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DORIN

“Do you still want me to kill you?” I ask Lavinia in the evening after I’ve bathed her, held her, and fed her.

I’m not sure this is the right time to ask, but I need to know.

I’ve given this a lot of thought and have decided.

If she wants me to take her out, I’ll do it.

But I won’t break her neck like I usually do.

I won’t let her go alone.

With her, I’ve found a strength that will allow me to do what I’ve wanted to do so many times throughout my life—what I no longer want as long as I have her.

I’ll get us enough tranquilizer to kill a horse.

I’ll put it in the sweetest wine I can get, pour each of us a glass, drink it together, then take her to bed and hold her.

She’ll pass away in my arms, and I’ll slip away from this world along with her.

But as much as I’ve come to terms with this idea, accepting that I’ll grant her a way out if that’s what she wants, I dearly hope she’ll choose another way.

To stay with me.

Time stops as she stares off into the distance.

Everything inside me teeters, getting ready to break.

When she turns her head to me, my heart is lodged in my throat along with a thick lump of grief.

But then she shakes her head.

I just watch her for a moment, stunned.

Unable to believe what I’m seeing.

At my shocked silence, she grabs both my hands and looks deep into my eyes as she makes several unmistakable shakes of her head.

Then she presses her hand against my heart, and I damn near break into tears.

She wants to stay.

With me.

“Are you sure?” I say, still not able to believe.

“I’ll set you free if that’s what you want. I’ll do it for you.”

She presses her hand harder to my chest as her lips move.

You, she mouths.

I want you.

Relief bursts through me with a force that sends my whole damn system reeling.

But in the wake of the relief comes a thought I haven’t even considered.

I’ve been so sure she’d choose death that I couldn’t imagine any other outcome.

My heart pounds as I say, “I can’t release you into the world. If you stay, you stay with me. I’m not ever letting you go. I can’t do it.” The idea of someone else claiming her has a surge of rage burning through my veins, making me open and close my fists with barely restrained violence.

Her face remains calm.

Accepting.

Her hand stays in place over my pounding heart.

“I’m not a good man. I don’t deserve you. I’m selfish and I’m cruel. I won’t be cruel to you, but I can’t change who I am. I can’t leave this place. This is where I belong.”

She holds her hand up, making a writing motion.

I reach out for the notepad and pen on the bedside table and hand it to her.

Holding my breath, I wait as she writes.

It only takes two seconds before she holds the pad up to me and I read the words.

Me too.

I just stare at her as she turns the paper to write more words.

This time, it takes a little longer as she scribbles down several lines.

I press my hand to hers when she turns the paper and once again holds her hand to my chest.

Ever since I lost my family and my home, I’ve been lost.

I’ve been to so many places.

Grand mansions, dingy bars.

Every place was just a new hell.

But then you found me.

This place has been hell too, but most of all, it has set me free.

You have set me free.

I don’t want to search anymore.

I want to stay here with you.

Grabbing the notepad, I fling it aside, grab her head between my hands, and crush my lips to hers.

“You’re mine,” I breathe between kisses.

“The most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

Her hands wrap around my neck, holding on as she succumbs to my possessive kisses.

“I’m going to brand you, so you’ll never forget. So everyone can see who you belong to.”

She arches into me at those words.

“I’ll put a collar on you with my name. I’ll chain you up, so you won’t escape—even though I know you won’t try. I’ll do it just because I can.”

A long breath—a soundless moan—escapes her, and her fingers dig into my skin as she leans deeper into my kiss.

“You want that?” I grip the back of her neck hard, leaning away to watch her reaction.

Her eyes are wide and glazed with desire as she nods.

“You want me to brand my name into your skin?”

She nods again.

“Give you new marks to erase the old ones—to stake my claim?”

Her nod grows more eager, and I can’t help myself.

I pull my switchblade from my pocket and pop it open.

“You want to bleed for me?”

Her eyes become pleading as I hold the knife to a scar on her chest.

But it’s not a plea for me to stop.

It’s an urgent plea for me to stake my claim.

So I do just that.

I press the knife into her skin and drag it across the scar.

I growl as blood pebbles around the blade, smearing her milky white skin in crimson.

The sight has my cock growing painfully hard, straining against my pants.

“Take out my cock,” I demand, and she fumbles eagerly with the button and the zipper to get it out.

