Gothic grove, p.3
Gothic Grove, page 3
I wake from the nightmare, memories that aren’t my own, for barely a moment before I’m pulled back into the darkness.
Around me, all I see are twisting black snakes. They cocoon me in their silky scales and whisper soothing words into my soul. It feels peaceful, finally.
FOUR
Some witch families are more dangerous than others.
They covet power and if we follow their lead we will be met with a violent demise.
-Carmine Family grimoire
Ciaran
It's close to noon when I finally hear her starting to stir. She screamed and thrashed for hours last night, forcing me to hold her tightly as she cried. She screamed for her mate, and my body tensed at that, that deep bond pulsing and reaching for her. As the sun rose, her body finally gave out and she slept. The venom of a Hellbeast causes extreme hallucinations and nightmares. While my blood kept it from killing her, I could do nothing for whatever tortured visions she was seeing. It was gut wrenching to watch, and seeing the white scars that littered her thin body made me see red. She’ll now have yet another that I couldn't prevent.
"Strea?" I approach her as calmly as I can so I don't spook her.
Her emerald eyes flutter open. "Ciaran?" She attempts to sit up, and I move quickly to help ease her up. The fox wastes no time in hopping into her lap and snuggling her. The creature hasn’t left her side since our arrival. "What happened?" Her voice has the same raw sound that it often had at my father’s prison. Hours of screaming will do that. I hand her the cup of water I had sitting on the ground next to her.
She takes a sip as I start talking. "You were attacked at work. I just happened to stumble in and save you. You know how much I love a good dive bar."
She snorts. "Yeah, sure." She takes another long sip of the water, letting the blankets drop. As soon as the air hits her chest, she realizes the mistake.
My mouth waters at the sight of her full, bare breasts, her nipples pebbling in the chilled air. She snatches the blanket back up around herself, causing the tiny fox to fly out of her lap. It issues a hissing grumble at her.
"Why are you here?" she asks as she motions for the fox to come back.
"Go get cleaned up. We have a lot to talk about."
“I see nothing has changed. Still just as demanding.” She keeps the blanket tucked around her, the fox held tightly to her chest, as she stands and moves into her bedroom. Even covered in gore, she’s fucking beautiful.
Astrea
Fucking Ciaran Helvig. I curse as I start the bath up. It's been a long time since I last saw him, but my body still reacts like it did the very first time. Guilt gnaws at me for running from him. After all, he and Shadow put their lives on the line to get me out of that place. To get me away from his father. We had an agreement, and I backed out on it. My chest pulses, our binding spell pulling taught. When I left, it felt like my body was on fire, like my chest was going to crack in two and I would die. Whatever spell he used to tie me to him is no joke, but I refuse to move from one prison to another, so I fight it. Even if I want my new jailer, even now, in a way I would never want his father.
My body is pulled taught, the tension radiating off me in waves. It’s not just the healing injury, it’s the emotions that man makes me feel. The trauma of my past being shoved in my face and the idea that my time is up. I can’t run anymore. I slip into the bath, letting out a long moan as the warm water laps over my tired body, and think back to when my devil first came into my life . . .
Astrea
Before
My head is pounding as I lie in the dim, cold cell. The floor is tile and stained with blood and grime. The smell that permeates the air is nothing short of what I imagine death smells like. My first night here, I threw up from the scent. The vomit is still in the corner of the room, a new crusted-over stain on the tile. Near it is the bucket I use to relieve myself. The mattress I'm currently curled up on smells almost as bad as the room, my sweat seeping into it nightly as my body tries to work out the most recent drug in my system. Eufori. It's Alexi’s favorite brand of drug. It makes the user compliant, easy to gain control of. Use it often enough on someone, they’ll do whatever you want just to get another fix.
