Chapter 24: Scarred: Chapter 22

When I mentioned the abandoned cabin to Antony before I snapped his neck, I wasn’t lying.

I found it one day after escaping from my brother and his pack. I’m not sure who originally owned the place, and I know even less about who inhabited the inside, but I do know in the ten years since I found it, there hasn’t been another living soul that’s known of its existence, or been inside the shoddy, crumbling walls.

Over the years, I’ve cleaned it up. There’s no running water, and electricity is too new for it to exist here, but despite all of that, it’s comfortable.

It’s also in such a condensed area of the woods that nobody can hear the screams.

“I don’t want to continue hurting you,” I say, walking around Edward. I anchored his arms with thick chains to a long wooden table that’s declined enough for his head to be beneath his body. “I want to trust you.”

His breathing is choppy; I can tell from the way the dirty white cloth that’s over his face morphs with each of his heavy breaths, being sucked into his mouth and blowing back out.

“You were foolish,” I continue. “And as a result, everything could be ruined. Do you know what you’ve done?”

He shakes his head, the chains clanking from where his arms pull. “I’m sorry,” he says, the words muffled behind the fabric.

My stomach burns from what he’s forcing me to do, and I exhale a breath, clicking my tongue. “It’s too late for apologies, Edward. We must repent for our mistakes and learn from them.”

I dip the large metal jug into the bucket of water at my feet, bringing it over his head and tilting until the liquid pours in a steady stream onto his face, soaking the cloth and dribbling into his mouth until it fills his airways.

The tendons in his neck bulge as he thrashes against the table.

“I’m sure you know this is nothing compared to what will happen if your lover gossips and we’re arrested for treason,” I note. “After all, you’ve been the one doling out the punishment for years now.”

His breathing garbles, his body rising and falling in jerky movements as he chokes on the water, unable to do anything except experience the sensation of drowning and pray that I let him live.

I snap the jug upright again and sigh, my insides curdling at the thought of having to resort to such extremes. The large bottle thumps against the rotting wood floor as I set it down, before leaning over Edward and removing the cloth from his face.

His skin is sopping wet; broken blood vessels spinning spider webs around his eyes, his lips cracked and bleeding from where he’s bit into them in his panic.

I adjust the table until he’s lying flat. “If you were anyone else, I would kill you.”

His head lolls to the side, his chest heaving. “I know,” he says, his voice broken and hoarse.

“Are you going to thank me for my mercy?”

His eyes find mine, his mouth parted and panting.

“I don’t want to break your spirit, Edward. You must know it pains me as much as it does you.” I place my hand on my chest. “But bringing someone in without my approval was dangerous at best and a suicide attempt at worst.”

He blinks, his tongue swiping against the chapped flesh. “Thank… you.”

“For?” My brows rise.

“For your mercy.”

I nod, satisfied with his punishment, leaning down to move the water bucket to the edge of the room and extinguishing the candles that light the space. But I don’t unbind him. He’ll stay the night and I’ll fetch him in the morning after I ensure he understands his loyalty and silence are of the utmost importance.

“Are you leaving me here?” he asks, his tone shaky.

Reaching out, I grip the rusty metal doorknob. “Think on your actions, Edward, and tomorrow morning we can start again.”

I swing open the door, stepping outside into the crisp nighttime air. Pausing, I twist back to face him. “If something happens. If anything goes awry, it will be you who takes the fall. Do you understand?”

His eyes are hazy as he stares at me from where he’s bound, bobbing his head against the wood.

And even though I’ve lost all my trust in Edward, for now, it’s enough.

Slamming the door shut behind me, I take out the skeleton key and turn it in the lock before spinning to walk away. Tilting my head to the side, I crack my neck, grabbing my matchbox from my pocket, retrieving a rolled joint from inside.

Perhaps it was stupid of me to let Edward live, and if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t. But Edward is a critical piece in the rebellion. Losing him would be akin to losing an arm, and that’s a risk I’m not prepared to take.

Lighting the hash, I inhale deep and start the trek back to the castle.

The moon is high and bright tonight; the usual clouds that grace the Saxum skies missing, creating a haunting glow on the darkened ground. There’s no clear-cut path to the cabin, I’ve taken different ways over the years to ensure the grass doesn’t wear from my footsteps, but the easiest route heads straight to my mother’s garden, and tonight, that’s the one I take.

Torture can be so tiresome.

I come out of the trees and stop short when I see a shadowy figure sitting at one of the black benches surrounding the fountain. As I make my way closer, I realize that it’s Lady Beatreaux.

Something unsettling jolts through me at the fact my little doe is, once again, out when she should be safely away and tucked in bed.

“Insomnia is a serious health issue,” I say, stepping up behind her.

She twists around, the moonlight splashing across her high cheekbones, a small smile gracing her lips. “You would know.”

I walk around the bench and sit next to her, splaying my legs out wide as I tip the joint to my lips and inhale again.

She watches me, a curious sheen coasting across her face. It’s innocent, I’m sure, but her gaze sears through me anyway, blazing a path beneath my skin until she’s burned her way to the deepest parts of me. I lean my head against the back of the bench, the wooden slabs pressing against my skull, and reach out, offering her the burning paper.

