Page 60 of Grave Devil
“I hate you,” she whispers as our eyes meet. And in that instance, we are locked in both mutual disdain and overwhelming desire. She licks her lips as her eyelids flutter in response to another deep thrust.
I pull out and rest between her legs. “I want you to feel what it’s like to be taken away from everyone you love.”
She blinks back tears. “If you think I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, you’re sorely mistaken. I’m an orphan just like you.”
The audacity. I finger a piece of my skull, where bone meets cheek. “You grew up in an orphanage because your parents died. I was stolen from mine. Then I was tortured and mutilated and forced to serve. You inherited a fortune and a big house. We are not the same.”
Fresh tears spill down her cheeks.Sickening. I can’t tell if she’s crying for my sad childhood or her own. Or perhaps it’s because of the blooming welts on her wrists. And yet I can’t resist. I lean over and lick the tears off her cheeks while I fuck her slowly.
She snarls in disgust, yet arches for me again. “Why do you blame me? I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t even in Ever Graves when you went missing.”
This entitled slut.I am going to kill her. I wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze before stuffing her full of my cock. “Missing? I knew exactly where I was,my love. In hell. I was in fucking hell. And it all goes back to thebefore, before. The nightyourancestor rejected the devil, stole his child as he grew in her belly, and then seduced an unsuspecting Crane. And he has been punishing both our families ever since.”
She sighs. “Fine. Do your worst, then, Sonny. Take all your rage out on me.”
“Do not call me that!” I scream in her face with my cock still inside her.
I know it’s not directly her fault. I know this. But who else can I punish? The devil knows I’ve been punishing myself for long enough. I need someone other than me to blame. Someone I can drown in my misery with. I wish I’d known that thesepunishments would stoke other desires in me. This makes me hate her even more. She’s not supposed to be beautiful, or fiery, or exquisite. She’s not supposed to taste like the only sin I’ve ever craved.
“That’s your name. No one can take that away from you. Not even the devil himself.” She wiggles her hips, reminding me that I’m fucking her. A soft whimper leaves her lips. And I realize she might be more deranged than me.
She needs to know how much I hate her. To feel real pain the way I’ve felt. I reach up and touch my skull, fingering the edges again, the way I’ve done so many nights when there was no one there to touch me.
“No. That’s not who I am anymore. I’m a Skelker. I have no name. No family. Nothing. Except my little Harker whore.” I smile even while I break off a piece of bone from the edge of my skull.
She gasps, her eyes wide. “What the fuck? Your face…”
“It always grows back,” I murmur.
The first time it happened, I had spent six agonizing hours breaking it off, piece by piece, only to have it regrow over the next week. It came back slowly and was a thousand times more painful than pulling it off. My skin was raw and bloodied and charred when the new bone formed over it, leaving me with more scar tissue than I had the first time.
And then I did it again years later when I was angry with myself. The truth is, deep down, I’ve always blamed myself for that day. I disobeyed. I should never have left Bones or Felix’s sight… How different my life would’ve been.
But I still want to blame her too.
I press the bloodied, jagged piece of bone to her cheek. “Should we give you a mask to match mine?”
Her throat bobs as she swallows hard. “Fuck it. If it will make you feel better, then do it. If I’m really your whore, then mark me like one.”
This one is full of delightful surprises. “Just one tiny piece. It will look so pretty on you.” My cock swells inside her. We aren’t even fucking anymore, just thriving on the friction, our raw tender flesh pulsating in anticipation.
“What are you going to do, attach it with hot glue?” she snaps, her fiery sass returning for one last burst before she surrenders herself completely to me. Her resolve is hanging on by the tiniest of threads. I can feel it in the way she opens her legs wider, urging me on.
I find myself grinning from ear to ear. I can’t help it. I get so hard when her face twists in horror. “No, dark one. I was thinking of something more permanent.”
“What do you mean?” The panic in her voice is intoxicating. I would bottle and drink it if I could.
I pull out of her sweet pussy reluctantly and climb up her body until I’m hovering over her chest. The feel of her nipples against the dangling tip of my cock is dangerous, and I almost abandon my plan so I can fuck her mouth instead. Fuck it.Maybe I’ll do both.
“Let me show you.”
Next to the bed is a small dresser with two drawers. It belonged to Imogen Bishop, the last virgin to be sacrificed in this cabin. The woman who ended the Wild Hunt and ruined everything for my dear old devil. I yank open the top drawer, pleased to find her supplies still inside after all of these centuries.
I lay out the items on Mia’s naked chest—a small dagger, a vial of poison that’s been aging since the late 1600s, and a medieval sewing kit comprised of silk stitches and a copper needle.
I dangle the fractured bone in front of her face. “Wouldn’t you like to always have a piece of me with you?” I caress her skin with the back of my hand, delighted by how she shrinks back in fear. “I can split open this pretty skin, then stitch it back up once I’ve attached my bone to yours. It will be like a tattoo that never fully heals.”
Her eyes fill with horror before hardening into apathy. “Do I have a choice?”
