Author: Riley C. Smith
Date: 2025-07-11 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Paranormal; dark romance; Fantasy; Contemporary; Suspense
Description: What could possibly go wrong when a group of horror content creators decides to film a documentary about the haunted Appalachian Mountains? Prepare for a hell of a hunt. If you hear something… no, you didn’t. If you see something… no, you didn’t. And whatever you do—don’t run. The chase excites them. A social media influencer, known for her curated image and viral content, is captured by a hive mind pack of cryptids, driven by a singular obsession like no other. And behind their monstrous desire lies something colder— revenge , carefully fed to them by a ghost of her past. This isn't a love st

AFTER HOURS HORRORS

Lost to the Woods
a reverse harem paranormal erotic horror
by Riley C. Smith

Copyright © 2025 by Riley C. Smith

All rights reserved.

After Hours Horrors

Lost to the Woods
by Riley C. Smith

First Edition: July 2025

ISBN: 978-83-970127-6-9 (eBook)

Cover Design: Riley C. Smith

Interior Layout & Formatting: Riley C. Smith

Proofread: J. Hass

For permission requests contact:

rileycsmithauthor@gmail.com

Acknowledgment

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The use of trademarks or registered trademarks in this work is for storytelling and descriptive purposes only. Any mention of trademarks is not an endorsement or affiliation with this book. Trademarks remain the property of their respective owners.

The absence of a trademark symbol does not suggest a lack of trademark protection.

Proudly human-made. This book was created without the assistance of any generative artificial intelligence (AI). Every word, idea, and sentence within these pages is the product of human effort and creativity.

If you have not acquired this book through Amazon or received it directly from the author, please be aware that you may be reading a pirated copy.

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Blurb

What could possibly go wrong when a group of horror content creators decides to film a documentary about the haunted Appalachian Mountains?

Prepare for a hell of a hunt.

Remember: If you hear something… no, you didn’t.

If you see something… no, you didn’t.

And whatever you do—don’t run. The chase excites them.

A social media influencer, known for her curated image and viral content, is captured by a hive mind pack of cryptids, driven by a singular obsession like no other. And behind their monstrous desire lies something colder—revenge, carefully fed to them by a ghost of her past.

This isn't a love story. This is payback.

Author’s note

To start, this book is absolutely unhinged. It will push boundaries—some you may not be ready to cross. I want to emphasize that it is not a romance. It’s horror with light splatterpunk elements and a heavy dose of depravity.

It features a psychopathic main male character—you will be inside a morally black head, and yes, you will hate him. There is no redemption arc.

The story explores a polyamorous dynamic (sharing) between a human female and a brotherhood of cryptids (no blood relations). It contains various dark and intense themes, including, but not limited to: human/monster mating, gore and violence, non/dub-con, bondage, killing/murder, and a non-traditional happy ending. There’s also a mild Daddy Dom/Princess kink between consenting adults—just the dynamic, with no age play involved.

I want to acknowledge that the action is set in the Appalachian region and loosely inspired by local folklore. It is entirely a work of fiction, written with the deepest respect for the cultures and communities connected to the land.

If you choose to proceed, you have been warned.

This work is intended for a mature audience only. Reader discretion is advised.

Scan the code below
or visit the author’s website
for more information.

Your mental health matters.

Dedication

If you ever wanted to get railed in the woods by five monster brothers at once—I’ve got you.

This is going to be fun.

Or a disaster.

Probably both.

1. Prologue

Ghost Daddy — 06/08/25 7:14 PM

Chat! The Appalachian Mountains are trending right now. It would make for great collab content. Who’s in for a spooky camping trip?

Nate Baker — 06/08/25 7:14 PM

Hell yeah, brother! Sign me up!

Paranormal Bunny — 06/08/25 7:15 PM

I’m out.

Ghost Daddy — 06/08/25 7:15 PM

Are you scared, little bunny?

Paranormal Bunny — 06/08/25 7:15 PM

No! Shut up.

Ghost Daddy — 06/08/25 7:15 PM

You know how I love it when you talk dirty to me.

Nightmares with Dev — 06/08/25 7:16 PM

Omfg. I think I just vomited inside my mouth. Why don’t you two hook up finally and let us live?

Nightmares with Dev — 06/08/25 7:16 PM

Also, I’m down.

Ghost Daddy — 06/08/25 7:16 PM

Been trying.

Paranormal Bunny — 06/08/25 7:16 PM

…

Unexplained Crimes — 06/08/25 7:17 PM

I’ll go if Bunny goes.

Paranormal Bunny — 06/08/25 7:17 PM

Kendra, no.

Unexplained Crimes — 06/08/25 7:17 PM

Come on, it sounds fun! Plus, I’m dying to see Ghost without the mask!

Ghost Daddy — 06/08/25 7:18 PM

I never said I’ll take it off.

Nate Baker — 06/08/25 7:18 PM

You’re gonna have to at some point if we’re camping together.

Nightmares with Dev — 06/08/25 7:18 PM

Who cares? You guys, I already have a million ideas. Full-on Blair Witch Project style! This is going viral, GRANTED!

Unexplained Crimes — 06/08/25 7:19 PM

Bunny?

Paranormal Bunny — 06/08/25 7:19 PM

No way! After what happened to those Stanford students in Alaska, I stopped doing fieldwork.

Ghost Daddy — 06/08/25 7:19 PM

It was a bear attack. Or a pack of wolves. Chill.

Paranormal Bunny — 06/08/25 7:20 PM

No, it wasn’t! You weren’t there when that shit happened. It most certainly wasn’t any animal.

Nightmares with Dev — 06/08/25 7:20 PM

What then? A Bigfoot?

Paranormal Bunny — 06/08/25 7:20 PM

Nate, help me out here?

Nate Baker — 06/08/25 7:20 PM

It was weird, alright.

Paranormal Bunny — 06/08/25 7:21 PM

See? Something got them right under our noses. There’s no chance in hell I’ll set foot in Appalachia of all places!

Ghost Daddy — 06/08/25 7:21 PM

I’ll protect you.

Unexplained Crimes — 06/08/25 7:21 PM

Bunny, please. This would really help me out. My channel has been dead lately. I need this.

Paranormal Bunny — 06/08/25 7:22 PM

Fine, I’m in.

Paranormal Bunny — 06/08/25 7:22 PM

But I’m not camping in the woods. Forget it! Ghost, you’d better rent out an Airbnb.

Ghost Daddy — 06/08/25 7:23 PM

Deal.

2. Bunny

I hate how sexy he looks in that damn mask.

Not that I’d ever admit it.

I mean, he is a YouTube sensation, with his four thriving channels—paranormal and true crime deep dives, movie commentary, gaming streams, and motorcycle stuff. He’s been doing this for over a decade, and he was one of the OG’s faceless content creators, which got him a massive following… then a bunch of horny cult-like fans turned him into a masked thirst trap.

For the record, I’ve never had a thing for masked men. Or bikers, for that matter. Like, ever. And being a TikTok influencer who dances in front of the camera for views means I’ve got MaskTok and BikeTok in my comments all the time.

Okay, I lie. I suppose Mamoru Chiba, aka Tuxedo Mask, counts as a masked man, and he was my first crush. He is also a biker… so yeah, clearly I’m full of it.

Anyway, when Ghost Daddy walked into my life, all six-foot-something of broad-shouldered mystery and that ridiculously deep, gravel-and-honey voice, I began questioning literally everything I thought I knew about myself.

And by “walked into my life,” I mean he DM’d me about a collab almost two years ago, then flirted with me like a menace. Of course, my dumbass flirted back, despite being in a relationship at the time. I admit, I thought I could have my cake and eat it, too. But it just worked, with Aiden being busy doing his own thing and me and Ghost in the same horror niche of content creation… I got the best out of both of them, though it quickly became clear that Aiden was a jerk that I had nothing in common with. It took me way too long to dump his ass, but after that things immediately escalated with Ghost… until I bailed on him like a coward with commitment issues and a self-sabotage kink the second things felt real.

Yeah. Not my finest moment.

Now we’re crammed into this creaky-ass rustic Airbnb somewhere in remote North Carolina, sitting on the very edge of the Appalachian wilderness—me, Ghost, Kendra, Nate, and Devin—plotting fake content for our respective channels like the well-oiled clout-chasing machine that we are. It’s the kind of place where people disappear in true crime documentaries. Like that story I did with Nate in the winter about a group of college kids that got ripped to shreds in Alaska while we were there.

Not exactly how I planned to spend my summer. And to add more excitement, it’s the first time Ghost and I are hanging out—or rather working together—after what has transpired on Valentine’s. Mutual friends and shared followers mean you don’t get to ghost your mistakes. Pun intended.

“Bunny?” I feel him nudging my arm lightly, sitting next to me. His voice is unfair. Deep, smooth, with just a hint of teasing arrogance. It makes my stomach flip like it’s auditioning for a gymnastics team. If sex had a sound, it’d be him saying my name.

I glance up to find him already looking at me. Well, I assume he is. The mask makes it hard to tell, since it’s just a smooth, blank, white surface with two dark, slanted slits where his eyes should be. No mouth hole, no facial expressions, just eternal unreadability. Sexy, slightly terrifying unreadability.

It’s not even that I want him to take it off. I don’t. The mystery is part of the allure. The unknown underneath. He could be anyone. He could be hideous. Or heartbreakingly beautiful.

Well, looking at his large, veiny hands with those long fingers, I just know he’s fucking hot. Every guy with attractive hands has a gorgeous face—sorry, but I don’t make the rules.

Either way, I’ve dreamed about that mask more times than I’m willing to say.

Uh, he has this presence that’s impossible to put into words. It’s terrifying how easy it would be to fall for him again.

And it doesn’t help that I can feel the heat of his body next to me. Usually, he’s wearing a black hoodie, but it’s so humid here that he has only a short-sleeved band t-shirt on, exposing his muscular, tattooed arms. His head and neck are still hidden beneath a balaclava, but I can make out the sharp contour of his jawline under the black fabric. He wears a silver chain necklace with a matching bracelet, as well as a few beaded and leather ones on his other wrist. I also notice the friendship bracelet I made for him with DADDY spelled out. It’s so cheap and childish, but he never took it off since the day he got it in the mail…

“What?” I ask, trying not to sound flustered. Totally failing.

He leans back on the couch, long legs stretched out, arms draped over the backrest like he owns the place and everyone in it. Like he owns me. “You were staring.”

“I was zoning out.” I look at my phone, lifting my can of energy drink like a shield. “Calm down, Casper.”

“Right.”

“Daddy?” Kendra asks from across the coffee table, cutting in, and I recognize that flirty tone in her voice.

“Eww, don’t call him that,” I slip.

“Why? I like Daddy.” Ghost cocks his head at me. He probably has the stupidest smirk on his stupid face under that stupid mask.

Yes, I realize people call him that, maybe less often than Ghost, and more as a form of a joke, but still. I’m also fully aware he likes it. I used to call him that, after all…

I get turned on just at the memory of our late-night chats. It feels like something that was reserved just for me.

“So, I always wondered…” she continues, “do you add some special effects to sound like that?”

I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle my skull doesn’t crack. “Oh, really? You think he has a Darth Vader voice changer under there?” I snort.

They both ignore me. How nice of them.

“No, that’s just my voice,” he responds, flirting back.

“Oh my God, it’s so deep!” She giggles.

“Can you stop fangirling?” I whisper conspiratorially to my supposed best friend, hissing through my teeth, like he wouldn’t be able to hear.

But why is she acting this way? Just to mess with me? All it does is light the fire that I thought was already extinguished.

“You don’t need to be so possessive of me, Bun-bun.”

My mouth opens, then closes. God, I hate him. I hate that he can make me forget how to use words. Or breathe.

“Can we please focus?” Devin whines. “We are literally sitting in the perfect Appalachian horror movie setup and you two are already being horny and weird.”

“Weird?” Ghost echoes. “I haven’t even started being weird yet.”

“Don’t encourage him, Dev,” I quickly say before any more words are spoken.

Nate, bless his nerdy little heart, is already unrolling maps on the coffee table, glasses sliding down his nose. “I marked a couple of old trails that are supposedly tied to some missing persons reports from the 70s. Super sketchy stuff, lots of rumors about hauntings and weird lights—”

“And conveniently remote enough to stage some good ol’ paranormal shit,” Kendra adds.

Dev raises a brow. “Oh, we’re admitting that now?”

Kendra shrugs. “It’s 2025. Everyone fakes half of their content. As long as it’s scary, sexy, and slightly believable, it’s monetizable.”

“Three words that also describe Bunny,” Ghost murmurs, not even bothering to look away from me.

Damn it, he’s still hurt.

“That was rude and uncalled for.” I give him the look—half glare, half blushing mess. But I guess I kinda deserve this colder, crueler, smug bastard version of him.

“First off, we need to research all the local lore,” Kendra announces like she just did something.

“Oh, okay, Sam Winchester,” I bite out, my voice sharper than I planned.

Why am I mad at her?

Dev gives Ghost a look, then turns his stare back to me, his eyes full of concern. “You good, Bunny?”

I normally don’t act like this—cute and bubbly are my branding. But everything is awkward now. The truth is, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing around Ghost anymore. I want to be cool, casual, unaffected. I want to pretend like our messy history didn’t happen. Yet, he keeps poking at the past, reminding me that he put himself out there, and I crushed him without any excuse after leading him on for weeks.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired after the flight.”

“So, interviews with the locals first,” Nate says, once again diverting attention from the ‘Bunny and Ghost’ telenovela. “We should start right away. That way, tomorrow we can have all day just in the woods.”

“We aren’t actually gonna camp in the woods overnight, though?” I ask, shivering at the very thought.

Ghost laughs darkly. “Of course we will.”

“Man, don’t scare her,” Dev interjects with a chuckle.

But Ghost scoots closer—so close his knee in his ripped black jeans brushes against mine—and murmurs, “I sign up to chase my little bunny through the woods.”

“Not gonna happen, buddy,” I retort.

He freezes for a second. “Buddy, huh? Ouch.”

Dev claps his hands from excitement just in time to stop me from apologizing—for what? “Okay, so tomorrow we hike up, set up a campsite, and make some movie magic—scared faces, shaky cam, the whole found footage deal.”

I sip my drink. “Just so we’re clear, if any actual supernatural crap starts happening, I’m out of there. Y’all can die for content.”

Ghost taps his fingers against his thigh, his rings making the clicking metal sound, his leg bouncing slightly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re safe with me.”

I scoff, but my face is growing warmer again. “Oh, please. You just wanted to chase me.”

“I’ll protect you from everything and everyone except myself.”

I look for a comeback, but I’ve got nothing, and I know somewhere under that mask, he is smiling.

It’s like he wants me to regret… or does he want me back?

Maybe—just maybe—he’s still into me.

Which would be a recipe for disaster since I never stopped being into him either.

3. Ghost

I watch her move through the room to go change before we leave. And I have no shame admitting that I gawk at her sweet little ass in those tight, pink leggings as she climbs up the stairs. There are no perfect people, but to me, she is perfect. Or perhaps that’s the pedestal I placed her on. Yet, she still owns every inch of my attention, just the same as when I first saw her.

It was Halloween this past year. I knew which influencer party she was going to. I’d known for weeks. That’s the only reason why I even accepted an invitation and flew to NYC in the first place. I normally avoided any large gatherings. Or people, in general. But I was weirdly fucking excited about that night. About finally seeing her in person—no screen between us, no camera filters, no WiFi signal diluting the raw perfection of her.

I’d spent over a year obsessing over her, unapologetically. She’d done a collab with my buddy Dev, and that’s how I heard about her. Of course, I checked out her YouTube after that—she didn’t post long-form content often, but the little she did was enough to pull me in. Come on, a pastel sweetheart talking about ghosts? It was like a fever dream for me.

The spiral was quick, and eventually, I downloaded fucking TikTok just to see more of her. She was posting on there constantly—two, three times a day. It wasn’t just her telling scary stories, but doing cosplays, trending dances, mukbangs, and other viral shit. And I was hooked, rewatching freeze frame after freeze frame of every single video she’d ever posted, memorizing every fraction of an inch of her body, studying every fucking micro expression she made, drinking in every goddamn word that left her mouth.

I knew her. And I could see it—clear as day—she wasn’t happy. Not in her relationship with that douchebag. She was lonely, restless, bored. She wanted more, she needed attention. And he? He wasn’t even looking.

Then came OnlyFans. Transparent as hell. She wanted him to notice. To care. Which, of course, he didn’t, too busy chasing his Hollywood dream that mattered more than her.

But I did.

She kept it pretty tame, all things considered. No full nudity. Still, I made sure to subscribe to her from ten different anonymous accounts, just in case she blocked one. I kept messaging her—weird requests, yeah, but harmless. To me, anyway. I just wanted to see how far she’d go, how much of her she’d give away before I creeped her out.

Eventually, she shut it all down.

Fuck, I was relieved when she stopped posting those lingerie pics of herself. Sure, I missed seeing them, but at least now, no one else got to see her, either.

That’s when she came clean to her boyfriend and told him she thought she had a stalker. And he lost his shit. Finally, he gave a damn. But it was too late. That was the beginning of the end for them. Constant fighting. He wanted her to nuke all her socials, which was hilarious considering it was her full-time job. Pretty fucking bold, if you ask me.

And guess who she came crying to?

Me. I was there, always. Listening. Comforting. Feeding the fire. I was secure in the friend zone because I knew I wouldn’t stay there. Not for long. Not once I ruined her.

Still—even after every fantasy I’d conjured inside my head—I wasn’t prepared for the sight of her in real life.

And when I saw her, I felt it. Like a sharpened blade pressing against my chest, and I knew then and there that she would be the only one to cut my heart open and make it bleed.

My little bunny.

Her cotton candy pink hair was so long and luscious it reached the small of her back, the kind of hair that made you want to fist it just to see if it felt as soft as it looked. The black latex suit clung to her like a second skin, so tight it might as well have been painted on, obscenely flaunting every little curve and crevice of her petite figure. She matched it with a bunny-eared, glossy mask that covered half of her cute face and over-the-knee heeled boots. It was a bit scandalous, the kind of outfit that belonged in a fetish club, not a fancy penthouse. And I couldn’t decide whether she was truly that clueless or that calculated.

No, she had to know how she looked.

Because that body…

That fucking body.

She looked like something made to be worshiped.

Or ravaged.

I watched her from across the penthouse, watched the way she moved, the way she glowed under the dim lights. I adored how bubbly and animated she was. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was hypnotic. Her voice was high. Her laugh was loud. Her hands moved when she spoke. And every single guy in the room was eyefucking her with the kind of desperation that made me want to rip their fucking eyes out.

I clenched my jaw, forcing my grip to loosen on the glass in my hand before I shattered it.

Did she have any idea what she was doing to me?

Oh, she had to. I caught her peeking at me way too many times to count. She was terrible at pretending we were just friends.

But she wasn’t alone. Of course, she wasn’t. She never was.

Her boyfriend was right there beside her, anchoring her, keeping her tethered to the life she didn’t belong to anymore. A liability.

I’d done my homework on him.

Aiden. Some up-and-coming band vocalist, who coasted on his pretty-boy face and half-baked charisma and gained a following on TikTok doing covers of real artists. Unremarkable. He was temporary.

She was mine. She just didn’t know it yet.

The entire night, I watched them. And the longer I did, the more obvious it became—she was miserable.

They fought. A lot. More so than I’d imagined based on her confessions.

She smiled less and less as the night went on, her voice got sharper, her hands moved in clipped, frustrated gestures. And him? The asshole barely seemed to notice. He never paid attention.

He was losing her… No, scratch that. He’d already lost her.

I just had to be there when she realized it.

And so I waited.

I found her outside on the terrace later. Alone at last. The Manhattan skyline stretched out behind her—a thousand glittering city lights framing her like a fucking painting. She was leaning against the glass railing, her arms hugging herself, her hair blowing in the wind.

The crisp fall air bit through the fabric of my clothes as I stepped closer, but she didn’t notice me right away.

She was crying. A broken doll, standing on the edge of the world, tears slipping past the black mask.

I didn’t feel much. Not really any natural human emotions. Certainly no empathy. But I knew this moment mattered.

Diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder in my preteen years, I’d learned how to blend in.

It was funny—in a sick way. Everyone thought the mask I wore in my videos was the performance. Ghost Daddy, the urban legend in the flesh. But that was the joke.

The real mask was this. This.

The act of being normal. From trivial things like learning the gestures and regulating my voice, to mimicking a whole range of feelings I’d never actually felt. I’d seen the movies, read the books, studied every social cue. I’d spent years perfecting it, crafting a version of myself that people wanted to be around. The charming, irreverent, darkly humorous man behind the mask. The one they trusted.

It worked. It always worked.

And for Bunny, this was a moment when the right kind of guy would step in, comfort her, and earn her trust.

So I moved closer. Quiet, careful. Like a shadow. Like a predator who knew exactly how to strike. But she was already wounded. I didn’t need to rush it.

“He’s not worth it, you know,” I murmured, my voice low, barely a whisper, cutting through her sobs.

She jolted, turning fast, her baby-blue, doe eyes wide beneath the mask.

“Ghost?” She sniffled, swiping at her face. But she knew it was me before she saw me. “Jesus, you scared me.”

That’s what I do, baby.

She tilted her head, scanning my outfit. “No costume?”

I was wearing my trademark outfit—a loose black hooded robe and a blank white mask, matched with simple black pants and my worn-in Docs. A disguise for the online persona I created a decade before.

“It’s the only night of the year when I don’t look like a freak on the street.”

She smiled at me, her dimple piercings made her look even cuter, more innocent, fragile. “You look… really cool, actually.”

I let my gaze drag over her, slow, intentional, taking in the way she looked in that outfit. Fuck, the things I wanted to do to her.

“You look like sin,” I said, my voice so gravelly, it was almost a growl.

Her breath hitched, which was exactly what I wanted. Her lips parted slightly, and she quickly turned her gaze back to the city, like she was searching for a way out. “I just needed a minute.”

“He’s been on your ass all night, huh?”

Her lips pressed together, her eyes darting away. Silence. She looked conflicted, like a part of her wanted to admit how fucking miserable she was. “It’s not like that,” she mumbled more to herself. “It’s just… I don’t know. It’s been bad lately.”

Good.

I stepped closer, just enough to feel her warmth, the softness of her body, and her scent. She even smelled like cotton candy—so sweet and cozy. She was the complete opposite of me, and I think that’s what attracted me to her the most.

“So, that’s why you’re out here crying instead of inside having fun?”

She let out a hollow little laugh, and I could tell she was flustered. “No one’s ever this direct.”

“Maybe you need direct,” I challenged.

She peeked at me then, craning her neck, her eyes flicking to my mask. Lingering. Something was there in the way she looked at me. A spark. Something she hadn’t noticed before. Something she’d pushed down, buried deep. But now it was coming to the surface.

“It’s great to finally see you,” she whispered, her wet lashes fluttering.

My fingers itched. I wanted to rip that fucking latex suit off her, make her understand how long I’d been waiting, watching her from behind the screen, knowing she was meant for me.

She shivered. Not from the cold. From me. But I still began to rub the length of her arms to warm her up, feeling her soft skin, the delicate tremor in her muscles, how she was everything I’d ever wanted.

“Um, I didn’t know you’re this tall,” she commented, almost shy. Even in her high heels, the tip of her head barely reached my shoulder.

“You’re just so tiny,” I responded, my hands moving slower now, massaging and gently squeezing. “It’s adorable.”

Her teeth sank into her lower lip, and I tracked the movement, memorized it, cataloged it in the sick, neurotic little archive in my brain where I kept all things her.

“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head, like she was trying to snap herself out of something. “I guess I am pretty small.”

Small. Breakable. Mine.

I hummed, shifting my hands onto her back and down the curve of her waist. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Yes,” she mouthed, barely audible.

And fuck, the way her body reacted—just the tiniest inhale, her fingers twitching like she didn’t know what to do with them… like she wanted to touch me back.

“Why?” I persisted.

“I… dunno. You’re just…”

Close.

Touching her.

Saying things no one else ever would.

Making her feel things she shouldn’t be feeling.

“I mean, you joke around online, but—”

“Does this feel like a joke to you?” I interrupted.

She blinked. Just for a second. Just long enough for the weight of my words to sink in.

“No.”

The silence stretched between us, buzzing and heavy, charged with something I knew she didn’t fully understand. But I did. I had always understood.

She just stared at me like she could find any answers on the surface of my mask. The wind was whipping pink strands of her hair across her face. I wanted to push them back. I wanted to wrap my hand around the delicate column of her throat, to feel how her pulse races up for me. I wanted to press my lips right up against her ear and whisper, Let me wreck you.

“I…” She blinked rapidly, her cheeks still wet from the tears she’d forgotten about. “It’s just been a weird night.”

I nodded like I understood. Like I gave a damn about the emotional turmoil she was dealing with instead of the fact that I was two seconds away from pressing her up against the glass railing and seeing how many different ways I could make her gasp.

But before I could respond, the moment shattered.

“What the hell, man?” Her boyfriend had finally noticed she was gone, and he stomped onto the terrace, fists clenched like he thought he could protect her from me.

I turned to face him fully. Unhurried. Almost lazy.

His jaw was tight, eyes hazed, legs wobbling—he clearly had too much to drink.

Bunny shifted awkwardly. “Babe, I just—”

“I’ve been looking for you,” he snapped, eyes locked on me now. “And who the fuck is this?”

She tensed beside me. “You know who he is.”

That made his face darken. The petty little jealousy. How many arguments had they had over me in the last month alone?

I took a step forward, just to watch him shrink.

He tried to act tough, puffing his chest like some fragile little alpha-wannabe. “Back the fuck off, dude.”

I smirked to myself, and then I moved. Fast. Too fast for his wasted ass to react.

One second, he was barking like some weak little guard dog, and the next, he was dangling—half his body already tilted over the fucking edge of the terrace. The waist-high railing was the only thing stopping him from plummeting forty floors down.

My grip was like a vice—one hand fisted in his pirate costume shirt, the other clamped around his throat, pressing just enough to make his breath stutter. I felt the tendons flex under my palm, the wild pulse hammering against my fingertips.

Fear.

And I was enjoying it with no remorse, my fingers digging to reduce his airflow. Not enough to choke. Not yet. Just enough to remind him who had control.

His hands shot up, scrambling at me, desperate for leverage, but I barely felt it. He wasn’t strong enough. Not for me.

Bunny gasped behind me, but she didn’t stop me. She didn’t even move. I’m pretty sure she was in shock.

“I’m only going to warn you once,” I rasped, my voice dark and edged with amusement. “If she sheds one more tear because of you…”

I yanked him forward, just an inch—just enough to tip him further over the edge. His weight shifted. The glass barely brushed his lower back now.

He realized then.

One move. One twitch. And I could let him go.

I would.

I wanted him to be a smear on the fucking pavement.

But that was too easy.

“…you’ll wish I’d let you fall.”

I let the moment stretch, let him live in that space between fear and certainty, let him really understand how much power I had over him. For a second, I thought he was about to piss himself. How fucking embarrassing.

I pulled him up and let him go with a shove. He stumbled, gasping, hands clutching at his throat, eyes wide as he fought for air. He staggered back, shaking, turning to Bunny like she was going to save him. Like she was going to tell him I was insane, that this wasn’t okay, that she was on his side.

Well, I was insane.

But she just gaped at me, as though she didn’t know whether to be terrified or turned on.

There it was.

That look.

The moment doubt seeped in. The moment she wondered why her heart was pounding harder for me than it ever had been for him.

The moment she realized something was missing.

And that I could give it to her.

4. Bunny

When I finish getting ready, everyone is already crowded in the entryway. Ghost is doing the most, leaning against the far wall by the door like he’s having a GQ photoshoot—arms crossed over that broad chest that I know for a fact is fully tattooed. At this point, most of him is ink.

Like, who gave this man permission to be so infuriatingly attractive?

He put on a zip-up hoodie and his combat boots to complete the look. He’s like a walking urban legend himself.

“Take off that stupid mask before you scare the townspeople,” I toss, doing my best to act casual.

“Really?” He scans me from head to toe—bunny headband, flowy pink dress with puffy sleeves and corset bodice, thigh-high sheer white stockings, and platform Mary Jane shoes. “You gonna tell me what to do with your fluffy ears on?”

I make a face and take off my headband, then jump up to put it over his hood. He gracefully pushes off the wall, and he looks ridiculous, all terror in black with my bunny ears on. Still stupidly hot, though.

“Cute,” Ghost whispers ominously. “Keep playing with me, Princess. See where it gets you.”

Unimpressed Dev runs through the plan again, like we’re third-graders on our first field trip.

