Chapter 26

Arianwen is pushing my boundaries, testing me like a typical teenager, but I have no patience for this disobedience. A few hours on her own in the cavern should do the trick.

Tomorrow marks the anniversary of the day I first laid eyes on my pretty little princess.

I remember it like it was only yesterday. The world suddenly came into focus when I saw her playing on the beach with her mother, splashing around in the sea.

I was obsessed.

Consumed.

I knew that there would be no one else for me in this lifetime.

My ancestors, sick, twisted fucks that they were, liked to collect trophies, a habit I have also picked up. I've added my fair share of items to our personal museum over the years.

But for the first time, I wanted something living. I wanted her warm and still breathing beneath my touch. I wanted to care for her, caress her silvery hair and watch her bloom into the ultimate prize.

It took planning and precision, but I had patience.

Years of restless hunting, collecting mementos and souvenirs that are worthless now. I was determined, sure that I could mould her into my perfect pure princess.

Seducing her mother had been easy, she was a single parent stuck in a rut with bills to pay and a taste for the finer things in life. I made an effort for her, I was generous with my money and my time, and she lapped up my attention like a greedy kitten. It wasn't a hardship to fuck her either, because it gave me glimpses of what Arianwen would look like while taking my cock, white blonde hair fanned out on my sheets, soft flushed skin and big blue eyes.

She was always my end goal.

And tomorrow, she'll be mine.

I light up a cigar, sit back in my chair and look over the Clifton collection. They say my bloodline is cursed, tainted with evil, and who am I to deny the dark pull running through me?

Alongside my altar in the cavern, the west wing has become a shrine of sorts to our little curse, a record of our misdeeds. I've always been aware of the so-called hex on my family, my father had raised me with tales of village witches and stone sentinels but it wasn't until I was studying history and politics at Eton that I decided to dig a little deeper.

This collection is where I found my answers, lines of curse dotted throughout books, preserved in scrawled notes and little clues left everywhere. It was almost lost to the passing of time, but with patience and perseverance I'd finally uncovered the original, carved into a stone out on the grounds. I'd had it restored and placed above my altar to remind me of the power here.

A depraved wickedness lies

Where a tainted legacy flows,

In the veins of its descendants,

where true evil grows.

Blood bound in the shadows,

Death intertwines with fate.

Where the demons linger,

Remain memories of hate

Transformed by dark magic,

Souls twist into stone,

The guardians of Clifton Manor,

Cursed forever to atone.

It amuses me to think that the gargoyles decorating the manor are supposedly souls trapped on the estate because this is where they died. My family legacy is a tainted one, but it's why I do not fear death. Because if the Clifton family curse is real, I will be with my little Rapunzel forever. Haunting her. Watching over her. She'll be mine. For eternity.

In this life or the next, there will be no escape for her.

I exhale a plume of heady smoke as Danvers knocks. "Sir, I've dug that hole you asked for."

He stands in the doorway of my museum, mud-streaked face avoiding my glare. I snort. "Good, it's about time you made yourself useful around here."

He clears his throat awkwardly as he wrings his hands. "Where's the girl?"

Danvers has been a loyal companion, part of the staff here since I was a boy, but he is weak. Soft. He knew he'd made a mistake when I'd come home to find my quarry bright eyed with flushed cheeks.

Arianwen was supposed to be kept safe. Cared for. But he let her ruin that with his careless ministrations.

"She's where she's meant to be, covered in my cum, waiting at my altar," I hiss. "No thanks to you."

The old man blinks, and scrubs at the back of his neck nervously. "I didn't know she was hiding the pills, sir."

Of course he didn't. He was probably too consumed with his current obsession to do the job I asked of him. It had been him who'd found Arianwen for me originally, pointing out the cheerful little girl with the silvery blonde hair.

I knew instantly it was my role to protect her, to keep his grubby little hands away from her. He likes them young, innocent and soft, but this one was always meant to be mine.