“It’s about time I claim your pussy,” I rasp as she takes my length into her hands and licks her lips.

Slipping her other hand down her stomach, between her legs, she pushes her panties aside and watches me expectantly.

Her eyes flicker down to the knife and to my cock, and her hips strain upward, begging for more.

I give it to her.

Both the knife and my cock.

As I position my hips above hers, letting her guide my hard length to her opening, I press the knife to a new scar.

Her eyes roll back as I cut her, her lips parting to let out a hard, pleasured breath.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” I say, cutting again, sinking into her soaking wet pussy.

“Shit, you’re wet.” It’s been years since I took a girl in this hole, and I groan at the slick sensation—the warm, wet heat engulfing me.

Her walls clench tight, inviting me in.

“You’re mine,” I growl.

“Mine to hurt, mine to own, mine to protect.”

I fling my knife aside and grab her waist.

Squeezing her fragile body, I slam into her, demanding her eyes stay on me with the sheer force of my furious expression.

“Mine,” I growl as I pound into her with punishing thrusts.

Her brow draws tight in a pained expression even as her breaths come in heavy, pleasured pants, her hips bucking into me, seeking more.

Seeing the combination of her pleasure and pain damn near drives me insane.

“Touch yourself,” I demand, wanting—needing—to take her with me over the edge.

I don’t know if I can hold that long, but I damn well intend to try.

My balls draw up tight, and the way her mouth moves in cute little ohs and ahs as she slips a finger over her clit nearly pushes me over.

Her breathing immediately speeds up, and I smile as I sense her closing in so quickly.

“That’s it. Come for me. Show me who you belong to.”

You, she mouths, and seeing that word on her lips becomes my undoing.

I growl—a sound more beast than man—as I spurt my cum inside her.

She follows right along, coming apart beneath me with shuddery jerks and gasps, her free hand clawing at my skin as her eyes roll back.

I stay on top of her for a moment as she comes down, enjoying the sight of her, sated and satisfied.

Then I roll onto my side and gather her in my arms.

I hold her there for a long while, enjoying the peace that envelops us—the quietness that descends over my mind.

“Thank you,” I say, kissing her temple.

“My sweet, pretty Lavinia. My beautiful little songbird.”

Her entire body goes rigid at that last word.

I haven’t said it since she lost her voice, but I’ve thought it so many times.

Pressing a hand to her cheek, I turn her head to meet her pained expression.

“You are,” I insist.

“You’re still my songbird.”

She shakes her head ardently, squeezing her eyes shut as a world of pain descends over her features.

With a resolute motion, I get off the bed, go to the living room, and grab the violin.

“Sit up,” I demand when I come back.

Hurt is lodged deep inside her blue eyes when she opens them and reluctantly moves to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Play,” I order.

Her brows are tightly knitted, her jaw clenched hard as she takes the violin and places it on her shoulder.

But she plays anyway.

At first, it’s stiff and soulless, but as her fingers dance over the strings and her hand sweeps the bow back and forth, her shoulders drop, the furrow in her forehead smooths out, and her jaw loosens.

Her eyes fall shut as she becomes one with the music, and the music takes on a whole new life and vigor.

I carefully move to sit on the bed beside her, closing my eyes as I let her music wash over me.

Rex pads over too, resting his head on my thigh as she plays.

Images of the mountains, the lake between the trees, and the magnificent view from the cliff appear before my inner eye.

Sunshine shimmering on the water, a gentle breeze blowing through the trees.

Pretty blue eyes watching me with trust and vulnerability.

So much strength.

The music stops, and I open my eyes to meet the gaze of my dreams.

“See. You’re still my songbird.” I grab her chin before she can shake her head.

“You still sing as beautifully as ever. Just with a different instrument.”

The defeat in her eyes remains despite my words, so I continue.

“It was the emotions you poured into your music that silenced my mind. It still is. It doesn’t matter if you sing or play the violin. The effect is the same.”

As I speak, the sorrow draws back, replaced by that open vulnerability she’s shown me so many times.

“You’re still my songbird.”

This time, she doesn’t protest.

Tears pool in her bright eyes as she stares at me, hope mixing into the sorrow.

Hope I put there.

Hope that isn’t just healing her, but healing me as well.

She grabs my hand and squeezes it for a long moment.

A thank you .

Then she places the violin back on her shoulder and lifts the bow, accepting my name for her.

She’s still my songbird.

Always will be.