Page 115 of Castle of the Cursed
“What are you saying?” I ask, and it’s like I suddenly don’t understand the English language.
“I am not leaving you,” he says, those five words changing everything. “I will keep you company for the rest of your long, long life. I choose you over… over everything.”
I can hardly breathe as he rises and holds out a hand to help me up. “What if I live to be a hundred?” I ask as he pulls me closer.
“Time is not a factor where I am from, so it will not matter when I return.” His lips meet mine, but the kiss is too brief. “Yet if you plan on living that long,” he says, and I groan in complaint as he steps back, “then we must prepare for your sister. Your uncle was waiting for her outside, and she collapsed into his arms. Corporealizing consumes a great deal of energy, so she will need to recharge. No doubt that is why she needed his help to get somewhere safe.”
“The clínica,” I say. “Looking like Beatríz, no one will question Antonela.”
“It is likely she will send your uncle here during the day, when I am not around, to check if you remain alive. I think you should get some sleep now, and leave at sunrise to hide. Do not return until nightfall, when I can protect you—”
“Or,” I say, hating his idea, “I can stay here and catch him. My uncle seems to know a lot about Brálaga magic, and I’d like to ask him some questions.”
“How will you overpower him?”
I dig into my pocket, but the syringe isn’t there.
“I won’t have to,” I say. “I’ll pretend to be dead, and when he comes close enough to check my pulse, I’ll stab him with one of my aunt’s syringes.”
I expect Sebastián to dismiss my idea for fear of my safety, but this new version of him considers my words. “You will need to tie him up. Do you want me to show you how?”
I nod in assent, and he disappears.
“What happened after you made the pact with Antonela to cross over?” I ask as he returns with ropes bundled in his arms. I assume they’re from the dungeon.
“That was before I knew you,” he says, casting his gaze around the space. “You will want to tie his wrists, ankles, and waist to something like… the stairs.”
“I’m just asking,” I say as we walk toward the gargoyle banister.
“I would prefer not to add to the rift between you two. Is it not enough that I choose you?”
“Can’t you tell me what the pact was?”
“She betrayed me. She told me I would be able to feast all I wanted on Earth, and when I was ready to return, I just had to find her double. You. She told me once I drank enough of your blood, the spell would break, sending me back home. She did not tell me I would lose my memories, or that I would be trapped in this castle. Now, let’s learn some knots.”
He loops a rope around the iron banister, then he twists it around, showing me a simple knot. He does it a few times, until I memorize the steps, and then I try it.
“Good work,” he says. “I brought a thinner rope for his wrists because you want to minimize the chance of him squeezing a hand out.”
He loops the rope around my wrists to show me a way to handcuff my uncle, then he lifts my bound hands, hinging the rope on the gargoyle’s wing above me. I am nearly on my tiptoes, and I tug down on my arms, but they’re tied up tight.
“You want to make sure your suspect is helpless,” he says, and as he stares at me, a change glazes over his eyes. “Then you want to show them you are the one in control.”
He grabs the zipper of my hoodie and tugs it down slowly, revealing my tank top.
“What’s next?” I ask breathily, every part of me growing excited.
“Next, you expose your suspect for who they are underneath.”
I gasp as he pulls down my pants, leaving me in my underwear. Then he lifts my hips and cradles my legs in the gargoyle’s arms, spreading them open. As he stands between my thighs, I finally work up the nerve to ask, “Does your shirt come off?”
A beat later, Sebastián is only in pants. His torso might have been carved from actual rock, every line and ripple perfectly symmetrical. My fingers fidget overhead, itching to touch him.
His lips find my neck. I feel his mouth brushing along a vein, and I brace myself for the stab of sharp fangs—
But it’s his warm tongue that strikes. As he draws designs down my throat, his fingers caress up the insides of my thighs, and the temperature rises about a hundred degrees.
I grow sensitive and lightweight as his strokes inch higher, until he slips beneath the cotton of my underwear.
