Page 20 of His Dark Cravings

I look at the floor, then back at her, but the weight of her gaze feels like an anchor, keeping me from hiding in the polite pleasantries I’m used to.

“It's different from anything I've experienced.”

“Different good or different bad?” She leans against the counter next to me, watching me curiously.

I hesitate. I don't know how to explain this confusing, alien thing growing inside me, a desire that both frightens and enthralls. “I don't know. It's confusing. Scary. Why would I want that? Why would I want any of it?”

A shadow passes behind her eyes, and I realize she's not just seeing me. She’s seeing herself, in some way.

“I remember when I first came here, I fought with such ferocity. I hated the constraints, the forced submission to things beyond my control. I thought I could remain separate from it all, that I would always be me,” she says, her voice like cool glass, smooth.

"But you didn't?"

"No," she allows, her gaze drifting to the far wall. "The harder I pushed, the sharper the edges became. It was exhausting," she says, her voice trailing off, and I think there's regret woven within it. “I lost everything and found something… new.”

“What do you mean?”

She looks at me, her eyes sharp. “There are ways to make this life…” she gestures around the kitchen with a stiff hand. “Bearable. To make the experience part of you, rather than something done to you.”

I look at her, my brow furrowed, still struggling to comprehend her meaning. “How?”

"Stop fighting it, Everly,” she says, as cold as the water bottle that remains in my hand. “Stop viewing it as a violation. Let it possess you. Lean into the sensation, into the power—or the lack of it. Discover the pleasure in that surrender.”

“But how can you enjoy being controlled?” I ask, the confusion clear in my voice. It’s madness.

She presses her lips together, thinking for a moment before responding. “It’s not about being controlled for the sake of it. It is about the freedom that comes from accepting the boundaries set for you. It’s losing yourself in something larger than yourself.” She pauses, then adds, almost in a whisper, “Or maybe it's about something else entirely. A way to make what happened to you not the end.”

I know she’s referencing her past in some way.

There's a long silence. It stretches between us like a chasm. It’s a strange moment, her sharing something that feels so intimate and dangerous.

“Don’t look for an old life, an old version of you, Everly. You’re not who you used to be. You probably never were. Don’t look back.”

I open my mouth to ask her more, but before I can, the shrill chime of a distant clock breaks the silence. Winter turns away, her face no longer showing any of the softness she revealed.

"It's late," she says, her voice once again crisp. "Get some sleep."

Then, she’s gone, her form a shadow disappearing quickly into the hall, leaving me alone again with her words.

I don’t know what to make of it, but there’s something in her tone that echoes my own internal struggle. I’ve always prided myself on being strong, on being the good girl, but here… being good doesn’t seem to apply. Here, it’s about finding power in the most unlikely places.

I look down at the bottle in my hand, then set it on the counter. The kitchen feels colder now, the shadows deeper. I think about Xavier, about the way he played my body like an instrument, pulling every string until it sang. I think about the way I begged, the way I wanted to give in.

And then I think about Winter, about the way she seemed to find freedom in submission.

I don’t know if I can do what she’s asking. I don’t know if I can let go of who I’ve always been. But standing there in the kitchen, alone and awake, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m standing on the edge of something, staring into an unknown that both terrifies and tantalizes me.

Winter said not to look back, but I’m not sure how to move forward.

* * *

I gently stroke the edge of the leather-bound book as I lie in bed and try to read, the words blurring together on the page. Saturday nights are usually quiet for me—reading, maybe a walk if the weather's kind. But I can't get my thoughts to stay focused. This book caught my attention at the Ember, but maybe I should have left it there.

A knock at my door shatters the stillness, unexpected and sharp.

"Come in," I call out, smoothing the pages flat nervously. The door swings open, and Xavier is there, his silhouette framed by the hall light. His presence fills the room, an unspoken command that draws my attention fully to him.

"You're coming with me tonight," he says, no room for refusal in his tone.

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