Kendra chimes in. “Ghost should narrate the footage.” She laughs, flipping her honey blond hair seductively as she looks at him. “Your voice gives me chills… the good kind.”

Ghost chuckles—a dark, raspy sound that I always loved—but doesn’t even glance back at her. “That so?”

“Oh my God, yes!” she almost moans.

I try not to scowl. Try being the keyword.

He notices. Of course he does, because those dark eye slits are always on me.

Kendra acts oblivious. “You could read IKEA bookshelf assembly instructions and I’d let you screw all my bolts,” she gushes, and I swear if she bats her lashes any harder she’s gonna lift off like a drone.

“Did he pay you to drive me crazy on this trip?” I ask venomously, hoping I don’t foam at the mouth.

She shakes her head, giggling like a hyena.

“You jealous, Bunny?” Ghost murmurs, lazy and sharp. “Didn’t think I was your type.”

He’s doing it again, without actually addressing the issue. That thing between us? It wasn’t nothing. He knows it. I know it. Everyone else knows it.

“I’m not jealous,” I snap, too fast. But my cheeks heat, betraying me. Goddammit.

“Mm. Sure.”

“Alright, everyone ready?” Nate asks, coming to my rescue once more. Seriously, I don’t know what I would ever do without his Golden Retriever persona.

We drive to town in the rental car to investigate, and in true Scooby-Doo fashion, we split into smaller groups. I’m paired with Ghost—obviously—because he can’t take no for an answer.

The town is straight out of a horror flick—quaint, too quiet, the kind of place where weird shit happens daily, but no one talks about it. Old brick buildings line the streets, the sidewalks are cracked, and the locals? Everybody is staring, which is fair. I can’t blame them. With my full kawaii aesthetic and Ghost’s… whatever.

He walks beside me, hands in his pockets, exuding that big, silent, brooding energy that makes people intrigued but nervous.

“Can you just try to be more inviting?” I mutter as we stroll past an antique shop where an old woman glares at us like we just stole her grandson’s soul.

“You’re overly inviting with your pastel shit. We balance each other out.” His deep voice is amused. Always amused.

I roll my eyes. “You’re literally dressed like a serial killer.”

“Serial killers wish they looked this good.”

I groan. “Get over yourself, will ya? You’re like a Hot Topic metalhead tried summoning a demon but got the unpaid intern instead.”

He tilts his head slightly, and I know he’s frowning beneath his mask. But I also know he’s too cocky to be actually offended.

He exhales heavily, then mutters, “Little fucking brat.”

“That was a good one, admit it!” I laugh, cracking up at my own joke.

“Yeah, you got me good,” he replies in pure sarcasm.

We talk with a few locals, recording a bit. Ghost doesn’t do much of the talking—shocker—but the mask alone makes people compelled enough to spill their guts. It’s the usual lore—whispers of missing hikers, strange noises in the woods, and one old man who claimed he saw glowing eyes staring at him from his window one night. Totally normal. Small-town folks love a spooky urban legend, and I eat it up.

Ghost, on the other hand, doesn’t share my enthusiasm. It’s like all he wants is to get me alone and talk about what happened between us, which I’m desperately trying to avoid. What can I even say to him? It’s easier to pretend like nothing happened.

Then we stop at the old-fashioned diner and get seated at the booth by the window. It smells like scorched bacon grease, black coffee, and a hint of mop water pretending to be lemon scented. It’s perfect.

“You’re not eating?” I ask after I order, noticing Ghost hasn’t gotten anything.

“Not hungry.” He shrugs. “I ate at the house earlier before you guys got there.”

This can be true. When Kendra, Nate, and I arrived from NYC, Ghost and Dev were already in our Airbnb. But I still feel the need to tease him a bit.

“It’s the mask, isn’t it? You don’t want to take it off in public.” I grin, enjoying this way too much. “What if I wanted to kiss you? Huh?”

“So you want to kiss me,” he purrs, smug as hell.

My brain stutters. Shit. I walked right into that.

“I—IF! Which I don’t!” I stammer, my face immediately heating up. “I was just asking, you know, for like, logistical purposes—”

Ghost leans in close, elbows on the table, his voice dropping into something darker. “Don’t worry, baby. The mask comes off to eat your pussy.”

What the hell did he just say?

Granted, that’s pretty vanilla coming from him. Let me tell you—that man has some mouth on him, alright. He used to say nastiness I’m not willing to even repeat and make it sound like a damn promise. But it’s been months since we spoke that way…

I kick him lightly under the table, which only makes him laugh—deep, throaty, completely unbothered. I hate that he knows what he’s doing to me. I hate it even more that I want him to keep doing it.

My face is on fire as I sputter, “You’re disgusting.” I kick again for good measure, a bit harder this time.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Aggressive. I like it.” Then, because he’s the worst, he whispers, “Fuck, I want you riding my face so badly.”

I malfunction. My brain? Error 404: Not Found.

I stare at him, speechless, my chest rising and falling rapidly as my thighs press together instinctively. He just sits there across from me, completely composed, like he didn’t just put that image inside my head.

And you know what? Yes, I would very much love to ride his face right about now. He could suffocate there for all I care.

“Don’t be such a prude, Bun-bun,” he mocks me. “You’ve ripped that mask off before to kiss me.”

Oh, he’s talking about this past New Year’s Eve. I don’t quite remember that night—everything is fuzzy, though I do know I woke up in his hotel room in the morning.

“You’re being extremely inappropriate,” I whisper, trying to sound stern. It’s the only half-coherent sentence I can manage. On the inside, I’m not okay. Not at all.

“I want to pin you down on that table and devour you right here for everyone to see,” he murmurs, calm as ever. “But I don’t do that, now do I? I think that’s pretty fucking appropriate of me, then.” He leans back like he didn’t just say that with his whole chest.

I clear my throat, desperate to collect myself, while squeezing my thighs tighter under the table. My body is betraying me.

“You’re squirming,” he says, watching me like a hawk.

“I’m not,” I lie, voice a little too tight.

“Right,” he smirks. “Like I don’t know how badly you want to climb over this table right now.”

I glare. “In your dreams.”

“Every fucking night, sweetheart.”

I huff, flustered. “God, you’re impossible!”

He leans in again, dropping his voice to something sinfully low. “Want me to stop?”

“Yes!” I almost whimper, weak and pathetic.

“Liar.” His voice sharpens, and I feel the mood shift. He gets cold. “You can’t just act like that never happened.”

“I don’t remember it,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You know that.”

“Well… but you do remember our calls, don’t you?”

He’s suffocating me with the truth, and he knows it. My throat goes dry.

“Can we not do this here?” I say quickly, trying to sound in control. “I need the restroom.”

He nods, and I bolt to the ladies’ room, slam the door shut behind me, and grip the edge of the sink just to breathe. My reflection stares back at me, face flushed, lips parted.

I dab cold water onto my cheeks, but it does nothing to fix the absolute mess he just made of me. My pupils are blown. My chest is rising too fast. My body is still humming.

God, I want him. Just like I always did. Perhaps even more now after losing him before…

I was trying to move on. I really did try my best. But all it took was him whispering like that, and I’m right back where I started.

Fuck!

5. Ghost

I hate parties.

Have I mentioned that already?

Well, I fucking do. I hate them. Too many people. Too much noise. Way too much phony shit. Overstimulating as hell. I always end up on the cusp of slashing everyone’s throat and calling it a night.

Another thing I hate? Fucking LA.

It’s the worst. This whole celebrity wannabe scene in all its hollow, plastic glory—empty shells of people wrapped in designer fabric, faking friendships for clout.

But then Dev started dating some B-list actress, and we all got invited to the biggest party of the year in Hollywood Hills.

Including Bunny.

A freshly single Bunny.

She’d finally kicked Aiden’s ass to the curb a week before Thanksgiving. November 21st. I remember precisely because it was the day of my birthday. Not sure if that was a coincidence or not, but I could assume they fought non-stop after Halloween—that bitch-ass boy was too insecure. She called me in tears on my big three-O. And despite having some plans, I stayed on the line the whole night, comforting her while we got wasted over FaceTime.

So, naturally, I was the first one to book a flight to LA, stoked as fuck to spend New Years Eve with her, even if it meant fighting off my inner rage the whole damn time being there. And that’s where it all began.

Free from that useless fuck she used to call a boyfriend, Bunny was reckless as hell that night. She was drinking too much, laughing too loudly, dancing carelessly like she hadn’t yet realized she was the kind of prey men like me obsess over. But she loved the attention, constantly seeking approval. I feasted on the view of her body in that short, tight dress, her flushed cheeks, her luscious hair curled in loose waves bouncing with her every move.

And Nate—poor, pathetic Nate-pushover-Baker—thought he had a chance. He hovered too close, lingering, angling himself in every conversation, his eyes devouring her behind his glasses. I let him have his little moment for my own entertainment, honestly. Some friend zones were inescapable. She would never look at him that way, no matter how good of a guy he was.

She was attracted to danger, thrilled by fear. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together—girls like her weren’t into ghosts and murder unless they had a kink. She also had serious daddy issues, and I wouldn’t mind spoiling her like a princess.

The only contender I’d have taken seriously was Dev, as he had been hitting on her in the beginning before I stepped into the picture. But now with him in a relationship, and Bunny and I already having a thing, that wasn’t a problem.

I slid in then, cutting the space between her and Nate, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist with the kind of ownership that made lesser men understand their place.

Bunny leaned into me without even thinking. Instinct.

Nate got the message. His smile faltered, and he mumbled something about getting another drink before disappearing.

Like I said, pathetic.

“Where have you been? You missed the fireworks!” she accused in a cute, whiny tone, slurring the words a bit. “I thought you’d be my midnight kiss.”

“It’s not midnight yet.”

“Oh…” She raised her brows high in disbelief. “But I saw the ball drop.”

“Kendra called you, right?”

“Right…”

“From New York, silly. We’re in different time zones now.”

She frowned, looking confused but adorable as she tried to do the math through the liquor haze. “I think I’m a little tipsy.” She giggled, swaying slightly.

I caught her before she could stumble, my hands firm on her waist, keeping her steady. “Yeah, no shit.”

She nuzzled into my chest, inhaling deeply. “You smell so good,” she complimented, craning her neck to look up at me, her small hand caressing my pec over the fabric of my hoodie.

Fuck me.

She smelled like sugar and poison, a heady mix of vanilla perfume and tequila. I wanted to sink my teeth into her skin, leave marks and bruises no one else could claim. But I knew better. She was sloppy drunk, and I couldn’t touch her. Not like this.

“Okay, you had enough,” I said, shaking my head.

She pouted, wobbling on her heels. “One more—”

I tightened my grip, already guiding her toward the front door. “Bunny.”

She shivered against me. Obedient. Or perhaps too intoxicated to sass me. Either way, I needed to get her out of there before her night would end up with her face above the toilet bowl.

Outside, I tried to order an Uber, but it was taking forever because of how busy the night was. Eventually, I managed to grab us a cab after a group of people that just arrived at the party.

I hauled Bunny inside before she could argue. “Where are you staying?” I asked, squeezing myself next to her on the backseat.

“I dunno.” She hiccupped, lolling her head back, her eyes fluttering open with a sleepy little smirk. “With you?” She tossed her arms around my neck, nuzzling against my jaw over the balaclava.

Fucking hell.

My fingers flexed against my knee as I exhaled through my nose. Not the way I wanted. Not how I pictured our first night.

I clenched my jaw, gave the driver my hotel address, and leaned back, watching her curl up against me. I was positive she took a little power nap. And she missed the fireworks going off in the distance as we got stuck in traffic.

It took an eternity, but the second we were inside my room, she was fully energized. And she didn’t hesitate. She turned into something wild, clawing at my hoodie, yanking at my mask before ripping it off.

I let her.

She didn’t even see me, not really. The lights were off. She was chasing pleasure, chasing something—anything—to drown out whatever heartbreak she’d been drinking away.

As her hands ran through my hair, she froze. “Um, you’re not bald.”

“What?” I laughed, taken off guard. “Did you really expect me to be?”

“Maybe? The mask and the hood… I didn’t expect a head full of hair, that’s for sure,” she mumbled, her fists tightening on my thick locks. “I love it.”

Her fingertips danced across my face like she was trying to learn it by heart in the dark, tracing my brows, gliding over my eyes and nose, brushing my ears as she discovered my gauges, then drifting across my cheeks and down the stubbled line of my jaw. Her touch stopped on my lips, and I swore I could feel her racing heartbeat.

I leaned my head instinctively, and she pressed her mouth against mine, kissing me for the first time—hot, desperate, messy. And I kissed her back, unable to resist. She tasted like liquor mixed with bubble gum and heat, soft and willing as she shoved me onto the bed, straddling my waist.

She stopped for a second. “You have a tongue piercing?”

“Yeah.” I smirked. “Wanna find the rest?”

“You’re so fucking sexy!” She hiccupped, nails scraping up my abs, pulling my hoodie over my head. Her dainty little hands roamed all over my chest, and she quickly detected my nipple piercings. “Oh—” her lips meshed with mine again “—don’t ever stop kissing me.”

As we continued to make out, the straps of her dress slid down her arms, her breast spilling out. No bra, as usual. She didn’t need one. She had great tits. I’d seen them before, in one of the raunchiest pictures she had sent me after accepting a private request on OnlyFans—of course, she hadn’t had a clue it was me.

But it person? Fuck. Even in the dim spill of streetlight through the window, they were flawless. Full, perky, just begging to be touched. My mouth fucking watered. I wanted to mark them. Bruise them. Leave my claim on every inch.

I could barely fucking breathe. It was a goddam war to keep restraint once she started grinding against me like she had no clue what she was doing to me.

And I could’ve taken her.

I could’ve had her just like this, dazed and needy, letting me ruin her.

But I was nothing if not strategic.

Bunny was a long game. And I wasn’t about to let her wake up hating me for taking advantage.

I grabbed her wrists, pinning them down against my chest. “Baby, just relax.”

She giggled, thinking I was joking. Her hips rocked more confidently against mine. Her dress hiked up, bunching over her waist, and I could feel her through the layers of clothing between us—how hot and wet and primed for me she was. My head was spinning.

“Touch me, Daddy.”

That was it.

Kissing her neck, my hands slid down her waist onto her perfect bubble butt. I slapped one of her ass cheeks playfully while my other hand dropped lower.

“Fuck,” I growled, slowly trailing my fingers against the soft, damp fabric of her lace thong. She was perfect. “What do you have over here?”

“You like?” she asked innocently.

God, she was such a tease.

I cupped her entire pussy with my hand, making her gasp. “Yes,” I rasped, crashing my lips against hers once more.

“Take them off.”

She didn’t have to say it twice. I fisted the delicate material, tearing it off her hips with one jerk. I then brought it to my face, inhaling her sweet, heady scent.

Fuck my life.

I groaned loudly into the fabric and my cock flexed. All I needed was to dive between her thighs and taste her. Pleasure her until she’d forget anyone else had ever touched her before me.

“Mmmm, you smell delicious,” I complimented, breathing hard, and I was ready to risk it all.

But our eyes locked in the dark. I don’t know exactly what I saw in hers, but it sobered me up. Maybe I didn’t have a moral compass, but I knew the difference between what society deemed as right and wrong. And I was trying to do the right thing by her.

“I can’t.”

She whined in protest, but I gripped her hips and flipped her beside me, untangling myself from her legs. She blinked up at me, confused, then her lips wobbled. “You don’t want me?” Her voice was small, broken. I couldn’t quite see her tears, but I knew they were there.

My jaw clenched. I wanted to laugh. Wanted to scream. Wanted to say fuck it and pound the shit out of her until she knew that I had never wanted anything more in my entire fucking life.

It was a goddamn nightmare to be this close and yet so far.

But she was worth the wait.

I took her hand and pressed it against the straining bulge in my jeans. “This is how badly I want you, little bunny.” My voice was raw, my patience fraying, my throbbing cock harder than it had ever been. “Now, please, be a good girl before I lose control.”

Her breath hitched. Her fingers curled slightly, her palm warm against me. I barely held back another moan.

“Maybe I want you to,” she whispered sweetly, still tempting me. But she slurred her words, clearly not coherent enough to make such decisions. Or to understand that I wasn’t just some warm body to fill the void her fucking ex left behind. I wouldn’t settle for being a rebound. Especially if I ended up as just another blackout mistake to her.

“No. Not like this,” I said firmly, though my lips brushed hers softly, just to reassure her.

She prolonged the kiss but slowed down. Surrendered. As if she finally grasped why I’d stopped her. “You’re so good to me.”

Well, that was a fucking stretch. But hey, who was I to argue with that?

“I think I’m falling for you…” she mouthed against my lips, her hands grasping at my back to pull me closer like she couldn’t get enough. “I have been for a while.”

Not much could get a reaction out of me. But that did it.

It felt like something clicked into place. Perhaps this feeling was the closest to me loving someone. I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I wouldn’t let her slip away. Not ever.

She belonged to me.

I was opening my mouth to respond to her, unsure what I wanted to say yet.

She didn’t wait for me. “Cuddle me,” she almost ordered.

I went still.

Fucking cuddling.

I didn’t do that shit. I didn’t do tenderness. Or warmth.

But Bunny?

She not only made me pretend to be a better human.

She made me want to try to be one.

So I laid beside her, let her curl up in my arms like I was something safe. Like I wasn’t the monster she should be afraid of. She fell asleep against my chest, so easily, so fucking trustingly, almost naïve. And I spent the whole night staring at the ceiling, battling the hunger in me, going against my every goddamn urge.

I was good.

Mostly.

Until she started rolling her hips against my thigh, pressing closer and closer as she unconsciously searched for friction, whimpering quietly. Was she having a wet dream? So greedy even in her sleep.

She was driving me mad. Her body was warm, her breath soft against my skin. I could feel every inch of her, the way she fit against me like she was made for me. And her pussy…

Fuck, that sweet little wet pussy I wanted to have wrapped around my cock so fucking badly.

I could’ve had her. Right then, right there.

She wouldn’t have fought me. Wouldn’t have even woken up.

I could’ve buried myself deep inside her, could’ve made her mine in the way that mattered.

I didn’t.

But I’d lie if I said I didn’t touch her.

Just a little, though. Just enough to feel the heat of her flesh under my fingers.

My palm ghosted over the curve of her hip, down her thigh, then back up again—right where she needed it most.

Soft. So fucking soft. And soaked.

I told myself it was harmless. That she wouldn’t know. That I wasn’t really doing anything wrong. Nothing she’d wake up and cry about. Nothing she’d despise me for.

But I knew the truth.

And still, I couldn’t force myself to feel guilt.

My fingertips circled the tight opening of her pussy, then slid up the slit to her tiny, buzzing clit, gently rubbing.

My other hand grasped one of her breasts, kneading while pinching her hard little nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

She moaned something inaudible, her hips moving desperately against my fingers. It wasn’t long before she gasped and her hips jerked for the final time.

I withdrew my fingers slowly, slick with her arousal. Brought them to my nose and breathed her in—deep, like a depraved addict, letting that sweet, musky scent soak into me.

Damn.

My cock throbbed against the zipper of my jeans, aching with the tension coiled low in my gut.

I licked my fingers. Every last trace of her. Like a fucking animal. Like I deserved it.

And maybe I did.

I dragged my hand down, palming myself through the denim. Just enough pressure to feel it. I rocked into it—once, twice—my breath catching as I imagined how tight she’d feel around me.

I could’ve done it right there. Stroked myself beside her until I spilled across my stomach, filthy and silent. She wouldn’t have known. Not a sound. Not a stir.

I could’ve used her hand… her mouth even.

But I stopped and stared at her—flushed, softly breathing, lashes fluttering in sleep. Her body molded perfectly against mine like she’d always belonged there.

I wrapped my arm tighter around her waist and buried my face in her hair. She sighed contentedly in her sleep, and I smiled to myself while my fingers were still sticky with all the proof I needed.

I already owned her.

Tonight, it was enough just to hold her.

To know I could’ve taken whatever I wanted… and chose to wait.

For now.

How fucking foolish of me.

This was the last time I held back.

The next time Bunny crawled into my bed, I wouldn’t stop.

6. Bunny

Trying to pretend I have my crap together, I finally step out from the ladies room and head back to the table.

Out of nowhere, I get ambushed.

“Oh no way! You’re Paranormal Bunny!”

A guy, early twenties, handsome face, shaggy dirty blond hair, wearing a vintage horror movie t-shirt, is looking at me like he just ran into the literal royalty or something—if they talked ghosts, danced in cosplay, and ate ramen on camera for money.

I blink, caught off guard. “Um, yeah. Hey, hi!” I say, automatically slipping into cheerful influencer mode.

“Damn, I love you,” he blurts with starry eyes. Then, realizing how that sounds, he backtracks, “I mean, your videos! I’m a huge fan! I stalk your TikTok like multiple times a day—wait, not stalk-stalk! Shit. Sorry, that sounded creepy. I just never would’ve expected to see you here.” He laughs awkwardly, holding out a hand. “I’m Mark, by the way.” His southern drawl is just thick enough to melt butter.

I giggle. He probably has a knife collection but cries during dog movies. He’s harmless—just nervous, that’s all.

“Nice to meet you, Mark. Me and a few of my friends are working on a new project.”

“About Appalachians?” His face lights up. “Do I have stories to tell you!”

His eyes go wide suddenly, looking above my head. I don’t even have to turn around to know Ghost is standing right there, menacingly, towering over both of us and everyone else in the diner.

“That’s just this very small YouTuber,” I joke, waving him off. Ghost has thirteen million subscribers—that’s more than I and the rest of our group combined. And if Mark is truly a horror fan, he most likely is Ghost’s fan, too.

“So, Mark—” I start, but Ghost immediately cuts in.

“You’re gone five seconds, and you’ve already got a dude hitting on you?”

I roll my eyes. “He was just saying he has stories to share.”

“We don’t need them,” he replies definitively, his voice ice-cold.

“Anything can be useful,” I argue, though honestly, I don’t care. It’s just way too fun watching Ghost get this crazy-jealous over nothing… and he deserves that after flirting with Kendra.

Plus, I’ll take anything over being alone with him.

Ghost tenses. “Your food is ready,” he growls, clearly done with this conversation.

“Calm the heck down,” I huff. “You’re being such a pain. And let me remind you that you wanted to do this documentary.”

Then, ignoring his attitude, I show Mark to our table.

I slide into the booth next to him, diving into my burger, while Ghost sets up the camera on a tripod before taking his seat across from us.

Mark watches me eat like he’s enchanted. Men are fucking weird. I swear they get turned on by the weirdest shit—not gonna complain since I make a living out of it, though.

“Bunny, I must say, I love your style,” he compliments my outfit, getting flirty. “It’s adorable.”

“Aww, thank you!” I brush his arm just ever so slightly.

Ghost has zero patience. “Can you get to the fucking point?” he snaps, and I’m positive his eyes are boring into Mark with the intensity of a thousand suns.

I nudge him with my foot under the table. “Don’t be rude.”

Ghost mutters something to himself, visibly grinding his teeth under the mask.

Mark stiffens a bit. “What do you guys have so far?”

“Nothing really specific.” I shrug. “Just a few paranormal encounter stories. Glowing eyes staring in the window. Whistling in the woods. Feral people. That sort of thing.”

“All valid.” Mark chuckles. But there’s something dark there. Like he’s seen some stuff. “Growing up in the Appalachian foothills comes with a set of rules. We know from an early age that once it starts to get dark outside it means we need to haul our asses back home. Then shut all the doors and windows and pull down the blinds. Meemaw always said: If you hear something in the woods… No, you didn’t. If you see something… No, you didn’t. And whatever you do—don’t run. The chase excites them.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Them?”

He leans in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Cryptids. The watchers. The old ones. These mountains are older than the Atlantic. Older than the rings of Saturn. Older even than bones. They’ve seen everything. Dinosaurs. Blood. War. And something else. Something that doesn’t die just ‘cause people forget its name.”

Goosebumps prick my arms. I try to play it cool, but I inch the camera a little closer toward him.

“Long before white folks ever got here, the Cherokee, the Catawba, and other tribes lived all through these hills. The land was sacred. Alive. But when the colonizers came…” He pauses. “They didn’t just steal the land. They brought hell with ‘em. Slaughter. Famine. Broken treaties. And something about all that suffering—all that blood—it stirred things that shoulda stayed asleep.”

His eyes flick up, scanning the room like the fluorescent lights might be listening.

“Some even believe the Wendigo was born from every ounce of greed and cruelty the colonizers brought with them.”

I blink. “I thought Wendigos were like cannibals from Algonquian folklore. Canada stuff.”

“Well, the Appalachian Mountains extend into Canada. And yes. At least, that’s one of the legends. It’s not just a creature,” he says. “Not really. It’s a curse. A force. The kind of desperation that happened when a man ate human flesh in the winter, that’s just how it starts. It ain’t some random monster. It’s the hunger made flesh. But out here?” Mark taps the tabletop with a thick finger. “Out here, it’s changed. It’s evolved. It’s part of the land. I see it as something more, something much bigger, like Leshy.” He pauses, leaning closer. “You know, the forest deity from Slavic mythology. It doesn’t just crave meat now. It feeds on human urges—lust, pride, gluttony, envy, pain, power. It becomes wanting everything. You can’t satisfy it. Ever.”

I shiver. “So it’s always starving.”

Mark smiles without humor. “You wanna know what it feels like to be stalked by it?”

I swallow, but don’t answer.

“It feels like longing for something so bad it burns, then realizing it wants you just as bad. But not for who you are—for what you are. It wants to consume your entire being. A craving with claws. You can’t fight it. You can’t beg it. You’re already half-digested before it even shows its face.”

I shudder harder, turning my eyes to the windows. I haven’t been this spooked out since Alaska.

Outside, the street looks normal—just a quiet, sunny day in a rural town. But in the distance, the mountains paint the skyline, trees ancient and still, as if they are holding the world’s secrets. And the feeling that something that shouldn’t exist just heard me breathe.

The chill in my spine lingers.

“And then, of course, there are SW,” he adds, catching my attention, and I give him a confused look. His voice drops to a mere whisper now, “Skinwalkers.”

“Wait. Aren’t they from Navajo lore?” I crane my neck to look at Ghost. “You live near the reservation in Arizona, right?”

That’s one story he never told, no matter how many people begged. He’s got firm boundaries when it comes to cultural and religious themes—he just doesn’t entertain that kind of content. I’ve always admired that about him. But hey, he’s been in the business long enough to know how to play the game when there’s a paycheck involved. No drama. No controversy.

He nods, silent. I can see he’s seething, his knee bouncing under the table, long fingers tapping against the wood.

“It’s dangerous to even speak about them,” Mark says, cutting through the silence. He seems to be on the same page as us. “But what we’ve got out here… it ain’t exactly that. There are many different names for them. Fleshgaits. Ghouls. Mimics. Shapeshifters. My Meemaw calls them Hollows. But most folks tend to identify them as Appalachian Skinwalkers, though we understand they are very different from the Navajo legends. What we’re talkin’ about are spirits. Twisted, angry, evil things that change forms. They copy voices. Lure you out. Sometimes they look just like someone you love—until it’s too late.”

Ghost is fidgeting so much now that the whole table starts to shake. He’s like a wild animal in a cage, seconds from snapping. And it surprises me because he rarely loses his temper.

On a whim—or maybe a dare to myself—I grab my old-fashioned strawberry shake, swirl the straw, and slurp it like it’s the only thing I care about. Then I dip a finger into the whipped cream and drag it slowly into my mouth.

As expected, it’s a perfect distraction as they both pay attention to me.

For a moment, Ghost doesn’t look like he’s about to commit a homicide. But Mark must have a suicide wish—or he’s thinking with his other head entirely right now—because he makes a move.

“You know, if you need a tour guide, I’d be very happy to take care of you…” His words getting a little too smooth, eyes darting from my lips to my boobs.

I notice but don’t react.

It’s a little uncomfortable, but honestly, it’s part of the gig. When you’re a girl online, it happens all the time. Men get flirty, they get creepy, they assume too much. It’s easier to pretend not to notice. Even better, to embrace it.

I’m used to it.

Ghost? Yeah, not so much.

I feel the shift before I even see him move. One second, he’s sitting across from me, rigid and silent. The next, he’s standing, his massive frame blocking out the light. Then, he lunges.

Mark barely has time to register what’s happening before Ghost grabs him by the collar and yanks him clean out of the booth.

The restaurant falls dead silent. A few chairs scrape against the floor as people turn to find what’s causing the commotion.

“Wait—” Mark starts, but he doesn’t get the chance to finish before Ghost’s fist crashes into his jaw with a sickening crack.

