Blood splattered across Ophelia’s face and the front of her dress as she stumbled back and returned herself to her solid state. Eric’s mutilated corpse dropped to the floor with a sickening thud. As his blood pooled beneath her feet, the guilt hit her full force.
“Well, that saves me the trouble,” Blackwell muttered.
“What did I just do?” she whispered.
“What you had to,” he stated. “You can’t stop now. One more path to clear and you’re there.”
She nodded numbly, turning away from the corpse. The rain above turned to hail, indicating another lever had been pulled, but she barely felt the ice pelting her skin.
What did I do?
“Ophelia,” Blackwell implored. “You have to move, angel.”
She swallowed thickly and took a single step forward. Her hands were shaking at her sides, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the sudden drop in temperature as ice was thrown around the room, or if it was from the horror of what had just happened. Another step.
She waited for the saw to swing down and finally jumped to the strip of clear space before the wall. She looked around, but no one else was there.
“Where are the others?” she asked. “Have they cleared the field?”
“They’re still at the mercy of their collars or gambling for gold,” Blackwell answered. “It looks like you’re only the fourth to make it here.”
She observed the levers before her with a healthy dose of skepticism, knowing what she was about to do would add another deadly obstacle to the room.
Aside from hers and Cade’s, two other levers had been pulled so far—Edna’s and Charlotte’s. Both checks.
She spotted her own lever all the way to the left and scurried forward to pull the checked one down and neutralize whatever Cade had done. The punishment for touching it descended on the room in an instant. A ball and chain appeared around each of her ankles. Someone screamed. Another cursed. But Ophelia was out of the chains in seconds.
“Let’s go,” Blackwell urged. “You have to get all the way back across for the key…”
Ophelia went over to Cade’s lever and slammed down the one with the cross.
Every pendulum in the room began to speed up, and Blackwell looked at her in shock for a moment before a proud grin spread over his face. “Look who’s finding her teeth.”
She didn’t respond as she turned back to the chess board of death and braced herself against the gore she found there. She didn’t linger. She simply took off through the clearing, racing around the safe perimeter of the room until she made it to the opposite wall.
“The tool to unlock the door,” Blackwell reminded her, pointing toward a spot on the wall where a small, odd-shaped tool hung from a hook.
The moment she snatched it down, another appeared to replace it for the next contestant and a door popped up before her. She slid the small metal piece into a similar-shaped hole in the center of the door and watched as it shimmered open. She exited back into Phantasma’s dining hall, Blackwell was nowhere to be seen, but she found she wasn’t alone. The last person she had expected, however, was Luci.
In fact, now that she thought about it, aside from the purplish bags beneath Luci’s eyes that suggested a serious lack of sleep, Luci had seemed to float through the competition so far. Running around with Leon, taking time to read books in the library.
Unless the girl had her own ghostly guide, Ophelia couldn’t help but wonder how Luci, with her sweet demeanor and timid nature, was taking this competition in such strides. It was almost as if…
Ophelia’s eyes narrowed in on a gash at the top of Luci’s right shoulder. It looked fresh, the skin around it slick and shining with something, opalescent? Yet the cut had already begun to scab. Meanwhile, Luci was gaping openly at Ophelia’s appearance.
“There’s so much blood,” Luci whispered. “Is it—”
“It’s Eric’s,” Ophelia interrupted. “Not mine.”
A hand flew to Luci’s mouth in surprise. “Is he…?”
Ophelia nodded. Then she did something shocking. She laughed. “I killed him.” Another giggle, this one coming out a bit breathless. “He tried to kill me first, of course. But I… I killed him.”
Luci stood wide-eyed as Ophelia began to break down in a fit of laughter. “He tried to kill you?”
Ophelia swiped tears from her face as she sobered. “Yes. They’re still convinced I’m some sort of Demon. I suppose I didn’t help my case.”
Luci was quiet for a long moment. Then, “I’m glad you didn’t let him get away with that.”
Ophelia lifted her brows, shocked at the girl’s support. Luci seemed so quiet, so reserved, not an ounce of menace in her demeanor. But maybe Ophelia had the girl pegged all wrong. Maybe because it was hard for her to imagine Genevieve being friends with anyone so blasé about a death. Genevieve hated the dark and macabre.
