Page 148 of Black Castle

“Come on, say something, ladybird,” he muses. “I went through all this trouble to bring your lover’s heart closer to you, just the way you wanted it, and you are not saying a word to me?”

She whimpers when he suddenly yanks the gift box from her lap. His bloody fingers dip inside, grasping the slick, still-warm organ.

The squelch of shifting flesh makes Vivienne’s stomach churn, bile rising from her throat.

“Maybe,” he says, voice lilting with something dark. “You don’t understand what this means. Maybe I should help you appreciate it more.”

She doesn’t get a chance to react when his blood-coated fingers shove forward, pressing something wet against her lips.

Her entire body seizes.

N-no!

“Shhh,” he coos, his grip vice-like as he pushes harder. The muscle is soft, pliant, smeared in Ian’s drying blood. She tries to shake her head, but he clamps down harder, pinching her cheek until her mouth is forced open just enough.

“Open wider.” His voice drips with something twisted. “I don’t wanna have to force the entire thing down your throat.”

Terror explodes in her chest.

She tries to push at him, claw at his hands, but he is stronger, so much stronger.

His thumb hooks into her mouth, parting her lips further. And then—

The taste hits her tongue first—coppery, foul, thick.

She chokes a garbled sob as he presses the chunk against her teeth. The texture is spongy, raw, and strong. And it makes her stomach lurch.

“Chew it,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She shakes her head frantically, whimpering and gagging.

“Chew.”

His hand slides from her jaw to her neck, keeping it there, fingers flexing around her throat.

A sob shudders out of her. She can’t breathe. Her lungs burn.

Her body trembles, instinct kicking at her to fight. But she can’t. The hand around her throat is strong and unyielding.

“Eat.” The hand tightens only a fraction.

The choice is taken as her body betrays her and her mouth closes. The chunk of flesh sits heavy on her tongue.

Zev releases his grip, allowing enough air for her to sob through her nose. When she refuses to Chew still, he smirks, his hand moving lower, hovering over her stomach, pushing, pressing.

She gags.

“Swallow it,” he orders, his tone sickly sweet.

With the cruel pressure building against her abdomen, she realizes she has no choice.

Her jaw quivers as her teeth sink down into the organ.

A squelch.

Warmth.

Metal.

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