"You are afforded a very nice life, Danvers." My lip curls in disgust, at the muddy boot prints he's leaving in my hallowed space. "You have free reign of this place when I'm not here. You're paid well. Rewarded often. I have even helped you with your little…predilection, and you couldn't even keep my Rapunzel locked away safely in her tower."

My money and power has bailed the stupid groundskeeper out on more than one occasion. It is amazing how easily cold hard cash can make people forget truly awful things, and somehow turn even a disgusting predator into a friendly neighbour.

"It looked like she was swallowing them! But she musta tricked me," he protests, voice raised.

"Yes, she ‘musta'," I muse, unimpressed.

The damn hole he has dug had better be deep enough this time. I don't want anything rising in the mud this winter when the ground is sodden and soaked.

No doubt he'll be nagging my ear off at the end of the week about the new gargoyle that has appeared as another soul falls prey to Clifton Manor. The superstitious old man is convinced the curse is real and often tries counting the statutes, but he loses track, mumbling and moaning about how they ‘musta moved'.

Stubbing out my cigar, I decide my princess has waited for me long enough.

"Are you calmer now, princess?" I ask her, stroking my finger down her tear-streaked cheek and wrapping a tendril of hair around my finger.

She nods meekly, not meeting my gaze.

It won't do to keep her hair this unruly. This wild.

"No, no, no. This won't do at all." The Lady of the Manor can't look like some ragamuffin child, she needs to be perfect. "We'll have to cut this tangled mess, won't we?"

She freezes, body tense as I walk around her, steps echoing around the damp stone walls. I drink in the sight of my future wife. I've waited so long for her, nothing is going to ruin it now, not when we are so close.

"After tomorrow, we'll finally be together. Are you excited, princess?" I grin, expecting her to offer me that doe-like expression she normally wears for me, but instead her brows are knitted together in confusion as she trembles.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

Oh.

In all the excitement of moving up my plans, I hadn't actually told her what was happening. No wonder she is so afraid and anxious. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I lean in and whisper against the back of her neck. "Well, I've arranged for an officiant to stop by the estate in the morning. This time tomorrow we'll be husband and wife."

She swallows, her throat bobbing, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she processes my words. "You can't. It doesn't work like that."

"It does if you have the money, dear." I offer her a playful wink. She clearly has no idea the lengths I've gone to. "We're going to be bound together legally, and when we've signed on the dotted line, I'll finally make a woman of you."

I salivate thinking about her naked, spread before me, eager for my touch. Well…she may not be that eager to begin with, but I will train her well. When I'm finished with her, she'll be wet, warm and willing the second I step through the door.

"I'll teach you how to please me. And when you're swollen and heavy with my child, I'll take care of you, just like I have been," I promise, with a tender kiss to the top of her head.

"That's sick," she hisses as her breathing hitches.

Ignoring her and glancing around my secret space, I make mental notes on what needs to be done ahead of tomorrow. Danvers will need to come down here and clean up the mess from my last guest, whose head is still on the floor, eyes staring out vacant like some rotting voyeur. Fresh candles should be brought down. Lots of candles.

"We'll be married upstairs, in the solarium." But I'll be bringing my bride down here to consummate our new union. I thought the solarium was a nice touch, choosing her favourite place in the manor.

"I've kept you safe, in pristine condition waiting for this day."

It is important that she's untainted, pure from this cruel world. It's why I've done my best to keep her away from those awful influences. Her mother had been resistant at first, arguing that we should encourage her to make friendships, but she soon came around to my way of thinking.

Bending down, I grab a handful of hair and lift the head back into the bucket. "Those other women meant nothing. A little game to amuse myself over the years. And of course, it's my duty to add to the Clifton Collection."

She doesn't understand or appreciate the museum upstairs yet, the shrine to our misdeeds, the ‘proof' of our curse, or the nuances of the items my family had gathered over the years. But she will. One day, she might even add something of her own.

