Page 3 of Locked

WYNN

Theold,dustysheetson the bed are swapped out for my favorite, a deep red silk bed set, the softness dancing across my fingertips as I smooth out the creases. I set out a few of my candles from home, lighting an ambrette wood wick and placing it on the dresser opposite the bed. The crackle from the wood echoes throughout the quiet room, that familiar sound pulling a deep breath from my chest. After a quick clean and adding in some little personal touches and trinkets, the room is much more comfortable than when I first walked in. It's dark, it's secluded, and it's mine.

Padding over to the ensuite, I take in the equally dark space with its mosaic-tiled floor and stone walls. A large shower takes up the corner of the room, with a rain showerhead coming down from the ceiling. Now, this I could get used to.

Switching the faucet to hot, I strip out of my clothes and step into the massive shower, allowing the searing water to cascade down my body, making my skin flush. The sting from the water goes straight to my core, lighting a fire as pain usually does.

My pale skin marks easily, something I have grown to love. There’s something about watching the body’s reaction to impact and pain that I find fascinating. A fascination that has become something a little…more. The way skin breaks out in chills to both cold weather and featherlight touches, as much as it does when you are aroused, or the way a knife can leave a red mark on the skin until the pressure increases ever so slightly, then it draws blood.

My brain wanders until the water runs cold, which is enough time for the dusk sky to morph into darkness. Slipping into my oversized black tee and panties, I curl into my soft sheets, falling asleep to the soothing sound of rain hitting the window.

My ragged breaths create plumes of white mist in the darkened sky as I search for a safe space to hide. The beast's footsteps fall heavily behind me, its paws breaking the twigs on the forest floor and cutting through the silence. My heart threatens to beat through my chest as it snaps its teeth close to my ear and tears out a few strands of my hair. A yelp escapes me at the sting, causing a growl from the beast.

My senses are overloaded with the cool night air painfully kissing my skin, the sticks and rocks shredding the skin on my bare feet, and the overwhelming smoke that fills my lungs with every inhale.

“Give up, girl,” he growls, now beside me as I continue to run, his bright, ember-filled eyes staring straight into mine. I push as hard as I can, the sticks and rocks on the ground tearing into my bare feet and forcing a scream to rip from my throat. My attempt is futile, with the beast simply matching my pace. One swipe of his heavy foot is all it takes to send me tumbling to the ground. I try to break the fall, my hands shooting out in front of my body and catching the brunt of the impact. My hands and knees feel like they have been ripped to shreds from the fall.

He flips my body over, hovering his black, hellish, wolf-like presence above me with a snarl. Smoke pours from his fur as he moves his nose along my collarbone, inhaling deeply. Sticks rip into my skin as I try to shuffle from below him, a futile attempt to escape.

“Don't fucking move, Wynn, this is the only warning that you’ll get,” he rumbles from above me, his sharp, white teeth glistening in the moonlight. I know I heard him speak, but his lips never moved from the snarl. He looks like something otherworldly, but his being able to speak was not something I was expecting; it was almost like he spoke into my mind somehow. Without warning, his long, black tongue traces along my neck and up to my ear before he nips at my skin, forcing a whimper to escape my lips.

I should be terrified, but instead, I’m drawn to him in a way that I certainly shouldn't be given the situation I find myself in. Heat licks at my core to the point where I can feel wetness drenching my panties. His ember eyes glow brighter on his next inhale as he zones in on the hem of my oversized tee. Surely he can't tell...

“Well, this is a surprise. You’re fucking turned on.” He chuckles, his entire body shifting into a completely naked man right before my eyes.

My eyes widen as I attempt to take in what in the world just happened. “What the fuck was that?” I breathe out softly, my eyes raking over one of the most dangerous-looking men I have ever laid my eyes on. He’s stacked with muscle upon muscle, black and red tattoos covering his body as far as my eyes can see. His black, shaggy hair falls around his face, but it's his eyes that shock me the most. They look like a lit flame is dancing behind his pupils as they bore into mine.

“You need to wake up, little Wynn. Your life just got a whole lot more interesting.”

