Page 30 of Buried Souls
Untying my bound limbs and wrapping me in his bed cover, Niko lifts me into his strong arms, carrying me out of his chambers.
It will be night time by the time I wake up again, except that for the first time in my life, I will finally feel alive and accepted.
CHAPTER 14
Nikolas
“Hush, Little Lamb, Don’t You Cry—Niko’s Gonna Sing You a Lullaby”
I sit in the dark, observing her sleeping form. The rise and fall ofher chest. The light fluttering of her lashes against her soft skin.
I shouldn’t be here.
But then again, it’s my fault that I am—that webothare.
Hours passed during which time I was away from her. Long, torturous hours, that seemed like an eternity I was no longer able to bear, driving me back to this very room. Like it did every night.
If she only knew the level of devotion I feel towards her.
Would it scare her away?
Would she flee me, as she did that day?
I stand, going to the far corner of her room, a silhouette against the dark paneled walls, my eyes fixed upon her with a hunger that is both reverent and cruel.
There is something so innocent, so naive, yet inherently mischievous in her that makes me want to probe the deepest part of her mind and peel back those false layers of propriety to her true self. The dark and twisted one that she hides so well.
The one that matches my own.
There was no denying what she would one day come to mean for me. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on her.
I sigh, remembering that fateful day, allowing my thoughts to wonder.
The room is cloaked in velvet shadows, the only light the pale silver of the waning moon seeping in through the heavy curtains. The air hangs thick with the scent of roses—her favorite flower. A scent meant to soothe in this hopeless time, but one that twists into something sickly sweet and bitter inside of me with each passing day. But I still bring them to her, hoping that somehow, they’ll make a difference.
Foolish. Stupid.
That is how I feel.
She’s not aware of it. She might not ever be.
She lies there—motionless beneath the heavy quilt—her skinalmost luminous in the dim light, delicate and pale like a fragile porcelain doll forgotten in some ancient crypt. Her chest rises and falls in a gentle rhythm, slow and shallow breaths that speak of innocence and vulnerability.
It’s your fault she’s here.
Yes, but guilt is not what is driving me to the point of madness tonight.
My lips curve into a half-smile, thin and knowing.
I imagine tracing the line of her throat, pale and unmarked, beneath silken sheets. Imagine the coldness of my fingers ghosting over her soft skin, stirring a shiver she wouldn’t be able to understand in her current state. The thought of bending time itself to claim the stillness of her sleep, to tether her helpless body to my will, sends a dark thrill spiraling through my veins.
What I desire is forbidden, impure—yet it burns inside of me like a fevered curse.
This isn’t love, oh no. Love is far too gentle. Far too fleeting.
This is possession. An obsession older than my family’s legacy itself, as ancient and relentless as the ivy strangling the mansion’s walls.
I move closer, the floorboards whispering beneath my steps like the sigh of a thousand lost souls. My gaze never faltering, drinking in every soft curve, every breathless pause that passes those luscious lips of hers that call to me, like a beacon to home for lost sailors in a turbulent sea.