The collar around my throat has rubbed the skin raw and I've stopped feeling my magic altogether. The one burst I used to try to escape is no longer pulsing under my skin. It's as if it has decided it’s not worth the effort to continue trying to push out and has gone back to that place it has always been. I have lost count of the days I've been here, left alone for hours at a time, only seeing other people when they bring me food and water. The timing of which does not appear to be consistent. My tiny room has no windows, and the only light allowed in is what escapes under the door.
When I first arrived, I assumed I would be placed with the others, but after they stripped us all, they began to sort us. The ones with collars, like me, ended up in this place. Each with our own cell. I’ve come to realize if you have a collar, you are prized. While the others are used as feeders for the vampires, we’re used in experiments. At first, I could hear crying and screaming at all hours, but those sounds slowly died out and now all I ever hear is the drip of water. Otherwise, the silence is deafening. I assume no one else is alive.
The jingle of keys has me cracking open my eyes in the dark, but it’s the heavy footsteps that have me shooting up to a sitting position. The bright lights of the hallway burn my eyes as the guards open the door and push into the cramped space. I’m not sure when I last saw another person. My stomach is hollow and my throat so dry that I can’t even swallow. They sneer at me, arguing amongst themselves as to who will have to touch the "filthy witch." I almost snort because I wouldn't be so filthy if they would allow me to shower or use the bathroom instead of living in my own filth. Eventually, one of the guards grabs me and yanks me to my feet, ripping me from my cell and into the hallway.
They push me along the corridor and into a room that is covered in the same yellowing tile that lines my cell. On the right, there appears to be an open bay of showers. The left side appears to be a medical station, the cold metal table there stained with what looks to be blood. The lights over my head flicker and the cold air bites into my exposed flesh. It’s a house of horrors in real time.
The guard shoves me under one of the showerheads before turning on the freezing water. Shivers wrack my body, making it difficult to remain standing. They throw me an old bar of soap, demanding I wash. My hands shake so bad that I barely get it worked through my tangled hair. The impatient guard finally yanks me out from the deluge of cold water and starts shoving me toward the medical area. Soap still coats half my body. My limbs start to freeze up, from fear or the cold, I'm not sure, but either way, I want nothing to do with what is about to happen.
"Please," I whimper, my voice a cracking rasp, but the plea only inspires the guards to laugh. They grab me and shove me onto the table before strapping me down, my arms banded to my sides, my legs pulled open. I try to fight, but my body is weak from the lack of food, dehydration, and inactivity. Before coming here, I ran miles each day, but now, my legs feel as though they’ve begun to atrophy.
Feeling utterly terrified, I begin to panic. My eyes dart frantically around the room, until they meet a direct, midnight-blue gaze that looks disgusted. My nostrils flare at the scent of magic and shock courses through my system—a witch? Our eyes remain locked on each other as he steps out of the shadows. No, not a witch. His movements are inhuman, and the light that comes in contact with him seems to choke.
“What are you doing?” His voice is like honey dripping over me, and something in my chest loosens before it pulses with warmth.
The guards freeze when they look at my potential savior, true fear bleeding into their features. “Your father . . . he . . .” one stammers.
The midnight-eyed man steps closer, a true predator stalking his prey. His huge body dwarfs the men who dragged me here. His face somehow holds both boredom and contempt before there’s a brief blur of movement, and then warm blood sprays my face. The guard’s lifeless body drops in front of me, and I strain against my bonds to see his head, no longer attached, roll across the room. I glance back at the cause of his beheading. No, this man is not a witch. He isn’t human.
“Leave,” he growls. The other guard flees.
He turns his full gaze on me, the force of it overwhelming. “Hello, Astrea Mori. My name is Ciaran Helvig, and I would like to help you.”
Helvig. Alexi’s son. Fucking hell.
Astrea
Now
My bath has gone cold by the time I let my mind come back to the present and close that damn box again. So much of my time at the hands of the Helvigs is blocked out. Thank you, trauma response. But the parts with Ciaran blaze bright in the dark haze. My time spent with him was the only time in that prison when I didn’t fear for my life. He and Shadow protected me the best they could. Despite running from them, from him, I will forever be grateful for what they did.
