Evie stormed the estate’s garden, the air thick with the stench of rotting roses, their petals black and oozing, Cassian pruning them with a rusted blade, thorns tearing his flesh, blood dripping black and clotted, pooling at his feet in a stinking mire. “Who’s the Shadow?” she demanded, shoving the blood-scrawled note at him, her voice a ragged snarl, her hands crusted with dried gore from their last coupling.
“No fucking clue,” he said, voice cold as a grave, stepping close, blood smearing her cheek as he cupped her face, his thumb pressing her lips, leaving a coppery stain, wet and warm. “They’ve ripped my meat from me before—gutted it, fed it to the sea.” His eyes were pits of madness, promising her the same end. “You’re mine, Evie—my flesh to keep.” He dragged her inside, up stairs that creaked like breaking spines, to his bedroom—its air a miasma of mildew, sweat, and old blood, the bed a altar of stained sheets and crusted fluids.
He stripped her slow, deliberate, his hands leaving bloody smears as he peeled her shirt away, kissing her throat, her breasts, biting her nipples until they split, dark blood welling, oozing down her chest as he sucked, his tongue lapping at the wounds, a beast at a carcass. She moaned, a sound of pain and sick need, shoving his hand between her legs, where she throbbed, wet and torn, her cunt a raw wound begging for more. He snarled, fingers plunging in—rough, four then five, forcing them deep, stretching her wide, tearing flesh anew as she rocked against him, her screams a hymn of agony and lust. “More,” she begged, voice cracking, and he laid her on the bed, spreading her thighs until they bled at the seams, tendons snapping, his cock nudging her entrance, slick with her blood and his precum, a vile mixture dripping onto the sheets. He thrust in slow, torturous, filling her inch by inch, her walls splitting further, blood gushing as she gasped, her hands clawing his back, flaying skin, muscle glistening beneath her nails. He fucked her hard, hands pinning her wrists, teeth sinking into her shoulder, tearing a chunk free, blood spraying across the pillows as he chewed, swallowing her flesh, her screams swallowed by the estate’s groans. She came, a violent shudder, her cunt clamping around him, blood and cum mixing in a flood, and he spilled, hot and endless, a torrent that burned her torn insides, pooling beneath her in a crimson lake, soaking the mattress through.
A crash downstairs shattered the haze, the sound of splintering wood and a guttural scream. Cassian grabbed a poker, its tip rusted and blood-crusted, motioning her to stay, but Evie followed, dread a noose around her throat, her legs dripping blood with every step. In the parlor, the Shadow lunged—hooded, knife flashing, its blade dripping with fresh gore, chunks of flesh clinging to the edge. She screamed, a raw, animal sound, and the hood fell—Theo Voss, Lila’s brother, alive, his face a mask of rot and insanity, skin peeling from his cheeks, eyes bulging like a corpse too long in the tide, teeth jagged and yellowed.
“Miss me, Evie?” he leered, voice a wet gurgle, knife gleaming with Lila’s blood, her scalp dangling from his belt, blonde hair matted with gore. “Cassian spurned me—chose you, the bitch. I cursed him, slit your mother’s belly, fed her guts to the fish. You’re my key now—to freedom, to the sea’s maw.”
Cassian tackled him, a brutal clash, blood spraying as Theo’s blade slashed his arm, carving a gash to the bone, muscle hanging in strips, yellow fat glistening. Theo laughed, a bubbling choke, slashing again, nicking Cassian’s throat, blood arcing across the room, splattering Evie’s face. She seized a candlestick, its base crusted with wax and old blood, and swung, cracking Theo’s skull, bone splintering, gray matter oozing from the wound, a wet squelch as he staggered. “You can’t escape,” he wheezed, collapsing, blood and brains pooling at her feet, and the dark cackled, a sound from the estate’s rotten heart, promising her slaughter.
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