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“You’re so fucking pretty like this. All open for me. All mine.” He leaned down and kissed me, deep and messy, his tongue claiming my mouth.

He fucked into me hard, deep, the slap of his hips loud in the quiet of the room. The bedframe rattled. The headboard thudded against the wall, a savage rhythm. He didn’t go slow. He didn’t give me time to catch my breath. He fucked me like he wanted to ruin me, to mark me forever.

He pulled a length of cloth from the bedside drawer, looping it around my wrists, binding me to the headboard. I didn’t fight him. I let him. God help me, I let him.

“Can’t let you fly away, bluebird. Have to keep you here. Have to make you remember who you belong to.” His words were cruel, but he pressed a kiss to my temple, soft and almost tender—a parody of care.

He ran his hand down my body, over the bruises and the cuts and the place above my heart where his name was carved into my flesh. He pressed his thumb into the wound, grinding until I whimpered, pain sparking through the pleasure. “Perfect,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect.”

He bent my knees back even further, bending me almost in half, exposing everything. He slid two fingers into my mouth, making me suck them, then pushed them down to rub my clit. His cock moved into me. Every thrust forced another broken sound from my throat.

“Take it, Starla. Take what I give you. That’s my good girl. My special girl.”

I arched my back, desperate and helpless.

The pleasure built again. He kept me right on the edge, fingers working my clit, hips snapping, hand tight around my throat. The world dissolved around me.

“Do you want to cum again, bluebird? Do you want to fall apart for me one more time?” His voice was mocking and sweet.

I nodded, breathless, tears leaking down my cheeks. “Please—Malakar—please.”

He fucked me even harder, slamming into me so the headboard shook. His grip tightened on my throat, enough to make the room darken at the edges, all the blood roaring in my ears. The fear sent me spinning over the edge again.

I came, shaking, choking, my whole body wracked with spasms.

He watched me the whole time, eyes burning, mouth twisted in something like awe, something like hunger. As I broke apart beneath him, he finally let go—hips jerking, voice shattering as he spilled inside me.

He stayed there, breath ragged, his weight pinning me, his hands trembling.

For a long time, neither of us moved.

My wrists ached, the cloth biting into my skin. My body was bruised, utterly spent. I let myself go limp, the shame washing over me in hot, suffocating waves. I wanted it. I’d begged for it. I’d cum for him, twice, chained and pinned and used.

Why would you do that? He’s a monster, and you’re giving into his sick madness.

He untied my wrists and lay down beside me, pulling me against his chest. I could feel his heart pounding, too fast, too human. His breath was shaky, almost broken.

I looked at him. There were tears on his cheeks. He tried to hide them, turning his face away, but I saw. He bled too. Monsters bled, monsters wept. Monsters held you close in the aftermath and whispered your name like you were an anchor to the light.

I let him hold me. I hated him, I needed him. I was horrified at what I’d done and what I’d become. I was starving for the warmth, for the weight of his arm around my waist, for the comfort of not being alone. I was his bluebird, and the cage had never felt so sweet, so suffocating, so final.

Chapter 17

Stay With Me

Malakar

The fog was gone in my head. That happened sometimes, I’d be fine, then the fog would come back. I cherished every moment of it with my bluebird, when I wasn’t being driven to hurt her.

I saw her in that room, with all those trophies, and I was snapped back into myself. I didn’t want her to end up like that, and for the first time in days, I truly realized what I was fucking doing.

I couldn’t be sure why the dark would return so suddenly. I hated it, I hated living like this. I could still remember a time when I didn’t have a darkness eating me up from the inside out.

Then my father made my mommy touch me. He made me watch him fuck her, beat her. He made me rape her on multiple occasions. The sound of her screams still haunted my psyche.

“No, no, no. Don’t think about that. You’re doing good, Malakar. Be good for Starla,” I told myself. I smacked my head and counted to ten. Maybe it would go away, maybe I could control it.

Trying to control the darkness was like trying to put out a wildfire. It was like trying to stop a hurricane. Fucking useless.