Luci, however, didn’t even flinch at the idea of Ophelia having committed murder. Which only deepened Ophelia’s suspicion that the other girl was not all she seemed on the surface.
Ophelia cleared her throat. “Are you waiting in here for a reason?”
Luci bit her lip and flicked her eyes away. “Leon still hasn’t come out yet.”
Ophelia’s chest tightened, but she didn’t offer any critique. It would be hypocritical considering what she was about to do herself.
Before she left the girl to worry alone, however, she couldn’t resist saying, “That looks like it was a nasty wound.”
Was, being the operative word.
Luci bit her lip and shifted her eyes away from Ophelia.
“Did one of the pendulums do that?” Ophelia asked though the both of them knew it was rhetorical. Luci hadn’t had the injury before the trial.
A tense beat of silence passed between them.
Finally, Luci whispered, “Please, don’t tell anyone.”
“What would there be to tell?” Ophelia wondered, real curiosity this time.
Luci shook her head as she reached up to comb her long hair over her shoulder, to hide the cut. Ophelia noticed the girl’s hands were smeared with the same, odd, opalescent substance as her clavicle and chemise.
“I hope Leon makes it out safe,” was all Ophelia offered as she strode out of the dining hall.
When Ophelia got back to her room, all she wanted was a distraction. Something that would get the image of Eric’s massacred corpse out of her mind.
She stripped away her ruined dress before padding to the bathroom to draw a bath. Slipping into the tub, she scrubbed away every drop of blood on her skin until it was raw. Until she felt clean of her sins. When she was finished, she pulled the drain and made her way back to her room, leaving a trail of water in her wake.
Standing in the middle of her room, without a stitch of clothing, she chanted Blackwell’s name.
It took almost an entire minute for him to arrive. “I’m sorry, I was returning—”
He stopped short when he spotted her. His gaze instantly heated, but he remained planted in place.
Each word he said next was slow and deliberate. “What are you doing, angel?”
“Distract me,” she told him.
He brushed a hand over his mouth in contemplation. “I… don’t think this is a good idea.”
She stepped closer, and his expression became pained. “I need a distraction.”
I need that trial wiped from my memory forever.
“The last real conversation we had, you were very upset with me,” he reasoned. “You’re only doing this because of what happened in that trial. You only ever want me after near-death experiences.”
“So?”
He leaned down until their eyes were level. “So, maybe I don’t want to just be a distraction to you.”
She balled her fists at her sides. “Fine. Then go away. I’ll take care of my own distraction.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, amused. “Alright, then. Go ahead.”
She wavered a bit. “I will as soon as you leave.”
“And miss the show?” He smirked. “I think I’ll stay.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t think I’ll pleasure myself with you here?”
“No, I don’t,” he taunted.
Something inside her had come further undone tonight, and he had no idea how bold she was feeling. He thought he was calling her bluff, but little did he know she was about to play all her cards. She gave him a mocking smile as she made a show of crawling onto the bed and settling back against the pillows. Her skin was still glistening with droplets of water, and she could see the hunger in his eyes as he watched every movement she made, enraptured.
She bit her lip as she gently cupped her breasts, rolling her taut, pink nipples between her thumbs and forefingers until they perked up. She gave a breathy moan as she continued to pinch them, pleasure shooting through her belly right to the apex of her core. She could feel herself getting wet. Blackwell watched her intently, and she held his gaze, making it clear she wasn’t about to stop.
She trailed her fingers over the skin of her stomach and thighs, circling her navel, before inching her way down, down, down. When she touched that sensitive spot between her legs, she threw her head back and squeezed her eyes shut, moaning with sweet relief. She made slow, languid circles over her clit, her fingers becoming slick with her wetness as her body melted with pleasure. For a moment, she forgot that she had an audience or where she was—there was only the ecstasy building in her core and the sound of her moans.
As she moved closer and closer to the edge, she slipped two fingers inside of herself and pumped them in and out.
