirror perched across the room.
My eyes catch on something in the reflective surface—a shadow shifting swiftly.
I snap my head towards the mysterious movement.
Nothing’s there. Yet, I can’t stop the eerie feeling of eyes on me—assessing me, devouring me. A shiver runs up my spine.
“I’m bored as fuck,” Carey whines from behind me, startling me from the stupor I was just in.
“The storm knocked out all the power,” I remind her. “The phones are down, the road’s washed out. We have no choice but to just wait it out.”
I can see her splayed out on the bed behind me in the reflective glass of the mirror. Her tanned legs are spread out on the bed, the skirt of her dress riding high up her thighs. My eyes linger on her smooth and supple thighs. They’re just begging for my teeth to mark the—.
What the hell?
I shake my head, shaking off the thoughts. I’ve never had a thought like that pop into my mind before. Sure, I gladly swing both ways—girls are just as fun to fuck around with as guys—but I’ve never been into pain play.
“But I had a date with Greg,” she sighs in exasperation.
Her breasts heave beneath the tight bodice of her pink little dress. They threaten to pop out. I find myself wishing that they would. I’ve seen her naked before, but right now, it’s as if my blood is boiling with the desperate need to fuck.
Why the hell am I so horny?
Just as the words whisper across my subconscious mind, a soft chuckle tickles my ear.
I spin around, but no one’s there—just shadows and smoke curling up from the flickering flames of the candles.
“Do you even understand how fucking hot he is?” Carey asks as I turn back around to face her again. I swear I see movement in the mirror again out of my periphery. I don’t look this time. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me.
“What?” I ask in confusion.
“Greg!” she whines as she runs her palms up the petite curves of her hips and breasts. I swallow down the growing lump in my throat. “He’s so fucking hot. And this was going to be our third date.” She hits me with a pointed stare as she pushes herself up to lean back on her elbows.
Her skirt hitches slightly higher. From this angle, I can almost make out the space between her thighs. I divert my eyes, but it doesn’t stop the swirling discomfort in my core.
“What does that mean?” I ask sincerely.
Carey doesn’t even attempt to hide her eye roll. If she weren’t my best friend, I’d probably label her a spoiled bitch.
“The third date is when you usually… you know…” She trails off as she raises her eyebrows and nods her head slowly.
“You were gonna fuck him?”
I’m not sure why she doesn’t just come out and say it, it’s not like I haven’t heard about her sexual encounters before—in great detail, I might add.
For someone who has a lot of sex, Carey is very unadventurous in her preferences.
She’s what most in the kink community would call vanilla.
Nothing wrong with vanilla or anything, it’s just that some of us prefer something a bit more…
complex. It took a lot of experimenting and trial and error, but I’ve found my place as a submissive partner.
What can I say—I prefer my ice cream cold, intense, and assertive.
“Of course, I was going to sleep with him.” She hates when I call it fucking. She’s a bit uptight for someone who spreads their legs as long as she’s provided three meals, but I’m not one to judge… at least not out loud anyway. “He rides a motorcycle.”
I stare blankly at her for a moment before I realize that she’s expecting me to react. “And that means what exactly?”
Carey scoffs and rolls her eyes before twisting off the bed, and as she does, I catch a glimpse of the swell of her ass cheeks.
My mind wanders, picturing Greg bending Carey over the seat of his bike, flipping her skirt up, and sliding into her cunt in one swift thrust. Would she scream for him?
Would she cream all over his hard shaft like a little slut?
A shiver runs down my spine again, and I fight the urge to touch my own aching breasts.
“Bikers are hot, babe,” she quips as she bends to look into the surface of the antique mirror.
She runs a painted finger under her lower lash line to remove a smudge of black makeup. She barely ever wears any cosmetics. I, on the other hand, am usually covered in a thick layer of 21st-century, kick-ass female war paint. My wine-colored lip stain is my signature.
“I’m pretty sure there’s more to a partner than just what they drive,” I snark as my annoyance flares.
I’m not sure why I’m getting so annoyed, honestly, but I can’t seem to stop the frustration from bubbling up. When I glance back at the glass, her beautiful blue eyes are narrowed at me, watching me closely in the reflection. She’s never looked at me that way before, but it’s unsettling.
Lightning flashes outside, illuminating the room. As the shadows shift, the form of a woman standing directly behind Carey comes into view. She’s tall and slender, with a curtain of dark hair. But it’s her eyes that are most startling—two glowing silver irises stare back directly at me.
The scream that rips from my throat is loud enough to wake the dead. I reach out without thinking about what I’m doing and grab Carey’s hand. Pulling her to me, I wrap my arms around her.
“What the hell, Velra?” Carey asks as she shoves me away to gain space.
“There’s a woman!” I shout as I point to where the woman’s form was looming above Carey’s body.
There’s nothing there. Just empty darkness.
“Girl, you’re losing it.” Carey laughs as she adjusts her strapless dress and heads towards the door. “You pretend to be all alternative and this,” she waves a hand to gesture at my dark makeup and all black outfit. “But even you’re afraid of the boogeyman.”
She laughs as she throws the door open. The Victorian-style latch clicks loudly as the door hinges. My racing heart begins to slow as thunder shakes the walls of the ancient house.
“Come on,” Carey calls over her shoulder. “Let’s find some wine.”
I take a few deep breaths, steadying my nerves. Then I take a few steps to follow Carey. I probably could use a glass of wine to help me relax. My mind is all over the place tonight. I need something to help me chill out.
Just as I take the final steps across the room, a voice whispers into my ear. A deep, seductive female voice that has goosebumps pricking at the skin of my arms.
“Best to keep your wits about you tonight, my little morsel.”