Mark stumbles back, his head snapping to the side, a choked sound leaving his throat as he crashes against a nearby table. Someone gasps. A fork clatters to the floor.

I shove Ghost back before he can follow up. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

He doesn’t even acknowledge me. His breathing is heavy, deep, his broad shoulders rising and falling in sharp, controlled movements. He stands there like some silent executioner, fists clenched, his entire body radiating hostility.

Mark wipes the corner of his mouth, wincing as the back of his hand comes away bloody. He looks between us, eyes wide. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?!”

Ghost doesn’t answer. He finally turns to me, his head tilting just slightly, his whole body vibrating with fury. “Oh, you love the attention, don’t you?”

Something about the way he says it—the bite in his tone, the condescension, the way it’s laced with something dark and possessive—sends a slow, unwelcome heat curling through my stomach.

I don’t let him see it.

“God, you’re such a dick,” I snap, shoving past him. I crouch beside Mark, checking his jaw. It’s already bruising, his lower lip split. He flinches when I tilt his chin up. “I’m so sorry. Ghost is just—”

“A fucking lunatic?” Mark is pissed and rightfully so.

“Yeah, that.”

Ghost hasn’t moved. He stands a few feet away, still burning a hole through Mark’s skull. If I don’t de-escalate this, he’s going to end up with actual charges, and I really don’t need this turning into a legal issue.

So, like a true professional idiot, I promise Mark a date if he lets it slide.

Ghost watches me do it.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t lash out. He just turns and walks out of the restaurant, his movements eerily controlled.

Mark agrees, and we exchanged numbers. I make sure he gets some ice to apply to the sore spot before I gather our things into the camera bag and follow Ghost outside. He’s pacing, fists balled at his sides, barely keeping himself in check.

“Seriously, are you clinically insane? What the hell was that?!”

He stops pacing the second he hears me, his head snapping toward me. Then he moves.

I barely have time to react before his finger hooks around the O-ring of my pink leather choker, yanking me forward until I collide with his chest. My breath catches. He’s close—too close, his body radiating heat, his fingers flexing against the leather to grip my throat.

“This little fucking bitch,” he growls, his voice thick with something unhinged, “was staring at what’s mine.”

His other hand curls around my hip, his fingers digging into the thin fabric of my dress—hard enough that tomorrow I’ll have bruises in the shape of his fingertips. The possessiveness in his touch makes my stomach flip… and my thighs clench.

He exhales, slow and deliberate, the heat of it brushing against my ear. “I don’t like being tested, Bunny.” His voice is velvet and razor wire, twirling around my spine. “You know that, don’t you?”

I swallow hard. My skin prickles. My pulse jumps. I should push him away, should tell him he’s out of line, but my body betrays me.

He knows it. He always does.

His hand is suddenly below my skirt cupping my pussy, and oh my God, he can feel how damp my underwear is.

I have to crane my neck to look up at him. All I see is my own doe-eyed reflection in his blank mask.

He tilts his head. “You liked it, though, didn’t you? Me putting him in his place.”

I refuse to give him the satisfaction. “You need therapy.”

Ghost chuckles, squeezing my throat harder. “Admit it. Did you have fun trying to make me jealous, hm?”

“Cut it off! Someone is really going to call the cops on us!” I have no idea what’s gotten into him—he not only assaulted poor Mark a few minutes ago, now he’s trying to get in trouble for this shit.

But he ignores it as his fingers hook under the lace of my panties and pull them aside.

“No,” I yelp quietly, not to cause any alarm in public. “Ugh, don’t do this now.”

But his fingers already gently tracing the slit of my pussy feeling more wetness pooling.

I try to shove his wrist away, but he’s immovable, his hand pressing harder, fingers teasing, rubbing slow, agonizing circles.

My knees threaten to buckle, and I can’t hold back a moan.

“That’s right,” he mutters, voice thick with amusement. “Moan like the horny little slut you are. Right here, in the middle of the sidewalk.”

His other hand releases my throat, then slides lower, palming my breast, massaging it, rolling my nipple between his fingers until it hardens into a pebble.

I squeeze my thighs together in a desperate attempt to fight back the pleasure, but all it does is trap his fingers exactly where he wants them.

“Please, stop,” I beg, but it’s pathetic—weak. A lie. Because my body does the opposite and my hips buck against his fingers, searching for more friction. I’m desperate. I don’t think I’ve ever been this aroused, and we’re barely even doing anything. But the fact that we’re doing it publicly in broad daylight is what gets me. The risk of getting caught. His dominant attitude and degrading words… Him.

His fingers glide so easily, like he knows my body better than I do, like he already has me figured out. Maybe he does.

“God, you make my cock so fucking hard, baby.” His voice is all gravel and smoke, all hunger. He eases a finger inside me, groaning softly when he feels how eagerly I take him.

I bite my lip, muffling another sorry moan, but a whimper escapes anyway. It’s all the encouragement he needs to add a second finger.

“Such a perfect, tight little pussy,” he groans, voice reverent, like he’s obsessed. Like he’s worshiping me in his own fucked-up way. “I can’t wait to ruin it.”

“That’s never going to happen,” I manage to whisper, but I know my reactions are telling him a different story.

“Oh yeah?” His fingers stroke deep, slow, making me squirm. “That’s why your cunt is weeping for me?”

He pulls out suddenly, and I shudder at the loss. Then he brings his fingers to my lips, pressing against them, prying them open.

“Taste yourself,” he orders. His voice is lower now, darker. “Taste how fucking bad you want me.”

A flutter in my stomach. A pang between my legs. My tongue flicks out, licking his fingers clean.

He grips my face, hard, running his thumb against my wet lips. I automatically suck it inside my mouth, swirling my tongue around it. That breathy, wrecked ‘fuck’ that slips past his lips makes me smirk.

And then his other hand cuts the air and lands on my ass with a smack, the sting sending a sharp jolt of heat straight to my core. I’m once again reminded we’re in public, where everyone can see.

I glance around frantically, half-expecting someone to be staring at us, but no one seems to notice. Not yet.

“You’re mine, little bunny,” he growls, fingers digging into my flesh. “Every inch of you. And I’ll break you if I have to, just to make sure you never forget it.”

“I sure won’t forget it when we get arrested,” I snap back, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“Don’t try to be smart with me.”

“Or?”

“Or I’ll discipline you right here, right now,” he mutters, but finally lets me go. He wraps an arm around my waist, guiding me down the sidewalk like he hasn’t just had his fingers inside me, like he hasn’t just made me yearn for him in the middle of the main street.

And then I see it.

Oh fuck.

A sheriff’s car is rolling toward us, slow, almost too slow. Checking us out.

My stomach plummets.

I hope Mark didn’t call the cops after all.

Maybe it was someone else from the diner?

I don’t know why I care so much about Ghost if I could go to jail for public sex because of that idiot.

The car stops parallel to us, and the sheriff rolls down the window. “Everything okay here?”

I feel Ghost’s arm tighten around me, the shift in his stance almost imperceptible. Then he pulls up his mask.

“All good, sir,” he says smoothly.

I can’t see his face because I’m behind him, but the sheriff’s eyes widen slightly. A flicker of something passes over his face, and then, just like that, he nods and drives off.

I exhale sharply, my pulse still racing. “Um, what was that?” I’m too flustered to process what the hell just happened.

Ghost turns to me, his mask back in place, unreadable. “What?” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “You just dodged a night in jail. You’re welcome.”

I snort. “And whose fault would that be, huh?”

But I can’t think straight.

Because my legs are still shaking. Because I can still feel his fingers between my thighs, his breath on my skin. Because I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing to me.

And worse…

I want more.

7. Ghost

That morning of New Year’s Day, though a bit awkward, was pivotal for our relationship.

I haven’t really slept much. I sat at the edge of the bed, mask back on, watching her stirring beside me. Her hair was a pink mess all over the pillows, a bit of drool slipping past her parted lips, the scent of her perfume and arousal still hung in the air.

Finally, her fingers clutched at the sheets as she blinked up at me, her face contorting into something between confusion and horror. Not the worst reaction I’d ever gotten from a girl waking up next to me.

“Oh, fuck me,” she croaked, rubbing her temples as her sluggish brain fought to piece things together.

I tilted my head. “Good morning to you, too.”

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut like she could rewind time if she just wished hard enough. Cute.

“I’m so sorry.”

I tsked. “For what?”

“For…” She waved a hand in the air, searching for the words. “Last night. Ugh, I can’t remember much. If I was, uh—”

“Too handsy?” I supplied.

She winced, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over her. “Yeah.”

I chuckled, a deep, amused rumble that had her glancing up at me through her lashes. “Bunny, if I had a problem with you throwing yourself at me, I wouldn’t have spent the last year trying to get your attention.”

I let that sink in.

I could see the way her cheeks heated, the way her fingers fidgeted with the sheets, the way her breath hitched just a little.

I liked her like this. Soft. Hesitant. Shy.

And utterly mine.

“We made out just a little, and then you fell asleep. No big deal.”

“I didn’t do anything too embarrassing, did I?” she asked coyly, biting her bottom lip.

Well, you also confessed your feelings for me…

“Embarrassing how?”

“Um, I dunno… like talking in my sleep or something?”

“No.” I considered letting her go easily, but I enjoyed seeing her squirm too much. “You only humped my thigh.”

“Oh, God!” she whined, covering her face with a pillow. “I was feral, wasn’t I?” she muttered from under it.

“A little rabid. I liked it.”

She groaned louder, kicking her foot under the covers like that could shut me up. “Don’t make it worse.”

I laid on my side next to her, propping myself on my elbow as my fingers ghosted across her hip. “You’re not going to ask?” I teased, knowing damn well she could feel how naked she was under her dress.

She peeked at me from under the pillow. “What happened to my underwear?”

“You asked me to take it off,” I responded, to which she whimpered and hid her face again. I laughed, ripping it from her hands. “But don’t worry, we didn’t—”

“I know,” she cut in quickly. “I trust you.”

You really shouldn’t, I thought to myself.

“I enjoyed myself very much, though.” I leaned over her, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I loved the way you kissed me… the way your body felt against mine… Next time, I’ll make sure you don’t forget a single second. That’s a promise.”

Her skin flushed, her chest heaving, her eyes unfocused. “Can I take a shower? I feel gross,” she mumbled, as if she were looking for an escape.

She was still running away from her feelings… not realizing that I already had her in my web.

I nodded, standing up. “Of course. I’ll find you something to wear.”

She gave me a sleepy, grateful smile, then padded toward the bathroom, slipping from her dress on her way.

I watched.

Obviously, I fucking watched.

She wanted me to.

But the door clicked shut behind her too fast, and the sound of running water filled the room.

Such a naughty little girl.

I balled my fists. She had no idea how fucking hard it was to hold myself back and not follow her there.

I had tasted what it would be like to have her. To feel her heat pressed against me, her hands desperate and needy, her lips parted as she moaned my name… And it was better than what I’d imagined. How could I resist her now?

I exhaled sharply, forcing my thoughts into something more neutral. More controlled.

It wasn’t the right time.

But soon.

To distract myself, I ordered room service so she could have something greasy to eat to ease the hangover. It arrived just in time when she shut off the water.

When she finally emerged, steam trailing in her wake, her pink hair damp and her skin flushed from the heat, she wore a hotel robe. She smelled like luxury body wash and mint toothpaste. Completely unaware that she was standing in front of someone who had no fucking business being in her life.

And yet, here I was.

I had to clench my jaw to keep from grabbing her right then and there.

She tied the robe tighter around her waist, looking at me shyly. “I feel human again.”

“Doubtful.” Before she could say something stupid—like try to deny it—I stood up and stretched, rolling my shoulders. “Now, breakfast. Eat.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, I can’t.”

“Wrong answer.”

She groaned. “Ghost, no.”

“Ghost, yes.” I nudged the cart toward her, my voice dropping. “Come on, I’m not gonna let you starve your cute little ass after drowning yourself in tequila.”

Her fingers toyed with the hem of the robe, and for a second, I thought she might actually argue with me. Instead, she sighed and grabbed a plate.

Good girl.

By the time she finished, she sat cross-legged on the bed, looking less like a corpse and more like my Bunny again. She seemed comfortable—so comfortable that she forgot all about her phone until mine pinged with a notification.

“Nate is asking if you’re alive,” I told her after I checked the message.

“Gosh! Have you seen my—”

Before she finished, I pointed toward the nightstand where her purse was.

She immediately went to fish out her phone. “It’s dead. Do you have a—”

I nodded toward the opposite side where my charger was.

“Thank you.” As she waited for her phone to charge, her eyes never left mine. Finally, she asked, her voice quiet, “So… why the mask? I mean, it must have been off when we made out.”

I stared at her for a second. “I don’t know…” I said, my tone deliberately light, almost lazy. “I wasn’t sure how you were gonna react. Figured you wouldn’t remember a thing anyway.”

“I wish I did,” she muttered, more to herself. “You’re not gonna let me see you?” Her eyes flicked up. Curious. Hopeful. Maybe even a little hurt.

Her phone rang before I could respond.

Fucking timing.

She jumped, startled, then glanced at the screen. “Sorry. It’s Kendra—I better take this.”

I just nodded, and she picked up. I could hear her best friend freaking out through the speaker after Nate’s panic blast. Bunny’s voice dropped lower as she mentioned my name, and I could hear even more squeals on the other end of the line, which made her blush in embarrassment.

I chuckled.

“Um, it’s getting late,” she said once she hung up. “I should go. I’ve got a plane to catch in a few hours.”

The thought of her leaving made something cold ripple through me. But I grabbed a pair of fresh boxer briefs and one of my softest black t-shirts—oversized, worn thin, something she’d drown in—and tossed them her way. “Put these on. I’ll get you an Uber. Where are you staying?”

She caught them with a sheepish smile. “Thanks…” Then she gave me her hotel address, and I ordered her a ride.

Once she was dressed, she lingered near the door, fingers fidgeting, shoulders hunched like she was waiting for a reason to stay. She glanced back at me, as though she was hoping I would stop her.

I stepped forward and pulled her into a hug—one hand on her lower back, the other cradling her nape.

Close. Tight. Intimate.

She melted into it, her forehead resting against my chest.

“You’re welcome to stay, you know,” I murmured against her hair. “We can make a day out of it. I’ll extend the room, and I’m sure we can switch your flight for tomorrow.”

I felt the hesitation in her body before I even saw it in her face. She didn’t want to leave.

But she would.

Because she wasn’t ready to admit it yet. Not to herself. Not to me.

“We’ll… stay in touch?” she asked, voice small but hopeful.

“We better.”

She smiled then. Bright and open and all mine.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

She didn’t know it yet, but she’d already sealed her fate.

And we did stay in touch—obviously. I wouldn’t let her slip away. It started with a ‘Did you make it home safe?’ and spiraled from there…

In the weeks that followed, we’d talked nonstop.

Texts throughout the day and calls in the evening. It was easy. Effortless. We were friends for so long that we didn’t need any awkward questions like what our favorite color was. I knew her interests, her schedule, her habits.

Sexting happened organically. She excelled at that. She was way more forward behind the screen, and she loved to drive me to the edge of my sanity. The first time she sent me a photo, I stared at it for ten straight minutes before I could breathe again—because this one was meant for me and my eyes only.

My phone quickly got filled with half-naked selfies of her. And it was also fun getting to know each other from this side. I learned what she liked in bed before I even had her there. She was much more vanilla than one would think—or at least that’s what she believed. I could read right through her coyness. I knew she could be a total freak with the right partner. She needed a firm hand. Although I might have scared her a little with my kinks. I didn’t push—not yet. But she asked questions. Curious, innocent questions that told me exactly where her boundaries would bend.

Fuck, how much I wanted her.

It was fast. Intense. All-consuming.

And I was completely enamored of her.

Long-distance was a fucking pain in the ass, but I made it work. For her. She wanted this, I knew she did. I had her attention, her voice, her body in pixels—but I didn’t have her. Not in the way I needed.

Then, one night, we took it even further…

8. Ghost

Bunny’s text came through just past midnight, East Coast time, like it always did. I was already staring at my phone, waiting, while taking a break from streaming.

“Wearing your shirt and those stockings you like…”

Fuck.

I hadn’t expected that.

My fingers tightened around the phone, heat licking up my spine as my brain short-circuited with a hundred images at once. Her small body draped in my shirt, her thighs wrapped in those soft cotton stockings, probably biting her lip and squirming while she typed. The thought of her so far away—alone, wet, teasing me—made something primal unravel in my chest.

I didn’t even bother typing back. I put on my mask and hit FaceTime before I could think twice. I needed her face. I needed her voice. I needed to know she was mine tonight—even if it was only through the screen.

She picked up immediately. Her voice came through soft, breathy. “Hey, you!” She giggled at my enthusiasm.

The screen lit up with her beautiful face. The bedroom was dimly lit with pink LED lights framing the ceiling, snow falling slowly behind the window. She was curled up in her bed, her long hair spilled over one shoulder, slightly messy but still looking like silk. Her lips were parted and swollen, eyes flickering to mine like she couldn’t decide whether to be shy or seductive.

Dangerous combination.

“You said you’re wearing my shirt,” I murmured, my voice dropping automatically into that slow, commanding register that always made her breath hitch. “Show me.”

She smiled, cheeks pink as she angled the camera down.

My shirt hung on her like a damn dress, worn down cotton falling to mid-thigh. But it was the way she moved—legs shifting just enough to give me a peek at the curve of her ass, the lace of her panties barely visible beneath the hem—that sent blood surging straight to my cock.

And those stockings. White with pink stripes, pure softness hugging her skin, ending on her upper thighs where her bow tattoos were. They made her look even more breakable. Like she needed to be held down and devoured.

“I like sleeping in it,” she said quietly. “Still smells like you. I don’t wanna wash it.”

God.

My cock throbbed against my sweats. I adjusted the camera so she could see me leaning back in my gaming chair—shirtless, inked chest rising and falling with each slow breath, muscles flexing as I propped the phone on my knee. The white mask covered my face, smooth and unreadable, the black balaclava framing the bottom half and falling over my neck. She couldn’t see the hunger in my expression—but she didn’t need to.

“Do you like the view?” she asked with a coy smile.

“Like it?” I laughed without humor. “You wanna know what that does to me, baby?” I tilted the camera lower, giving her the full display.

Her breath caught as the screen filled with the outline of my cock straining beneath my grey sweats.

“That’s how much I like them. You’re all the way across the country, and still you have me hard in seconds.”

“Ghost…” she whispered, voice shaky. Her thighs pressed together as she squirmed, loving the sound of that.

“Uh-uh.” I smiled under the mask. “Don’t hide from me.”

She hesitated, playful and shy all at once. And she was driving me fucking crazy. “It’s not fair. You keep hiding from me.” She gave me that look—the one that made my chest clench and my cock ache—and whispered, “Can I see your face tonight?”

My smile widened behind the mask. God, she always asked. Like a fucking prayer.

“You like not knowing.”

Her lashes fluttered. “But I wonder… all the time.”

I leaned into the camera, dragging one inked hand over my throat and chest, down the cut of my abs. “And wondering gets you wet, doesn’t it, baby? Not knowing what I look like, but still giving me everything I ask for. That turns you on, doesn’t it?”

She bit her lip, and I saw it—the subtle tension in her body. The heat flickering in her gaze. Another clench of her thighs.

“Yeah,” she admitted, voice barely there.

“Good.” I leaned back again. “Now, take off my shirt. Slowly. Let me see what’s mine.”

She shifted the camera. I watched her settle back against her tower of pillows by the headboard, then she peeled the t-shirt up, inch by inch. No bra. Her breasts bounced free, soft and perfect, nipples already hard, flushed pink, and begging for attention.

“Fuck, Bunny,” I groaned. “Mmmm, you’re so sensitive tonight.”

“I was thinking about you all day.”

“Oh yeah?” I palmed myself through the fabric, dragging my hand slowly up the length of my cock so she could see what she was doing to me.

She let out a tiny noise—half-gasp, half-whimper—and her dainty fingers moved delicately over her breasts, cupping and lifting them before tracing her thumbs over the nipples.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. If I were there, I’d have your back arching under my mouth. I’d mark every inch of those tits so that your skin would hum for days. I’d suck your nipples until they were swollen and sore and perfect. Until you begged me to stop. But I wouldn’t. I’d just keep going.”

She let out a breathy laugh, eyes closing as she pinched one taut peak and rolled it between her fingers. Then she repeated it with the other one, and a soft moan spilled out from her parted lips. My cock jumped up at the sound and I had to squeeze harder. Her thighs were slowly spreading now, and my gaze dipped.

There it was. That sweet little wet spot in the center of her panties.

“Oh, Princess, does that feel so good?” I asked in a raspy voice, barely controlling myself. “I see you soaking through your panties, baby.”

She whimpered again, looking down at herself. “I can’t help it. You make me—”

“I want you wet,” I cut in, voice sharp and dark. “I need you like this. You’re perfect. Perfect for me.”

Her hand drifted down, slowly skimming her flat stomach, caressing the soft, fair skin just above her waistband.

I barked, “No. Ask me first.”

She looked up at the screen, flushed and desperate. “Please, Daddy… can I touch myself?”

My balls draw up and my cock throbbed. “Good girl,” I praised. “Pull those panties to the side. I want to see you.”

She whimpered, legs trembling, breath growing shaky. Then she hooked her thumb beneath the fabric and shifted them just enough to reveal her puffy lips. And fuck, I almost came just from the sight. So pink and glistening, parted delicately with her fingers, her juices catching the light.

“Fuck, baby… that’s a damn fine pussy,” I growled, eyes locked on the screen. “That’s mine. That sweet little cunt belongs to me.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“God, I could eat you all night long. I’d spread your legs open, bury my face in your pussy, and tongue you until you forgot how to breathe.”

“Ghost,” she moaned, her fingers trembling against the wet slit of her pussy.

“You’re gonna touch yourself for me now. Just like I say. Rub that clit. Slow circles. Just your fingertips. No rushing.”

She followed my words, her fingers moving in smooth, deliberate motions. The wet sounds were enough to drive me fucking mad.

“Look at you,” I murmured. “So fucking pretty when you obey.”

She moaned louder, her breath turning ragged. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I shoved my sweats down in one rough motion, and my cock sprang free—hard, flushed, veins thick, the glint of silver from each barbell down my underside catching the light. At the tip, a hoop ring curved through the flesh.

She gasped loudly, freezing. “Oh my God! You’re so big. And pierced…” she sounded in awe. “It’s so hot…”

“Yeah? You like Daddy’s cock, little bunny?”

She giggled, half-nervous, half-excited.

“Look at how hard I am. That’s all you. You own this.”

Her legs squirmed on the bed, mouth gaping open, chest heaving.

“And guess what I’ve got?” I reached beside me, grabbing the folded scrap of fabric. Her panties—pink, lacy, still holding her faint scent. “They smell like you, too.” I brought them under the mask, inhaling the intoxicating aroma deeply like I needed it to live. My groan was deep and unfiltered. “So sweet and fucking addictive. I jerk off to them every night thinking about your pussy.”

“Show me,” she whispered, teasing her pussy again.

“You wanna watch me stroke myself with them?”

She nodded, blushing.

I started slow but steady, wrapping the lace around my shaft. Each stroke dragged the delicate material along the pulsing length of my cock. Then, with a quiet hiss, I drew the silken crotch panel over the swollen, sensitive head—precum already beading at the tip, soaking straight into the fabric, mixing with her heady scent.

Her eyes locked on my hand, working her clit faster, legs spread wider, her arousal dripping.

“Slide two fingers in,” I directed. “Nice and deep. I want you to fuck yourself like I’d fuck you.”

She gasped, pushing in, her face tilting up as her eyes fluttered shut. I watched her stretch her pussy, the way her mouth opened on a silent cry, the camera catching every trembling movement. My cock throbbed in my fist, more precum spilling over my knuckles.

“You feel that stretch?” I couldn’t stop talking. “That’s me. Filling you. Splitting you open. Imagine my cock—thick, heavy, every barbell dragging against your walls.”

She was panting now, squishy wet sounds echoed through the speaker.

“You hear that, baby?” I groaned. “Those wet little noises? Fuck, they’re driving me insane.”

Goddamnit, she was close.

I could see it—her eyes unfocused, her movements frantic now, desperate for release. My strokes matched her rhythm as I imagined thrusting deep inside the wet heat of her tight cunt, clenching around me, squeezing hard.

“Rub your clit again,” I growled through the clenched jaw. “Harder now. That’s it. I want you messy. Loud. Let the neighbors hear.”

She did as told. Her hips gyrating against her fingers.

“I—I’m gonna cum,” she gasped. “Daddy, I’m—please—”

“Let me see your face. I wanna watch you fall apart for me.”

She lifted the camera with trembling hands and angled it to her flushed face, eyes heavy-lidded and mouth open, chest rising fast.

“Say my name,” I said, on the edge of my own peak.

“Ghost,” she cried out as her orgasm hit.

Her face was a picture of raw, perfect pleasure, fingers soaked and trembling, entire body quaking under the weight of it. She looked divine—ruined, glowing, wrecked for me. And that’s what finally broke me.

I exploded seconds after. Hot, pulsing streaks spurted over my abs, across the panties, leaking down my hand. I growled her name, nearly snarling, completely lost in her.

We both sat in silence after, collecting ourselves. I watched her watching me, pupils blown, lips curling into a dazed, blissful smile.

“I wish you were here,” she whispered.

“I know, baby,” I murmured, voice thick. “But… I can be there soon.”

The silence stretched.

Her smile faded just slightly. Her eyes flicked away. Her body shifted, like she was retreating into herself.

“Um… we can talk about that later,” she said, soft but not quite the same. “I’m sleepy.”

I blinked, heart still pounding, a strange tension curling in my stomach. Doubt slowly started creeping in.

“Alright, baby,” I said. “Sleep tight.”

“Night…”

She ended the call, and I was left staring at the black screen.

Still holding her panties. Still aching for her. But suddenly uneasy…

There was something she didn’t know yet.

I already booked the ticket.

I planned the perfect Valentine’s weekend for us. I’d fly out to her. No mask, no games. We’d have dinner. See the Broadway play. Maybe finally take things where she clearly wanted them to go. Make her mine.

Over the next days, she seemed to have warmed up to the idea of me coming to NYC.

When the day finally came, I was buzzing with excitement as I arrived at the airport.

My flight was boarding in thirty minutes.

And then, she sent me a text.

“Hey. I’ve been thinking. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come after all. I’m so sorry.”

I stopped dead.

My heart palpitated as I stared at the text, my fingers tightening around my phone.

No.

This wasn’t real.

I called her. She didn’t pick up.

I called again. Nothing.

I texted. Over and over and over.

“Bunny.”

“What the fuck?”

“Answer me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“Pick. Up. The. Fucking. Phone.”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t even read them.

Something inside me snapped.

She played me.

This wasn’t some flirty game anymore. This was betrayal.

I had been so fucking patient. Months of planting seeds, of waiting, of holding back. The restraint it took not to rip her away from that piece of shit boyfriend of hers, not to take what I wanted from the moment I saw her on that fucking terrace in New York.

And this is what I got?

This is how she repaid me?

I didn’t feel much but this fucking hurt.

My vision tunneled, my breath slowing to something too steady, too calculated.

She thought she could cut me off. Like I was disposable.

Like I hadn’t been building her. Shaping her. Molding her into something that belonged to me.

I clenched my jaw, flexing my fingers at my sides.

She made a fucking fool out of me.

But I remembered who the fuck I was.

Then I took a breath and boarded the flight anyway.

I wasn’t going to let my Bunny run away.

Not now.

Not ever.

She was going to pay for this.

And I was going to enjoy every second of it.

9. Bunny

We meet the others in the parking lot by the only supermarket in town and squeeze our asses into the rental car.

Dev’s behind the wheel with Kendra, Ghost, and me crammed in the backseat. His legs take up all the space—of course, the giant had to sit next to me and let Nate ride shotgun.

“So, what do you guys have?” I ask, mostly to distract myself from the fact that I’m pressed up against him. His cologne wraps around me in the tight space, warm and sharp, making my skin tingle. I can still feel the ghost of his fingers teasing me just minutes ago.

Nate perks up immediately, geeking out. “Moon-eyed people, Devil’s Tramping Ground, Ancient Aliens, the Wampus Cat—”

“All the classics,” Dev mutters with a grin, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Even your favorite Bigfoot!”

I flip him the finger. “Eyes on the road.” There’s nothing funny about what happened in Alaska. Sasquatch may be a stretch, but it was something supernatural—no doubt about it.

“And you two?” Kendra turns her head toward us.

I peer up at Ghost before answering in a lowered voice, “Wendigo and Skinwalkers.”