I bring my body out of the bath and wrap a towel around myself before pushing my wet hair into a messy braid down my back. I walk back out into the room and see Ciaran sitting on the dingy couch, his eyes watching me intently. He looks so out of place in my tiny cabin. His Viking frame takes up so much space as he stands with his arms crossed in front of the fireplace. I still have the distinct urge to climb him. I see his nostrils flare, his eyes flashing red briefly before they go back to that stormy blue.
"Go put some clothes on, Astrea." His voice is still like honey, settling deep in my core.
"You're hungry," I say matter-of-factly.
He simply shrugs. "You had to take a lot of my blood. I'll be fine until we can get out of here. I'll have Shadow bring me some when he brings your car back." The idea of someone else feeding him settles like lead in my stomach.
"You should eat." My voice comes out as a whisper in the quiet room.
"You volunteering, kamerat?"
I shrug, hoping the towel hides the fact that my nipples have perked up at the thought of feeding him.
But he shakes his head. "No. You aren't in a position to feed me right now. Christ, I can't even feel your magic."
"I wonder why that is," I snap. The rejection stings—he fed off me in the facility. The only difference between now and then is my magic being gone. It makes me wonder if that was all he ever wanted. The guilt I had over running from him wavers a bit at the thought, replaced instead by anger.
Astrea
Before
These rooms always remind me of a waiting room in a doctor’s office. Fake plants and all. The only thing missing is the ambiance of nature sounds. The first time I walked into this specific one, Ciaran Helvig was waiting for me, just as he is now. I was tense the whole time, my body on a hair trigger.
I remember being terrified of his hulking bodyguard, Shadow, that first time he fetched me from my cell. He wore a mask of indifference, but under it, I could see the rage brewing. And the magic coming off him? I could feel immediately it was incredibly powerful. He must have sensed my fear, though, because he eased down next to me in that dingy cell and told me part of his story. Shadow was sold off to Alexi, kept in a cage similar to mine, and used as the vampire leader saw fit. He even wore a collar like mine—though his scars are now covered by all that ink—until he and Ciaran formed an unlikely bond. Now, the two are as close as brothers.
That was three weeks ago. Three weeks of just waiting for the other foot to drop. I know these rooms were designed for the vampires to feed from the witches they keep here, but thus far, he hasn’t fed from me. He’s clothed me and fed me, but never fed from me. I know vampires need both blood and magic. After all, magic is what keeps them immortal. So, sometime soon, I know he’ll ask to feed, or demand it. Unless he’s feeding from someone else. For some reason, that thought bothers me more than I want to admit.
“Astrea. Welcome back.” His voice elicits dangerously tempting feelings in my body. He nods to Shadow behind me, who promptly vanishes, before he motions for me to sit down on the couch he occupies.
I don’t say anything.
“I hope I've built enough trust in three weeks for my request to not scare you.”
I simply shrug in a noncommittal way. He has, but I don’t give him that.
His mouth shifts into a small smile. “The truth is, I need to feed. I don’t want to take a random witch who doesn’t know me, so my options are limited.”
Called it. My body tenses as I listen to him. Those feelings I’m pretending don’t exist are getting harder to ignore as I think of his fangs slipping into my neck. Arousal starts to pepper my body, and I see his eyes flare slightly, but he says nothing of it.
“And if I say no?” I won’t, and we both know it. This is a game for us, and the only way I can gain some of my autonomy back.
He crosses one leg over the other, arms braced over the couch, showing the veins running through his tattoos. “I’ll send you on your way. No harm done.”
Sitting quietly for a moment, I take him in, truly look at him. Despite the past few weeks, this is the first time I've noticed his body in all its glory. He looks otherworldly with his thick blond hair pulled back in an intricate braid, runes decorating his scalp on either side where the hair is shaved. It’s intricate spell work. “Who did those?”
He shrugs. “I don’t remember.”