"You know, my grandfather had a strange preference for pickling thumbs." I chuckle. "I like to think my hoard of trophies is a little more classy than dismembered digits in jars."

Drawing her attention to a display case towards the back of the cavern, I show her where I've lovingly collected a selection of braids, each one tied by a different coloured ribbon to help me remember the women they came from.

Beneath the rows and rows of hair, are photographs, capturing that moment when the beauty fades into fear and they realise there is no escape. Only death waits for them. And finally, below that, are ornate glass bottles, almost like perfume bottles, each filled with their blood.

"What do you think?" I'm particularly proud of those, each container individually selected to reflect the woman.

She blanches, all the colour draining from her face. "Is that…are they bottles of blood?"

"Hmmm, yes." His eyes shut as if he's reliving sick fantasies in his head before continuing. "You see, my family's little curse has morphed into a tradition of sorts. I found passages referring to a small ceremony held each year where blood was used. It was poured over the carved inscription and they would light candles and scatter flower petals under the full moon – that kind of thing. When I uncovered the stone in my younger years, I brought that little custom back."

I count slowly in my head until the bile settles slightly. I just need to hold on. I need to survive, keep him talking, so that my monsters, no…not monsters, my sentinels can come and find me.

And they will find me, I have no doubt of that.

They love me and I…I love them too.

As it finally sinks in, I cling onto that love in the dimly lit room where blood continues to drip onto the floor and I'm surrounded by dismembered body parts.

I am going to survive Carver.

I have to.

As Carver begins stroking some of the braids, I go back to feeling like I might throw up.

"I think they did it originally in an attempt to break the so-called curse, but now it's something that makes me feel connected to my ancestors. And since I had this blood…going spare, I started preserving it. Building a reserve, if you will."

How has he gone so long without being discovered? Without his sick and twisted secrets being uncovered? How has he got away with hurting and killing so many women? Someone must have had an inkling.

A horrible thought hits me.

"Did my mother know?" I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.

"Of course not. This is not something I would share with her."

His fingers dance over the shelves until he finds what he's looking for. Pulling out a vintage rounded bottle, blown with different shades of blue and twisted to create an effect that reminds me of the sea, he lifts it up in the candlelight along with a ribbon of a similar colour. He proudly displays a silvery blonde braid, darker in colour than my own but unmistakable. "You are special. She was not."

A fresh wave of salty tears streams down my cheeks. "You monster…"

He snorts. "You say that as if it's an insult, my sweet. But really, I consider it a compliment."

Placing the bottle back on the shelf and hanging the hair back on its hook with a tenderness that makes every nerve in my body scream, I swallow down my pain. I need to keep him calm while I try to loosen the knots in the rope binding me.

"How? How could you do this?" My voice is croaky, cracking as I drown in his horrors. "And to so many women."

He leans against the altar, not caring about the mess on his suit, and crosses his arms and legs, looking every inch the entitled Lord of the Manor. "Well, I'm rich. I have power. And I wasn't working alone. Danvers may be a bit of a fool, but he has been somewhat useful over the years."

Everything stops. "Danvers…"

The man who had taken care of me? Who had told me tall tales of monsters? Who had allowed me to roam the grounds and feel the sun on my face? The man who hadn't constantly watched over me to ensure I was taking my medication was actually on Carver's side all along?

"Oh, sweetling, my precious princess. You didn't think he was your friend, did you?" Carver tuts and tilts his head in a patronising way. "You are much too old for the likes of him. He was simply doing his job, although not very well. Consider yourself lucky, I suppose. Danvers likes to play with his food before he eats it, I'm much more…humane."

How did it come to this? I once heard someone ask a woman if she would choose a man or a beast, and I thought she was insane for choosing a feral wild animal.

Now I know better.

Men who team up to carry out their depraved, sick dreams. Men who premeditate, who plan for years, who take what isn't theirs with a sense of entitlement that makes them crazed….those men are brutes.

