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Chapter 22

Istride into Arianwen's room, desperate to see her after too many nights apart, but the sight that greets me gives me pause.

The furnishings all look the same, the big bed with the pale pink sheets, the pretty dressing table with the ornate silver mirror and matching hairbrush. But one thing is noticeably wrong.

She should be bedbound, languishing around in her usual waif-like state, but instead she's glowing. Her skin is healthy, sunkissed even, as I notice the pinkness to her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Faint freckles have begun to appear, a constellation that betrays her.

Arianwen's long silver hair is braided, with part of it wrapped like a crown around her head. Her cheeks look plump and full, a sign that she's been eating well lately. Her big blue eyes are clear and focused, framed by her thick dark lashes which flutter prettily when she opens her eyes to stare at me.

She looks divine, otherworldly almost, as she gracefully pushes herself into a sitting position, the strap of her nightgown slipping down her smooth, creamy skin. When she notices where my attention has fallen, she hastily yanks it back into place.

She looks like mine.

"Good morning, princess," I say, sitting on her bed, the mattress dipping beneath me as I lean in and stroke a few stray strands of hair away from her face. "Did you miss me?"

A lingering floral scent seems to cling to her, and I wrinkle my nose. This is not how she's supposed to smell. Wild and free. It's all wrong.

I watch as she swallows, body stilling beneath my touch. I like her like this, docile. Submissive.

Scared.

I can practically taste her fear as it seeps into the air, tingeing everything with a delicious sweetness.

It's taken us a long time to get here, back to the manor, just the two of us. I have been so very patient with her, keeping her safe and cared for as her mind fractured with grief.

Who bathed her and kept her clean? Me.

Who fed her? Me.

Who made sure she slept? Me.

Who kept her safe from everyone else? Me.

Who loved her, even when she was unlovable? Me.

It was always me, and it always will be. She was my reward, my raison d'etre. Nothing is going to ruin that.

"I've brought your medication." Pulling out a small glass bottle from my suit pocket, I ignore the way her eyes widen as I tap out the pills onto my palm.

She needs this, and I need her.

"Open wide, darling." I slip the bottle back into my pocket and use my free hand to reach out and gently pull her chin down.

I refuse to allow her the opportunity to pretend to take them, like I suspect she has been doing under Danvers' loose care.

Useless man.

He had one task, keep my Rapunzel safe and locked up in her tower. And he obviously failed. If you want a job done right, you must do it yourself. It isn't time yet for her to be back to her senses, I need her docile, pliable for just a little while longer. Soon.

I put the pills on her tongue before using two of my fingers to push them deeper. Her mouth is hot and wet as it envelops me, and although there's a defiant gleam in her eyes, she forces herself to remain still.

My cock twitches as her throat constricts and she swallows around me, giving me filthy thoughts. Wanting my step-daughter isn't something new, but there is a time and a place. I have spent so long building up to this, I cannot allow my base needs to unravel everything – not when we're so close.

Ari tries to suck in a breath, but struggles, her eyes watering beautifully, and reluctantly I withdraw from her body. Soon.

Soon, I'll be buried in her so deep she'll never be able to rip me out. I'll embed myself in her core. Fuse myself to her bones. We'll be bound forever.

For now, I'll just have to wait and watch.

The freedom of the last week has been snatched away like it had never existed and while I thought I could handle it – thought I could play pretend until I figured out what I was doing – the reality is very different.

Hours later, I'm lying on the chaise lounge in the solarium, enjoying the warmth like a lizard in a tank as I lazily flip through a book I found in the library.

Outwardly I appear relaxed, with Carver reading the paper sitting opposite me in an oversized armchair, but inside my head I'm screaming. I'm fighting my body's urge to throw up and forcing myself to stay still, otherwise I know I'll fall apart.

Seeing him again, with a clearer mind, with all my faculties…it has brought back everything I'd buried in the haze of drugs and death. The way he's always watched me. The lingering touches. The way he has to be in control of every situation – from what I wear, to how I style my hair. The feelings that I couldn't name, that tore me up inside…now I'm seeing them for what they are – warning signs.

Giant red flags.

He hated the fact I'd emptied all the dead plants out of the solarium, I could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the little muscle in his cheek pulsing as he looked around with a lifted brow.

"I see you were…productive while I was away." He takes one of the leaves of a nearby plant between his fingers and rubs his thumb over the waxy green surface.

I couldn't stand being surrounded by death and decay any longer, that's why I'd done it. But seeing him sitting amongst the healthy, thriving greenery feels…wrong. Everything about this, about him, is wrong.

My head throbs.

A dull ache settled in after I'd taken my medication this morning, and lying here, with my eyes half closed, the book now facedown resting on my stomach, I know that it's not normal.

Carver tells me I need the pills. That they make me better. If that were the case, then why is my body feeling like all of the energy has been zapped away? Why is my head hurting? Why does my stomach feel queasy?

"You should eat some lunch soon." Carver's voice cuts through the quiet. "There is some leftover soup in the fridge. Danvers said you made it."

To anyone else, his words would sound like an observation, but I hear the undertone loud and clear. How dare I do something so self-sufficient.

I open my mouth to say that actually, I hadn't made the soup, Jas did while Sax took care of me in the tower but the words don't leave my lips.

It hits me.

My monsters are real.

I know for certainty that I hadn't made the soup. And if the groundskeeper hadn't either…then they were real.

My monsters aren't a figment of my imagination.

I swallow the realisation, keeping it safe inside me as Carver frowns.

