Page 13 of Just Crumbs

I couldn’t move if I tried. I’m still sobbing, arms wrapped around my knees, unable to even figure out why I’m crying.

A few minutes later, Gerrit re-enters, balancing my wash bin in his arms. “It’s cold, sorry,” he grumbles as he pours the water into the tub.

I shriek and nearly jump out of my skin. “Mother fu-”. I stop my quick exit of the tub, remembering my magic should be at capacity now, and lay my hand on the water. It immediately warms to steaming hot, and I sink into it with a relieved sigh.

He raises an eyebrow at my magic but doesn’t voice the questions that clearly wait on the tip of his tongue. He watches my face obsessively as I luxuriate in the water and let relaxation take over me.

“I’m waiting, witchy,” he says, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“What for?” I ask, slipping my shoulders under the water and rubbing the caked blood on my chest with my hand.

“For an explanation about the tears.”

I slide under the water, doing everything I can to avoid him. I feel like I’ve barely been under when he rips me through the surface. “What the fuck, Briar?”

I shake my head as I attempt to dislodge him. “What?” I sputter.

“You trying to kill yourself right after we feed you?”

I suppose I did not think through the optics of this particular situation. I feel bad for worrying him, but I can’t stop the silly giggle that bubbles up inside me. “Oh, no. I don’t think I can die, remember? I was just trying to avoid answering your question.”

He growls and puts me back in the water. He searches the room for something and must find it lacking because he stomps out, muttering to himself. Moments later, he drags a chair from my dining table into the bathroom.

“Talk. Now.”

I groan and reach for a cloth to finish scrubbing my skin. “You ever been with a woman, and she came so hard she cried afterward? Like that rush of good feelings was all-encompassing and overwhelming, and then, oh no, now it’s gone, and I’m back in my body?”

His lips twist up in a smile. “What do you think?”

“You’re right, silly question. Well, it’s kind of like that but more. I… I have never felt so full before. So complete. For the first time I can remember, I don’t feel the ache of hunger and desire.” I feel tears springing in my eyes again and turn away from him, busying myself with scrubbing my already clean body.

He’s quiet, and I can already tell Gerrit is a man of few words. His hulking frame takes up most of the bathroom as he rests his elbows on his knees. He doesn’t speak. He just lends his presence to me.

And for today, that’s enough.

* * *

After my bath,I join Hans, who looks surprisingly well, considering how much blood I took from him, on the couch. He’s changed into a different shirt and cleaned himself up, with an ankle crossed over his knee as he reads a book from my side table. Gerrit sits down in the chair across from my sofa.

Why this room has so much seating, I’ll never know. It’s not like I’m throwing parties in here with the rats.

“You said you don’t know why you drink blood? Do you know what you are?” he asks me.

“That book you’re reading talks about succubae. They’re demons, feeding from sex. I can feed off sex, and I got banished to this prison, so I was thinking maybe I am some kind of demon. Doesn’t explain the sensitivity to light or bloodlust, or even most of my magic.”

Hans chews at his lip in thought, which is surprisingly endearing. After a quiet moment, he nods and puts the book away. “Regardless of what you are, we need help and think you can provide it.”

In my bloody sex haze, I forgot that’s why they came here. They didn’t feed me out of the goodness of their hearts. But after that kind of showing, there is no way I’ll deny helping them now. If only I could get one more good feeding.

Maybe I can feed from Gerrit this time. I wonder if his blood tastes as good as his cum.

He clears his throat, and I realize I’ve been staring at his crotch. I watch as he adjusts himself from my gaze before I bring my attention back to Hans, who greets my returned attention with a wry smile.

“Our father is the Duke of Greenbell,” he begins, resting his elbows on his knees. “My stepmother, Gerrit’s mother, does not want me to succeed my father.”

I wrinkle my nose. I don’t like where this is heading. Power corrupts. In all of the books that I’ve read, it’s been very clear that those who long for power are the ones who shouldn’t have it.

“She tried to convince my father to send me away, to marry me off to the future Duchess of Brindal so I would have to relinquish my title. When he didn’t, she took matters into her own hands. She attempted to have me cursed.”

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