Dev nearly swerves. “What? No way!” He checks the rearview like we’ve lost our minds, his smile completely erased now.

“That creep isn’t a reliable source. We’re not using that,” Ghost snaps, ignoring everyone else’s confusion. He doesn’t even look at me when he says it, which somehow makes it worse. “End of discussion,” he finishes flat.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from talking back. Mark seemed pretty normal to me. I don’t get what his issue is. But I have to agree—we’re not touching any of that.

“Well, fyi, we grabbed some frozen pizzas for dinner since, apparently, they don’t deliver where we’re staying,” Kendra jumps in, trying to lighten the mood. “And also, a couple of bottles of vodka.”

“Perfect! Just what I need.” Honestly? Alcohol sounds incredible right now.

“You can’t handle your liquor,” Ghost comments, skeptical.

I arch a brow at him. “Excuse me, Dad. I don’t remember asking for your permission,” I shoot back, because one thing I can’t handle is his brooding.

Dev cracks up from the front seat. “Damn, Bun! That was cold.”

I flash him a mock salute. Ghost says nothing. Typical.

But the rest of the drive falls into awkward silence.

When we finally pull up to the Airbnb, I step out a little too fast and stretch like I’ve just escaped a coffin. Kendra sidles up to me the second we’re inside.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?” she hisses, dragging me toward the hallway like it’s an emergency.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I act oblivious.

“You and Ghost. You could cut the tension in that car.”

I shrug, then remind myself she’s been flirting with him the entire time we’re here. “Why have you been acting weird around him?” I give her a death stare.

She snorts. “Seriously? So you’d get pissy and jealous and finally realize you still have feelings for him. Duh.”

I blink. “Huh?”

“You two are perfect for each other,” she says with a smirk. “Go for it.”

“But it didn’t work then.”

Kendra crosses her arms. “Right. That’s why you cried for two whole months after you two stopped talking?”

I open my mouth. Close it again.

She just raises her brows in victory.

Thankfully, Nate’s voice echoes down the hall, calling us into the living room so I can dance away from this conversation.

We follow the sound, and soon everyone’s sprawled across mismatched couches and floor cushions, half a bottle of vodka already cracked open. Kendra puts on music—some indie playlist she insists is perfect for “paranormal vibes”—and Dev starts charging the cameras for tonight. Whether we catch anything real or fake some activity for views, the plan’s the same: stir shit up, and hope for a flicker of something creepy.

I settle into the corner of my seat, drink in hand, trying not to feel Ghost’s eyes on me. But he watches. He always watches. Especially as I down my drink faster than I should. The burn goes down smooth now that the buzz is settling in. He doesn’t say anything—just gives a single nod and stands, disappearing out onto the wide, open-air porch that wraps halfway around the house.

Kendra clinks her glass against mine. “Cheers, bitch,” she grins, and I knock the rest of my drink back like a dare. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”

I roll my eyes, then follow him outside, the old wooden planks creaking beneath my feet.

The porch is quiet, steeped in the golden light, like the calm before something breaks. Only the cicadas are singing in the distance. The air clings, humid and thick, and the sun is just starting to dip low. We’re right on the edge of the woods, no neighbors in sight, nothing but dense trees and the fading heat of early summer. It’s actually kinda gorgeous out here.

Ghost leans against the railing, his back toward me, hands gripping the wood like he’s trying to ground himself—the white paint flaking off in brittle chips beneath his fingers.

For a moment, I just watch him. My skin prickles. There’s something eerie about the quiet… about him. I don’t know whether I want to step closer or bolt.

He turns around, broad shoulders tense, arms crossed over his chest. I can’t see his face through the mask, but I don’t have to.

He’s fucking livid.

“So,” he starts, deceptively calm. But his voice is rough, raw, already on the edge of something violent. “What happened on Valentine’s?”

I bite my lip, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I don’t want to look at him. His presence presses against me like a storm about to break.

“I—” I choke up. “It got so serious so fast and I just… I wasn’t ready.”

Silence.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” His words are sharp enough to cut. “We’d been talking for over a year, Bunny. Don’t act dumb with me. You knew damn well we were never just friends.”

“I was in a relationship, Ghost. It’s not my fault you made it out to be more than it was in your head.”

“Be fucking for real.” His voice turns to ice.

I sigh. “Do we have to do this now? We’re out here with our friends. For work.”

“Yes, right now is the time.”

I swallow hard. “I thought we were just… you know… fooling around.”

Something snaps.

Ghost moves so fast I don’t register it until I’m pinned—his hands braced on either side of me, caging me against the porch railing. The wood digs into my back, but it’s nothing compared to the heat coming off him.

“Fooling around?” he echoes, voice low and dangerous.

I force myself to meet his gaze, but all I see is the reflection of the setting sun in his mask.

“Do I look like I’ve got time for that shit?” he growls. “For fuck’s sake, I’ll be thirty-one this fall. I wouldn’t waste a second on some chick across the country if I wanted to fool around.”

Guilt twists in my stomach. My breath catches. “But you knew I just got out of something serious,” I say quickly, trying to stop the spiral. “And toxic. I was in a vulnerable mind space, and seeing you at the New Year’s party was—”

“A great distraction,” he finishes with no emotion.

My heart drops. “Ghost, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t you?” His head tilts, like he’s weighing whether I’m even worth forgiving.

“I enjoyed talking to you. Very much. It was all real to me. But it was too much, too soon. When you asked me to come for the weekend, I said yes, but the more I thought about it… the less sure I was. I mean, we’re just wired differently. Look at you and look at me. It’s pretty comical.” I point between us. “And the whole distance thing… how would that even work long-term?”

I expect him to back off. To understand.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he lets out a slow, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, so that’s the problem?” His voice is more casual, but the venom is still there. “Well, I never fucking asked you to give up your super fancy influencer lifestyle to come live with me in the goddamn desert, did I?”

I flinch. “No, I know. But the long distance is a real issue.”

Silence stretches between us—thick, suffocating.

“Have you considered,” he says slowly, “that I’d be willing to move for you?”

I blink. That… that I hadn’t. He loves Arizona.

“Don’t you hate being around people, though?” I murmur. “And where would you even ride your bike in New York?”

Ghost exhales sharply, his patience wearing thin. “Now you’re just looking for excuses, baby.”

Before I can argue, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me into his lap as he drops into a wicker chair. I gasp, my hands flying to his chest, but he doesn’t let go. His arms lock tight around me, trapping me sideways.

“What was the real reason?” he murmurs, fingers trailing up my spine, slow and deliberate.

I swallow, avoiding his gaze as I nervously twirl my hair around my finger. “I already told you.”

“I want the truth.” His voice drops lower, rougher.

“You’re very intense and intimidating. And you’re kinda mean, too.”

“Mean?” Ghost sounds surprised, like he genuinely doesn’t realize he can be a total dick sometimes. Or most of the time.

“Well, not to me,” I add quickly. “But yeah, the way you treated Mark? Way out of line.”

“Oh fuck, you’re still not over that dude?” he scoffs, throwing his hands up.

“Ugh, see what I mean?” I huff. “We don’t even like each other. I annoy you. You aggravate me.”

“But imagine the sex, though.”

I glare. “Ghost, too many red flags came up. What you did to Aiden on Halloween—”

“Your ex? Really?” he cuts in, voice rising.

“It was terrifying! You could’ve dropped him by accident. You do realize that, right?”

He shrugs. “Funny, because we started talking after that.” He leans in before adding, “Maybe I should’ve… would that turn you on?”

Whoa, crazy alert.

“And you’ve become so controlling,” I push on, not letting him derail it. “About where I go, who I’m with, what I wear, what I post.”

“Oh, I’m sorry that me caring about you is such a fucking trigger for you,” he spits back. “You have no control over your drinking and NYC’s party scene is dangerous as fuck. Also, you hanging out with a guy who’s hopelessly in love with you every single day is not exactly fair to me. Or him, for that matter.”

“Nate is not!” I chime in instantly, defensive.

He ignores me. “Please! He’s your little puppy and has been panting after you for years. You can’t be this naïve.” Guilty, I guess. “And yeah, I don’t want my girlfriend posting thirst traps for online creeps. Sue me!”

Girlfriend?

“This is my job,” I remind him. “And it’s literally the same old argument I was having with Aiden.”

“Oh, my fucking God! How many times are you gonna bring him up?” He tenses up and his knee bounces nervously, making my whole body shake. “You can post different content.”

“That’s what people want.”

“So what? If it’s about money, I’ll take care of you.” He doesn’t even pause before throwing the next jab. “You don’t need to entertain so-called bikers who buy a motorcycle just to dance next to it for likes. Some don’t even own a bike—just a helmet.”

“God, you’re so pretentious,” I groan.

“No, I just speak the truth out loud.”

“So… pretentious, then?”

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll take that over being fake.”

“That’s rich, coming from a masked YouTuber. Do you not see the hypocrisy? You post riding vlogs, too.” Which I watch like my favorite show…

“Of me actually riding, thank you very much,” he barks back. “Also, I wore a mask before it became a trend. It’s to protect my identity. And it was supposed to be scary. Not my fault that everyone started to sexualize it.”

“And the voice?” I raise an eyebrow.

“It’s just my fucking voice.”

“Your fanbase is vile,” I say quickly, giving him another reason.

He seems caught off guard. “What?”

“Yes, they are obsessed with you. I literally got death threats over you. It’s hard as it is for me being an egirl and sharing parts of my life online. People will say the most unhinged things in the comments. And it got progressively worse after they clocked that we were friends. I’m a TikToker, a trend, just a pretty face with a nice body. You’re like a celebrity. I could never be good enough for you in their eyes.”

“Why haven’t you said anything? I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks,” he purrs, cradling me closer. “You’re all I want, Bunny. You always were. Always will be.”

I pretend I didn’t hear that. I can’t afford to. “Ghost, I want big love like from old movies. You… you don’t do romance. And even if you wanted to try for me, you’re too paranoid to take off your mask. You barely go out. Imagine us on a date. Because I can’t see that happening.”

He doesn’t argue. For a second, I feel like I’ve won.

Oh, silly me!

“And you were ready to throw all of it away like I meant nothing to you? Simply give up without even trying to make it work? And for what? To see what else is out there?”

“What? No!” I protest, stiffening. “I just freaked out! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Wow. So that’s why you left me fucking stranded at the airport trying to reach you? Because you didn’t want to hurt me?”

I’m not good at confrontations. There’s so much hostility in him that my eyes fill with tears.

“I texted you not to come before you boarded,” I mumble under my breath, as if that made it any better.

His hand tightens on my thigh, just where my stocking ends and bare skin peeks from under the skirt of my dress. “And you really thought I wouldn’t fly there anyway?”

“Well… I hoped you’d have saved yourself the trip.”

“In hindsight, maybe I should have. But I never imagined you’d block my number and have Nate, of all people, confronting me about how you didn’t want to see me.”

“Come on. I felt horrible. The last thing I needed was you showing up at my doorstep.”

“Right,” he says, voice thick with sarcasm. “Because me, proving to you what a mistake you were making, would have been horrendous.” His hand slides across my leg, fingers grazing the bare skin between the lace of my thigh-high stockings.

I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off. “What was the reason, Bunny?” His voice is steady. Unyielding. And I know he’s not going to drop it.

I shift in his lap, my pulse pounding in my eardrums, my head a mush. “You know how we were… um, sexting?”

“Yes.” It’s impossible to read anything from his tone—no amusement, no irritation, just stillness.

“And—” I hesitate, heat creeping up my neck. “Oh, this is so embarrassing…”

“Speak up.”

My breath hitches, and my lower abdomen clenches at the authority in his voice. His command sends a jolt through me, sharp and electric, leaving a tingle behind. I force myself to look at him, though my heart slams against my ribs like a trapped bird.

“I might have… given you the impression that I’m more adventurous. Or… more experienced than I actually am.”

Silence. The tension in the air is razor-sharp, causing me to squirm.

“Okay,” he finally says. Not the slightest hint of surprise to be heard. “And?”

Take a hint, bro!

“And some of the things we talked about are way out of my comfort zone.”

He hums. “But you enjoyed talking about them,” he counters smoothly, his fingers flexing against my flesh.

I chew my lip. “True, but it’s different via text. And I guess I panicked when you were supposed to fly to me and possibly… do all these things to me.”

One second, I can breathe—the next, his hand is wrapped around my neck firmly like a collar. A gasp gets caught in my throat. His grip isn’t suffocating, but it’s enough to make me hyperaware of his strength, his control.

“You think having me chase you is fun?” His voice is a gravelly rasp, rougher than usual, each word dragging like sandpaper over my skin.

A whimper escapes me before I can stop it. I wiggle on his lap, trying to get free, but it only makes his grip tighten. My hands circle his wrist, but I don’t push him away.

I don’t want him to stop.

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s studying me. “You have no idea the things I want to do to you now for being such a naughty little tease.” His fingers press against my pulse, feeling it race beneath my skin. His other hand slides lower on my thigh, his touch grazing the hem of my skirt.

The heat between my thighs throbs, and I shift on his lap, desperate for some kind of relief.

Big mistake.

Ghost’s grip tightens on my throat just enough to make me dizzy. “You’re not as innocent, Bunny.” His voice drips with dark amusement, but it’s edged with something deeper. Darker. “Tatts, piercings… you like a little pain, don’t you?”

I shake my head—or try to—but his hold keeps me still. “That’s not the same,” I protest breathlessly. “Besides,” I force out, “I even chickened out when I went to get my nipples pierced and then… it never happened.”

He finally releases my throat, dragging his palm down my collarbone, over my rose tattoo, then lower, lower still—until he’s tracing slow, deliberate circles around my nipple through the thin fabric of my dress.

“I like that they aren’t pierced,” he muses, his fingers rolling the hardened peak between them. “You’d look hot as fuck, don’t get me wrong,” he casually continues, like he’s not currently unraveling me, “but piercing gets in the way.”

I swallow hard. “In the way of what?”

His fingers tighten, pinching just hard enough to make my head fall back. “Nipple clamps, for example.”

A strangled noise gets caught in my throat as I press my thighs together, quivering. “See? This is what I’m talking about.” My voice is weak, needy, and it only makes him chuckle darkly.

Ghost’s grip on my leg turns possessive, his long fingers curling right against the gap between my thighs, forcing them apart.

“So if I reach down,” he murmurs, voice like a devilish promise, “I won’t find you wet?”

“No,” I whisper.

He chuckles. “Liar.” I feel his mask brush against my ear, and I shudder. “You want me,” he murmurs, his voice deep enough to touch my soul. His fingers shifting lower. He doesn’t touch me—not quite. Just hovers. Teases. “You need me. You’re just too fucking stubborn to admit it.”

I turn my face toward him, frustration burning through me. My fingers curl around the edge of his balaclava, pulling it up over his inked neck, just enough to reveal the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. An adorable dimple in his chin. His full lips curved into that goddamn smirk. The tip of his straight nose.

He’s gorgeous. Of course he is.

I hate him.

“Bad little bunny.” He grins, and even his teeth are perfect. “Can’t help yourself, can you?”

And that’s all I get.

“Now, now,” he mocks. “Don’t make me tie you up.” Then he grabs both my wrists in one of his large hands and yanks them behind my back. I gasp as he pins them there, his grip unshakable, his hold effortlessly dominant.

“Uh, how can you talk about being serious when you won’t even show me your face?” I accuse, grasping at any line of defense I can.

“You’ve seen my face on New Year’s Eve.”

“I don’t… remember.”

“Which brings us back to my point of you drinking too much.”

This fucking jerk.

“You’re insufferable,” I hiss, trying to free myself.

It’s useless.

If anything, it only makes his grip tighten.

“Keep misbehaving, and I’ll have to punish you.”

I squirm on his lap, heat flooding me, every nerve on high alert. His free hand returns to my chest, much bolder now as he tugs at the cleavage of my dress. My breasts spill free, and his hand covers one immediately, fingers toying with my taut nipple, twisting and rolling it until I moan again.

Then, his mouth… oh God, his mouth is on me.

He kisses the side of my neck, soft and wet and possessive, each press of his lips deliberate. I go pliant in his lap, panting, my eyes fluttering closed as he trails those kisses lower—over my collarbone, between the swell of my breasts, until he closes his lips around my other nipple and sucks.

Hard.

I cry out, his pierced tongue flicking fast, his teeth grazing before he bites down. My hips buck as I writhe on him without meaning to, lost in the sensation.

He kisses his way up my neck stopping right at my ear as he whispers, “Can you feel what you’re doing to me, sitting on my cock in that cute little dress?”

I grind down against his lap—and fuck, he’s hard. Thick. I can feel every inch of him through his jeans, pressing up beneath me, demanding attention.

My thighs spread wider, my soaked panties clinging to me with embarrassing need. His hand drops and snakes up under my skirt, his knuckles slowly drag along the ruined lace.

“Mmmm, messy girl,” he purrs, his lips curving in a smile against the hollow behind my ear as he presses the flat of his fingers against my pussy. “You’re fucking dripping.”

I can’t deny it.

His hand yanks my panties to the side with a sharp motion that makes me shudder, then he strokes between my puffy lips, spreading the wetness, owning every inch of me. I grind against his hand, and I swear I can feel every heartbeat in the tips of my nipples, still sensitive from his mouth. His fingers find my clit, circling, pressing, coaxing a needy sound from my throat. My hands are still pinned behind my back, helpless to do anything but feel. I’m completely at his mercy. And I fucking love it.

“Look straight ahead,” he orders suddenly.

I blink, chest rising and falling fast, the pulse between my legs hammering like thunder. “What?”

“Don’t move. Just look.”

So I do.

Through the big bay window of the Airbnb’s living room, soft yellow light spills out onto the porch, and there they are. Our friends. Laughing, talking, drinking, with Ouija board set up in front of them. Casual and unbothered, completely unaware of what’s happening just feet away.

Except if I can see them that clearly…

My blood goes ice-cold and fire-hot all at once.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, knees snapping shut on instinct like a trap.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, voice razor sharp. “Open those fucking legs for me. Now.”

“Ghost—” I start, panic and heat battling in my throat, but he cuts me off.

“I said open them.”

My thighs tremble as I slowly let them fall apart again, inch by inch, baring myself to him—and maybe to anyone else who happens to glance outside.

“That’s more like it,” he rasps, almost condescending, teeth sinking into the curve of my neck. “I felt it earlier today. You like the idea of getting caught, hm?”

His fingers slide right back to my soaked slit like they never left, claiming what’s his. Slow and cruel, they drag slick through my folds, teasing the edges of my engorged clit.

I whimper, trying to stay quiet, but it’s no use—my body’s on fire and he knows exactly how to fan the flames. I can barely breathe. My chest is rising and falling fast, nipples still stiff, thighs slick and open, my whole pussy buzzing from the rush of delicious knowledge that someone inside could see.

“You love to show off your sexy body. Don’t you, baby? To have random guys jerk off to you on the Internet. To know they lust after you but can’ touch.”

He slips a finger inside me, slow and thick, and I gasp so loud I have to bite down on my lip to muffle it. His words punch straight through the haze in my head, cutting deeper than just skin. I do like it—have liked it, secretly, guiltily—for longer than I’ll admit. That tiny thrill every time I posted something risky, every like, every filthy comment.

But that was always behind a screen. This? This is flesh and glass and open windows. Real. Dangerous. And way too close to home.

“Stop…” I beg, but my body tells him a whole other story. “They can see us here.”

“Mmm, yes. And you want them to see how soaked you are for me,” he snarls, adding another one, then pumping them deep against my tightening walls. “You want them to know what a good toy you are, letting Daddy play with your greedy cunt in front of their eyes.”

I should be furious at him, but God help me, I’m not. I want this—I want him. I need him to finish what he started on the sidewalk.

My head falls back on his shoulder, and I let myself feel all the sensations at once. His firm chest pressed up against me, his warm breath on my skin, his throbbing cock between the cheeks of my ass, his fingers curling inside me, his lips brushing mine.

And just as I’m about to reach a peak, he pulls back.

I blink, stunned, my head snapping up.

That’s when I see him.

Nate.

Standing by the kitchen island with a drink in hand, mid-laugh with someone, but his eyes… they are on me. Wide. Frozen. Locked.

He sees everything. Everything.

The blood drains from my face, then surges back in a molten rush of heat. My legs snap shut, and I fix my cleavage with trembling hands.

A low, dark, satisfied sound that rolls through Ghost’s chest like thunder. But I can’t even bring myself to start bitching at him.

Suddenly, I’m hyperaware of every detail—how it’s gone dark outside, pitch black at the edge of the woods. The cicadas stopped singing, but a breeze stirs the porch windchimes and rustles the leaves with a shushing sound. A sharp, loud whistle cuts through the night, just behind us.

Ghost stiffens.

My eyes try to detect the noise. “What was—”

His hand clamps over my mouth, turning my head back to him. “No,” he murmurs, and I freeze. “Don’t acknowledge it.”

Silence.

The rest of the group is glued to the window. Dev holds a camera. Kendra bounces in excitement. Nate stares blankly, still looking at the exact spot where he saw me moments ago.

Then, another whistle echoes through the trees.

10. Bunny

Kendra taps on the glass and tips her chin toward the door. “Time to go back inside,” her muffled voice comes through the window.

Ghost lifts me as he stands, mask already back in place, his arm locked tight around my waist like he’s not ready to let go. I manage a glance over his shoulder, but the woods have turned into an abyss—dark and endless.

Inside, the shift to awkwardness is instant. Ghost keeps me close, his fingers flexing slightly against my hip like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. My soaked panties stick uncomfortably, and the realization hits like a slap—they know.

Nate certainly knows. He’s still blushing, staying quiet and desperately avoiding eye contact.

I want a shower and maybe an exorcism.

But Dev and Kendra are all hyped up.

“Alright, listen up!” she claps her hands together. “Local lore says once night falls in these mountains, you shut every window, pull the blinds, and whatever the hell you hear outside? You ignore it and let it pass.”

I raise an eyebrow and glance at Ghost. “That’s exactly what Mark said earlier.”

“Yeah,” Ghost mutters, “and every Reddit thread about this place. Don’t get a boner.”

“Funny coming from you,” I retort, unable to help myself. His dick is still outlined it his pants like it has something to say.

Dev zooms in his camera on us like he’s filming a reality show meltdown. “Both of you—focus. We’re here to document weird shit, not fuck in the woods like horny teens.”

Ghost shrugs. “Trying to multitask, man.”

And who would’ve thought that weird shit from the woods would be a cockblock?

I almost say it out loud, because it’s just too perfect of a sick burn, but Kendra stops her feet, killing the momentum.

“Hello? I’m serious,” she whines, already stalking to the nearest window. With a sharp snap, she yanks the blinds shut. “We’re not messing around. Don’t open anything. No matter what.”

So we go through the house, locking both doors, drawing every blind while Dev’s camera keeps rolling. At first, it’s light—some laughs, dramatic commentary, Dev lowering his voice in a dead-on Ghost impression. But then we start filming the darker spots: the crack beneath the front door, the creaking wooden stairs, the hallways leading to empty rooms, closets left ajar.

The vibe changes.

Something about seeing the space through a lens makes it worse. More ominous. Shadows stretch too far, they shift as we move. Every corner feels a little darker now, the floorboards groaning underneath our feet like a warning. The lights flicker in a way that doesn’t feel… natural. Like something moved between them.

Even the air feels wrong. Heavy. Charged. As if it’s holding its breath.

Then we hear it again.

That whistle.

But it’s much more distant than before.

My stomach clenches. “Did you—”

Kendra shushes me, wide-eyed.

“Could be the wind,” Dev whispers as he slowly pans the camera toward the back door.

The whistle comes again, so quiet I gaslight myself that I imagined it.

“It seems farther away,” I say quietly.

“Actually, it’s the opposite, according to the locals,” Nate speaks up, and I immediately wish he stayed silent. “The more distant the sound, the closer it is.”

I blink at him. “Wow, thanks for that, Nate!”

I find myself drifting toward Ghost without meaning to, pulled like a magnet. His presence feels like gravity—solid, calm, grounded. Maybe it’s because he’s the only one who seems to think all of this is just some made-up campfire bullshit—even if it’s just a pose. Or maybe because he’s the strongest one here—and he promised to protect me, right?

“Oh? Bunny’s scared?” He chuckles, smooth and quiet, then loops an arm around my waist, dragging me flush against him.

I let out a sharp breath, hands pressed to his chest—solid muscle under soft cotton. He smells like cedar with faint smoke, and something warm and unmistakably male.

“You can hold onto me all you want,” he murmurs. “I like when you’re clingy.”

I shove him, face burning. “You’re the worst.”

Before he can reply—

BANG.

A heavy thud shakes the walls. Loud. Deep. Wrong. Like something heavy slamming against the roof of the house.

I jump, gripping the front of Ghost’s hoodie. “You guys are fucking with me!”

But Nate laughs nervously without humor. Dev’s camera is still steady, his face unreadable. Kendra looks pale.

“That wasn’t you?” she asks sharply.

Dev shrugs. “It’s probably just the house settling.”

BANG.

The next bang is even louder, like it came from the floor itself. Definitely not settling.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I hate this.”

Ghost’s arm tightens around me. His voice drops near my ear. “Told you, sweetheart, just ignore it.”

Easier said than done. I’ve never been more scared in my entire life.

Then the howling starts.

It doesn’t sound like wolves. It doesn’t sound like anything that should exist in nature. It starts low—windy, maybe—but then it layers, curls into something high and almost human, like someone screaming underwater.

The sound swells. Crashes. Lingers.

The air presses in like lungs too full.

Then—

Scratching.

Faint. One side of the house.

Then the other.

Back again.

Circling.

Searching for the way in.

Kendra gasps. “What the actual fuck.”

Dev hasn’t stopped filming. His camera pans slowly toward the back window—just in time to catch a shape moving past the glass. A blur of motion. Too tall.

I choke on my breath and squeeze my eyes shut. I do not want to see.

Nate breathes heavily as he reminds us. “Nobody open the blinds. Nobody look.”

Whispers tickle the edges of the room. Light, like leaves brushing glass. But they’re not in English. Or maybe they are, but twisted—drawn out and dragged through static.

Then—

Silence.

Flat and brutal. The kind that makes your ears ring.

We don’t speak.

We barely have a heartbeat.

Minutes pass like molasses.

Eventually, the cicadas outside return to singing. Normal. Almost too normal.

“More drinks, yes?” Dev proposes. He shuts off his camera before walking towards the table.

Nate follows.

I suck in a shaky breath and slowly peel myself from Ghost. My legs feel like jelly, my head still spinning. And I really need to shower.

Kendra meets my gaze, her usual bravado completely gone, “I’m good.”

I nod, agreeing. Then I whisper, “Bathroom? I’m not going upstairs alone.”

Kendra hugs herself. “Yeah, same.”

Girl code. Underlined and bolded.

The shower is cold and refreshing, but it doesn’t help. I haven’t had this dreadful feeling since I saw my first horror movie too early in life. I peek through the curtain more than once.

There’s nothing there. Just Kendra, perched on the toilet lid, scrolling silently through her phone.

Gosh, this is going to be a long night.

She takes her turn next while I go through my nighttime skincare routine, trying to make myself feel human. Every time I meet my own eyes in the mirror, I flinch a little. The adrenaline is pumping, as I expect to see something standing right behind me. Or worse, my own reflection to break the 4th wall.

Shut up! We don’t think about it.

We dry off, get dressed in our PJs, and crawl into bed in the same room. No argument. No teasing. We don’t want to be alone.

The bedside lamp stays on.

We talk briefly as she tries to fish for details about Ghost. I respond in half-sentences, doing my best to ditch the subject as fast as possible. I’m too confused about my feelings to even think about it right now. I mean, our conversation on the porch is a lot to process. Not to mention how shaken I still am after what transpired next.

We hear guys in the hallway as they come upstairs and get ready for bed, which makes her eventually back off the subject.

Ghost sends me a goodnight text.

Then, quiet. Just a white noise of cicadas singing outside.

I’m not sure when exactly, but Kendra falls asleep. She’s breathing softly beside me, her back turned, lost to whatever peaceful dreamland I wish I could be in.

I lie awake, staring up at the ceiling, listening for anything out of the ordinary. The gentle summer wind. The minimal creaks of the old wood. The breathy silence between.

That whistle is still buried in my head like a splinter.

And the shadow on Dev’s camera?

It wasn’t staged.

None of it was.

Suddenly, I hear it. That dragging noise again. Like nails against the chalkboard, except it’s on very low volume.

I tell myself it’s just a branch scraping the siding. Just the wind. Just nerves. But when it shifts right beneath the bedroom window, I can’t ignore it anymore.