“Fuck.” Blackwell’s voice had turned husky, and she opened her eyes just enough to see him approaching the foot of the bed. “Why are you torturing me?”
She only pumped faster in response.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he grunted.
The next thing she knew he was hovering over her, kneeling between her legs. He grasped onto her wrist and pulled her hand away from herself. She made a noise of protest, but a shot of excitement ran through her as she waited for his next move. He brought her fingers, slick with her arousal, to his mouth and gently sucked them clean. Something primal erupted inside her at the sight.
“Delicious,” he said.
“Touch me,” she breathed. “Please.”
He lifted a brow. “I thought you said you’d never beg me for anything?”
She pressed her lips together as she glared at him, indignant. He laughed.
“Hmm,” he hummed as he leaned in to run his lips along the underside of her jaw, grinding the hardness in his pants between her legs until she was whimpering with need. “I think I should make you beg. As punishment for teasing me.”
“I hate you,” she said, but it came out too breathless to be convincing.
“Good,” he murmured. “Try and hold on to that while I do this. I adore a challenge.”
One thing about having a Ghost as a lover: changing positions was always smooth. She was on her back one second and the next he had flipped their positions.
“Reach up and grab the headboard,” he demanded.
She didn’t argue. Stretching herself up, she grasped onto the top of the scrolling baroque frame, her knees straddling his sides. He reached around to grip the back of her thighs, using them as leverage to slide himself further down the bed until his mouth had perfect access to the apex between her legs. When his tongue flicked against her clit, her legs nearly gave out, and his arms had to support her weight for her to remain upright. He didn’t seem to mind.
He gave another lick, this time lapping at the slit of her entrance, and she could feel herself growing wetter and wetter with each stroke of his tongue. Until the heat pooling between her legs was dripping down her thighs. Her chest heaved with the effort of stamping down the moans and whimpers clamoring up her throat, and Blackwell made a noise of discontent.
“Stop holding back,” he commanded beneath her, moving one of his hands between her legs to slip a single finger inside her. “I want to hear you.”
When he added a second finger and curled it inside her, hitting that sensitive spot deep within, she let go. A moan slipped from her lips as she threw her head back in ecstasy, using her purchase on the headboard to lift herself up and down on his fingers, desperately needing more friction.
“Blackwell,” she whimpered as she slammed down on his hand harder and harder.
“Good girl, use me to fuck yourself,” he praised, his voice deepening with lust. “Faster.”
As she sped up her movements, he added a third finger. As she rode his hand, he brought his mouth back to her clit and sucked until she thought she was going to combust with desire.
“Yes,” she urged him on. “Please… please don’t stop.”
His tongue made lazy circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, and it didn’t take long for her to reach her climax. The muscles in her core clamped around his fingers, and while she slowly came down from her high, he disappeared from beneath her. A moment later, she felt his bare chest against her back, his arms wrapping to the front of her body to cup her breasts as his lips left searing kisses against her right shoulder.
“Please,” she whispered as he pinched her nipples not caring about the desperation in her voice.
“Please what?” he murmured as he moved one hand up to gather her hair and toss it over her left shoulder, giving his mouth access to the side of her throat. He nipped and licked his way over her feverish skin, and she shivered. She could feel the head of his cock pressing against her entrance and it was driving her wild.
“You need me. As a distraction.” Something in his tone making it sound like a test.
“I need a distraction, yes,” she admitted. And then, “But more than that—I want you. Even though I shouldn’t. You make me feel…”
She could feel the planes of his body tense behind her as he cautiously prompted, “I make you feel…”
“Good. Safe.” Her locket warmed, its pulse becoming more erratic with every word she confessed. “Not so alone. I want you.”
“Then you’ll have me,” he told her, and without preamble, he sheathed himself inside of her, all the way to the hilt.
“Blackwell,” she cried.
One of his hands splayed across her stomach while the other rested on her hip, helping keep her steady as he pulled all the way back out to the tip and then slammed forward once more. Soon he was pumping into her with a steady rhythm and her head lulled back against his shoulder as she enjoyed the sensation of him filling her so completely.
“Ophelia,” he grunted. “Fuck, angel, I never want to be anywhere else but right here. Inside you.”
