Page 13 of The Darkest Gift

"Well," I say, rising from my seat, "we'll have to see about making your stay more... comfortable."

The dark look in Elijah's eyes intensifies, and I can practically see the gears turning in that brilliant mind of his. He's plotting, no doubt about what he'll do to us given the first chance. The thought sends a shiver of excitement down my spine.

Iris checks her watch, her crimson nails a stark contrast against her pale skin. "I really must be going," she sighs. "Try not to have too much fun without me, boys."

As she sashays out of the room, I turn back to Elijah, a predatory grin spreading across my face. "Now then, what shall we do to pass the time?"

With Iris gone, the energy in the room shifts. Elijah's eyes track me warily as I approach, like a caged animal assessing a potential threat. The comparison isn't far off–he may be restrained, but there's still danger coiled in those taut muscles, barely contained beneath his skin.

"Comfortable?" I inquire, my voice dripping with mock concern.

Elijah tugs at his restraints, testing their strength. The muscles in his arms flex and strain, but the bindings hold firm. "Oh, just peachy," he replies, his tone dry as dust.

"Hungry?" I ask casually, as if we're having a normal conversation over breakfast.

Elijah's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. For a moment, I think he might refuse to answer out of spite. But then his stomach growls audibly, and a wry smirk tugs at his lips.

"Starving, actually," he admits. "Though I have to say, this isn't quite how I imagined my morning going when I woke up yesterday."

I chuckle, admiring Elijah's ability to maintain his sense of humor even in this situation. "Life's full of surprises, isn't it?" I say, moving closer until I'm standing directly in front of him. "But where are my manners? Let's get you something to eat."

I turn and walk over to a small table near the wall, where a covered tray sits waiting. Lifting the silver dome reveals an assortment of bite-sized morsels–fresh berries, cubes of cheese, and delicate pastries. Nothing too messy or difficult to eat by hand.

Picking up the tray, I return to Elijah. His eyes narrow as he watches me, likely trying to discern my intentions. I select a plump strawberry from the tray and hold it up to his lips.

"Open wide," I instruct, my tone light but brooking no argument.

Elijah's eyes flash with defiance, but after a moment of tension, his lips part slightly. I press the strawberry against his mouth, watching intently as he takes a bite. Juice trickles down his chin, and I resist the urge to lean in and lick it off.

"Good boy," I murmur, my voice low and husky.

Elijah swallows, his throat working visibly. "Fuck you," he spits, but there's less venom in his tone than before.

I chuckle, selecting a cube of sharp cheddar next. "Now, now. Is that any way to talk to someone who's feeding you?" I tease, holding the cheese to his lips.

This time, Elijah nips at my fingers as he takes the morsel, his teeth grazing my skin just hard enough to sting. I hiss softly at the sharp bite, but my pupils dilate with approval. "Careful now," I warn, my voice dropping to a sinful purr. "We wouldn't want things to get... unpleasant."

Elijah's eyes flash, full of defiance. "And what exactly would you consider unpleasant, Mr. Blackwood?" he challenges, his voice low and rough. "Seems to me things are already pretty fucked up."

I can't help but chuckle at his audacity. Even bound and at my mercy, he still has that sharp tongue. It's... refreshing. Most of our guests are reduced to blubbering messes by this point.

"Oh, Elijah," I murmur, stepping closer until I'm mere inches from him. I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his breathing quickens. "We've barely begun to explore the depths of unpleasantness," I whisper, my lips ghosting over his ear.

I straighten, the smirk tugging at my lips impossible to suppress. I return to the small table, the gleam of polished mahogany catching the low light. The items arranged there like trophies—each one deliberate, each one meaningful.

"Ah," I say with mock innocence, fingers brushing against smooth leather and soft foam. "Oh, how could I forget? It's the second day." My words drip with theatrical exasperation, a wry grin twisting my mouth as I glance back at him. "Silly me."

Elijah’s eyes narrow, sharp blue and brimming with suspicion, though he doesn’t speak. He’s learning quickly—words only feed me. His silence hangs in the air, taut as a drawn bowstring.

I pick up the mask first, running my thumb over its sleek edge. The black satin catches the faint light from the chandelier in the room, shimmering like liquid darkness. "You’ll forgive me, won’t you?" I muse, turning it absently in my hands. "For being so... forgetful, I mean."

"Forgiveness feels like a stretch," Elijah bites out, his voice dry and cutting. But beneath the bravado, I catch the subtle shift in his posture—the slightest tensing of his shoulders, the twitch of his jaw. Oh, he's curious. More than that, he's bracing himself.

"Good thing I’m not asking for it," I reply smoothly, stepping closer. The weight of the mask feels satisfying in my palm—a promise yet to be fulfilled.

"Eyes first," I murmur, leaning in. My breath brushes against his cheek, and I swear I feel him flinch—barely perceptible, but oh so telling. His restraint is exquisite. Calculated. A game he thinks he can win.

"Don’t move," I warn, my voice a whisper laced with steel. His sharp inhale betrays him, but he stays still as I glide the mask over his eyes, fastening it snugly at the back of his head.

---