Page 60 of Hellebore

Three hours pass before she finally settles, breathing ragged but no longer fighting invisible monsters. It’s time.

I remove the IV carefully and bandage her arm. Then I strip her soiled clothes, piece by piece, until she lies completely bare before me. I carry her to the bathroom and lower her into the warm bathtub. I wash the sweat and vomit from her skin with slow, possessive strokes, my fingers tracing every curve, every inch of pale flesh that now belongs to me. Her nipples harden under the cool air when I lift her out. Her bare pussy glistens faintly in the low light. I’m too pissed at her reckless stupidity to truly enjoy it right now.

I dry her gently, dress her in soft black sweatpants and a hoodie, and tie her hair back with a band. This black hair has grown on me. The contrast with her pale skin and those wide blue eyes… it suits the darker creature she has become. This reckless, self-destructive woman who would rather poison herself than trust me.

I wrap her in a thick blanket, lift her into my arms, and carry her down to the basement.

I kick open the first cell door. The stone bench is cold and unforgiving. I lay the blanket down first, then place her on top of it.

I drag the steel chair from the corner, sit down, and watch her.

Night has fallen outside. The only light in here is a single old oil lamp flickering on the wall, casting long, dancing shadows across the damp stone. It feels like a tomb. Perfect.

She grunts, hands flying to her head as consciousness returns. Then she screams, raw, terrified, and sits up so fast she nearly collapses against the wall.

I don’t move.

“Where—” Her swollen eyes dart around the cell, landing on me. She curls into herself instantly, pressing against the cold stone as if she could disappear into it.

“No… I drank that poison thing.” she says, her voice cracking.

“Who said it was poison?” I lean back in the chair, arms crossed. “He was screaming, wasn’t he? Still alive. That should’ve been your first clue.”

Her gaze drops to the blood on my skin. She covers her mouth, looking sick.

I point to the bucket in the corner. She stumbles toward it, falls to her knees, and dry-heaves violently, though nothing comes out.

“How am I alive?” she rasps, sliding down to sit against the wall.

“It was not poison,” I say calmly. “It was a serum. Hallucinations. Nightmares. Vomiting. The works.” I crack my neck, the sound loud in the stone cell. “Don’t worry. The diarrhea part didn’t happen to you.”

Her cheeks flush with humiliated embarrassment. I smile, slow and cruel.

She is so fragile.

“Don’t worry, my love,” I murmur as I stand and walk toward the door. “You’ll learn to enjoy it down here.”

“No—” She tries to stand but collapses back to her knees.

I pause at the threshold, looking over my shoulder at her trembling form curled on the stone.

“It’s peaceful,” I whisper, closing the heavy door behind me with a final, echoing clang.

I climb the stairs and step into the private security room, the heavy door sealing shut behind me. I drop into the chair and power on the wall of screens. The feed from her cell flickers to life.

She’s curled into a tight ball on the stone bench, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The blanket I left her is clutched desperately against her chest. I should feel something, pity, guilt, regret. But all I feel is cold satisfaction.

She did this to herself. I gave her everything. The mansion. Safety. Freedom within these walls. And she chose to swallow what she thought was poison rather than trust me.

Her phone dings on the console. Lucille.

“Briar, where are you? I’ve been calling you for hours. I went to your apartment. I’m worried sick. Heading to the cops now.”

Eighteen missed calls. Four frantic voicemails. I roll my eyes and type back, trying to mimic her tone.

“I’m safe, girl. Don’t worry.”

Lucille replies instantly.