Chapter 35
Gustav
The American witch is good.
Here I am. I didn’t kill her father. She baited me back. And she still has a pulse.
A formidable opponent.
The night wind bites as we cross the courtyard toward the residence hall. She walks close enough that it’s cute. She doesn’t pull away. She hooks her elbow through mine like she belongs there. Clearly, she believes she has the right to touch me.
I should push her off. I should tell her to stop. I should remember she lied. All women lie.
But every step beside her scrapes another pixel of black from the edges of my mind.
She makes the noise quiet.
That alone is... disturbing.
She talks softly about the last few days.
Her words spill warm and bright, a contrast to the cold evening and the darker parts of me pacing inside my chest. I respond with grunts.
Nods. Nothing more. My hands stay in my pockets, but she keeps touching me, brushing me, leaning in when she laughs. She looks proud. Happy. Radiant.
It’s unsettling.
She is too close. Too trusting. Too willing to melt into me when I am barely holding myself together.
The voices swarm like gnats.
Don’t get attached.
She doesn’t seem to notice the way I stiffen.
Or ignores it.
We round a corner and a young man steps into her path. Her friend. Some grinning idiot whose eyes go wide when he sees her. He asks about a class he missed. She laughs. He laughs. They stand too close. His hand almost touches her arm.
Maybe Boris. Doesn’t matter. He has a dick.
My vision narrows.
Uncle’s voice arrives.
Kill him. Kill him now. Kill him in front of her so she learns.
Mother’s voice is louder:
Don’t scare her, Gustav.
Frustrated, I step forward without thinking. My hand fists the collar of her coat and jerks her backward. She hits my chest hard, breath leaving her in a soft gasp. Her body fits against me perfectly, her back small against my front. My arm wraps tight around her ribs, pinning her where I want her.
Her sweet scent hits me at once. Mine.
I lower my face to her neck and bite the soft skin there, slow and claiming. Her breath stutters as my teeth drag along her pulse. The voices quiet. They always quiet when I taste her.
I look up from under my brow at the boy.
He freezes. He knows who I am.
He leaves.
Good.
She tilts her head in confusion when I release her, her brows pulled together like she doesn’t understand why I did it. Why I needed to do it.
She takes my hand gently. Then she lifts it and presses a kiss to my knuckles, then holds her lips on my gold wedding band. The gesture is small, but it detonates in my chest. She is speaking my dark language without words, the display calming.
A pause.
She whispers, “No one else can have my heart.”
The way she says it is sincere and vulnerable, a pure confession. I feel myself harden instantly.
I don’t say anything.
Then Keira and Tyra, an American she must have snuck over, appear down the walkway. Peighton smiles at them. I feel the familiar irritation spike. Too many people want her attention. Too many faces pull her away from me when I’m still on edge.
My Uncle’s voice growls, suddenly as clear as ever:
Break their necks. Bury them. Then strangle her. Fuck the plan.
But she interrupts the order by touching my wrist and saying she is hungry.
“I bet you’re hungry, too,” she adds.
Hm. She wants to feed me. That won’t help.
“I’m a good cook.” Her voice is hopeful, almost pleading.
...She wants to take care of me.
I am not used to being cared for. I am not used to anyone wanting to. My jaw ticks, my agitation building. This damn place is messing with me.
“I want to take you home, away from here,” I blurt.
She hesitates, then says cautiously, “The castle is not good for you right now.”
The words scrape the inside of my skull the wrong way. My pulse spikes. The voices surge.
See? She doesn’t want to be alone with you. She wants to stay. There’s someone else.
I’m pacing. I can feel the chaos rising.
She sees it. She steps close and rests her palm over my heart, grounding me. That touch quiets the rising madness in a way nothing else does.
“Follow me,” she coos.
I hesitate, but I follow step.
We end up in a kitchen. She moves around the counters, gathering things, turning on the oven, reaching for flour and spices. I watch her.
I like watching her work for me.
A man appears in the doorway, some staff member retrieving supplies. He talks to her. She laughs. That laugh is too bright, too easy for him. I’ve never heard it. She saved it for him.
My jaw clenches. Something feral rolls through me. I walk over and grab him by the back of his shirt and throw him out of the kitchen. He hits the hall’s wall with a grunt. I slam the door shut and lock it.
Peighton startles, but I move.
My hands clear the counter with a sweep of my arm. Utensils clatter to the floor. A cloud of flour drops like snow. Her breath catches.
