Page 42 of Where the Dark Things Bloom

This time, he was there. Standing beside the bed.

His eyes were rolled back, nothing but white, like something inside him had flipped. Drool hung from his lips. Around his eyes, thick black paint ran like tears, like he wasn’t human at all.

I screamed, hand flying out to reach him.

He didn’t move.

And then I saw a severed hand hanging from his fingers, streaked with blood.

“Dorian…” The word was barely breathing as I crawled to the edge of the bed.

The bedroom door slammed behind him. Shut. Locked. It was just us now.

My chest heaved. My skin prickled. And under it all, the ache bloomed again. Even now. Even like this. Maybe I could reach him. Maybe he wasn’t completely gone.

He grabbed my ankle, rough fingers curling tight, and pulled me toward him. His knee forced my legs apart as he leaned in. His eyes were hollow, still seeing somehow even rolled back.

He was hard.

His cock twitched for me, ready, like instinct still lived in him even if he didn’t.

I wore nothing but a tank top and a black thong. The white dress was ruined, stained with dust from the floors of this house.

His drool dripped onto my stomach. I arched, helpless. Wanting.

Then he knelt.

Fingers hooked the edge of my thong and pulled it aside, exposing me. He opened me with stiff hands. I shut my eyes, breath catching as he slid inside.

Cold.

Too cold.

But I moaned.

This was so wrong, Something was wrong.

It shifted. I opened my eyes.

He was staring at me — smiling now, something twisting behind that smile — and laughing. And when I looked down, I saw it. It wasn’thiminside me.

It was Troy’s hand.

Dead. Pale. Moving only because Dorian made it.

I jerked back, panic clawing at my throat, but he pinned me down, grinning wider.

“You like his fingers inside you?”

He yanked the hand free and tossed it to the floor with a sickening slap of flesh on the wood.

“No—“ I tried, pushing at him.

He leaned in closer, breath hot.“Then why’s your pussy so wet?”

His fingers slid through me,up to my clit. He brought them to his lips, tasting me like it was nothing. Like he owned me.

I couldn’t speak.

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