Page 7

Chapter 7

Dead Inside

brIAR

I t turns out I can die because that’s the only thing that explains what just happened.

I’ve died.

I’m dead.

This is the afterlife.

Whatever I did to deserve this prison of a house has clearly been atoned for because I am living my actual dreams. I have never felt as full or as energized as I do now.

Laying between the two men who stumbled into my life, basking in the afterglow, I cannot imagine being elsewhere. I feel boneless, the picture of relaxation as Gerrit strokes my hair lovingly like he didn’t just try to suffocate me with his dick.

Turns out, it is in proportion with the rest of him.

I lean my head up to look at Hans, and he’s smiling down at me with a sleepy expression. I’m sure he’s exhausted. I was able to control myself, with a minor assist from Gerrit, when I was consuming his blood. It was the tastiest blood I’ve ever had. It tasted like sunshine and earth.

I could drink it forever.

But I didn’t, and I’m glad. I’ll get to feed on him again, hopefully.

Regrettably, I need to clean myself up, so I extract myself from between the two men. My dress hangs sloppily over my body, giving me some semblance of modesty, but I am still sticky with blood on my throat and chest and cum between my thighs.

Before I leave, I focus on Gerrit. “Hans is going to be very tired and need lots of fluids and food.”

He narrows his gaze. “You don’t have any food.”

I prop my hand on my hip as I stare at him. “You traveled through the woods, didn’t you? You should have provisions. I’ve got some berries in the garden, too. Water is in the jug over there. I’ll be back after I get cleaned up.”

Getting through my depressing little bedroom and into my bathroom doesn’t take me long. When I close the door, I slide to the floor against it. In the quiet of this space, I can hear my labored breathing.

I feel as if every part of me is on fire. I cannot remember ever being this satisfied.

I’m so overwhelmed by it all that I burst into tears.

Maybe it’s the first orgasm from another person in ages or just the feeling of finally not being hungry. Whatever it is, my body has betrayed me, and I am sobbing on the cool tile floor.

I feel the door nudging my ass, and I scamper from it, hiding in the corner by the tub like a little rat. It’s Gerrit, of course, since Hans is still too spent to function.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is rough but not aggressive. I’m starting to think this brutal, big, strong-man thing is an act. He seems like a secret softy.

“Take care of Hans.” I shoo him away.

“Hans is fine. Flint is watching over him, and he’s got some of our rations and water. Now.” He crosses those massive arms over his chest and stares me down. “What’s wrong?”

He’s towering over me, and I attempt to shrink further into the corner. With one swoop, he gathers me in his arms and plops me unceremoniously into the tub. “Stay.”

I couldn’t move if I tried. I’m still sobbing, arms wrapped around my knees, unable to even figure out why I’m crying.

A few minutes later, Gerrit re-enters, balancing my wash bin in his arms. “It’s cold, sorry,” he grumbles as he pours the water into the tub.

I shriek and nearly jump out of my skin. “Mother fu-”. I stop my quick exit of the tub, remembering my magic should be at capacity now, and lay my hand on the water. It immediately warms to steaming hot, and I sink into it with a relieved sigh.

He raises an eyebrow at my magic but doesn’t voice the questions that clearly wait on the tip of his tongue. He watches my face obsessively as I luxuriate in the water and let relaxation take over me.

“I’m waiting, witchy,” he says, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“What for?” I ask, slipping my shoulders under the water and rubbing the caked blood on my chest with my hand.

“For an explanation about the tears.”

I slide under the water, doing everything I can to avoid him. I feel like I’ve barely been under when he rips me through the surface. “What the fuck, Briar?”

I shake my head as I attempt to dislodge him. “What?” I sputter.

“You trying to kill yourself right after we feed you?”

I suppose I did not think through the optics of this particular situation. I feel bad for worrying him, but I can’t stop the silly giggle that bubbles up inside me. “Oh, no. I don’t think I can die, remember? I was just trying to avoid answering your question.”

He growls and puts me back in the water. He searches the room for something and must find it lacking because he stomps out, muttering to himself. Moments later, he drags a chair from my dining table into the bathroom.

“Talk. Now.”

I groan and reach for a cloth to finish scrubbing my skin. “You ever been with a woman, and she came so hard she cried afterward? Like that rush of good feelings was all-encompassing and overwhelming, and then, oh no, now it’s gone, and I’m back in my body?”

His lips twist up in a smile. “What do you think?”

“You’re right, silly question. Well, it’s kind of like that but more. I… I have never felt so full before. So complete. For the first time I can remember, I don’t feel the ache of hunger and desire.” I feel tears springing in my eyes again and turn away from him, busying myself with scrubbing my already clean body.

He’s quiet, and I can already tell Gerrit is a man of few words. His hulking frame takes up most of the bathroom as he rests his elbows on his knees. He doesn’t speak. He just lends his presence to me.

And for today, that’s enough.

* * *

After my bath, I join Hans, who looks surprisingly well, considering how much blood I took from him, on the couch. He’s changed into a different shirt and cleaned himself up, with an ankle crossed over his knee as he reads a book from my side table. Gerrit sits down in the chair across from my sofa.