I step into her space, caging her between my arms.
“On your knees,” I say, dark and low.
She doesn’t hesitate, but sinks slowly, the dress she’s wearing pooling around her legs. Flour covers the floor. Her hands rest on my thighs as she looks up at me with wide, unsure eyes. But her pupils are blown. Her breathing fast.
She wants this... Fuck, I hope she wants this. Because I need her right now. I need this to stop.
I trace her jaw with my knuckle. Her lips part. I feel the madness pulse again, but it is a different kind of madness now. One aimed at her mouth.
She leans in, about to kiss my hand.
“No,” I murmur. “I want your mouth swallowing me.”
She blushes softly and that innocence tugs at the wild in me.
She reaches for my belt. I let her unbuckle it. I let her bare me in her hands. Her breath breaks as she feels what’s hers. I thread my fingers through her hair gently, then tug, guiding her closer, dying to fuck her throat — the thing every man on this campus wants to do.
“Open,” I murmur.
She does, holy and with such a damn beautiful gleam in her eyes.
Her lips wrap around me slowly, carefully. The warmth of her tongue makes me shudder. Her inexperience is still painfully evident. She tries to take more and chokes.
I smirk, loving it.
I guide her rhythm with a soft, possessive grip in her silky hair. She moans quietly against me.
“Good, moyá devushka. Like that,” I exhale.
“Mmm,” she hums.
That sound makes my cock twitch against her pillowy tongue. Her hands grip my thighs lightly for balance. She looks up through her lashes and I nearly lose myself completely.
But not tonight. Not yet.
I pull her off me with a shaky breath. Her lips are swollen. Her eyes glazed.
Sexy.
Then I lift her onto the counter and her legs wrap around me instinctively. Flour smudges on her thighs. Her sweater slips off one shoulder. Her breath is warm as she whispers my name, soft and aching.
I kiss her hard, devouring her. I grip her hips, pulling her to the edge of the counter. Her gasp is the sweetest sound I have ever heard.
Then, something sharp stabs my temple. A familiar pain. A warning. A call to destroy her.
I freeze and rub the spot, frantic.
She notices immediately. Her hand cradles my cheek, thumb stroking gently over my temple.
“Gustav,” she whispers. “Stop. Look at me.”
Her voice pulls me out of the spiral. I blink and finally see her again. Her cheeks flushed. Her sweater’s now off, breasts almost spilling out of her bra. Her legs trembling. Her lips parted.
She wants me.
I want her too much.
I lean back, panting, my shirt half undone, my mind a battlefield.
She touches my face again, softer this time.
“No. Come here,” she soothes.
I do. I rest my forehead against hers. My hands grip the counter like if I touch her again, I’ll be tricked.
She kisses the corner of my mouth. A featherlight touch. A plea.
Then she whispers into the dark, “Use me. Let your wife calm you.”
My heart stutters. My breath stops. My darkness quiets completely.
Those words command me.
I press my cock to her entrance.
Da. I’ll use her. I’ll behave. I’ll be nice.
I—
Fucking ravage her the second my shaft slips into her hot heat.
It’s carnage and lust at its best. Every thrust into her soft cunt adds light to the inky darkness haunting me. I fuck her with force, my thighs flexed like stone, my fingertips gripping her flesh with desperation, my gaze memorizing every frame from one second to the next.
I rip her bra down and suck her perfect tits, biting the buds, and feeding on her like a fountain that won’t quench my thirst.
I smack her hip, sending flour dust in the air. She moans. She really moans. This girl is enjoying it, and the way her eyes look into mine, it’s more than pleasure.
Fucking hell. She loves me.
Ignore that.
Take her harder. Fuck that look out of her. Make her fear you.
I pick up the pace even faster, deeper. God she feels incredible.
It’s a blur of ecstasy.
Her walls slam down and my cock is strangled, sending me over the edge.
I let out a primal groan as I spill into her warmth, her greedy pussy pulsing out every drop from my cock.
Holy fuck, she’s perfect.
I shudder, struggling to regain my bearings.
When my eyes flutter open after that earth-shattering orgasm, I see red.
Red-red.
Blood.
She pants, her chest rising and falling. She eyes me cautiously with blood smeared on her face, on her breasts, her neck... everywhere.
I look at my hand, finding a knife clutched in my fist.
Fuck.
Fuck!
What did I do?