I frown at him. “That's a decent amount of spell work to not remember,” I say, my curiosity getting the better of me. I’ve never mentioned the scent of magic he has coming off him, and now I’m curious if he even knows it’s there.
“I’ve had them since I was a kid; I really don’t know where they came from.” He shifts in his seat, and his shirt pulls tight over his broad chest. “What do you say, Astrea?”
Something pulses deep within me, an ache that’s demanding to be relieved. A hunger needing to be sated. My heart skips a beat, and I know this is the moment my path will change. The moment I start refusing to be a victim. The moment I begin to choose how my story is written.
“Yes.”
His massive body seems to relax, tension that I didn’t know existed leaving him. His eyes shift to a deep red and he beckons me over with two fingers. Two fingers that I know would feel so damn good plunging deep into me. I walk over to him, and his hands shoot out and pull me so I’m standing between his legs. Those powerful fingers dig into my hips in a dark, possessive way. I resist the urge to put my hands over his shoulders, but I can’t help the image of gripping his hair hard as I sink onto his cock flashing through my mind.
He continues pulling until I’m forced to put my legs on either side of him. It lines me up directly on top of his cock, which I can feel harden and twitch, no doubt feeling how hot I am through the surgical scrubs I was put in. Remind me to thank Shadow for the shower before coming here.
“This won’t hurt,” he says. I bite my lip, trying hard to hold still against him, and nod. A growl rumbles low in his chest in response, vibrating my core, and suddenly, his teeth are in the crook of my neck, drawing deep.
An embarrassing amount of liquid pools in my pants; there is no way I won’t leave a mess on his lap. A wanton whimper escapes my lips, and I involuntarily shift against him to gain friction.
He pulls out of my neck and looks me in the eyes, that midnight blue now hidden behind red. “Kamerat,” he breathes before claiming my mouth with a devastating kiss. The world around me seems to shatter, my only focus is the feel of him against my mouth. I can’t breathe. My heart stops and then jumpstarts, beating hard against my chest and demanding something I refuse to hear. It’s the type of kiss that sets the world aflame and you don’t care if you burn with it, as long as you burn together.
When he finally rips away from my mouth, I can barely see straight. I think he curses, but I can’t focus. I feel Shadow pull me off him, and my body screams to go back to him. But he doesn’t allow it, and I’m taken back to my cage.
Astrea
Now
I turn around and quickly move to the tiny closet of a bedroom, throwing on yoga pants and a sports bra under a loose sweater before coming back out. Then, not quite cooled off yet, I go to the fridge and pour a glass of wine before sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the fire. Poppy curls back up on me, and I’m grateful for the contact. Petting her red fur calms me down. Reminds me I’m here, not in the prison. "Okay, let's talk. Why are you here?"
"You know why I'm here, kamerat. I would have been here sooner, but you are very good at hiding." He looks me over, head to toe. “But you didn’t protect yourself at the bar, and the wards surrounding this place are all gone.” He looks like he wants to take a step toward me but is stopping himself. “What would you have done had I not gotten to you? Died?”
I shrug. Death will always be better than returning to his father.
Ciaran’s eyes flash to red before going back to the stormy blue, his anger palpable. "I didn't pull you out so you could get yourself killed."
"I'm telling you right now, Ciaran, I would rather die than go back to your father. So, if the choice is death or that, I will make sure I'm never taken alive. That’s a promise."
Ciaran moves faster than I can track and is suddenly in my face, his eyes blazing red and his teeth gleaming. "I will not allow that. If, for some gods forsaken reason, my father gets his hands on you again, you will fight. Because that's what we do, Astrea. We fight. And if you don't, I will find someone to bring you back. " As quickly as he was in my face, he’s back across the room next to the window. “You are not allowed to die.”
I don't say anything.
He lets out a long sigh. "We need your help. We need to bring my father down; this has gone on long enough. So, I’m calling in our bargain. I need you to help me figure out what he is searching for.”
