Lila Voss breached Evie’s cottage the next morning, a blonde fury slicing through Hollowmere’s gloom, her eyes blazing with a fire that could burn the town to ash. “Cassian’s a butcher,” she spat, slamming files onto the table—yellowed reports of missing women, their fates scrawled in faded ink: throats slit, bellies gutted, bones gnawed by the tide, all tied to Drayce Estate. “Your mother’s one of them—dashed apart, guts in the sea. He doesn’t age, Evie—look at the dates, the fucking centuries.”
Evie, skin still raw from Cassian’s teeth, her cunt bruised and throbbing, bristled, her voice a snarl. “You don’t know his soul.”
“I know slaughter,” Lila snapped, her voice softening to a plea, her hands trembling. “Leave with me, before he carves you up too.”
“He’s cursed,” Evie said, clutching the locket, its silver biting her palm, drawing a thin line of blood. “He loved her—loves me.”
“Loved her into the grave,” Lila sneered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “He’s a trap, baited with your blood.” She stormed out, the door slamming like a coffin lid, and Evie’s guilt festered, a maggot in her chest.
That night, she sought Cassian, finding him shirtless in the parlor, whiskey staining his lips, his chest glistening with sweat and old blood, the scar a weeping gash. “Your friend’s a noisy bitch,” he sneered, dragging her onto his lap, his cock already hardening beneath her. She tasted the liquor on his tongue, her kiss a defiance, biting his lip until it split, blood flooding her mouth, coppery and thick.
“She says you’re a killer,” she murmured, licking the wound, her hands clawing his chest, reopening the scar, pus and blood smearing her fingers. He snarled, flipping her onto the rug before the fireplace, its flames licking the air like a pyre, embers spitting onto her skin, burning small, sizzling holes. He tore her shirt open, buttons skittering like teeth, his mouth latching onto her breast, sucking hard, teeth sinking in until blood welled, dark and hot, dripping down her ribs. She screamed, a mix of pain and sick want, her hands ripping at his hair, pulling until blood matted the strands. “Let her rot,” he growled, shredding her jeans, the fabric tearing with a wet rip, exposing her thighs—already bruised, now bleeding anew from his nails.
His fingers plunged into her cunt, four at once, no preamble, stretching her wide, knuckles grinding against her torn flesh, blood and slick mixing as he pumped fast, ruthless. She writhed, cursing him, her voice a broken wail, but her hips bucked, begging for more, her clit throbbing under his thumb’s brutal press. He freed his cock, thick and throbbing, veins pulsing like worms under the skin, and pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other clamping her throat—tight, crushing her windpipe until her vision blackened at the edges. He entered her with a savage thrust, splitting her open, her scream choked off as he fucked her into the rug, its fibers burning her back, blood pooling beneath her from her torn thighs. “Mine,” he roared, his balls slapping her raw flesh, wet and obscene, his grip on her throat tightening until she clawed at his arm, nails flaying skin, blood dripping onto her face. She came, a choked sob, her body convulsing, her cunt clamping around him like a vise, and he spilled, hot and vicious, a flood that burned her insides, marking her as embers seared her skin, leaving puckered scars.
In his bed, she dreamt of her mother—drowning, skull caved in, guts trailing in the waves, lips forming Run as fish tore at her flesh. She woke, gasping, Cassian’s arm a chain across her waist, blood crusted on his skin, the estate’s shadows hissing her dirge, a promise of her own flayed end.
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