I look over at Kendra. She looks so peaceful that I have no heart to wake her. I’m too big of a chicken to go check behind the blinds, either. Because it feels like it wants me to. Like it knows we’re not supposed to be here.

Sighing, I shift onto my side, my back facing the window.

A whisper pierces through the night. Behind me, right outside. Low. Crooning. Like someone chanting over and over, but the sound is too warped to make out precisely.

My throat closes up.

I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s nothing. Just my imagination.

Bunny.

My breath catches. The sound is soft, almost polite. But it’s wrong. A crawling, sinking feeling spreads through my stomach.

It knows my name.

With my heart hammering in my chest, I pull the covers aside, grab my phone, and decide to go sit in the hallway, far away from any windows.

It’s dark as a demon’s asshole in the hallway so I don’t expect to bump into anyone. But one of the bedroom doors is cracked open, and as my eyes get used to the lack of light, I make out an outline of the person in the distance.

Tall. Broad shoulders. I’d recognize him anywhere.

Ghost is standing near the stairs, back toward me at first, his head tilted like he’s listening for something. I barely register the fact that he’s not wearing his mask before he turns.

“What are you doing, little bunny?”

I almost forget about everything as he approaches, and his facial features become clearer.

And oh. Oh.

11. Bunny

I can see him.

Well, hardly.

But even in the low light, he’s unfairly stunning. Strong, sharp jaw and high cheekbones that any model would kill for. His dark hair is slightly messy, like he just ran a hand through it, but unruly locks still fall over his forehead. And his hunter eyes, so dark I can’t quite tell where his pupil ends and iris begins, framed by full, slightly arched brows. He’s beautiful and intense in a way that makes my breath catch.

Also, he’s shirtless.

Which is… distracting.

Because he’s ripped. Muscular but lean, big arms, abs carved, with ink covering most of his skin. He’s only wearing gray sweatpants, hanging dangerously low on his hips.

I blink. My brain ceases to function. “Umm… I couldn’t sleep.”

“Hm. Enjoying the view at least?” His voice is just as deep as ever, but there’s a smirk playing on his lips now.

I snap out of it. Barely. “I—” I fold my arms, trying to look unimpressed despite the betrayal of my heartbeat. “I thought you slept with your mask on.”

He chuckles low. “Only in front of the camera.”

I swallow hard. I don’t trust myself to look at his stomach again, so I focus on his face—which, ironically, isn’t much safer.

“So, what’s going on? Why are you up, Bun-bun?”

“I thought I heard something outside,” I admit, my stomach tightens at the mere memory. “You?”

He shrugs. “I was just grabbing some water.”

Somehow, I have a hard time believing him. I don’t know, something about this place makes me paranoid. Or maybe I have been this way for a while. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be the same after Alaska…

“I don’t think we should go into the woods tomorrow,” I spurt out.

Ghost tilts his head, watching me in that quiet, unreadable way that makes my skin prickle. “You’re overthinking,” he finally murmurs, stepping closer. “Do you want me to take your mind off of it?”

I take a step back, but he catches my arm before I can fully retreat. His grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm, his thumb brushing against the inside of my wrist, right over my spiking pulse.

My breath stutters. “Ghost,” I start, but before I can finish, he’s already tugging me forward.

I should pull away. I should tell him to stop being so—so Ghost—but I surrender. He draws me against his chest, his large hands gripping my waist as he lifts me, and my legs circle his hips instinctively.

He’s warm. Too warm.

He carries me like I weigh nothing, arms tight around me as he crosses the hallway’s creaky hardwood floor. My heart’s still hammering from that sound outside—that low, dragging scrape—but being against him soothes the edge of my panic, just a little.

His bedroom door shuts behind us with a low click, and the lock slides into place. “No more creepy noises,” he murmurs into my ear, his voice a warm rasp. “Just us now.”

His palm slides up my back, onto the back of my neck, his thumb caressing the curve of my jaw below my ear. His eyes bore into mine, and he doesn’t have to say anything—they tell me all I need to know.

Nobody has ever looked at me the way he does.

Nobody has ever made me feel this wanted.

I lean in, just barely, but it’s enough of a green light for him.

Then, he kisses me.

Ghost Daddy kisses me.

Slow at first—just the ghost of lips against mine, teasing, testing—then deeper, hungrier, like he’s pulling the fear out of me and swallowing it whole. He tastes like mint with just a hint of our homemade Moscow Mule from earlier, sharp and intoxicating, and I melt into him before I can stop myself. He’s trying to make me forget. Maybe I want to.

His tongue claims mine, possessive and slick, and I moan into his mouth as he lowers me onto the unmade bed. The mattress groans beneath my back as he leans over me, caging me in. The scent of him—smoke and leather and something darker—wraps around me, thick as a shroud. His hands find the hem of my tank top, long fingers dragging against my ribs as he pushes it up, baring my chest to his hungry stare.

“Fuck, Bunny,” he mutters, more like a prayer than a curse, voice rough enough to send a shiver down my spine.

His large palms cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, already tight with anticipation. The cool air of the room licks at my exposed skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his mouth when it closes over me—hot, wet, sucking hard enough to make my toes curl.

My breath stutters as his tongue circles my nipple, licking, then flicking, just enough pressure to make my back arch and a whimper catch in my throat. The sharp edge of his teeth grazes the sensitive peak, and I gasp, fingers tightening in his full, soft hair.

“You’re so perfect,” he rasps, kissing his way to my other breast, giving it the same devastating attention. His heavy stubble scrapes against my sensitive skin, causing a delicious friction that leaves me trembling.

“Oh, Ghost!” I moan when his teeth gently tug at me, the sharpness toeing the line between pleasure and pain.

He bites down harder, just shy of too much. “Try again.”

A shudder runs through me. “Daddy…”

“That’s my girl.” His lips curl in a smirk before he returns to sucking, tongue working in slow, torturous circles.

Simultaneously, his hands grip my thighs, fingers digging in with just enough roughness to make me squirm. I gasp as he yanks me to the edge of the bed, the sudden movement sending a jolt through me. He drops to his knees, the floorboards creaking under his weight, and his lips follow the path down my stomach, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His fingers hook under the waistband of my sleep shorts, tugging them down my legs—slow, teasing, like he’s unwrapping a present he plans to ruin.

Then he parts my knees, sliding in closer, the heat of his breath brushing against my inner thighs. My pulse thrums between my legs, already aching for him.

“Look at you,” he says, voice thick with need, and my walls clench in response. “Already so fucking wet.”

I writhe underneath his wolfish stare, my heart hammering so hard I’m sure he can hear it. The air between us is charged, thick with the scent of my arousal and the musk of his cologne. I’ve been dreaming about this moment for so long, fantasizing about his hands, his mouth, the way he could unravel me with just a look. Now that he’s here, I can hardly control the desire coiling tight in my belly.

“How many times did you play with yourself thinking of me since Valentine’s?” His voice is a low, taunting purr. He says it so confidently, like he knows the truth. Maybe he’s that cocky… or maybe I’m that easy to read

“Ugh! Zero times!” I try to kick him, but he catches my leg effortlessly, pinning it to the bed with that infuriating little chuckle.

“Liar.” His free hand slides up my thigh, fingers parting my slick folds with deliberate slowness. “Mmmm, this pretty little pussy knows who owns it.”

Before I can retort, he leans in and licks a long stripe, tongue wide and slow, and oh God—I feel the cold glint of his piercing drag over the most sensitive part of me. The shock of it—smooth metal against overheated flesh—makes my hips jerk, a whimper escaping before I can stop it.

“You like that?” he asks, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. Then he does it again, the piercing teasing my clit in slow, maddening circles. “You’re shaking. Is that from me, or are you still scared?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, sealing his mouth over me. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmurs against my tender flesh, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through me. “Daddy’s going to make it all better, baby.” And then he sucks hard enough to make stars burst behind my eyelids.

A broken moan tears from my throat as my fingers fist in the sheets, and I toss my head back. My hazed eyes catch the slightest shadow, blocking the moonlight.

Wait—moonlight?

The blinds are open.

And something’s there.

A tall, hunched figure, not moving, just watching.

A choked gasp catches in my throat. I bolt upright, blood running cold, fingers tangling in Ghost’s hair. “St—stop. There’s—someone’s at the window!”

He groans in protest, not letting go, mouthing me even harder, the bastard. “Bunny,” he says between licks, “we’re on the second floor. Nobody’s out there. It’s impossible.”

“Something is!” I whine, yanking at his hair. “We were told to close the blinds. You’ve heard everyone! Why didn’t you listen?”

He finally lifts his face. For a split second, I swear I see a strange glint in his eyes. Then he asks, voice ice-cold, “Well, why did you look?”

I shake my head, nudging him. “Uh, stop messing with me!”

He sighs—long, annoyed, like I’m the one being ridiculous—and gets up, adjusting himself with a quiet curse as he stalks to the window. He doesn’t even look out before grabbing the cord and yanking the blinds shut in a rattling snap.

“There,” he says, turning back to me. Even in the complete darkness, I notice his smirk returning. “Window’s closed. Mystery perv is gone.”

I’m still jittering, heart thudding loudly in my chest. I want to keep looking at the window, even with the blinds shut, because I felt it. The watching. It’s still there, even if I can’t see it now.

But then he kneels between my legs again, licking his lips. “Just relax for me, Princess. You’re creeping yourself out for no reason.” He drags his tongue across the slit of my pussy. “You taste even better when you’re scared,” he hums, eyes locked to mine, his voice low and dark. “Maybe I should want you terrified.”

And when his mouth returns to me—more relentless, more consuming—I can’t tell if the thing I see in the window when I blink is a trick of memory or still there, pressing its shadowed face against the glass.

The wet drag of his piercing over my clit sends a jolt so sharp through me I cry out, hand flying to my mouth, but he pulls it away.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice dark, thick with lust. He palms my boob, pinching my nipple between his fingers, and I’m unable to choke down a moan. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

“But everyone’s sleeping.”

“Fuck it. Wake them up.” He sucks harder, tongue circling, teasing, then flattening with just the right pressure. “Let them know how many times I can make you shatter.” His mouth is heat and hunger, lapping at me slow and deep with that wicked fucking tongue, and when I buck against him, he groans like he’s the one getting off.

My legs tremble on either side of his head, toes curling into the sheets. I try to speak, try to warn him again—I think I hear something, a soft shuffle just by the window where the shadows stretch long and black—but the words melt into moans.

He owns my thoughts.

I can’t focus. I can’t think.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, gripping the edge of the bed. “Fuck, Daddy! What are you doing to me?”

He laughs, low and dangerous, breath hot against me. “Worshipping.” His hand wraps around my throat as he keep his lips around my pulsing clit, sucking and flicking his tongue fast.

I don’t stand a chance.

I break.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down, and I feel myself tip over the edge, clenching, crying out, thighs clamping around his head as he groans like he likes it when I lose control.

But he’s not done.

His mouth shifts lower, and his tongue sinks inside me as he drinks me in. He can feel each contraction of my pussy, each wave of pleasure stirring more arousal filling his mouth. His tongue is long… too long… I feel it slithering inside me, curling, thrusting…

Or maybe my head is dizzy. His hand tightens around my throat, slowly cutting off the air flow. But it’s the sweetest torture.

I can’t stop moaning. I come again, faster this time, my walls squeezing around his tongue, a violent shudder racing through me like I’m going to fall apart.

His grip loosens around my neck, then he brushes his finger over my trembling lips. I suck his fingers into my mouth and he moans into me. I flick my tongue suggestively, the way I’d do against his shaft, coating it in my saliva.

“Where’s your shyness now?” he mocks me, straightening his back, lifting his mouth off of my hypersensitive pussy and dragging his hand away.

Before I get a chance to inhale, though, he already slides one thick finger inside me, curving just right, then a second one joins. I jerk against him, overstimulated, too much, too soon—but damn it, I need it.

“You’re so tight, Bunny,” he murmurs against my thigh, nipping at my skin, still teasing. “Mmmm, bet that sweet little cunt would take my cock like a dream.”

My hips roll, helpless, aching. His fingers begin to move, sliding in and out, down to his base knuckles. I can feel the cool metal of his rings dragging along my inner walls, the friction making me clench tighter.

“Yeah? You like the sound of that, don’t you?” His fingers thrust faster, hitting my G-spot at the perfect angle, and obscene squishy noises fill the room as my muscles flutter around him. “That’s it, let me open you up. You know how badly you want to. Needy girl… just listen to the way your body unravels for me.”

I come again with a shudder, crying out into the dark, my juices gushing over his hand.

He doesn’t stop.

He lifts my legs over his shoulders, tilting my hips, and exposing my ass. I feel his slick fingers probing lower, circling my other hole, slow and deliberate.

My breath catches. “Ghost—”

“Shh,” he whispers, “just feeling you. Just touching what’s mine.”

He doesn’t push in, only taunts, letting me feel the threat of it, the possibility. His breathing is heavy as he holds me open and dips his head, his pierced tongue flicking out to lap at the tight entrance. He lingers there, teasing with slow, deliberate strokes—testing, savoring—before pulling back just to hear me whimper for more. And then, he’s back on my pussy, his mouth devouring every last drop of my arousal, his fingers entering me over and over again, pumping fast and deep. The pressure, the rhythm—it’s too much.

My release covers my thighs, and the pleasure seems to never stop. Somewhere, in the corner of my eye, the shadows move again. I swear they do. But I can’t scream. Can’t even speak. Can’t do anything but take what he’s giving me. My body’s a live wire, and every nerve is tuned to him.

His voice fills my head. “Eyes on me, Bunny. No one else. Just me.”

His tongue is definitely too long. It moves inside me like it has a mind of its own, sliding against my walls in an unnatural way. But it feels good—too fucking good. I shiver, trying to ignore that part of me telling me something’s wrong. The rest of me wants nothing more than to get lost in the sensation forever, to let him take full control and never release me.

He pulls back slightly, breath ragged, and his eyes flicker over my body—just enough to make me feel exposed, like I’m being consumed. And there’s that glint again in them.

His voice is even lower now, practically a growl. “You feel that, don’t you? The way your body responds to me? You’ve been thinking about this for months. Don’t deny it.”

I try to breathe, try to get my bearings, but everything about him feels like a magnet, pulling me in, drawing me closer. His hand moves to my waist, gripping it so tightly I can’t help but flinch, but the sharpness of it feels almost exciting.

“Whose pussy is this?” he demands.

I giggle weakly. “Mine.”

The slap comes unexpectedly. His open palm lands on my swollen folds with a wet smack. It’s not hard, just shocking, sending electric aftershocks through my core.

“Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours,” I whisper, too intoxicated with him to argue.

“That’s damn right. You fucking belong to me, do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He crawls up my body, planting wet kisses on my belly, then higher, across the underside of my breasts. When he takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks, hard and greedy, I cry out, back arching, offering him more. His mouth moves slowly, lips gliding up my throat in a molten path that makes my skin tingle.

Then, he bites.

Not hard enough to hurt—but firm enough to claim. My breath catches, hands clutching at his solid pecs, nails digging in. He lingers over the stinging spot, tongue flicking out, soothing it with a tender kiss that only makes the heat bloom deeper.

I just know he’s left a mark. A warning. A promise. A fucking brand.

And I want it.

His sweatpants rub against the burning heat between my legs—rough, soft, warm—and I drape my legs over his waist. His face hovers above mine now, his silver chain dangling in the space between us in the slow tempo of his rocking hips.

“Now, was it that scary?” he asks, pressing his lips to mine and kissing me deeply, letting me taste myself on his tongue.

He’s not talking about the shadows or weird noises. He’s talking about us. What I confessed on the porch. How him being a Dom freaks me out.

“No,” I respond honestly, though I know he’s taking it easy with me. “But this is…” I reach down.

His cock is hard, thick, and throbbing through the fabric. And he’s so big, I have no idea how it can possibly even fit.

He chuckles raspily. “See what you’re doing to me?”

I slip my hand beneath the waistband and find velvety skin, hot and slick with precum and little metal bumps of his piercings running along the underside. I wrap my hand around his girth, jerking him slowly as my thumb flicks the hoop ring, collecting more moisture leaking from the tip.

“Fuck!” he groans into my chest, his hips twitching against my palm, and I almost come again just hearing him lose control.

I smile through my daze, but then—

BANG.

A loud crash. Hard. Right against the window.

I freeze with my hand still around his cock. There was no sound of glass breaking. But I’m terrified to look, half-expecting to see the huge, hulking figure standing next to the bed.

“Shhh.” His fingers slide between my legs again, slow and experienced, already drenched in my juices. “You’re wetter now,” he says with dark delight. “Scared little bunny. Your body loves it, doesn’t it?”

I whimper as he presses deep. I shouldn’t be turned on. I should be running. Screaming. Calling for help. But his hands, his mouth, his voice—it all drags me back down into him.

“I’m the only thing here,” he murmurs, kissing me again. Deep. Possessive. “Nothing else matters. You understand?”

I nod, dazed, trembling. His fingers move, stroking slow and sinful, and something in me breaks open. The fear… doesn’t vanish, but it twists. Turns into heat. Into obedience.

“You’re safe,” he lies against my mouth, “just sleep now.”

I don’t mean to close my eyes. My eyelids feel so heavy, though. And I do.

But I swear, right before I fall under, I hear that cryptid whispering.

12. Ghost

The house is quiet. The early morning light seeps through the blinds, pale and thin, barely touching the tangled mess of sheets. Nobody’s awake yet. I don’t think anyone got much rest last night. The activity was strong enough to spook everyone.

And, well, Bunny was loud.

I fucking loved it.

She came so many times, and I hope they heard everything. The thought sends a fresh jolt of heat straight to my aching cock.

God, I need to come.

She’s completely naked and perfect, sleeping beside me, her cheek pressed against my chest. Her pink hair spills across my skin, tickling my jaw. One of her legs is thrown over mine, warm and possessive, her heat seeping into me like a brand. My hand—almost of its own fucking accord—drifts down, fingers tracing the curve of her plump ass before slipping lower, right between her thighs.

Fuck.

A groan sticks in my throat as I trail up and down her slit. Her pussy is raw and swollen, and yet still, so wet for me.

She makes a soft noise but doesn’t wake. As much as I want to bury my face between her legs again and feast on her until she’s a trembling, breathless mess beneath me, I don’t. She’s exhausted after barely getting any sleep and needs strength for the hike.

She needs to be ready…

So I ease out from under her, careful not to jostle her too much. She murmurs something unintelligible, nuzzling into the pillow where I’d been just seconds before.

I grab my mask on instinct—just in case I run into anyone else in the hallway—before locking the bathroom door behind me and stepping under the shower.

I set the water hot, steam rises fast, fogging up the space, but it does nothing to dull the ache in my balls. I’m so fucking hard it’s painful.

My hand wraps around my shaft, feeling the engorged veins pulsing with need. I stroke slowly as last night plays behind my eyelids—her sexy sounds, the way she clenched around my fingers, the delicious taste of her, that heady, addictive sweetness still lingering on my tongue.

Holy shit, she was so willing, finally letting her desire take over.

But it’s not the first time I’ve had her.

My mind drifts...

To that rage, thick and blinding, boiling under my skin as I stood on the stairs outside her brownstone, snow melting into my hoodie. Nate had stepped out, arms crossed like some kind of fucking bodyguard from the discount store, his breath fogging in the cold as he told me she didn’t want to see me.

Like I gave a single fuck about what she wanted.

I wanted her. That was the only thing that ever mattered.

She didn’t even have the fucking guts to face me and say it herself. She sent in her boy toy without benefits and let him speak for her. Like I was some casual fan of hers that she could have just erased from her life.

Like I was nothing.

What a fucking bitch.

And so would be my payback.

I didn’t lunge. Didn’t snap his neck right there on her front steps. No—I backed off.

Well, at least I made it seem so.

I checked into a shitty hotel in a shitty neighborhood. No cameras in the lobby. No questions at the desk. Just a key and a room infested with roaches, and a mattress that stank like other people’s failure.

And then I went shopping. I moved around the boroughs. Changed stores. Paid cash for everything. Kept my head down.

Each item went into a duffel bag. A couple of knives. Duct tape. Binoculars. Zip ties. Rope. And chloroform, because I wasn’t taking any chances.

I also got a new balaclava since my sewn-in mask was too recognizable. And leather gloves—black, fitted, the kind you wear for grip and silence. Great for New York’s winter, plus, I wasn’t leaving fingerprints.

Wasn’t leaving anything at all.

The street was quiet when I returned to her brownstone that night, the nearest streetlamp was a few feet away. The cold deepened, and flurries came down soft, almost lazy, as I stood across and watched the lights in her windows.

She lived alone and had the entire parlor floor unit. The ground level below hers was currently vacant, and the upstairs neighbors seemed to be out for the night. I knew the exact layout of her apartment before I ever stepped inside.

“House tour!” She’d giggled to the camera months ago after picking up the keys, twirling in her new living room like she was inviting the whole world in. “Isn’t it just the coziest?”

Oh, it’s cozy, alright.

No doorman. No security. Not even a guard dog. Nothing that could protect her from me now.

Nate was long gone, and she was in her PJs, watching something on TV, and drinking alone. She was crying, but I really couldn’t care less.

I waited patiently, spying on her through binoculars.

A wine bottle later, she curled up on the couch, pulled a pastel pink throw blanket over herself, and went still. The TV kept playing.

I waited longer.

Half an hour passed, and nothing changed. No phone. No bathroom trip. Just the soft blue light of the screen over her sleeping figure.

That was when I moved. I crossed the street. Quiet, steady. No rush.

Snow dusted the steps, the railings, the dead plants in their cracked ceramic pots. I lifted the third one on the left—just as she’d revealed in that Q&A, laughing about her “emergency key” like a fucking idiot.

She really made it too damn easy.

I wouldn’t call her dumb—she was a smart girl who often played down her intelligence in front of the cameras. But fucking hell, was she naïve. Was she really that ignorant of the dangers lurking for pretty little faces like hers once they stepped away from the screen?

Any one of her crazy fans could have stalked her in real life.

I just happened to be much worse than them all.

And I’d make sure no one could get to her first.

She was mine—whether she wanted to or not.

The lock turned with a soft click, quieter than a whisper.

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of wine and her sugared vanilla lotion. The TV played some stupid rom-com, drowning out her steady breathing.

I entered the living space. My boot creaked, just once, on the hardwood.

She didn’t move.

Two empty wine bottles sat on the coffee table. A third, just cracked open, tipped against the armrest. Nate wasn’t much of a drinker, so she literally had drowned her sorrows.

I stepped closer. And there, on the end table, a little orange bottle caught my eye—cap off, a few pills scattered beside it like candy.

I picked it up. Alprazolam.

Anxiety meds.

Wow, so there is something I didn’t know about you, little bunny, I thought to myself.

For a heartbeat, I wondered why, when… but did it really matter now?

She mixed prescription drugs with alcohol.

I crouched beside her, close enough to feel the heat of her skin. I brushed a messy strand of hair from her face. Her luscious lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping.

I shook her—nothing.

I called her name—nothing still.

She wouldn’t wake up. Not for a long time. And I didn’t even have to bind her to have my way with her.

This was too good. I just had to laugh.

She was so peaceful in her deep sleep, but she couldn’t be farther away from safety. The sight of her like that—unguarded, soft, vulnerable—made me twitch with the need to claim her.

Then I straightened, pulling the blanket away. She wore a light pink cami top, the fabric so thin it was nearly sheer, clinging to her like a second skin. The darker outlines of her aureolas teased beneath, the stiff little points of her nipples pressing against the material. Begging for attention. My attention.

But she’d denied me that.

You should have said yes.

Her pajama pants were ridiculously infantile—long, plush, printed with grinning bunny faces—the waistband with a cute bow was loose, just asking to be tugged down. Mocking me.

I stared, shameless, drinking in the sight of her like a man starved, taking mental pictures of every detail. Then, with a slow, deliberate touch, I hooked a gloved finger under the strap of her top and pulled it down, baring one perfect, soft breast. The other followed, her tits spilling free, pale and round, nipples puckered tight. My breath hitched.

Fuck. Even now, after everything, she still had this power over me. I could have bitten them. Sucked them raw. Hell knows how badly I wanted to.

But she didn’t deserve my mouth.

Her bottoms came next—I yanked them down her thighs in one sharp motion, exposing smooth, waxed skin. No redness, no irritation—freshly done. She’d prepped herself. For me.

Only to leave both of us disappointed.

But would you look at that—that pretty little pink pussy, bare and glistening, was mine anyway.

My gloved hand burned to touch her. Before I could stop myself, I dragged a leather-clad finger down her slit, parting her lips. She was already wet.

Poison.

That cunt was fucking poison, and I wanted to drown in it. Choke on it. Let it ruin me.

But she didn’t get to have me. Not again.

The knife slid free from its sheath with a whisper of steel. The blade caught the light, cold and gleaming as I traced it over her chest, following the swell of her breasts, the dip of her collarbone. I imagined slicing her open, watching her skin split like ripe fruit, her blood spilling in thick, crimson ribbons over her flesh.

I wanted to hurt her.

Torture her.

And I would get off on the pain I inflicted upon her.

But then she sighed, and her hips rolled slightly, thighs pressing together before relaxing again.

“Daddy…” The word slithered out of her, breathy, dream-drunk.

My grip tightened on the knife.

She was dreaming. Dreaming of me.

A dark, possessive thrill shot through me—a different kind. Perhaps she wasn’t finished with me yet.

I shook my head, chasing away any confusion. And I dipped the blade lower, trailing it down her stomach—it caught only on her belly button ring with a metallic sound. I moved my hand between her thighs, pressing the flat side of the blade against her pussy, the metal kissing her heat. Her legs parted, giving me a better access, as her body responded even in sleep.

I flipped the knife around, gripping the blade and letting the sharp edge bite into the leather of my glove. Then I dragged the polished wooden handle—smooth, and heavy—up and down her slit, collecting her arousal before pressing against her entrance.

She shifted, her thighs trembling, her breath coming faster. Fuck, she was into it.

I pushed inside.

Inch by inch, the handle disappeared into her tight, wet pussy hole, her body accepting it like it was made for her. Her back arched slightly, a whimper catching in her throat. As if she wanted it.

My other hand found her throat, fingers curling just enough to feel her pulse fluttering beneath my grip. The leather looked so good around her creamy neck. Her eyelids fluttered just slightly, adding more thrill to this sick little game.

And then I fucked her with the knife.

Slow at first, savoring the way her body resisted, then yielded. Then harder, rougher, until her breath came in sharp little gasps, until her fingers twisted in the cushions, and her hips lifted off the couch, chasing the sensation.

“Mmm, Ghost… please…” Her voice was slurred with sleep, but I heard it. Heard my name spill from her lips like a prayer.

I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear. “You should have let me in, my little Valentine.”

Then I twisted the handle inside her, and her body clenched around it, her whimper dissolving into something raw, something broken. I could see how her walls kept contracting around the handle as she greedily tried to milk it. I knew she was lost in a fantasy of my cock buried deep inside her, breeding her tight little pussy.

When she finally stopped pulsing around it, I pulled the knife free and brought it to my lips. I couldn’t help myself. I licked the handle clean, and the taste of her flooded my mouth as I lapped at it, groaning.

Still obsessed.

Still a fucking slave to her.

I despised her with my whole being, but my cock throbbed in my pants to the point of insanity.

I pressed the blade to her throat and yanked at the zipper of my jeans, my hard-on springing free—heavy and aching. The rush of control burned through me as I stroked slowly, looming over her limp body. Her tits rose and fell with each breath, her nipples still stiff from coming. Fuck, she looked so fine like this—unaware, vulnerable, mine. Her pussy so tiny underneath my cock. Just one thrust and I would know what heaven felt like.

But she didn’t earn that. I wouldn’t give her this pleasure, not now, even if it meant more misery for me.

I dragged the tip of my cock up her stomach, over her ribs, across her perky tits, watching the way her skin pebbled under the wet trail of precum I left behind. She didn’t wake, of course. Just a little sleepy sigh, a shift of her head. My pulse hammered, my grip tightening as I teased higher, tracing her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. Then, her mouth.

Soft. Warm. Slightly open.

Too tempting.

I pressed the head of my cock against her lips, smearing my precum across them.

Fuck, that got me even harder.

I nudged until her mouth opened wider, and I could feel her tongue pressed against my cockhead in some unconscious reflex. My hips jerked.

“Yeah, take it,” I rasped, pushing in, just enough to feel her breath hitch. Her lips were damp, slack, and pliant. Shit. I thrust shallowly, my free hand gripping her hair, holding her still as my hips jerked. The heat, the wetness enveloping me—God, it was better than I imagined. She was a perfect little cocksucker like I knew she would.