My heart is racing at a speed that feels like it's seconds from bursting through my chest cavity. Taking deep breaths, I rub my thighs together, causing the slightest amount of friction and confirming what I already know. The wetness slowly drips from my core as I stretch my body out, the ache building to an unbearable point. I take a deep breath in, the faint, smokey scent filling my lungs and fueling the burn between my thighs. The memory of the smokey wolf, or man, whatever he was-pinning me to the ground in the woods, forces the need running through my body to intensify.

I delicately run my hand down my curved stomach and into my panties, shimmying them down my thighs for easier access. Closing my eyes, I dip two fingers into my core and slide them back up, drawing circles around my already sensitive clit. The pressure starts to build quickly, as it always does after my nightmares, but something is missing.

Reaching over to the drawer in my nightstand with my other hand, I grasp the sharpened black blade, running the tip along my inner thighs. The pressure is just enough to break the skin as my body sits right on the edge, waiting. Digging the blade in harder, I graze my pointed stiletto nail over my hypersensitive clit, instantly falling apart. My body shakes as my orgasm tears through me violently, releasing the pressure of both the blade and my nail immediately while my body tremors through the aftershocks.

I lay there for a moment, my breath still ragged from the nightmare and the morning self-care session. The rivulets of blood cascade down my thigh, pooling at my discarded panties, which luckily captured most of it. The blade is cleaned with the hem of my tee, and I place it next to my boots so that it’s not forgotten for the day.

I pad over to the bathroom, discarding my tee and panties into the small black hamper before stepping into the shower. The scorching hot water runs over my body, washing the blood from my thighs as I watch the trail of pink flowing down the drain. Quickly washing my body, I hop out to patch up the fresh cut. It’s not deep, not enough for stitches, but it will definitely add to the existing artwork gracing my body.

For the last few months, my nightmares have taken a turn. I’ve always had them, even as a child, but lately they’ve developed into something I don't quite understand. When I wake up, my body is already extremely heightened, and that intense fear lingers, heating my body in a way that nothing and no one else has ever been able to. The figure in my nightmares more recently is dark, towering over my small frame, and threatening my life in one way or another. The situations vary, but all have the same end result. Waking me with a need that only a little pain or fear can fix.

My makeup is done the same as every other day, with a heavy hand on the blush to warm up my pale complexion and a sharp, black-winged liner that could cut a bitch with ease. Unpacking the uniform my parents had purchased before the move, I lay it out across the bed and giggle to myself at just how perfect it is for me with its monochrome tones. The uniform for Blackstone is fitting with its crisp, white shirt; black, plaid skirt that hits slightly above the knee; and my tailored black blazer, which pulls in at my waist, showcasing the dramatic curve of my hips.

Slipping on a pair of torn, black tights and my platform Doc Martens, I straighten my hair until it’s a sleek, ink-black curtain hanging down my back and then head out the door. I’m instantly hit in the chest by something covered in blood, and my feet stumble back at the impact as I watch the dead raccoon swaying back and forth on a rope attached to the doorway.

Welcome to Blackstone Academy, Wynn.

CHAPTER THREE

WYNN

Myonce-whiteshirtisnow covered in the red splatters of blood from my nice little welcome gift this morning. The same blood that is now trickling onto the hallway floor as I make my way to my first class. Having to take the time to cut down my furry friend and actually find my way to the room means that I’m a little bit late.

The halls are barren and silent as I walk to class with the raccoon firmly in my grasp. This part of the building is beautiful, its stone walls lit by hanging pendants and lined with large, arched windows.

I smile sweetly, strolling into the classroom and leaving a trail of crimson in my path. An older lady, who I’m assuming is our teacher, pales at the sight of me. Her warm, brown eyes widen as she takes in my appearance, her angular brows shooting up in shock.

“Hi, Miss, I'm Wynn, but I’m sure you knew that. I was wondering, do you have a lost property bin here? Someone seems to have misplaced their pet roadkill in my doorway this morning,” I say confidently, biting back a grin at the look of horror on her face.

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