Honestly, I don’t expect her to take it, but she surprises me—as she’s prone to do—when she grabs it from my fingers with her dainty hands. I roll my head to the side, watching as she brings it to her mouth, wrapping her lips around the end, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks.

My cock stiffens.

Her eyes grow large, a plume of smoke billowing as she coughs and sputters, her fist coming up to smash at her chest.

“That’s—” She coughs again. “That’s horrid. Why would you do that? It’s torturous.”

Smirking, I take the hash back, scooting closer to her on the bench. “And what do you know of torture, little doe?”

Her coughing dies down, her eyes glazed from where they’ve watered.

“It burns,” she whines.

“You just have to learn how to inhale.” I move in even closer, my stomach tensing as I bring the joint to her lips, wondering if she’ll allow me or if she’ll slap my hand away.

Both options excite me, and I can’t decide which one I crave more; her submission or her fight.

Her fingers wrap around my wrist, the touch sending sparks racing up my arm, and I push the edge against her mouth. “Suck it slow.”

My cock hardens until it’s painfully swollen and pressing against my leg as her lips wrap around the paper.

I reach out, stroking two fingers down the front of her esophagus, because right now, when it’s just the two of us, I can’t not touch her. “Now swallow,” I rasp.

Her eyes flash, but her muscles bob as the smoke swirls down her throat and bleeds into her lungs.

Our eyes catch.

“Exhale.”

She listens, and a cloud curls around her face, obscuring her from my view. My insides preen from her obedience.

“Good girl.” My fingers tap her neck before I take the joint away and bring it to my own lips, the end wet from her saliva.

Her dark eyes gleam when they lock on mine and then drop.

She clears her throat and scoots away on the bench. “I still don’t think I like it.”

I lean back until I’m staring at the sky, ignoring the way every nerve in my body is sparking like a cannon, urging me to let loose and either fuck her or kill her, just so I can regain the blessed type of numb I’m used to. “It’s not for everyone, I suppose.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Why not?” I shrug my shoulders.

She doesn’t reply, choosing to mirror my body, stretching out her legs and tangling her fingers as they rest on her stomach, her head leaned against the back of the bench.

It’s silent; the sounds of cicadas in the trees and the occasional hoot of an owl the only thing that accompanies us.

“It calms me,” I finally say.

Immediately, I want to take the words back, expecting her to jump on the chance to cut me down. But she doesn’t. She just hums and closes her eyes.

“Do you ever feel like you can’t turn it off?” I continue. “Your thoughts, I mean.”

“Always.”

“When the whispers won’t quiet, my body revolts, turning into knots and tangles until I can’t sit still. Until my lungs seize up and I can barely breathe through the panic…” I lift the burning paper. “This helps.”

Her head turns toward me, her brows rising. “Did the mighty Prince Tristan just admit to me that something can best him?”

“Anxiety is something that bests everyone it touches. Even me.” I suck in another hit before offering it to her again.

Surprisingly, she takes it, holding it between her fingers.

“I get it,” she says. “Before my father died, I was like any other girl.” She hesitates, glancing at me from her peripheral. “And then right before my twentieth birthday, he went out of town to do what he did best.”

“Which was?”

“Being a good man.” Her lower lip trembles. “He promised he’d be home in time, and every day leading up to my birthday, I’d sit at my bay window, staring out at the dirt road, waiting to see him come down the drive, this sick feeling swirling around my gut, making my nerves jump beneath my skin.”

She shakes her head. “Turns out I was right, and sometimes when you try to be good, you end up a martyr.”

My chest pulls, wondering why she’s telling me this, and wondering why I care.

“Anyway.” She laughs. “Ever since then, that feeling’s never left. It just stews like acid, dissolving everything in its path. I’m always just… waiting for the next knock on my door, telling me that a person I love is never coming home.”

I swallow around the unexpected emotion her words cause, my mind flashing to the moment I found out my father had died.

She brings the joint to her lips, rolling her head back to the sky, her throat bobbing as she inhales. Her silhouette is gorgeous in the moonlight, and before I can stop myself, I’m reaching out to brush a curl from her face, unable to temper the urge. “You’d make a stunning portrait.”

Her nose scrunches, but she doesn’t turn my way. “What?”

“I’d like to draw you,” I rephrase, moving in closer, my fingers dancing across her skin. “Just like this, with your face kissing the stars… I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her body stiffens, and my heart feels as though it’s going to explode out of my chest. I’m not sure what loosens my tongue, and I don’t know if I even mean the things I say. All I know is that in this moment, it feels like I might die if I don’t say them.

“Are you calling me beautiful?” she whispers, her eyes wide as she looks my way.

My tongue swipes across my lips, and I lean in, my mouth brushing the edge of her ear. “I’m saying you could drive a man insane. Make him raze the world just to see you smile.”

Her body shivers, and my cock leaks, every bone in my body screaming for me to grab her and pull her flush against me. To claim her beneath the constellations she outshines.

But then I think of how in a few nights’ time, it’s my brother’s arm she’ll be latching on to.

It’s him that will take her to his bed.

And it’s him that will have her ruling at his side.

Which means I must kill her, just like all the others.

So I pull back, dusting my fingers down her hair, and I stand up and walk away, wondering what the hollow ache is in my chest, and why it’s choosing now to appear.