Remembering his statement, I nod, pushing down the buzz of excitement that starts to build beneath my skin.

Sax, Mal and Jas are going to be waiting for me at sunset. That makes sitting under the weight of Carver's heavy gaze much more bearable.

"Hmmm," is the only response Carver makes as he gets to his feet and folds up his newspaper. He looks the same as always in his crisp, immaculate suit, dark hair swept back. Slick and suave but with an edge that makes my mouth go dry and my hands tremble.

"Will your friend be joining us?" With the nausea, I'd almost forgotten about Carver's late night guest but it seemed rude of us to have a late lunch without her.

"Excuse me?" He freezes mid-fold.

"The blonde woman…" I say quietly, not looking at him. "The one from last night."

I cringe, hating that I've spoken to him. After so long, months of silence, I no longer wanted to give him my words. He took so much from me, especially my voice, but since his absence and starting to feel myself again, I realised there's power in withholding my words from him.

But now I've gone and ruined it.

"My sweet princess, I don't know what you're talking about. There was no blonde lady." He bends down before me, pinching my chin to force my eyes up to meet his. There's anger there, fleeting, but unmistakable, before he schools his expression into one of fake concern.

He sighs sadly, a pantomime of care. "Really, Ari. Just as I think you might be getting better, I realise how truly ill you are."

I bite the inside of my cheek as I chant to myself, refusing to give him more of myself than I already had.

You are not sick. You are not crazy. You are not sick. You are not crazy. You are not sick. You are not crazy. You are not sick. You are not crazy.

I know he's trying to mess with my mind, make me question everything, and if this was before, when I was drowning in guilt from my mother's death then maybe I would have believed him.

Sax's words haven't cured me, it doesn't work like that. But he has helped me understand that it isn't logical to hold on to all of the blame. I didn't cause the accident.

Yes, I was the reason why she was on the road late at night…but she was my mother. I called her, needing help, and she'd chosen to come herself instead of sending a taxi or hanging up on me. Despite the way we'd grown apart since Carver had come into our lives, and even the argument we'd had earlier that night, it was proof that my mother still loved me. She wouldn't want me to spend the rest of my life haunting these halls, wandering barefoot aimlessly through the corridors until I fade into nothing.

She would have never let me soak in this despair, not like him. He fed on it. Stoked it to life and kept it growing, hoping it would consume me. But now my eyes are open to it.

"Don't worry, princess. I'll take care of you," he practically croons while I let my nails bite into the soft skin on my thighs, grounding me as he strokes my face. "It's just us now."

The joke's on him, because it isn't just us. As soon as the day fades into night, I will be back with my monsters and away from his greedy paws.

Carver feeds me, doting on me for the rest of the day, barely leaving my side until it's time for bed. He makes a few grumbling comments about how my routine has been ruined while he was away, as he hands me my nightly dose of meds.

When I was taking my pills properly, I slept away most of my days, ending up in bed before the sun set more often than not and waking while it was already high in the sky. Since I've been weaned off them, and have been missing doses, they don't seem to be making me as exhausted.

It's clearly making Carver agitated that the sun has already set and I'm still awake, but since I'm just as eager to end the day, I don't protest too much as he tucks me in.

Once again he forces his thick fingers inside my mouth, giving me no choice but to swallow the bitter tablets and make awkward eye contact with him while I do.

"Sleep well, love." He plants a soft kiss on my forehead before getting to his feet and leaving, making sure to close the door tightly behind him.

A moment later, the lock snicks softly into place.

Carver clearly doesn't want me wandering around this evening, but that's fine with me. I'm not going to be here. I am not his prisoner, nor his pet.

Pushing aside the sheets, I get to my feet and open my window, ignoring the way my stomach cramps and a fresh wave of nausea washes over me.

"Did you miss us, little hellion?" a cocky voice teases, followed by Mal's large body filling my window, his clawed feet perching on the ledge.

I blink. "Did you always have clawed feet?"

Mal chuckles, a hint of fang flashing, as he's pushed gently into my room by Jas. "Magic, remember?"

I look at them both, standing in my room, huge with their giant wings, cocks nowhere is sight despite the fact they're both technically naked like usual. "I still don't understand how that works."

They have wings that seem to fold and vanish into slits near their shoulders. Sax has a knot, but it doesn't always expand. Claws, sharp teeth, all things monstrous – they have these things too. But not always. It doesn't make any logical sense.

Jas shrugs before wrapping a hand around my waist and placing a soft kiss on my forehead. "Us either. All we know is that we can change certain aspects of our appearance – but not everything."

Sax's deep voice cuts in, as he hovers outside, waiting for us. "We'll never be human, little love."

The three of them stare at me intently. Is that what they think I want? Are they unhappy living as gargoyles and grotesques?

Climbing up onto the window sill, I reach out for him. "Is that something you would want?"

His powerful wings flap slowly, as he offers me a smile that makes me melt a little. "I do not care what form I take, as long as it is one able to protect you."

"Oh eww," Mal makes a retching noise from behind me, hands on my hips to help balance me. "Daddy Sax is being all mushy."

I wrap my arms around Sax's neck and bury my face against him, breathing in the soothing scent of rain and earthy moss. "Shut it, we all know how you practically glow when he calls you his good little gargoyle."

Jas chuckles as Mal joins us in the night air. "She's got you there."

"She's not going to be calling me a little anything when I'm finally buried inside that tight body of hers," Mal promises as finally the four of us head back to the tower.

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