Page 113 of Hellebore

Hang on, my love.

Chapter Thirty-Five

BRIAR

Cold… so cold.

I can barely feel my fingers or my feet anymore. My body aches in one endless, dull throb, and I have lost all track of time. Is it night? Day? Has it been days? Weeks? The stone presses in around me, damp stone and the faint, musty smell of earth and decay. Drops of rain seep through cracks in the ceiling, pattering coldly onto the floor like slow tears. Outside, the wind howls, a lonely, mournful sound that echoes down here like a dying scream.

He keeps giving me injections. I sleep. I wake. That’s all I do–

I turn my head and dry heave, but nothing comes up. There is nothing left inside me. I just wish death would finally take me. Quietly. Mercifully.

Tears slip down my cheeks again, hot against my frozen skin. It is all I do now, locked in this tomb.

Lawrence Rowe. Drystan’s father. The name alone brings fresh waves of nausea and fear.

“He will blame himself forever,” I say gently to her coffin.

Aurora Rowe Rest in Peace.

Her coffin forgotten...

It’s not his fault. I would never blame him. But I know Drystan, and what scares me most is not dying here in the dark—it’s him never finding closure. Ending his own life thinking I hated him for what his father did. That thought hurts worse than any bruise or cut.

“Drystan…” I say softly, curling tighter against the cold wall. The small, wet blanket does nothing to ward off the chill. It clings to my skin like a second layer of misery. The chains on my ankles keep me in place.

I can feel it—my body shutting down. My mind fractures, showing me things that are not there: shadows that move like hands, whispers that sound like his voice. But it’s never him, it’s tricks from drugs, from desperation. It’s never him.

Cuts and bruises cover me, raw and stinging whenever the drugs wear thin. When Lawrence walks in, I no longer fight. I close my eyes and slip away to another place. To him. To Hellebore.

The pain becomes distant for a moment… until Lawrence makes sure I feel everything again. Every brutal thrust. Every cruel touch. He laughs while he does it, low and satisfied, telling me how delusional I am to think Drystan would ever come for me. That he will never find me here.

I bite back the sobs and retreat deeper inside my mind, clinging to memories of dark green eyes, strong arms, and the gothic halls that once promised safety.

The wind howls louder outside, rain drips steadily onto the stone floor.

I am so cold. And so tired of waiting to die.

Steps echo outside.

No. Please not again. Let me die before he comes back. Please. Just let me go from this earth.

The heavy door creaks open. I curl tighter into myself, arms over my head, eyes closed tight, trembling.

“Please…” I sob, voice broken and small. “Just… make it quick.”

Silence.

“My love.”

That voice. Tears flood my eyes instantly. My heart shatters because it is not him. It cannot be. My mind is lying again, dangling cruel hope that no longer exists.

I don’t look up. I can’t. It’s not him…

“Briar…” He whispers, raw and desperate. Then he falls to his knees in front of me.

I snap my head up.