Page 57 of His to Haunt

“What…what are you going to do?”

“Trust me.”

“This is…” I mutter, trailing off pathetically as I back against the pillow. My nipples harden amidst a draft of cold air, and I cover them with my hands.

He sits on the bed beside me, shirtless and towering even while sitting, his black hair like a blanket around him.

“Don’t hide your beauty,” he rasps, then in one balletic, sweeping movement, he climbs over me, straddling me between his thighs as collects my hands one after another, holding mywrists. His statuesque frame looks surreal above me, like a wickedly fallen angel cast down.

His wrist is bleeding, but then it turns flesh-colored before my eyes as if sealed by magic. I blink my lids, disbelieving. He lowers the chalice to my breasts with his other hand, tipping it until the hot, red wax hits my skin.

I gasp at the burning sensation on my breasts, which he cools with his lips, slowly sucking. He lifts his head, leaning upward before kissing my lips, the taste of wax on his tongue. Not just wax. Am I just imagining the taste of blood? Is it really his blood?

A dizzy feeling comes over me as he pours the hot wax over my nipples again, only this time, he doesn’t cool them with his mouth. My eyes shut with a wince, feeling the burn. “Stop,” I mutter as the burning fades, but he’s already sucking my nipples.

He raises his lips to my mouth, wax on his tongue as he laps me, his hand slipping between my thighs, stroking my sex. Wet heat floods my core as my skin flushes. I squirm, trying to resist, but his touch is relentless. My body betrays me, my head knocking back as I near—no! It is not possible that I can orgasm against my will.

“Enough!” I yell, resisting succumbing.

My eyelids drop to his deafeningly deep voice inside my head.

Listen to your God, Leena, he says. But all I hear is him.

Sex magic, he says, and I open my eyes to the sight of him on his knees, unbuttoning his pants until the thickness of his hardened erection springs forth like a predator pouncing.

I scream as he rips my panties from me, one strip of white cloth in each hand, which he drops to the bed before lowering himself between my thighs.

I press my thighs together to resist, but he’s already inside me, filling me up with each thrust of the hips. I claw his muscled ass with both hands…

My body betrays me again, my hips thrusting against him as his cock plunges deeper; my traitorous body is no longer my own, separate from my mind it has left me for him.

He opens his mouth, exposing long sharp fangs angled at my throat. In the blink of an eye, he’s at my neck, and there is a hot piercing sensation through my veins as he fucks me.

In the blackness of my closed eyes, a vision floods my mind.

A black wrought-iron chandelier hangs in a foyer where there are people coming down from a massive staircase with dark carved wood, large portraits along the walls, and tinted-glass windows.

People gather around a huge, black fireplace that has a black iron screen spiked along the top and a large stack of unlit wood behind it. A woman in red sits in a clawed-foot chair with a man dressed in black standing behind her. She speaks in riddles.

Need I remind you all of the Prophesy of the Nine? It takes three to rule a coven. Six to make it. Eight to keep a coven. Nine to break it.

The other people are also wearing red or black. Everyone is very pale with dark eyes. Tall glasses with blood-red wine sit on a black table. There is a shield of armor above the fireplace with a symbol on it with letters along the top—I’ve seen this before. It’s the symbol from the map of the dragon snake creature biting its tail. The same words: O.O.S.

Now I’m in a different room, dark with high ceilings with dark figures circling around a woman—no, it’s…my sister! Rachel is wearing a white dress, face tilted upward in a grimace with tears running down her cheeks. Red tears. Tears of blood.

What is this place? Where is she?

My nightmare vision shifts to the Byron cemetery. A boy who looks like Zand is standing alongside a girl who is his twin in every way. There is a man on the ground, his hands bound to the side. The woman is crying as the boy lifts something into the air. A piece of wood. Long and slender like a garden fence post. He lowers it at the man on the ground, stabbing it into his chest before throwing the stake down on the ground. The twin girl hands the boy an axe, and he immediately strikes the neck of the man, decapitating him fully. The head rolls aside, and the boy shoves it with his boot. It falls into the open grave. He pushes the body into the hole before both he and the girl pick up shovels, scooping dirt, and tossing it into the grave.

“We killed our own father,” cries the girl.

Nothing but blackness now and fitfulness. Is this sleep?

Drugged me. He must have drugged me. It was in the blood. Kimmie was so sick before she felt better than ever.

But the visions were so vivid. Hallucinations should reflect life experiences and knowledge. But not these. It was as if the visions were not my own.

Same as when I dreamt in Rachel-mode. The eye in the wall. That was before I read about the phantom in Rachel’s journal. Before I even knew. It’s hard to make sense of that. It only makes sense if I were to believe in the supernatural—no!

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