My stone sentinels would never hurt me, they continually put me first, and here I am trapped by monstrous men claiming to be my friend or protector.

Manis the real monster.

My ‘monsters' are my saviours.

A strange sort of detachment fills me and I sit in silence with Carver continuing to talk at me while he washes down the stonework.

Everything was a lie, except them. My grotesques and my grumpy gargoyle.

Carver has ruined everything else. Tainted my life with his sticky blood-covered hands. Taken and taken and taken from me until he thought I had nothing left.

The joke is on him though, because Sax, Mal and Jas are all the things he wants to be for me, but isn't. He will never be my lover. I will never seek comfort from him. Never smile for him. Never carry his child. I would sooner die.

I needed Carver to stay calm earlier to buy myself time, but if I don't do something soon I'm going to be left broken on Carver's altar before they find me.

Maybe it's time to push back? He wants to marry me. Has worked so hard to get me here, to this point. How far will his patience stretch? Will he kill me, after everything? Will his sick, twisted love let him?

And if he does, will it be the worst outcome?

No. It won't.

Tugging against the rope that binds me, I ignore the way it burns as it drags across my skin.

"I'm not a virgin, Carver," I whisper before I can rationalise myself out of provoking him.

He looks up from where he's kneeling on the floor ringing out a crimson-soaked rag. Pinkish water trickles down his hands as he squeezes the cloth and swallows.

Silence.

"What?" He blinks. "What did you just say?"

I inhale shakily.

"I've had sex. Lots of it." Clearing my throat, I lift my chin. Have I lost my mind again? Is this what madness really feels like? "In fact, I'm pretty sure that if you spread my legs, I still might be dripping Mal's cum. He fucked me good. Hard. Deep. Made me scream when I came."

Carver falls back onto his heels, his face twisted in confusion, the sharp lines emphasised in the flickering candlelight.

My distraught step-father.

My cruel monster.

I push on, still trying to work my hands free behind my back. "Or maybe my breath still smells like Jasper? He was delicious."

The sodden rag falls from Carver's hands with a heavy plop as he gets to his feet, his face half hidden by shadows.

There's a strange stillness between us, and I can hear my heartbeat, the blood rushing around my head as every nerve in my body tenses, waiting for whatever comes next.

"My jaw is still sore from sucking his cock. He's not quite as big as the others but—" My words are cut off as he backhands me, and I taste the tang of copper in my mouth.

"LIES!" He screeches, face turning red with rage as his hands tighten into firsts. He shakily blows out a breath, relaxing his hands before turning them into fists again. "Lies. You…you are trying to anger me."

Yes, I am. And it's working. His pulse throbs in his neck and his jaw ticks. He's furious. A pot about to boil over with a little heat.

Carver forces his shoulders to relax as he narrows his eyes at me. "I don't know why you want to hurt me, but I do not believe you."

Because I cannot let you win.

Because I am not yours.

Because you killed her.

Because I know they're coming for me.

Forcing myself to smirk, I taunt him further. "I even let them fuck my arse."

I mean, technically Mal used his tail. But Carver doesn't need to know that.

Tears start to form as I think about the tender care they gave me, while pushing my body to its limits. They love me. I felt it in every touch, every whispered nickname. I'm not ready to lose that.

Blinking away the burning sensation, I refuse to cry. Carver doesn't deserve my tears. Instead, I lick my lips, determined to ruin his fantasy of me.

"Every hole. Stretched. Used. Abused." His eye twitches, so I keep going. "I'm not your innocent little prize. You can't take my virginity, because I already gave it away. You will never be my first."

Something snaps, I can see it in his eyes and in the next second, he lunges at me.

"I will be your last!" Spittle hits my face as his hands wrap around my neck, squeezing tighter and tighter. My vision starts to go fuzzy around the edges. His breath is hot on my skin, as his teeth sink into my cheek.

"It's always going to be me, my princess. Always."