Why this room has so much seating, I’ll never know. It’s not like I’m throwing parties in here with the rats.

“You said you don’t know why you drink blood? Do you know what you are?” he asks me.

“That book you’re reading talks about succubae. They’re demons, feeding from sex. I can feed off sex, and I got banished to this prison, so I was thinking maybe I am some kind of demon. Doesn’t explain the sensitivity to light or bloodlust, or even most of my magic.”

Hans chews at his lip in thought, which is surprisingly endearing. After a quiet moment, he nods and puts the book away. “Regardless of what you are, we need help and think you can provide it.”

In my bloody sex haze, I forgot that’s why they came here. They didn’t feed me out of the goodness of their hearts. But after that kind of showing, there is no way I’ll deny helping them now. If only I could get one more good feeding.

Maybe I can feed from Gerrit this time. I wonder if his blood tastes as good as his cum.

He clears his throat, and I realize I’ve been staring at his crotch. I watch as he adjusts himself from my gaze before I bring my attention back to Hans, who greets my returned attention with a wry smile.

“Our father is the Duke of Greenbell,” he begins, resting his elbows on his knees. “My stepmother, Gerrit’s mother, does not want me to succeed my father.”

I wrinkle my nose. I don’t like where this is heading. Power corrupts. In all of the books that I’ve read, it’s been very clear that those who long for power are the ones who shouldn’t have it.

“She tried to convince my father to send me away, to marry me off to the future Duchess of Brindal so I would have to relinquish my title. When he didn’t, she took matters into her own hands. She attempted to have me cursed.”

I balk. “But why would she do that? Didn’t she practically raise you?”

Hans nods sadly, but it’s Gerrit who answers. “She wants me to take over. I’m not Father’s blood, so I could only succeed him if I’m his sole heir.”

My face must say, “You’d have your brother killed ?” he stares at me like I know nothing.

“I don’t want this, of course. She was doing this for her, not for me. Flint protected Hans, but the curse found its way into our father. He’s dying.”

I reach down and ruffle Flint’s fur. He happily leans into my touch. Maybe I could grow to like this wolf.

“What type of curse is it? How could I possibly be of assistance? We don’t even know what I am.”

“It’s some sort of binding. His life force appears to be tethered to a plant growing outside his window. The intention must have been to bind me to it and pluck the plant out by its roots, and no one would be wiser. But for all her faults, my stepmother loves Father, so she is trying to stave it off. But the plant is dying, and so is he.”

Gerrit’s eyes are downcast, staring at the floor. I can practically see the shame shimmering around him. But why would he feel that way? She may be his mother, but her choices are her own.

“I may be able to help. But I tend to make curses, not break them. Or, at least, I think I do. I can feel more destruction than healing in my magic. Whenever I have some energy stored up, I try to figure out how to get out of here.” Memories of every failed attempt at leaving my fairy circle assault me, and I push them down.

No need for me to get so negative right now.

“Anyways, my magic doesn’t feel like a problem solver. It feels dangerous.”

He nods. “Rumors have it your curses are so powerful no one can undo them.”

I preen, even though there is no way anyone would know what my curses are like because I’m stuck here in the middle of the fucking woods and haven’t cursed anyone.

That I know of.

“Why, who said such a thing?” He laughs at my egotistical fishing.

Gerrit speaks without looking at me. “We were at a tavern near the border to Brindal, and a man was whispering about you. Said in the Whispering Woods a witch lived who could curse with a gaze.”

I wrinkle my nose in thought. No one has ever escaped my home before, and I certainly am not standing around glaring at people as they pass through the woods. Who could be spreading such stories? And for what purpose?

“I thought it was a continuation of the children’s tale about you,” Hans adds.

I balk, swiftly looking between both of them. “What children’s tale?” Both appear sheepish, but Gerrit is flushed red. “Gerrit, what children’s tale?”

Hans clears his throat. “You better tell her since you’re the true believer and all.”

His eyes sheepishly meet mine, and for the first time, he looks vulnerable. “When we were growing up, my mother would tell us stories of the witch in the woods who had a house made of sweets, meant to lure children in so she could eat them.”

My face is rigid in shock, and before I can reply, Hans adds, “But it wasn’t just our mother. All the mothers in the town would tell the story. It was meant to keep naughty children from exploring the woods.”

I feel sick to my stomach. “Despite the joke I made when we met, I have never fed from children,” I whisper, burying my face in my hands. “My house looks like sweets because I’ve never had them, and I badly want to try them even though I definitely won’t be able to eat them. I like to imagine it because some of my visitors told me stories about them, and they sound so good, and one nice lady helped me craft the illusion and…”

“Told you,” Hans says to Gerrit out of the corner of his mouth.

Where are these tales about me coming from? “The man you heard talking about me in the tavern, what did he look like?”

Hans leans back, hands resting behind his head. “No idea. He was wearing a hood so high his entire face was shadowed.”

My Banisher.