She whimpered with pleasure as she glanced down at herself, to where his hands were splayed over the planes of her stomach, and she could see the swell of his length moving inside her beneath them.
“I think you might be the closest to heaven I’ll ever get,” he whispered.
She turned her face toward his just enough for his mouth to capture hers in a sloppy kiss. He licked and nipped until her lips were swollen, and as their tongues lathed at each other, his hips pumped faster, deeper. The hand he had splayed on her stomach came up to massage her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger just hard enough that pleasure mixed with pain, and she let out a cry against his lips. The sounds coming from her spurred him on faster and soon a thin sheen of sweat covered their skin, but Blackwell’s pace didn’t let up. Driving them both to the edge at the same time.
“Come for me,” he implored as the hand on her breast made its way down to her clit, flicking the swollen bundle with his index finger and making her buck at the overwhelming stimulation.
“I’m close,” she told him.
“Good girl,” he encouraged. “Go all the way for me.”
“Blackwell?”
“Yes, angel?” he asked, nearly breathless.
“I think, I think maybe I…” she trailed off as his fingers pinched her clit and her entire body lit up with unprecedented pleasure. A surge of sparks erupted from her hands at the sensation, their union creating literal magic.
She had been on the verge of unraveling for a while, but now she was crashing headfirst and she was determined to bring him there with her. She slammed herself all the way down against his length, grinding hard against him and making him hiss out a string of expletives. She felt the muscles in his arms tighten, and she knew he was about to tumble over the edge as well—so she let herself go for the second time, right beside him.
Every bone in her body felt like gelatin as he slowly pulled out of her and disentangled himself. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, and he gently pulled them both down onto the mattress, pillowing her head against his chest as the final waves of pleasure dissipated. They stayed like that for a long time, basking in the silence of the afterglow.
Blackwell was the one to speak first. “I feel less alone with you, too.”
Her chest swelled with a dangerous emotion and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. What she had been about to admit to him…
I think maybe I’m falling for you.
A deep sense of dread began to sink into her gut that being within Phantasma wasn’t going to be the thing that broke her.
She pushed herself up from Blackwell’s chest and climbed out of the bed. Going over to dig around in her suitcase, she pulled her crimson nightgown from the trunk and hastily threw it on. Blackwell watched her with a blank expression.
“Going somewhere?” he questioned.
“I can’t waste time lying around when I should get back to searching for your key,” she answered. “We’ve been too distracted lately.”
He stood, snapping his fingers to redress himself. As always, he had impeccable taste. High-waisted black satin trousers with a monochromatic brocade embroidered over them. His shirt was a clean-cut, cream button-down, tucking neatly into his pants and just ever so slightly oversized on his lean, muscular frame. There were expensive-looking onyx cufflinks at each of his wrists and a matching necklace beneath the open collar of his shirt.
He looked so devilishly handsome that she had half a mind to damn it all to Hell and drag him back into bed, and that was exactly the problem.
“Something’s wrong,” he stated as she busied herself with fixing her s*x-disheveled hair. “What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything,” she said back easily. “Nothing is wrong. Like I said, I just can’t waste time lying around.”
He sighed. “Alright, then. Where are we going to start looking tonight?”
“There is no we tonight,” she told him, adamant. “I want to explore alone.”
“There’s no we?” He raised his brows. “You were just begging me to fuck—”
“I did not beg.” She wrinkled her nose, cutting him off before he could finish that thought. “But… we aren’t being careful. Everything that just happened… what was said… consider it the last time. We cannot become attached to each other. I cannot want you like this. You leave for an hour, and I’m craving your company. That’s not just foolish, it’s dangerous. And I cannot rely on you to save me from everything when in less than six days I will never see you again.”
The emerald of his eyes deepened with anger. “Then what do you propose we do? Not speak for the rest of the competition?”
“As if you could go two seconds without popping in to bother me,” she muttered. “I’m not saying we can’t speak. I’m saying no more kissing, touching, or sleeping in the same bed. We need space.”
He gave a single, sharp nod. “Understood.”
Then he disappeared.