With my balls drawing up, I thrust harder, slipping farther down her mouth. She stirred, a muffled sound catching, but it was too late.

“Gonna fill that pretty mouth,” I growled, fingers tangling in her hair, holding her still.

A couple more pumps before I groaned loudly and came hard, spilling into her, watching her throat work around me as she swallowed in her sleep on instinct.

Good girl.

I didn’t pull out until I was spent and a thin trail of cum dripped from her lips onto the couch.

She’d never even know what happened. But she’s tasted it in the morning. And that? That was the part that excited me the most…

I pump inside my fist the final time remembering that thrill of using her mouth and thick ropes of my cum splash against the shower tiles and floor.

Pathetic.

But it’s okay, because I know this is the last time I’m doing this shit. After today, Bunny will be mine.

Forever.

13. Ghost

Everyone still seems to be sleeping when I leave the bathroom, my mask on, regardless, a towel wrapped low around my hips. I sneak back into the bedroom—yup, Bunny hasn’t even moved—and her sweet perfume mixed with an intoxicating scent of her arousal fills the entire space. It clings to the air like a drug. I could bottle it. Inject it. Breathe it in until it coats my lungs like tar.

My cock twitches, waking up again.

I grab a fresh pair of sweats since the ones from the night are all covered in my precum. The memory flashes—her gasping, grinding, begging without words.

I clench my fists and toss my head, trying to stay focused.

Then I quietly go downstairs to start breakfast. I’d bring it up to her in bed. Like a perfect boyfriend. It’ll make her smile. Make her feel safe. Loved. It’s all part of the performance.

But it’s the last moments I have to pretend. After that, no more hiding from her my obsession, the darkness within me, who I truly am, and what I plan to do to her.

The thing is, she was so willing last night that she got into my head again.

Because I know we could be happy. If only she would give herself to me. Fully. Completely. I’d train her to be my good little sub how I always wanted, and she would learn to love it.

Learn to thank me for it.

Learn to beg for more.

Her pain would be holy. Her tears—sacred. I’d worship the way she breaks beneath me.

Not that I mind taking her by force. It’s even preferred. There’s something about the struggle that makes it sweeter. The craft of breaking her piece by piece, then putting her back together, only to shatter her once more. I can already imagine how her terror will taste on my tongue.

She won’t escape these woods.

Can’t escape me now.

And she’ll see soon enough—when there’s nowhere to run to, when every exit leads back to me—that this was always where she belonged. In my hands. Under my control. Mine.

But I know that deep down she wants that.

She wants me to chase her.

She wants me to corner her, to make the decision for her, to rip away her excuses and show her what loving me really looks like. To force her to take all that I’d give.

She can play it down however she likes, but I’ve seen the proof. How desperately she needs me…

After Valentine’s, I stayed in the city.

The plan had changed, and I needed different tools. I did some extra shopping before I returned to her brownstone the next evening. I waited in the freezing cold across the street, hunched behind a tight row of parked cars. And finally watched her leave with Kendra for girls’ night, all dolled up and smiling like she wasn’t just having a nervous breakdown the other day.

Fucking oblivious to what had happened when she was unconscious.

Or that she was still being spied on.

I stayed still for a while longer, in case that little scatterbrain forgot something.

Then I moved. Using the spare key, I slipped inside her home like I belonged.

I installed the cameras. One in the bathroom vent, facing the shower. One inside her bedroom’s smoke detector. Another tucked in a bookshelf, disguised in a hollowed-out candle jar. All with remote access, night vision, and motion triggers.

I set up a notification system on my phone to ping me when she undressed. When she bathed. When she moaned in her sleep.

Of course, I couldn’t resist going further.

Her bedroom was a shrine. My shrine.

I quickly discovered her “fun drawer,” where she kept her toys—a compact pink wand, some lube, a pair of fluffy cuffs, and a very average-sized dildo. Her scent still clung to the silicone and I imagined how my pierced cock, nearly twice as big, would split that tight pussy open.

Fuck, she got me going crazy again.

I stole a few pairs of her panties—some sexy ones, others just the softest cotton with colorful cartoon prints. And a bra that she hardly ever wore, the kind with lace along the edges and pink, satin cups. Each piece mainly smelled like fresh laundry, but just knowing she’d worn them was enough of a satisfaction for my lonely nights back home.

My cock was fully hard at that point, throbbing in my pants.

I laid on her bed, pressing my face into the stack of pillows, and inhaled—shampoo, cotton-candy perfume, her sweet pussy, and the faint musk of sleep and sweat.

I jerked off fast, pumping furiously into my fist. Then buried my cock in her sheets as I spilled violently, marking her bed like a fucking dog. I moaned her name, over and over, until my voice went hoarse.

I didn’t even clean up. I let my cum dry right into the fabric. Let her wonder what smelled different the next time she laid down. I wanted her to feel me without knowing why. To squirm in her sleep without understanding the violation. To ache between her thighs and think it was just hormones.

But it was me.

It’d always been me.

So I probably shouldn’t have been surprised when she played with her pussy that very same night, crying out my name as she made herself squirt using her wand.

The next weeks were the worst and best in my whole life.

Worst—because I could only passively watch.

Best—because that little nympho masturbated almost every night. Or morning. Sometimes during the day, too.

Usually, it was quick. Her trusty pink wand always made her come, with no foreplay needed. But other times, she got more creative… and I lived for those moments.

I think my favorite memory is of her using the gift I sent her a while before, when we’d been talking.

I sat in the dark in front of my computer, one hand around the whiskey glass on my desk, the other resting just inches from my lap, heart already kicking harder as the feed from her room flickered into sharp focus.

Bunny was backlit by the soft pink glow of LED lights, casting a halo around her like some corrupted little angel. The sound was low, but I could hear her perfectly—her tiny feet shifting on the mattress, the faint creak of her bed, the subtle drag of cotton against sheets.

Lost in whatever fantasy got her excited, she was humming softly as she slowly undressed from my t-shirt—because of course she continued to wear it—baring her breasts to the camera like a gift. Her hands covered her tits, kneading gently, while her dainty fingers played with the taut, pink nipples. Her breath hitched as her body writhed under her touch.

Her underwear was soft cotton, pale lavender with a tiny satin bow in the front. Not lacy. Not slutty. Worse. It looked innocent. Playful. Sweet. It was almost cruel when she parted her thighs wide enough that I could see a damp spot on the thin fabric between them.

And her stockings… Fuck, those stupid little white cotton knee-highs with the delicate ruffles at the top. Like she wanted to be a show.

She’d barely even started, and she already had me dying over here with a raging hard-on.

Then she suddenly stopped and lifted her head, looking at something. She just bit her bottom lip, crawled across the bed, and straddled the oversized teddy bear I had once shipped to her.

Six feet of plush and fluff and a red bow around its neck.

She settled on top of the bear slowly, dragging her hands up her thighs, over her hips, across her ribs, all the way up to her hair. She rocked once, hips rolling in a slow grind, testing it—just to see how it felt beneath her. Her head lolled back, and she exhaled through parted lips, eyes fluttering shut.

I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t.

Her hands slid down her neck, back onto her breasts. She pulled and pinched her nipples harder. Her mouth opened in a silent moan. And then I heard it.

“Daddy…”

Barely audible. But enough to make my cock flex under the fabric of my sweats.

She said it again, breathier this time. Whispered it like she was ashamed of it. Like she couldn’t stop herself. Her hand moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties, her other bracing on the teddy’s round, plush belly as she rocked harder now—humping the thing like she needed it. Like it was a warm body between her thighs.

Like it was me.

I adjusted in my chair, pulled down the waistband of my sweats, and wrapped my hand around my hard length with a low hiss.

God, she was spectacular.

Her flushed skin. Her tits swaying in sync with her hips. The tension in her thighs. I only saw glimpses as she rubbed against the synthetic fur, but her panties were now drenched with her sweet juices.

I could almost smell her if I let myself imagine hard enough.

She was panting, biting at her lip so hard it looked like it might bleed. Her hips moved even faster. Her whole petite body shivered with every slow, grinding thrust.

And then she said my fucking name. Soft. Desperate. Like she was praying to it.

“Ghost…”

My eyes nearly rolled back, but I couldn’t miss even a split second of the action on the screen. Precum was dripping down my shaft along the engorged veins, and I used it as a lube, stroking myself painfully slow. I didn’t want to finish too fast, but I also couldn’t ignore the throbbing need any longer.

Bunny shifted on the bed, climbing higher, hands pressing into the sheets for leverage. My breath caught as she straddled the plush muzzle, her thighs bracketing its oversized head, like she wanted to smother it with her cunt.

Her fingers hooked under the crotch panel of her panties and slid them aside. Not off. Just to the side. As if taking them off would make it real, make it wrong. Her bare wet pussy glistened in the low light as she ground down onto the bear’s snout like it could breathe her in. Like it could taste her. Like it was hungry for her.

I couldn’t fucking move.

I imagined being under her like that. Not the bear. Me. My mouth buried in her, my pierced tongue lapping at her, my hands gripping her hips tight enough to bruise.

I’d keep her there. Hold her still. Make her stay seated until she’d beg for mercy. But I wouldn’t stop, greedily eating her out till my last breath.

My hand was tight around my cock, movements fast and rough, The screen showed everything—her slick inner thighs rubbing against the fur, the way her hips rocked in rhythm, little whines catching in her throat like she couldn’t control them.

Her fingers found her clit again, rubbing quick little circles as she gasped, back arching. She rode harder now, faster, her moans coming louder, slipping through her teeth like curses. The glow from her pink lights shimmered off the sweat on her chest, her breasts bouncing with each grind.

“Oh, Daddy…” Her breath caught in that tiny, choked sound I’d die to hear in person. “I’m coming…”

And I lost it.

Cum spilled hot over my hand as I stared, helpless to do anything but watch her fall apart—panting, twitching, eyes fluttering shut as she bucked once, twice more against the bear’s head before collapsing into a shaking, flushed heap.

Her hands curled around the plush ears, clinging to them like a lifeline. Her thighs trembled as aftershocks rocked through her. Her breathing slowed. And the way she looked afterward—used up, dazed, content—made something feral snap in my chest.

Goddamnit, I wanted her like that on me.

“Hey, bro.”

I nearly jump when I hear Dev’s voice behind me, snapping me out of my daydreaming.

Nate walks down the stairs just behind him, avoiding looking at me.

I smile behind my mask, knowing exactly what’s eating at him.

He saw me fingering Bunny on the porch yesterday.

And I bet that loser was up all night, beating his pathetic meat while she moaned my name until she couldn’t breathe, as I made her come over and over again.

Dev isn’t any better. He’s been smitten with her for her long before I even knew she existed.

It’s not a coincidence they’re both here right now.

None of this is a coincidence.

Everything is part of the grand scheme…

“Are the girls up yet?” I ask, acting casual.

Dev shrugs, so I turn to Nate.

“Yeah, I think they were fighting over a bathroom,” he tells me, quiet and nervous.

I go upstairs to check on them. My room is empty, but I hear muffled voices coming from Bunny and Kendra’s bedroom.

I approach closer and listen.

“Don’t you think it has anything to do with that case in Alaska?” Kendra’s voice cuts through the door, hushed but distinct. “A group of friends in a remote cabin… I get it—it sounds too familiar. And it’s been a while since you worked on something paranormal. Maybe you’re just not ready?”

“I know what I saw,” Bunny says. Her voice is tense, laced with that delicious uncertainty I love. “His eyes… like, there was this weird shine in them.”

Hm. She’s talking about me.

Interesting.

Is she finally catching on?

“Glowing eyes, really?” Kendra replies, clearly skeptical, still clinging to reason like a security blanket.

I knew why I picked you. That doubt makes you predictable. Soft.

“And his tongue…” Bunny continues, voice dropping lower. “Kendra, it wasn’t human.”

I smirk to myself.

“Babes, what exactly are you saying?”

“I don’t know… but something was out here last night. We’ve all heard it. And when I got up in the middle of the night, he was just standing by the stairs. It was weird.”

“So you think Ghost is possessed by a ghost or something?”

“Or something.”

The confusion twisting inside that pretty little head of hers—so raw, so tender. Silly, Bun-bun. Soon, you’ll understand.

“Look, you got spooked and your imagination went wild,” Kendra brushes it off. “Now, tell me how it was!”

“I mean, it was amazing…” Bunny’s tone shifts to something softer, and I know she’s blushing. “Better than I’d ever imagined. He made me come so many times I was about to pass out.”

My cock stirs at the memory. The sound of her voice flushed with pleasure, remembering how I split her open and watched her unravel.

“Well, now you’re just bragging, bitch!”

They both giggle.

I knock on the door, firm and measured. “Hey, you two, breakfast is ready. We should head out soon.”

“Um, okay. We’ll be down in a sec!” Kendra calls.

Then Bunny whispers, barely audible, “How long was he there? Did he hear us?”

Oh, I’ve heard, baby…

14. Ghost

As the weeks passed since I’d planted the cameras inside her apartment, it became abundantly clear to me that she was obsessed with me. And I mean that in a normal way—a girl having a crush on a guy. Not nearly in the same stratosphere as my level of obsession.

I just needed to wait until she was desperate enough to admit it to herself.

Winter was dark and long. She never tried to reach out, but the proof was right there in front of my eyes—how much she missed talking to me.

I missed her too, and I resented her even more for it.

She made me weak.

Then, the opportunity finally presented itself. Mid-April. Bunny was about to turn twenty-six. She cried for three whole days leading up to her birthday, throwing herself a pity party each night with ice cream and wine, and I knew I had to fly to NYC to stay close.

So I did.

She went out with Kendra and Nate. I followed, just to keep an eye. Or that’s what I told myself anyway.

The place they picked was pretty lowkey. There was a lounge on the first floor where they had reserved a booth and started with some drinks and a bunch of bar appetizers.

I sat in the dark corner by the bar, no mask, just hood pulled low, and the balaclava bunched around my neck in case I needed to cover my face. Not that it mattered since nobody knew my face. I blended into the shadows as I watched her. I shouldn’t have even been there. Not after the way she’d fucking discarded me. But it was her birthday. And no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t stay away.

Not from her.

The whiskey burned as it slid down my throat, but it wasn’t nearly enough to dull the rage simmering beneath my skin.

Bunny was laughing. Tossing her head back, her curled-up hair bouncing, eyes glossy from too many drinks. Instead of being miserable, she was glowing. In that tiny pink dress that barely covered her ass, the one I knew she wore just to flaunt herself—for attention, for validation, for control. She loved it. Loved being the center of gravity in a room full of men who would trip over themselves just to get a taste.

She didn’t even know her fucking limits.

Nate was beside her, sticking close like the pitiful, lovesick dork he was, but he wasn’t a threat. He never would be. She humored him, let him flirt, let him think he had a shot—but he didn’t.

Then some other fuckhead at the bar started buying her drinks. Sending them over one by one like some fucking gentleman, earning smiles, giggles, those wide, innocent “Oh my God, for me?” eyes she did so well.

I gritted my teeth, gripping the smooth wooden handle of the knife under my hoodie, just to cool myself off.

She was so fucking predictable. Always needing to be admired. Always flirting, teasing, tempting. Like a fucking slut.

Her painted lips wrapped around the rim of the glass, tongue flicking out to catch a drop of liquor, and I felt it. That pull. That hunger. That fury.

Perhaps I’d waited too long. She seemed ready to try to move on. Obviously, I’d never let that shit happen.

Then, the girls went upstairs to more of a club area that was much busier. There was a live DJ and a dance floor, but not many people were dancing. People were drinking, talking loudly as they hung around. And her. In the middle of it all, swaying her hips, arms lifting above her head, eyes closing like she was in a rave.

I wanted to drag her out of there by her fucking throat.

But I leaned against the wall, seething, stewing, simmering.

Until that fucking guy from earlier made his move.

He was cocky. He had that smug goddamn grin that told me he’d done this before, that he thought he had a chance. He leaned into her, whispered something in her ear, making her laugh, blush, bite her fucking lip.

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached.

She was wasted—I realized that. She didn’t know what the fuck she was doing.

And yet, my mind spun—she let him touch her, that traitorous cunt. A hand on her waist, fingers brushing her arm. She let him whisper in her ear, let him murmur sweet little lies while she batted her lashes and played along.

I hated her. I fucking hated her.

But I still wanted her.

And then, in a split second, I noticed him quickly pour some powder into her drink. My eyes darted to Kendra, hoping she’d noticed, but she was busy with some other guy. And Nate had stayed downstairs in the booth.

When my eyes shifted back to Bunny, she was already sipping on her drink while that motherfucker watched, grinning from ear to ear.

I nearly went up to them to carve his heart out, but he excused himself for a moment. He headed toward the back, probably to freshen up before he made his next move.

I followed like a shadow.

The bathroom was empty when I stepped inside. He was at the mirror, adjusting his shirt, running a hand through his blond hair, checking his breath like he was about to close the fucking deal.

He wouldn’t get a chance.

I moved fast.

He barely had time to blink before my reflection popped up behind him. Before my fingers clamped around the back of his nape, and I slammed his face into the mirror.

Glass fractured, blood splattered, and he gasped, like a pathetic little bitch.

Before he could recover, I pulled him back and shoved his face down against the sink. His hands clawed at my wrist, struggling uselessly, as his body jerked, trying to get free.

I leaned in. My voice was low, steady, and final, “I’m only saying it once. Back the fuck away from her, or I’ll crack your fucking skull open in three… two… o—”

He whimpered. Actually whimpered.

Fucking embarrassing.

“Y-you’re crazy, man,” he stammered, blood dripping down the porcelain sink from the cut above his brow. My cock twitched at the sight. “I’ll—I’ll call the cops—”

A laugh escaped me, low, deep, full of something dark and cruel. Then I grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head up, our eyes meeting in the cracked mirror. With my other hand, I lifted the knife, pressing the sharp blade against his throat, ready to lacerate it. His body stiffened.

“Go ahead. You do that,” I murmured with a smirk. “I’m sure they’ll be interested to learn how you roofied her drink.”

His breath hitched. “I d-don’t know w-what y-you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah? I bet you have more on you. Maybe I should just give them a call.” I released him with a shove, watching him stumble against the sink, panting, shaking. His eyes flicked to the exit, then back to me, as if debating whether or not to say something.

I took a step forward.

He bolted.

Didn’t even say goodbye to Bunny. Just run the fuck down the stairs and left.

Problem solved.

Normally, I’d follow him, but I had to make sure Bunny was okay. I knew that I’d try to track him down and deal with that piece of shit later anyway.

Back on the dancefloor, Kendra was having another drink, shaking her ass. But Bunny… looked like she was about to cry, shouting something to her over the music.

I carefully approached closer to hear her slurred voice better, and my heart stopped.

“Why didn’t he call? It’s my birthday. He didn’t even text me.”

There it was.

“Bun, come on!” equally inebriated Kendra practically yelled. “You blocked him everywhere.” She burst out laughing, shaking her head. “You ghosted Ghost!”

“I know! But he would find a way if he wanted to. I just miss him so much…”

“Then unblock him if you miss him and stop being stupid.”

“Right.” Bunny pulled her phone out of her purse. She started tapping on the screen. “Done!” she announced, swaying slightly.

I smiled—if only she knew how close I was to her. She had no idea I was right there. That I was watching her like I always did.

“Now stop moping! It’s your birthday! Let’s dance!” Kendra tried to make her smile again.

But Bunny started blinking too much, pressing her fingers to her temple. She was out of it. “I don’t feel good,” she mumbled.

Kendra touched her arm, bleary-eyed. “Why don’t we go sit down?”

They went downstairs and joined Nate at the booth. He knew right away that something wasn’t right.

“You want me to take you home?” He didn’t wait for the answer. Bunny barely protested as he led her out, her legs slacking behind her. Kendra followed.

So did I.

They hailed a cab and bundled inside.

I was right behind them all the way to Bunny’s brownstone.

Nate walked her inside while Kendra held the cab. And I watched through the cameras how he guided her straight to her bedroom. She kicked off her heels, stumbling slightly and giggling to herself—the next stage of the drug was kicking in, and she was moving through the motions of her intoxicated state. But Nate was a good boy. Per her request, he undid the zipper of that tiny pink dress and let it fall to the floor without peeking. Then she crawled into bed in nothing but her panties and tangled herself in the sheets, already half-asleep. He kept his hands to himself.

Smart move. I’d cut them off right then and there if he tried to take advantage of her state.

He just brushed her hair gently, then joined Kendra before they drove off.

That’s when I moved.

The lock clicked softly behind me as I slipped inside. The apartment was pitch-black and full of the soft scent of her. I walked silently, way too familiar with the layout, and stopped at the edge of her room, watching. Her curtains were left open, and the streetlight, along with the moonlight, illuminated her face just enough for me to see.

She was a mess. Mascara smudged, hair wild, skin flushed from too much alcohol. But she was still the most fucking beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Soft. Unaware. Helpless.

My fingers twitched with the need to touch. To ruin. To take everything she kept from me.

I slowly approached the bed. Her breaths were slow, deep, her lips parted just slightly as she drooled a little into her pillow. I brushed my palm down the length of her bare arm, barely a whisper of contact, but she still shivered, shifting slightly, murmuring something unintelligible in her sleep.

I should’ve fucking left.

Instead, I moved closer.

Pulled the covers away.

The heat of her skin was addictive, intoxicating. My hands ghosted over her waist, feeling the dip, the soft, delicate lines of her body. My fingers trembled, brushing over the curve of her hip, as I trailed my palm even lower, my touch feather-light. She sighed, pressing into the mattress, a quiet sound slipping past her lips, and my cock fucking ached.

She always did this to me.

Always made me crave her in ways that should disgust me. Always played with fire, conscious or not, like she didn’t understand just how easily she could be burned.

I was tired of holding back.

I despised her for this.

For what she did to me.

For the way she made me need her, even when I wanted to destroy her.

The sheer lace panties she wore clung to her, leaving little to the imagination, and the sight of her like that sent a jolt of heat straight to my groin.

I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t even want to. The pull was too strong.

I knelt on the mattress beside her, and she stirred faintly in her sleep, a little sigh escaping her lips. I gripped her hips, my fingers digging into her flesh as I lowered myself between her legs, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. Her body responded instinctively, her back arching ever so slightly as if seeking more.

She was so fucking perfect.

Tugging her panties to the side, I revealed her pink slit and puffy pussy lips. My eyes were feasting on the view as my mouth filled with saliva, and the scent of her made my head spin—sweet and musky, like ripe fruit begging to be tasted.

I spread her ass, my thumbs pressing into the softness of her cheeks, and buried my face in her pussy. She was already wet, her arousal coating my tongue as I devoured her. Her moan was low and throaty, muffled by the pillow, and her hips rolled against my mouth, seeking more friction.

God, she was so responsive, even in her sleep. Maybe she was awake—I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t care. She was too far gone to remember anything anyway.

Her taste was addictive, a heady mix of salt, tang, and sweetness that made my cock throb painfully. I lapped at her hungrily, like a feral animal, my tongue circling her tiny clit before plunging deep inside her. Her thighs clenched around my head, her moans growing louder, more desperate. She was close, so close, and I wasn’t going to stop until she came.

When she finally did, her body shuddered, her pussy pulsing around my tongue as she let out a breathy whimper.

It was her birthday, after all. She earned a little gift. For her.

For me.

But I wasn’t done. My cock was aching, straining against the fabric of my jeans, and I couldn’t take this. I freed myself, the sound of the zipper unnaturally loud in the stillness of the room. I shifted higher, positioning myself above her. Her legs parted slightly, as if inviting me, but her panties slipped back into place like the Universe had different plans. I pressed my hard cock between her thighs regardless. The heat of her pussy was heavenly against me even through the thin barrier of lacy fabric. I rocked against her, grinding my cock against her wetness, and the sensation was fucking electric, the friction sending sparks of pleasure up my spine. She was so warm, so soft, and the way her hips moved in sync with mine—it was like she was made for me.

Her eyes were still closed, her lips still parted, and her moans constant, making my stomach twist with desire. I caught the faintest murmur of “Ghost” or maybe “Daddy.” It didn’t matter. She knew exactly who was making her feel this good. That thought alone was enough to push me over the edge.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I yanked her panties out of the way—the fabric drenched with her arousal and my precum—and pressed the head of my cock against her entrance. She was so fucking soaked, so ready and inviting.

When I pushed inside her, the tightness of her pussy alone nearly made me lose it. She was like a vice, gripping me in all the right ways, and the feeling of her pulsing with the aftershocks of her orgasm was almost too much to bear. I had to bite down on my lip to keep from groaning out loud.

Inch by inch, I slowly stretched her out, watching her body yield to my size. It was a struggle, but she couldn’t feel any pain and remained relaxed. I bottomed out, my hips flush against her ass, the pierced tip of my cock pressing against her cervix. And for a moment, I just stayed there, savoring the feeling of her heat surrounding me, so open, accepting all of me.

I leaned over her back and whispered into her ear. “Fuck, baby, you feel amazing wrapped around my cock being such a good girl for Daddy.”

She looked at me through her haze and smiled like she understood.

I started to move, my thrusts slow and deliberate at first, but it wasn’t long before I lost control, driven by some primal instinct. Her pussy was too good, too tight, and I fucked her with a desperation I hadn’t felt in years.

Her body responded, writhing beneath me, her hips lifting slightly to meet mine, her moans growing louder. I wasn’t sure if she was aware of what was happening, if some part of her knew it was real, but it didn’t matter. She was mine. In this moment, she belonged to me.

And she was close again.

I reached around, my fingers finding her clit, and rubbed her in tight circles as I pounded into her. The obscene squelching sounds of her pussy and my balls slapping against her flesh filled the space. She came with a cry, her cunt clenching around me, and that was all it took to send me over the edge.

My balls tightened, the pressure building until it was unbearable. With a low growl, I buried myself deep inside her as I came. My release filled her in hot, pulsing waves, coating her walls around me thoroughly until some spilled over.

I stayed there for a moment, my cock still twitching inside her, before pulling out and kneeling behind her. The moonlight caught the glistening streaks of my cum as it dripped out of her, her body limp and spent. I pulled out my phone and took a few pictures, spreading her swollen lips apart to get a better shot.

Fucking hell, she was beautiful.

I collected the mess with my fingers, then pushed it back inside her, swirling the mixture of our fluids deeper, wanting to claim her even more. She whimpered softly, her body twitching, but she didn’t wake. I brought my fingers to her lips, smearing the remnants across them. She would taste our connection when she woke up, even if she didn’t remember.

I knew it was reckless. I should have cleaned her up, should have made sure there was no evidence of what I’d done. But the thought of my seed deep inside her, marking her as mine, was too satisfying to resist. I pulled her panties back into place, locking my cum in. It was possession. A claim I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—take back.

As I watched her sleep, a strange feeling settled over me. It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t shame. It was something darker, something that slithered through my veins like poison. I had crossed a line, and there was no going back. But instead of fear, I felt a twisted sense of exhilaration.

I caught my breath, rolling onto my back, exhaling sharply as I reached for my phone again and dialed her number.

The line rang, and her phone began vibrating softly inside her purse. She still didn’t wake.

My fingers trailed lazily over her smooth thigh as I recorded a voicemail, looking at her peaceful, oblivious face.

“Hey, little bunny, it’s me. I know we haven’t been talking, but I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. I hope you’re having fun tonight. And… uh, it’s stupid, but I hate the way things ended. I really miss you. I… hope we chat sometime.”

I hung up, and her notification pinged. Then, I leaned over, pressing my lips against her bare shoulder. She was still shaking slightly with aftershocks of her release, her breathing heavy.

I loathed everything about her.

And yet, I still wanted her just the same.

“Happy fucking birthday, you bitch,” I murmured, zipping up my pants before slipping into the night.

She texted me the next day with a simple thank you, and we slowly started talking again. Just as friends, mainly in the group chats. I was proper. Patient. Planning my revenge.

And now we’re here.

Funny how things work out sometimes.

15. Bunny

I have never been this confused in my entire life.

Like, what the hell happened last night?

I’m trying to piece together what’s real and what’s just my imagination, but it only gives me a headache. The lines are blurry—so blurry they might as well be bleeding.

As I descend the stairs with Kendra, my eyes land on Ghost. He’s standing by the kitchen island, talking with Dev, who sits lazily on a stool at the breakfast bar like this is just any other morning. Nate is off to the side, quiet, sipping his coffee.

Ghost lifts his head to look at me. He’s wearing his damn mask and a pair of low-hanging sweats, but nothing else. His ink-covered muscles look even more intimidating in the daylight.

“Can’t believe you pulled that,” Kendra whispers, giggling, nudging me with her elbow.

