Page 40 of Where the Dark Things Bloom

His face was a mess of bruises and dried blood. He clung to the final two steps of the staircase like they were the only things keeping him alive. Rage flared in my chest.

“Dorian!” I cried, scrambling to his side.

I tried to lift him, but his body was too heavy, too broken. He collapsed against the stairs, barely conscious.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, voice cracked and trembling. “I’m sorry I’m weak.”

“No,” I whispered, pleading, “no, you’re not.”

I knelt beside him, arms trembling as I tried to lift him again. It was no use. His black shirt clung to the raw, bleeding wounds across his back, each stripe carved in by my father’s belt. I counted them. One hundred and twelve.

Tears blurred my vision. My hands, shaking, reached to peel the shirt away from his skin.

He hissed—then screamed. I screamed with him.

He grabbed my wrist, voice choked in agony. “Stop. Please, stop.”

But I couldn’t. I kept going, even as he sobbed until the shirt fell away and the full damage was laid bare.

My palms, slick with his blood, pressed to my lips as I collapsed against him.

“What did he do to you?” I cried.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, trying to smile, trying to comfortme.His hand, weak and shaking, reached into hispocket and pulled out a small necklace. Golden with a heart charm.

“Will you be my heart?” he murmured. “I never knew I had one until I met you.”

“Dorian...” My voice broke as I kissed his hand, and pressed it to my chest. “Youaremy heart.”

“And you are mine,” he breathed.

I slipped the necklace around my neck, the heart warm against my skin. And then I cried. Silent, aching sobs.

“Come,” he said with a faint smile. “I wanted to give you a second present.”

“You don’t have to,” I whispered, my hand brushing his face — but he pulled me closer.

“Please... please,” he breathed, searching my eyes.

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Sit on the first step. Spread your legs,” he said, still smiling.

“W-What?” My voice trembled.

“Do it.”

I obeyed, stepping forward and sitting down in front of him on the first step.

I was wearing the same white nightdress I always wore, soft cotton, white and innocent. Underneath, though, I had on panties. I lifted the bottom of it as I sat, slowly spreading my legs.

“Lay back,” he said, and I arched, lowering myself against the cold step behind me. I could feel his breath against my skin. I’d never done this before. Never felt anything like this.

“I might be dying,” he whispered, voice rough, “but I won’t die until I’ve had my little stepsister as my last fucking meal.”

With a sudden surge of strength, he pulled me closer to his face.

He pushed my panties aside, revealing my swollen pussy, already aching for him. He pinched gently at first, then kissedme there before parting me with his fingers. His tongue came next, slow, tracing from the center up to my clit.

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