Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Now, the bed was empty, not unusual for him. I rolled onto my back, wincing as the soreness flared, and let out a slow breath. It was always like this. The nights were a blur of intensity, and the mornings left me aching in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant but made me feel... owned. I belonged somewhere.
My gaze drifted across the room, and there, by the bedside, was the familiar vase. As always, the flowers had been replaced with fresh ones, their vibrant colors spilling across the dark wood. A new addition caught my eye—a deep burgundy rose, its petals rich and velvety, standing out against the other blooms. I traced its lines with my eyes, feeling the weight of what it meant. Even working from home most days, Alexander still never left me without some reminder of his presence.
Pushing back the covers, I slid out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cool floor as I made my way to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The sun was already high, casting its light across the still water of the lake just beyond the estate. The serenity outside stood in sharp contrast to the chaos that had taken place the night before. I could still feel it—lingering on the edges of my mind, flashes of fire and chanting, of Alexander pressing me up against a tree, his breath hot on my neck as he whispered things I wasn’t ready to process.
Shaking off the thoughts, I padded toward the bathroom. My mouth felt dry—cotton mouth, as if I hadn’t drunk water in days. My jaw ached too, a dull throb that reminded me of the more intimate parts of the night. I could still feel the imprint of Alexander’s touch, the way he had guided me, taking what he wanted, what I’d given him willingly.
I tried not to think about the deeper parts of what I’d felt... the darkness that had crept into the pleasure.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was tangled, and my skin looked flushed, marked in places where Alexander’s hands had lingered. I sighed and grabbed my toothbrush, working it around my mouth, the minty taste doing little to quench the dryness in my throat. As I brushed, bits and pieces of the night before began to surface.
The ceremony. Flames licking up the sides of the inverted cross. The women dancing in circles, their faces hidden beneath dark veils. Emilia’s screams, raw and primal, and the haunting rhythm of the music that had followed, sinking into my skin, into my soul. My body pressed against the tree, Alexander behind me, his breath hot and heavy in my ear, his hands lifting my gown as he whispered those words—this is where you belong.
I spat into the sink, gripping the edge of the counter as the memories hit harder. The ritual. The madness of it all. The way I had wanted him, even amid that nightmare. My jaw tightened against the ache, and I rinsed my mouth, staring at myself in the mirror again, searching for... what? A sign of change? A mark of what had happened? They were there. The faint marks from the trees and an outline of fingerprints around my throat like a necklace.
The memory hit me all at once, sharp and nauseating—the taste, the texture, the realization of what I had consumed the night before. It clawed its way out of my stomach before I could stop it, and I was running, stumbling into the small room where the toilet sat. I barely made it before I started retching, my body shaking with each violent heave as the bile burned its way up my throat.
I couldn’t stop.
I couldn’t unthink it—the taste of the flesh, the horror of what it had been.
My body rebelled against the memory, forcing out everything it could. I felt hands in my hair, pulling it back, keeping it away from my face. His touch was steady, unbothered. He stayed silent, his presence unshakable, as I emptied the last of the contents of my stomach.
When it was over, I slumped against the toilet, exhausted and ashamed. He flushed for me without a word, then handed me a small, damp rag. I wiped my mouth, the sour taste still lingering as I tried to regain control of myself, my breathing uneven and ragged. Alexander stood by, calm and patient, as if this were nothing out of the ordinary.
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t need to.
With his hand at the small of my back, he gently guided me back to the sink. The gesture was so careful, so precise, that for a moment, the horror of what I had done slipped away, replaced by the cold, steady comfort of his control.
I grabbed my toothbrush again, scrubbing my teeth furiously, trying to erase the memory, the taste, the entire nightmare of the previous night. Alexander stood beside me, watching, his reflection in the mirror as steady and composed as ever, a silent observer in this moment of weakness. When I finished brushing, I glanced at him, searching for something in his eyes. Comfort? Reassurance? Or an acknowledgment of what I’d just gone through. He simply stood there, his gaze unreadable, his control unshakable.