“Wow, thanks,” I mutter, dry. I know she means it as a joke, but it doesn’t help the roiling anxiety tightening my chest.

He’s still Ghost Daddy. The kind of man mothers warn their daughters about and therapists build their careers on.

And that’s what freaks me out.

I’m scared to love him. Scared to let him in. Because guys like him are never good news. They’re never just guys. They’re events. Natural disasters in human form. You don’t date them—you survive them.

But beyond his stature and that fucked-up allure, and even aside our messy history, what happened last night was… strange. I could swear I saw something scarier than shifting shadows, scarier even than the figure outside the window. I saw something in his eyes. Not just lustful, not just intense, but something that wasn’t natural. Something inhuman shimmered in his eyes. And I hate myself because, despite the way it shook me, he made me feel so good. But now? I literally can’t even look at him without being afraid of him.

Why do I feel this way?

It’s like an instinct—raw and primal—screaming: Danger.

Kendra hops up onto the barstool between Dev and Nate, changing the subject with a bright, “So, what’s the plan for this big spooky hike?”

Dev bites into toast, and Nate shrugs, still avoiding eye contact. Before I can process anything else, Ghost’s arm wraps around my waist. My breath hitches as he pulls me up onto the counter, stepping between my legs like he’s entitled to the space.

He nuzzles his masked face into my neck. “You slept so peacefully, I didn’t want to wake you,” he whispers in that low, raspy voice that sinks into my skin. My stomach clenches. It feels like his tongue lapping at my pussy all over again. “I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed, though.”

“That’s so sweet,” I say, trying not to sound too flustered. My fingers instinctively draw slow circles on his back, as if remembering where they clung the night before.

“Last night was amazing,” he adds, his muscles flexing below my touch.

“Mhm, yes.” My voice comes out thinner than I’d like.

His head lifts suddenly. He stares at me, quiet, studying. His silence is heavier than any words, and my nerves spike.

“What’s up with the energy switch?” he asks, flatly.

“No, I just… I’m stressed about going into the woods,” I lie. Which isn’t necessarily a lie. But also not the full truth since it’s not the only reason.

Before he can call my bluff, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and check the screen.

“Hey, it’s the pretty cute one with the southern accent and scary stories. Just wanted to double-check if you needed a guide for the hike, after all? Or maybe you wanna ditch your grumpy masked party-pooper, and let me show you a good time?”

I can’t help but smile at the text—Mark’s gotten some confidence overnight.

But immediately, I feel the temperature in the room drop by ten degrees. Above me, I hear Ghost grit his teeth as he leans in to read the message upside down. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s enraged.

“You should be glad that flirting with me is all it takes for him to back off your case.”

“Oh, I’m so fucking thankful. No idea how I’ll ever repay him for this overwhelming act of mercy.”

I roll my eyes. “Get over yourself. It’s not that serious.”

“Trouble in paradise already?” Dev chimes in, grinning. “Sounded like you two were getting along just fine last night.”

“Yeah, right,” Nate mutters with a nervous forced laugh. Poor guy. I don’t think he slept at all.

“Eat,” Ghost commands me, ignoring them. “You’ll need energy.”

I poke his chest with a huff. “You eat.”

“I already have.” He sensually runs his palms up my thighs. “Unless you offer something sweet.”

“Guys, come on!” Dev whines, fake-gagging.

After breakfast, we gather our equipment—cameras, EMF meters, audio gear, then change and get ready to leave. I fix my makeup and throw on something on-brand. I settle on a pink satin bustier half-corset, high-waisted denim shorts with ruffled cuffs, black fishnet tights underneath, and ankle sneakers. Obviously, I top it off with my signature bunny-ear headband.

When I come back down, Ghost is waiting by the door, arms crossed, leg fidgeting. He changed into his usual—black hoodie, black jeans with cuts on the knees, and his black combat boots.

“You do know we’re going into the woods, right?” he says, eyeing my outfit.

I want to punch him in the throat.

“I’m gonna be on camera, so—”

“Yes, you will,” he cuts in, and the way he says it makes it sound ominous. Like a threat.

I brush past him without another word, but I can feel his presence hovering right behind me.

We drive to the closest hiking trail entry point, park the car, and unload our stuff. The second I step out of the car, a chill runs down my spine.

Something feels… off.

The air is thick and humid, clinging to my skin like damp clothes fresh out of the dryer but never dried. It smells of wet leaves, rusted metal, and something else—older. Ancient. Like grave dirt and secrets that shouldn’t be spoken.

The forest ahead is too still. The trees look unsettling. I swear they’re leaning in, stretching toward us like they’ve been waiting. Watching.

But the worst part?

It’s the silence.

No birds chirping.

No insects buzzing.

No wind rustling the leaves.

Just a dense, smothering stillness. Not the peaceful kind. More like the world paused mid-breath and never exhaled.

“Okay, I don’t want to do this,” I blurt, already half-turned back toward the car.

“Hey, it’s just the woods,” Nate says, trying to sound reassuring but coming off more as if he’s trying to convince himself. He’s already holding a walking stick like a cross.

“Bun, you promised!” Kendra is instantly at my side, grabbing my arm like a woman possessed. “Don’t chicken out on me now!”

“I don’t feel good. Like, legit.” My stomach churns. “You guys go without me. I’ll stay in the car with the AC on, hydrate, maybe cry a little—”

“No! You’re the star of the show! I need this check!” she hisses.

“Your check will be fine,” I say flatly. “Ghost has a much bigger following. Let him go flash some abs in the woods and you’ll be a millionaire.”

“That’s not the point!” she whines. “People expect Bunny! You’re the face!”

“I can’t. I feel like I’m going to have a panic attack.”

“Take all the time you need. We can wait,” Dev proposes.

I open my mouth to come up with another excuse, but get interrupted instantly.

“Bunny, please,” Kendra pleads, dialing it down. “Do this for me?”

I groan. Emotional blackmail. Classic Kendra.

“You’ll be fine,” Ghost says casually. Too casually. Like he’s enjoying this. “Just remember not to look up at the trees. If you see eyes staring at you, don’t stare back. And don’t run through the woods unless you want to be chased.”

I blink at him. “Are you trying to freak me out even more?”

“Not at all!” He lifts his hands in the air, now in leather gloves for whatever reason. “I’m just warning you. These woods are full of cannibals, ghosts, cryptids… You really wouldn’t want Mothman catching you out here. I hear he’s into pink hair and big boobs.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper, hugging myself. “I knew you were evil.”

“It’s actually West Virginia lore, no need to fear the Mothman here,” Nate responds, all serious and shit, not realizing how unintentionally hilarious he is.

“Why are you giving her such a hard time, man?” Dev asks, half-laughing, looking at Ghost over his shoulder as he zips up his backpack.

“Because it’s fun,” the asshole replies without missing a beat—and then smacks my ass.

Right in front of everyone.

What is wrong with this man?!

“Ugh, I hate your stupid face!” I stomp my foot like a cartoon character, which just makes everyone snicker.

“That’s funny because you had that stupid face between your legs last night,” Ghost retorts, stepping closer. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but you weren’t exactly complaining.” His large hand grips one of my butt cheeks through my tiny jean shorts, squeezing possessively. “You even begged for more.”

My breath catches, and I turn beet red. I can feel it.

Nate coughs loudly, choking on an inhale. Dev mutters “Jesus Christ” under his breath like a disappointed parent. And Kendra giggles, winking at Ghost with a thumbs up.

Lovely.

“Guys,” I say, turning to the group, clinging to the last shred of composure I have, “if we get separated, I’m with you this time.”

But before I can even move an inch toward them, Ghost’s hand grips my hip and yanks me against his firm chest.

“You’re not going anywhere without me,” he murmurs into my ear, his voice low and final.

I don’t know if I should fear the woods more… or him.

We follow the trail in a loose formation—Ghost and Dev leading the way with their chunky cameras, Nate trudging behind with a GoPro clipped to the strap of his backpack like a true try-hard, and Kendra trailing next to me, recording on her phone “for authenticity,” as she dramatically put it.

Honestly? It’s boring as hell.

The first fifteen minutes are just dirt, trees, and the occasional polite nod to spandex-clad hikers with golden retrievers and trekking poles. Not exactly the Blair Witch vibes we were promised. No paranormal activity, no haunted groans, no ghostly cold spots. Just a lot of sweat, tangled roots, and me regretting every layer of fishnet on my thighs.

Eventually, we start faking it.

Dev tries to zoom in on a “shadow figure” that’s clearly just a stump. Nate whispers into the GoPro like he’s hunting some cryptid. Kendra screams at nothing and insists it was “a vibe shift.”

And then—because of course—we decide to split up to cover more ground and get more footage.

Kendra, Nate, and Dev veer off to the left, cutting through some overgrowth like they’re heading straight into a low-budget horror film.

Ghost turns to me and jerks his head to the right. “C’mon, Bun-bun. We’ll check that ridge.”

I roll my eyes so hard I nearly sprain something. “Because this always goes well in scary movies.”

He smirks behind the mask. “Relax. Worst case, we get eaten by a monster… Or each other.”

Charming.

Still, I follow him, my heart thudding as we leave the marked trail and disappear into the thicker trees. The farther we go, the more it smells like damp moss and rot. Sunlight barely filters through the lush crowns, and fog snakes through the lower gnarled branches like it's hunting something. Or someone.

And this godawful quiet is killing me. The kind of quiet that makes you realize how far from civilization you are. No distant hum of cars. No buzz of streetlights. Just my sneakers scuffing against the uneven forest floor as I walk ahead, crunching over brittle leaves. Ghost’s footsteps are heavier than mine, his Martens thudding against the ground as he sticks close behind me. The camera in his hands hums softly as it records, his gaze—hidden behind that expressionless mask—never leaving me.

“Stop being a creep,” I say, glancing over my shoulder.

All I see are those dark eye slits, empty voids staring back at me. His blank mask has always been unsettling in its simplicity, but here in the woods, under the dense canopy of twisted trees, it’s downright sinister. Inhuman. Paired with his somewhat lanky, yet lean and powerful frame wrapped in a black hoodie, he looks more like the creature in our horror documentary than the guy filming it.

“I can’t stop thinking about last night,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave lower into that delicious rasp.

I feel the camera slowly panning over my body like a caress, and I know exactly where his thoughts are heading. If he turns it sexual now, I’m done for. I’ll never be strong enough to resist him.

“Don’t get excited, it was a one-time thing,” I snark, too sharp, too fast, without thinking.

His head tilts slightly, his fingers tapping the side of the lens. “You don’t mean that.”

My stomach drops, and a wave of panic rises through me. “Umm, it doesn’t change anything,” I ramble quickly. “All these things we talked about on the porch are still the same.” Or rather, they’re just excuses, the armor I wear because I don’t know how to let anyone in without bracing for the moment they leave.

The last man I truly loved—my father—zipped up a suitcase and vanished while I was coloring in the next room. No note. No goodbye. Just gone. I was barely six when my world cracked open, and I watched my mother spiral, raising me alone through the haze of depression and barely disguised resentment.

Now I flinch from anything that feels real… because real always means ruin.

Ghost stands too still behind me. I feel the heat of him, the sharp chill of his silence. The camera is still rolling in his gloved hand, red light blinking, capturing every heartbeat of this screwed-up moment of me rejecting him—again.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper. My voice is too thin, too unsure. “We can stay frie—”

He moves fast. Too fast for me to even properly register what’s happening.

In one second, his gloved hand snaps around my throat like it’s always belonged there.

And in the next, my back slams into the tree, bark biting into my spine. I gasp, but no air gets in, and I look at him with wide eyes.

His body presses into mine, towering over me. I can't even guess what expression lies beneath the white of the mask, but I feel the heat of his rage. It rolls off him like a second skin.

“You almost had me fooled again,” the edge in his voice slices through the haze in my mind, vibrating against my skull.

16. Bunny

I barely make out his words before I feel his hand tightening harder around my neck. The world tunnels. My feet scramble for footing as my spine grates against rough bark, and I choke on air that doesn’t come. My throat is too tight, his grip too firm, precise, like he’s done this before.

“Ghost!” I wheeze, kicking, and grabbing at his wrist so frantically that one of his cord bracelets snaps. “Stop!”

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, looming, a full foot taller than me, literally choking me. He raises the camera in his other hand—the red light blinking—and pans it over my face.

This went from ghost hunting to snuff film real fast. I just know it will be a hit on the dark web… Oh dear God, he’s going to kill me.

“For a second, I hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this,” he adds. He doesn’t sound angry. It’s worse. He’s poised. Controlled. Like he’s making a documentary about how he plans to tear me apart.

I can’t breathe. My stomach twists so violently that I think I might throw up. My entire body goes ice cold, like my blood is backing away from my skin.

He releases me right before I pass out, and my knees nearly buckle as I desperately gasp for air.

Even worse comes next.

Slowly, he pulls a knife from underneath his hoodie.

Long. Clean. Sharp.

I freeze.

He holds it up—not to stab, not yet—but to let me see it. Let me understand.

He steps closer and cages me against the tree again, then the blade touches my cheek. I flinch, but he doesn’t cut. Just lets it trail like a lover’s caress of steel. Down my face. Over my throat.

My pulse pounds like war drums. My legs tremble under me, and still I can’t move. My voice fails. My thoughts scatter.

He leans in, pressing the smooth mask against my temple and inhales. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Fear smells incredible on you, little bunny.”

“Why are you doing this?” I manage to croak, voice shaking as badly as my limbs.

“Why?” he echoes, the dead calm in his voice bordering on unhinged now. Then he erupts, “Because you broke my fucking heart, you traitorous bitch!”

I can’t believe what’s happening…

He’s my Ghost…

This can’t be real…

“Please,” I whimper, voice shattered. “Please, stop…”

“Even your begging sounds like a lie.” He tilts the knife and presses it harder under my jaw. Not enough to break skin. Just enough to tell me he could. “All you had to do was choose me. Just fucking choose me. But instead, you tossed me aside like garbage. And now look what you made me do!”

My body trembles. Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I can’t. I don’t know what will make him snap worse.

He laughs. But there’s nothing human in it. It starts low and bitter, then rises into something ragged and cracked. “Oh, if it isn’t the consequences of your own actions, you selfish, spoiled brat.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” he hisses. “Lead me on? Toy with my feelings for your fucking entertainment? Make me your little fucking joke?!” His voice cracks. Just for a second.

And then it’s gone, replaced by something cold. Something final. “You used me. And that’s okay, Bunny. Because now I get to use you in return.”

A fresh wave of panic chokes me. The fog thickens around us, swallowing sound. My heartbeat feels like it’s pounding in my ears loud enough to summon monsters from the trees.

But isn’t the real monster standing right in front of me? A man in the woods…

A man who perhaps loved me a little too much.

He drags the tip of the knife down my bruised throat, not slicing, just gliding—threatening.

My breath shakes violently. “Ghost, this isn’t you.”

“No,” he breathes, almost reverently, “this is me. The side of me you’ve always pretended not to see. The one you flirted with and ran from. The one that fucking starved for you.”

He shifts even closer, his body pinning me down completely, the cool steel of the blade resting at the hollow of my throat.

“And you just loved playing innocent, didn’t you? Got the attention you needed to make you feel better about yourself, had your pussy soaking wet watching me lose my fucking mind over you, then left me high and dry to suffer.”

I shake my head fast, lips trembling. “I didn’t—I never wanted to hurt you, please…”

“Oh, shut up!” he growls. His voice drops, becomes cold and detached. “You know, I actually tried. For the first time in my entire life. I fucking tried for you. I was patient. I waited. I was so fucking good for you. I held back the worst parts of me. And I really believed we could be something.”

He drags the blade across my collarbone, letting me feel the sting.

“But you played me,” he says, voice dangerously low. “Just like you played Dev before me. Just like you played sad little Nate. Just like you play with everyone. You get off on it, don’t you? Making people fall in love with you, then moving to a new target.”

“No,” I sob. “No, that’s not true—”

“Oh, but it is.” His voice drops to a chilling whisper, “I should’ve fucked you on New Year’s Eve when you were passed out in my hotel bed. Maybe then I would’ve gotten you out of my system. Just taken what I wanted and walked away. One and done, quick and easy.” The blade presses harder into my skin, and I can feel the blood welling up. “I hate that I didn’t. Because that’s where I went wrong. You got so fucking deep under my skin. You poisoned me. Consumed my every thought. My every dream. I breathed you. I let you matter.”

My heart shatters into a million tiny pieces. “I felt that, too!” I cry out.

“Liar!” he yells, and there’s something… unnatural in his voice, and I’m scared for my life.

“Please, you have to believe me! I was just afraid!” I choke on my tears. “Because we were friends! And things got too intense, and I knew if I messed it up, you’d be gone forever. But I couldn’t lose you! I—I love you. You don’t need to do this. Ghost, I’m in love with you…”

The mask tilts slightly. He goes still. The silence drapes over the forest like a death shroud.

“See,” his voice is barely audible now, “I want to believe you…” The knife kisses my skin again. It slides over the thin line of blood he already drew and traces a new path—lazy, like he’s painting with it. “But I just can’t,” he adds, emotionless, measured.

Then, a scream rips through the woods.

Not his.

Not mine.

But distant and bloody, torn from someone’s lungs like they didn’t want to give them up. Familiar.

“Time to say goodbye to your friends,” he murmurs, almost entertained.

Before I can even grasp what he just said, chaos erupts.

Human screams reverberate through the trees around us. All too familiar.

My blood turns to ice.

Oh God, please, no.

I want to believe Kendra, Nate, and Dev are just that good at faking content. But my subconscious already knows.

There’s something else there. Not human, not animal, but something worse. Something wrong. It snarls in the trees—a noise I can’t name, something that doesn’t belong on Earth.

More screaming, then a brutal cacophony of crunching and wet tearing sounds. Bones breaking. Gurgling cries. Begging cut off mid-sentence. The sickening pop. A primal howl, too unnatural to belong to a wolf. I can almost smell the blood, metallic and hot and final.

Ghost doesn’t even flinch. He just tilts his head, listening, savoring. Like he’s living for this moment.

My stomach lurches as tears spill down my cheeks, and I can’t stop shaking. My heart is thrashing like it’s trying to shatter through my ribs and flee.

I don’t know what’s happening.

I don’t know why it’s happening.

But he clearly does.

I get hysterical and jerk against him, trying to push him out of my way. “Let me go! Please, we have to help them!”

But he doesn’t budge. “Help who? Not even a single tooth of them remains. Because of you.” His voice is too calm, too cold.

A mewl chokes out of me. My knees give up under me, but he holds me up, body pinning me with impossible strength. I can’t move. I can’t even think straight.

“Wha-what did you do?!”

“I let the woods eat,” he whispers, like it’s holy.

My eyes flood. My stomach clenches. Terror scrapes up my throat and spills out in ugly sobs.

He tilts his head slowly like he's watching me die from the inside. Like the sight delights him. “You look so fucking pretty when you cry,” he says. “When I take everything you love from you. When there’s nothing left for you to hold on to. No one left to save you. Just me, taking what’s mine.”

The tears blur everything, but I still see the knife. Still feel it as he lowers it. Down. Across my chest. Not cutting. Not yet. Just… exploring. My breath catches. My skin prickles. He presses the edge lightly over the swell of my breast, watching the way the cool metal makes me jittery.

“You're trembling,” he murmurs. “But not from just fear, are you?”

I choke on a sob. Shake my head. Try to shrink from him, even as my body betrays me, reacting to the cold, the adrenaline, the impossible intimacy of pain and dread and his goddamn voice in my ear.

Heat pools low in my belly, no matter how hard I fight against it, making me sick.

The knife slides lower as he slips the blade under the center of my bustier, slicing downward in one smooth motion. The fabric parts with a whisper, air hitting my bare skin as the corset falls open. My breasts spill free, nipples pebbling instantly under his gaze.

I gasp, arms instinctively trying to cover myself, but he nudges my wrist with the edge of the knife, ordering my hands away.

“Don’t,” he growls. “Don’t hide from me now.”

I whimper as fresh tears distort my vision. The fabric falls away completely, exposing my jutting tits to the camera that’s still recording.

He drags the flat of the knife over the side of my breast. Just a touch. Just enough to leave a chill trail that makes me want to scream.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” he murmurs. “Your body knows me. The way it listens to me. Even now. Even after you’ve heard your friends being ripped apart.”

He’s lying. Just messing with me. I don’t accept this… It can’t be true.

I want to tear off his mask and spit in his face. Kick him in the balls. Yank the knife out of his hand and make him bleed.

But I’m paralyzed. Trapped. My legs are jelly. My brain is static. The terror and the grief are too much to bear, and I shut it all down.

He traces the tip of the blade around my hard peak, teasing. The sensation is shocking, and I’m disgusted that my body reacts to the caress. My breath hitches. My back arches. A traitorous throb between my legs, a choked-down moan in my throat.

He watches intently, breathing harder now. “Look at you,” he purrs, dragging the knife across my chest to my other nipple. “You little slut.”

His hand shifts just a bit lower before he cuts.

A tiny slash. Shallow, but sharp, on my ribcage just below my breasts. The pain makes me yelp. The blood wells up, a thin line of red like a ribbon unraveling.

The knife glides down my stomach like a whisper, cold and deliberate, following the blood. I feel every inch of its path—over my belly button to the zipper of my jean shorts, the metal teeth catching for a second before the blade trails lower, grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. My breath hitches as it traces down to my knee, then back up, slipping under the cuff of my shorts. With a sharp twist of his wrist, there’s a sudden yank, and a rip. The denim splits beneath the blade, the sound too loud in the eerie quiet of the woods.

“No, don’t do this!” I beg as horror shots through my body, and with all the strength I have in me, I shove him off me.

He barely even shifts back. All it seems to do is to amuse him. He drops the camera, catching my wrists in his one hand, and he pins my arms to the tree above my head, restraining me.

“Don’t make it harder on yourself, Princess,” he whispers as he grabs the flapping panel of fabric with his free hand and tugs hard. The zipper gives, the button pops off with a ping, and then my ruined shorts are tossed aside, leaving me in nothing but lace.

The knife presses between my legs, the tip teasing over the delicate lace of my panties. I feel the cool metal drag down my slit, so light it’s almost cruel—then nothing.

A sharp thunk makes me flinch. The blade sinks into the tree at an angle, the handle jutting out just between my trembling thighs, mere inches from my exposed pussy. His gloved fist tightens on the torn lace, ripping it further, together with my tights, until I’m completely bare.

Then, I feel the smooth leather of his glove against my skin. And God help me, it feels so good. His fingers part my lips with a slow, deliberate stroke, and I gasp.

“There we go,” he says, almost fondly, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Mmmm, there’s the truth. This is mine. You don’t get to say no to me…”

I sob harder.

His touch is maddening—spreading my slickness, tracing lazy circles around my swollen clit before dipping lower, slipping inside me with no warning.

A pathetic whimper escapes my lips, and I can’t do anything but feel him, his long, leather-clad fingers curling just right, stealing my breath.

“Feel that? The way your cunt clenches when I touch you?” he asks, but he’s not looking for an answer. “That’s not fear, little bunny. That’s need.”

Go fuck yourself! I scream at him in my head.

But my body… Oh, my body is loving every goddamn second. I grind down on his hand like an animal in heat, chasing the forbidden sensations I shouldn’t even be feeling right now.

What did he do to me?

“Fuck yes,” he rasps. “That greedy little pussy is so sensitive, isn’t it? Always so wet for me… so easy to please… I’m the only one who can make you feel this way. Your body knows it’s Master.”

He pulls out suddenly, and before I can protest, his palm slaps against me—once, twice, three times—each strike landing directly on my clit, sending sharp bursts of pleasure-pain through me. My hips jerk, my thighs quiver, and I’m right there, teetering on the edge…

His hand is gone. “No, I didn’t say you could cum.”

He lifts his fingers to my lips, and my tongue flicks out to collect my juices before he even asks me to. My taste is laced with the leather of his gloves, and I can’t get enough.

“You’re going to have to work for it.”

Then his boot kicks my legs wider apart, and as my body shifts down, the smooth handle of the knife presses right against my entrance.

“Go ahead, show me how you ride it,” he commands.

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut.

His grip tightens on my chin, fingers digging into my jaw hard enough to bruise. “Don’t defy me unless you want that knife in your ass instead.”

He’s serious. No doubt about it. And he terrifies me.

I do what I need to do to survive—I obey.

Lowering myself onto the handle is slow torture as the thick, unforgiving polished wood stretches me, filling me in a way that shouldn’t feel this good. But it does. My hips move on their own, rocking against the tree, the bark rough against my already scraped back.

He steps back, picks up a camera, and records it all while his free hand flies to the zipper of his jeans.

I watch, mesmerized, as he pulls out his cock—hard, thick, pierced—and my movements turn frantic. My hands cup my breasts, fingers pinching my aching nipples between them, as choked moans escape my parted lips. I don’t know what it is, but I have never been more horny in my entire life. I feel ashamed, guilty, and entirely repulsed by myself, but even that doesn’t stop my hunger.

He strokes himself slowly, still filming my every move as the camera pans between my legs, lingering. “Mmmm, Bunny… look at you. So desperate, fucking yourself on a knife in the woods like the filthy little whore that you are.”

I moan, my hips bucking harder, the handle sliding in and out with slick, filthy sounds. God, I can feel it building inside me again, that tight coil of pleasure winding tighter, and tighter…

“Oh, you’re close?” he taunts in that low, condescending tone that drives me crazy. “You want to cum, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I whimper despite myself, hating that he has this power over me. Even now. Even after everything.

“No, you don’t deserve that.”

Then his hand fists in my hair, yanking me off the handle and down onto my knees. His cock is right in front of my face, all nine inches, glistening, demanding.

“Convince me,” he orders. “Make me cum first, and maybe I’ll allow your pleasure.”

I hesitate.

Ghost tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him—at that blank fucking mask, those dark, endless eye slits. Then he taps the tip of his cock against my lips, the metal hoop cool against them as he smears the precum across the seam of my mouth.

“Open.”

I do because I fear what he may do if I don’t listen. Not that I even have a choice to begin with.

The moment my lips part, he thrusts in. Deep. Ghost groans, low and satisfied. “Fuck, Bunny!”

I choke, my hands flying to his muscular thighs as his cock pushes past my lips. The barbell piercings slowly drag along my tongue, teasing me with the unspoken promise of how they would feel somewhere else.

My inner walls clench.

“You look beautiful like this. On your knees with my cock in you mouth,” he praises and my stomach flutters.

Tears sting my eyes as he presses deeper, deeper—until I have no choice but to breathe through my nose. My throat spasms. My nails dig into his jeans.

He chuckles darkly, zooming in on my face again. “You can take it, Princess.”

He pulls back just enough to let me suck in a breath before thrusting back in, slower, meaner. My chest heaves as I muffle around him, fresh tears spilling down my face.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice much softer now, which surprises me. “Let me in.”

I try—I really do. I try to focus, try to breathe through my nose, but he’s so thick, so heavy, every inch of him forcing its way in. I’m drooling around him, saliva dripping down my chin, my jaw aching from the stretch.

His hips roll slowly as he thrusts, pressing his cock right to the back of my throat. I whimper, then gag, but he doesn’t let up. Instead, he tilts his head, watching me struggle. Loving it.

“Messy girl.”

He pulls out completely, just listening to my gasps, then he slaps his cock against my tongue with a filthy wet sounds.

“Do better,” he orders. “Show me how sorry you are for all that you did to me. For thinking you could get away with it.”

His fist tightens in my hair, yanking me down on his shaft. Slowly opening up my throat again, he forces me to take him even farther.

Tears blur my vision. My lungs burn. But there’s something in me that wants to please him.

“Eyes on me, Bunny,” he commands.

I blink up at him, dazed, and I’m met with the camera lens.

His cock twitches. “Beautiful. That’s it,” he grunts, pulling back just slightly. “Now suck Daddy’s cock, baby.”

I do as told. My tongue swirls around the piercings as my lips seal tightly around his girth and I suck him deep.

He tosses his head back, and his deep, raspy moan echoes through the woods. It’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard, and my mouth starts working around him as my head bobs up and down.

“Mmmm, good girl. My perfect little cocksucker.”

I don’t even realize when my hips start moving, but suddenly, I’m helplessly grinding my aching pussy against his boot. The hard leather presses perfectly against my stiff clit tingling with need. Moaning around his throbbing shaft, I feel my orgasm building again, and my movements grow faster as I rut away, pursuing that wonderful friction.

He tsks. “Greedy.” And he pulls his foot away, leaving me empty and denied. “You wanted to tease me all these months,” he rasps. “Now you don’t get to decide what I give you.”

Then Ghost’s hips snap forward, and I gag hard, my body jerking. He grunts, satisfied, fucking my throat until his breathing turns ragged.

Something moves in the trees.

A low rustling. A shadow shifting. A low whisper.

My stomach lurches. My pulse pounds. And my hands try to push back against his thighs, but Ghost doesn’t budge.

“Keep your mouth busy.” His voice is a low hiss, dark and commanding. His fingers tighten in my hair, keeping me locked in place as he picks up the pace. He’s relentless. The sounds coming from me are obscene—wet, choked, desperate.

I can’t breathe, can’t think.

The woods groan around us.

Another distant whisper.

A snap of a branch.

I try to pull back again, but his grip is iron-tight. I make a panicked noise, as fear crawls up my spine, but he’s in control.

He won’t let me go.

The corner of my eye catches more movement, and I hear more whispers, low and guttural, echoing around us. They sound real. Too real.

And there’s this gut-wrenching sense of being watched.

I panic, my nails digging into Ghost’s thighs like needles, my body tensing. He notices, but he doesn’t care. He yanks my hair harder, tilting my head, and deep throats me in fast, long strokes. My head gets fuzzy at the edges, but then his cock swells, growing even harder, and I hear his whimper.

“Fuck, baby! Oh, don’t stop. I’m gonna cum…”

He groans, thrusting one final time, shuddering hard as he spills down my throat. Hot. Thick. Unrelenting.

My throat works around his pulsing length as I struggle to swallow, and some spills down the corner of my mouth. Ghost watches, speechless, his breath shaky. I blink up at him, my tongue swirling around the swollen head of his cock, collecting the last drops from the tip.

“Goddamn, Bunny,” he exhales, finally pulling out.

I gasp for air, my chest heaving, my body trembling, but I take advantage of his momentary orgasmic haze.

I try my luck.

My fingers reach back to the knife handle left embedded in the tree. It’s still slick with my juices, slippery, but before I can even get a proper grip, he yanks me down onto my stomach. The camera rolls on the ground after he drops it again, still recording. His weight pins me to the dirt as he completely overpowers me, mounting the back of my thighs and yanking my arms back in his grip.

I never stood a chance.

“What did I tell you?” His voice is a growl, his breath hot against my ear. “You disobey me—you get punished. Did you think I was fucking around?”

The knife’s handle presses against my asshole, and I scream in shock. My whole body locks up, muscles clenching against the intrusion.

Ghost laughs. “Never been fucked here before, have you?”

I shake my head violently, clawing at the soil, trying to get away—which is pointless, of course. His tongue last night was the most experimenting I ever did, and he fucking knows it.

“We need to work on opening you up,” he murmurs, and I feel his thumb replacing the knife. The leather teases my tight opening in slow, deliberate circles. “I need all your holes to serve me… To serve us.”

Us?

I freeze.

His grip on my wrists loosens as he shifts his hand up my spine, then twirls it around his forearm.

“You see, little bunny,” he begins, tugging at my hair to lift my face. My eyes lock on the figures emerging from the tree shadows. “I always share with my brothers.”

17. Bunny

I can’t quite understand what I’m looking at initially. Humans? Animals? Their shapes blur with the shadows. One has a distinct feline walk, sleek and graceful, that should be beautiful, if it weren’t so wrong. Cats shouldn’t walk on two legs.

Then, amongst them, I recognize Dev as he slowly approaches. And Nate is following right behind him.

Relief floods me so fast it makes me dizzy. I forget that I’m naked. Humiliated. Used. It doesn’t matter.

Thank God.

It was a stupid joke, just some awful fucked-up prank, boys being boys, a scare. They’re here now. It’ll stop. Ghost will stop. This is over.

But as they get closer, something feels wrong. They aren’t moving right. Their arms twitch out of rhythm with their legs. Their heads tilt too far. Like their bones are breaking and reforming as they walk. Like something else is crawling beneath their skin.

My stomach flips. I can’t breathe.

“Nate?” I whisper, the name breaking like glass in my throat, my voice barely audible. “Please, don’t do this…”

He stops. His head snaps toward me, eyes locking onto mine in an almost mechanical motion.

And for a single, shuddering heartbeat, something lightens his expression. A flicker of emotion, recognition, something familiar. I’m not sure, but his hesitation is mirrored in the others. Dev falters, only slightly. The others behind them stay still in the shadows like someone hit pause.

Even Ghost’s grip on my hair slackens. His weight shifts off my thighs.

This is it.

I don’t think twice about it.

With everything I have in me, I lurch forward, my shoulder wrenching painfully, my legs kicking, as I twist out from under him. Scream breaks out of my throat as I shove against the dirt, then I’m up. Moving. Running.

My body is in survival mode, every nerve wired to the single goal of escape. My bare feet tear through moss, rocks, and pine needles, branches whip at my face, sharp twigs slash across my arms, legs burn with literal hell’s fire, but the pain is distant. Background noise. The forest looks the same in every direction—green, black, endless. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t care. I just know I have to move. I have to get away.

Behind me, the movement explodes. I hear them. All of them. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard. Not human footsteps, but something faster, heavier, wrong.

Ghost’s voice—that low, raspy gravel of his—is somehow distant and right in my ear at the same time. “What did I tell you about running in the woods, little bunny?”

I risk a glance over my shoulder.

And I almost fall.

They’re gaining. Dev is the closest one behind me, too tall, his limbs are too long, as if he’s shedding his human features. And his eyes—God—his eyes are black now, like there’s nothing behind them but hunger.

Nate is practically running on all fours like an animal, his hands grow claws as his clothes rip to reveal dark patches of fur.

“Tease.” His teeth snap with a loud snarl. “Making us chase you.”

What the fuck is going on?

I make a sharp turn, then a shape drops in front of me out of nowhere—Kendra is standing right there, all bloody and pale. Her arm is ripped off, her other hand holding her stomach, and one of her legs is all torn up and twisted backward at the hip.

“Look what you did to me, Bunny.” Blood spews from her mouth as she speaks. Her hand trembles, unable to handle the pressure, then her intestines spill out of her torso.

Bile rises in my throat, but I turn and run the other way.

The forest hits me like a wall—thicker here, darker. Tangled with vines and rot and heat. I can’t see the sky. I can’t tell how far I’ve gone. My lungs can’t keep up. My vision tunnels. But I don’t have time to think, or scream, or even breathe. The only thought in my head is to push forward.

I just want to live. I want to wake up. I want this to end.

The last traces of daylight bleed through the trees, making it more difficult for me to see.

“Wrong turn,” Ghost’s voice echoes through the trees.

And as I crash through a clearing, I nearly scream again, met with another figure ahead. At first, I think it’s a deer standing upright, but no… Its body moves like it’s forgotten how limbs are supposed to work. Bent in the wrong places. Joints too loose, or too many. Its eyes zero in on me, glowing, and it sniffs the air, then growls… like something otherworldly.

I choke on a sob and bolt.

Behind me, laughter ripples through the trees.

“You can’t hide, little bunny.”

His words crawl under my skin, hot and sticky like summer humidity. He’s everywhere. In the trees. In my head.

“You belong to the woods now.”

My breath is coming in short, ragged sobs. The world spins around me. I hear twigs snapping, leaves rustling. Something fast. Too fast. They’re circling, weaving through the trees just out of sight.

The laughter is behind me. Beside me. Ahead of me.

I cover my ears, but I don’t stop running. My chest aches. The taste of panic is metallic in my mouth. Every time I change direction, something is there, just out of reach.

They’re not chasing me in a straight line. They’re closing the loop. They’re toying with me. Herding me like an animal.

Something hisses to my right—low and guttural.

To my left, a voice I swear is Dev’s murmurs, almost tender, “Do you like being hunted?”

Another voice laughs behind me—perhaps Nate’s, but it’s too distorted for me to be certain. “Is that what gets you off?”

Then, a wild huff next to my ear steams the air. With the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a huge, furred figure with an oxlike head and large horns. And I’m not sure whether I hear the sound of the hooves thumping on the ground or my own heartbeat hammering in my chest. Maybe both.

I scream, even though I know they like it.

But I don’t stop running. Even though my body’s quitting on me. Even though every breath feels like it might be my last. The woods are endless. They stretch and stretch, hot and green and close, like they’re pressing in on me. Like they’re part of the hunt.

And they are.

The Appalachian Mountains are alive. I feel it now—like something deep and old is watching me. Hungry. Approving.

Suddenly, the ground gives way, and I skid down a slope through dirt and old leaves. My palms tear open as I scramble for leverage, then I hit the bottom hard, and feel my knee split open. Blood slicks my leg, my fishnet tights rip entirely, bunching around my ankles together with my ruined panties. I yank them off before I drag myself up again, wheezing, blinking sweat and tears out of my eyes, my mouth full of the taste of earth and blood.

Ghost is suddenly behind me. I don’t hear him approach. I just feel the heat of him, the weight of his presence. Then that low chuckle rumbles out of the trees.

And I run again. Limping. Screaming. My body isn’t mine anymore. It’s just meat moving through space, pushed by fear.

But even in the horror—even with death panting at my back—something else twists inside me.

Shame.

The heat between my legs won’t go away. The rush of it—being chased, hunted, wanted—makes me feel sick and alive and confused. I hate it. I hate that it’s there. I hate that they know.

I hate myself.

“Don’t you know I can smell you, Princess?” Ghost calls. “Your fear… the adrenaline rushing through your veins… the arousal pulling between your legs. You’re running like you want to be caught.” His voice slithers between the trees… between my thighs, low and hot. “Because you know exactly what happens when I catch you. And you crave it.”

My stomach twists. “No—” I sob, but my voice breaks.

He’s not alone. They’re all there, I can hear them moving together, breathing together. They laugh again, that awful chorus of voices I used to know.

The trees are closing in. I can’t see straight. I can’t think. I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand. The exhaustion is slowly hitting me. I trip over my own legs and fall again.

“Get up,” I whisper to myself. “Get up, get up, get up—”

I haul myself forward on hands and knees, then stagger upright. More blood runs down my body, and I’m not even sure what exactly is bleeding.

I hear them in the distance, whistling. The same noise we heard at the Airbnb. Now I’m sure they were there that night, whatever they are.

“You were made for this.”

A sound rips out of me. I don’t know if I’m crying or laughing anymore. I feel delirious.

“You’re already ours.”

Something brushes my hair. Too soft to be a branch. Too deliberate to be the wind.

I try to scream, but my voice dies in my throat.

Then, arms wrap around me from behind—tight, possessive, so strong.

“Got you,” Ghost breathes against my ear.

He flips me like I weigh nothing, and suddenly I’m flat on the ground. Cold dirt bites into my back, sticks and stones digging into my skin. My legs kick wildly beneath him.

“Guess what I’m gonna do with you now?”

I swing. Fist slamming against his chest, weak and frantic. I claw at his mask, try to rip it off, push him away. But he doesn’t budge. He’s solid, heat and muscle and menace, pressing me down like I’m prey he’s already caught.

He shifts his body, so close I feel every twitch of his muscle, and the knife appears again. The blade glides up slowly, just a hair from my skin, until it hovers at my throat.

I freeze, gasping, every muscle locked, paralyzed by fear. My eyes flutter closed, and I brace for pain, for death, for whatever twisted version of love lives inside his hollow heart.

But the cut never comes.

I open my eyes slowly and look at him. The mask hides what’s underneath it, but his body is warm and familiar, his chest rises and falls the same way it always does around me.

He still seems like my Ghost.

Then why am I trembling from head to toe? I can’t stop it. I’m naked, covered in sweat and tears and little rivulets of blood. And it’s all his doing.

“Please, please, please…”

He tilts his head. “Please what?”

“I-I want to go home,” I whisper, broken.

He laughs—a low rasp that doesn’t sound human anymore. “This is home now, baby,” he tells me, like it isn’t the most psychotic thing he’s ever said. “You were afraid of losing me, huh? Now you don’t need to worry about that. You’re stuck here. With me. Forever.”

His hands, still gloved, roam down my body—slow and greedy. They squeeze my breasts hard, smearing blood across my skin, making me gasp. He drags his palms over my belly, down to my hips, gripping like he owns me. Then, lower still.

He exhales heavily through the mask as his leather-clad fingers brush between my legs. “Your swollen little pussy is so wet and ready.”

I hate him.

I fucking hate him.

But my body doesn’t care.

It’s betraying me in the filthiest way—squirming beneath him, clenching around nothing, slick and needy, aching for the very monster holding me down. My thighs twitch, nipples stiff and throbbing, breath catching in my throat like I’m about to cry or cum or both.

I hear his zipper opening again, then I feel his hard cock pressing between my legs—hot and heavy and slick with precum.

Ghost grips my thighs hard, his fingers bruising as they dig in, spreading me open like a feast. He folds my knees to my chest with no effort, completely exposing me, pinning me to the dirt with my hips lifted high. I’m wide open. Helpless. Every vulnerable inch on display.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice husky with satisfaction. “All spread out for me. Perfect little fucktoy.”

The pet name stings, makes me burn with shame. But my body writhes below him, mindless, aching for him.

Then he slams his hips forward, a brutal snap of flesh against flesh. My body jolts with the impact, air torn from my lungs, and I choke on a cry—too overwhelmed to even scream.

He drives into me like a weapon—thick, merciless, tearing through the tight walls. I feel every inch force its way inside, too big, too rough, stretching me wide around him. It’s too much—too fucking much—and yet I can’t stop the way my back arches, the way my pussy sucks him in deeper.

I try to twist away, instinct screaming—but Ghost pins me like prey, his weight locking me in place, grinding deeper with a hungry groan like he wants to crawl inside and never leave.

“You feel that, Bunny?” His voice is low, gravelly, something almost inhuman creeping into his tone. “So tight, so wet… Even when you hate me, your cunt still begs for me.”

I whimper, eyes squeezed shut, nails digging into the dirt.

He’s too deep. Too brutal. Every stroke burns and pulses as his piercings drag across every nerve ending in my body.

I try to arch away, but his grip on the back of my thighs clamps down harder.

He leans over me. “You fucking love this,” he pants, voice shaking. “Being forced. Being used. Being owned.”

I shake my head. Tears streak hot down my cheeks. But my cunt is drenched, clenching down on him a sick pulse of pleasure I didn’t ask for. Begging for more with every shameful squeeze.

He feels it—and he laughs, breathless, cruel, triumphant.

“Eyes open,” he orders. “Look at them.”

I don’t want to. I can still feel them—lurking, shifting, watching. They are breathing heavily like wild dogs just held back by an invisible leash, humping away the air.

He squeezes my jaw in an iron grip and turns my head toward the shadows. “I said—look.”

My lashes flutter open, my vision swimming. But I see them in the dark—huge, hunched figures. They’re so much closer now. Half in shadow, half in moonlight. Not human. Not even trying to pretend. And their noises are the worst…

My lungs clench. And my blood turns to ice.

They don’t just want to see me ruined.
They want to join in.

Ghost groans loudly as he slams into me harder, making me shudder. My scream bursts free—raw and choked.

It’s too much. Terror. Pain. Pleasure.

All of it rolls through me in waves I can’t make sense of. My body betrays me, overwhelmed by sensation, and guilt floods me because of my responses. But I can’t stop. I can feel myself getting tighter, hotter, wetter.

His fingers dig painfully into the soft flesh of my trembling thighs, marking me. Branding me.

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” he whispers. “Knowing they are watching you being fucked in front of them. That they all lust after you, dying to take turns and make you their cumslut…”

I whimper, barely able to breathe. My body bucks against him even as my mind screams no. He’s relentless now, his rhythm grows savage, less man and more beast. He’s not fucking me—he’s claiming me. His stiff, throbbing cock spears into me over and over, faster, harder, wet slaps filling the forest like thunder. Pain and pleasure blur into something filthy and electric.

I can’t escape it.

I can’t escape him.

All I can do is feel it—every inch stretching me out, every feral thrust, every monster waiting in the dark, licking their lips and hungrily watching him wreck me.

And still, I can’t stop soaking for him—even as my body trembles in fear, even as the shame eats me alive. My cunt pulses, slick and needy, pleasure coiling tight in my gut like a fuse about to blow.

God, he feels so damn good inside me.

Too good.

Ghost rams into me harder, and his hand clamps around my throat.

I gasp, choking, eyes rolling back as black spots explode behind my eyelids.

“Mine,” he snarls. His fingers squeeze, stealing my breath, my voice, my thoughts. “Say it.”

His cock pounds into me, deeper, faster. My body writhes, caught in that edge between euphoria and obliteration.

The pressure on my throat sharpens as his grip tightens, cutting off sound, cutting off everything. My limbs twitch as stars bloom behind my eyes like a dying supernova.

“Say it, baby,” he commands again, but his voice is somewhat softer… if I didn't know any better, I’d say it’s almost desperate. Like he needs it. Needs me.

I choke, barely able to speak, but my lips part, and I whisper it out like a curse, like a prayer. “I’m yours.”

Ghost groans—a sound torn from his chest, raw and primal—and I cum hard, body locking up, clamping down on his shaft, feeling every barbell pressed up against me. Pleasure rips through me like lightning. My back arches. My toes curl. My fingernails rake through the dirt. And my pussy spasms around his cock, milking him, dragging him with me into the abyss.

He slams in deep one last time and shudders, his hips flush against my ass, as hot, thick release floods into me. I feel it spill inside, filling me to the brim and overflowing, dripping out between our bodies in a wet, obscene mess.

For a split second, everything goes still—just heat, ragged breaths, and the filthy aftermath of ruin.

Then, something moves next to my head. A surprising weight presses against my forearm, firm and padded, yanking me back from the orgasmic haze. My other wrist is intimately tangled… in something soft like a velvet rope.

“Ours,” I hear a low purr above me.

My eyes open in horror.

A mountain lion.

Except, it’s not an animal. Not quite. It stands upright, with a humanoid body, its eyes shine, full of awareness. Its clawed paw is massive, pressing my arm into the dirt. Its long, furry tail wraps around my wrist, restraining my other arm.

And holy shit, it has a cock.

Barbed. Thick. Emerging from its sheath, dripping precum from a pointed tip. The scent hits me—raw, musky, alien.

I struggle, being held down, but there’s more movement around me. And suddenly, I’m surrounded by more creatures, all breathing heavily and drooling, half-human, half-beast. A wolf. A bear. And… a bison?

My scream doesn’t even make it out of my mouth before the world goes black.

18. Bunny

The first thing I notice is the heat.

Thick and oppressive, it clings to me from all sides, the kind of warmth that comes from living bodies. The air is heavy with the scent of musk, fur, and something wild, something male. My skin is damp with sweat and saliva, my hair sticking to my forehead, my thighs slick with blood and…  oh. I try to move, but my limbs feel heavy, like they’re weighted down—maybe I’m restrained, or maybe I’m just too weak. My head swims, my thoughts sluggish, as if I’m surfacing from deep water.

Where am I?

The last thing I remember is the woods—the trees looming, creatures above me, and the darkness swallowing me whole.

Now, there’s only blackness. Pitch-black, suffocating.

And the sounds…

Dear God, the sounds.

Wet, obscene lapping noises. Heavy, ragged breathing. Growls, deep and guttural, vibrating right through me. The slick slide of flesh against flesh.

My vision adjusts just enough to see them. Eyes. Multiple pairs, glowing in the dark, hover above me, around me. Yellow, green, red—all fixed on me. Unblinking.

A whimper escapes my lips before I can stop it, and the noises pause. A collective inhale. Then a chorus of snarls, low and pleased, as if they’ve been waiting for me to wake up.

Something shifts between my legs. A rough, calloused palm spreads my legs wider as claws dig into my thighs, sharp points pricking my skin, holding me open.

Then, a tongue—long, thick, inhumanly hot—drags up my slit, in one torturous stroke, slow and deliberate. I jerk—or try to, but the claws tighten, drawing blood. The tongue laps at me again, broad and relentless, before plunging inside, fucking me lazily, like I’m nothing but a toy.

I moan.

I hate that I moan.

I should be terrified.

I am terrified.

But my body—traitorous, desperate thing—betrays me

Other mouths are on me, all foreign, their hot, panting breaths caressing my sensitive skin, fur brushing my sides. One tongue flicks at my nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak before sharp teeth scrape over it, making me gasp. Another mouth latches onto my other breast, sucking hard enough to bruise.

I whimper, my back arching off the surface beneath me—a mattress? Fur? I can’t tell. My hips buck against the tongue between my legs, shameless and needy.

A voice cuts through the growls. Human. One that I’d recognize always. Safe… But not safe at all, not with the dark amusement in his tone.

Ghost.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, and I hear the smile playing on his lips. “Already dripping for them. I knew you’d be perfect for this, Bunny.”

A camera shutter clicks, and a flash of light blinds me for a second, illuminating the scene in fractured glimpses. Fur and fangs and rippling muscle. Eyes wild, jaws parted with hunger and drooling. And between their massive legs—oh fuck—thick, veiny, alien cocks, hard and already dripping. Some are rubbing against my breasts, others are being stroked by clawed hands as they watch me. Then darkness swallows it again.

They’re touching themselves. Because of me.

A shudder runs through me—fear, yes, but something else, something hot and shameful knotting low in my belly.

The tongue working my pussy curls inside me with a deep hum before retreating to circle my clit with sensual precision. The wet noise of it makes my stomach clench, my thighs twitching. But then it’s gone too quickly, and I make a broken sound of protest before I can stop myself.

A deep, rasping laugh answers me, and some other thing presses against me. There’s a collective grunt amongst the rest as a slanted, swollen head nudges against my entrance.

I choke. Too big. Too big. But it doesn’t stop.

The beast growls above me, forcing its way deeper. “Fuck, she’s so tight!” His hips snap forward, and I sob as it bottoms out inside me, thick and throbbing. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t let me adjust—just fucks me, hard and deep, each thrust punching the air from my lungs. The burn of stretch is sharp, blinding—but then it melts into something else. A deep, throbbing fullness as my body yields and accepts it.

“That’s it,” Ghost breathes, and another flash goes off. “Just like that. Taking it like a good little whore.”

He’s recording this. The thought should horrify me, but it just makes me wetter.

Then a pressure nudges my lips. I try to turn my head, but a rough hand grips my jaw, prying my mouth open before I can resist. A large, round, dome-like crown with gently ruffled edges slides inside, followed by a thick, ridged, monstrously huge shaft. I can feel every vein as it pulses against my tongue, the taste of salt and sweet musk present.

I gag immediately, tears spilling over, but the beast holding my head doesn’t care. He thrusts shallowly at first, then deeper, until I’m choking, drool running down my chin.

“Suck,” he commands in rich, low, unnatural voice.

I do, because I’m terrified not to. I seal my lips against the shaft, my throat working around it, more tears pricking my eyes.

“Good girl,” the beast growls, a deep, pleased sound, and his hips jerk forward, fucking my face in slow, relentless strokes.

The one in my pussy growls in agreement, his pace brutal, his hips pistoning into me with no mercy. It hurts… but it’s the sweetest kind of pain. Each drag of his cock sends sparks through my nerves. My pussy flutters around the intrusion, my thighs quivering, my toes curling.

I whimper around the cock in my mouth, and his huge hand fists in my hair, holding me still as he thrusts harder, hitting the back of my throat.

A mouth latches onto my neck with a deep purr, teeth scraping over my pulse before biting down, sharp enough to make me jerk. A tongue, harsh like sandpaper, laps at the sting, drinking my blood. Then another set of teeth sink deep into my shoulder, marking me. The pain is sharp, bright—perfect. Hands roam my body, claws tracing my ribs, my stomach, my thighs, leaving stinging trails in their wake that burn and bleed before tongues soothe them away.

I’m surrounded.

Being devoured.

The realization should horrify me.

But all I feel is being desired.

And I fucking love it.

The shame burns through me, but it’s drowned out by the pleasure… the need. My hips jerk, meeting the thrusts, greedy for more. My head bobbing up and down the impossible length, jaw straining to take all I can, tongue swirling along the ridges.

“Filthy thing,” one of them growls. “Can’t get enough, can you?”

I shake my head, but I can’t help myself.

Pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside me, a spring wound to breaking. When the cock in my pussy hits just right, I shatter, my back bowing as a scream tears from my lips. My vision goes static white. I float in sensation, in heat, in the overwhelming presence of them—their growls, their musk, their hunger.

A shutter of the camera brings me back to reality.

“You break so beautifully, Princess,” Ghost hums.

Someone laughs, low and dark and cocky. “She loves it. Can’t even pretend she doesn’t.”

“Pathetic,” another voice sneers, a claw tracing my stiff nipple. “Such a pretty slut for monsters.”

I am. God, I am.

Shame burns through me, but it only heightens the pleasure, sending a bolt of heat straight to my core. Their words, their touches, the way they want me—it’s intoxicating.

Another beast takes place at my mouth, impatiently yanking the first away before shoving his own cock between my lips. This one is bumpy with a blunt, flared head, his massive claws tangling in my hair, angling my head. I gag as he fucks deeper, roaring above me, the taste of him is sticky sweet like honey coating my throat.

The one in my pussy growls as he thrusts harder, erratic, rutting in and out at a superhuman pace. Then—oh God—something expands at the base of his cock. I wail as the stretch gets to be too much for me to bear, and I squirm underneath him.

“Gonna fill you up, little rabbit,” he rasps. “Gonna pump you so full you’ll feel me for days.”

“Don’t you fucking dare knot in her right now, you selfish prick!” another beast growls.

Knot?

Oh, it must be the wolf… I mean, werewolf.

With a sharp snap of teeth, he unwillingly withdraws his cock—just slightly, just enough for the swell of the knot to slip out with a wet pop and rest flush against my entrance. Then heat floods my cunt as he releases inside, pulsing, filling me, wave after wave, until it’s leaking out around where we’re joined.

There’s a sudden commotion. A snarl. A hiss. Like feral animals fighting over a piece of meat. Then, a sudden yank. Emptiness in my pussy. And another cock takes its place at my entrance, pushing against the mess of cum at my gaping hole.

I tense, my breath hitching as I muffle around the girth that’s stretching my mouth. “No, no, no—”

“Shhh, tiny human,” he silences me. “You can take it.”

The first thrust burns. The barbs catch on my inner walls, dragging deliciously on the way out, lighting up every nerve.

“Please, stop,” I beg, but it’s useless.

His cock fucks into me harder, each stroke sending electric shocks through my core. I’m so full, so stretched, my mind fracturing under the pleasure-pain. I can only sob while my pussy clenches, desperate for more.

“Such a good little plaything,” he purrs, claws tracing my thighs. “Made to be ruined.” Then I feel a tickle at my other hole as something fluffy probes my virgin entrance. And I just know it’s his tail. “I want her ass,” he rasps, his voice rough with need, adding more pressure.

“Not yet. She’s not ready,” Ghost denies him firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument, and I almost feel gratitude toward him.

My hand reaches weakly in his direction, and he catches my wrist. His touch, so familiar, soothes me despite all the horrible things he’s done. Like he’s anchoring me in this moment, the only solid thing in this haze of conflicting sensations.

How sick is that?

“Please—”

He steps closer, the heat of his body pressing against mine. “You’re doing so well, baby.” He pulls my hand onto his cock, hard and throbbing inside his jeans, the damp fabric straining against his bulge. “Fuck, you make Daddy so horny.”

I blindly find the zipper, tugging at it with trembling fingers, and his length springs free, hot and heavy against my palm. I stroke his pierced shaft, the velvety skin sliding under my touch, his pulse thrumming against my fingertips.

My other hand is lifted to another cock on the opposite side of me. And I jerk them both while sucking the third one harder. The cock in my pussy curves upward, hitting a spot that makes me see stars behind my eyelids—bright, explosive bursts of light. I come with a broken cry, my body clamping down around him as I gush out, wetness spilling between my thighs.

“Mmmm, perfect,” he grunts, his thrusts turning feral, until the base of his cock inflates, too. He stills inside me, grinding his knot against my swollen pussy lips. Then, hot cum floods my cunt, thick and endless, spilling out around him as he pumps it into me, the warmth seeping deep.

The beast above my head moves, freeing my mouth, saliva slick on my chin as I gasp for air. He takes his place between my legs before I can recover. His cock is thicker than the last, the flared head pressing against my abused entrance, the stretch, bordering on unbearable, making me whimper.

“Please—” I gasp, but it’s not a protest.

It’s a plea for more.

“Damnit, Bunny,” he lets out. “Your tiny pussy squeezes me so fucking good.”

His bumpy texture drags against my sensitive walls, still contracting from the last orgasm, tickling my insides in the most wonderful way. And I fall apart in no time, squirting around him, my thighs shaking violently.

Half-comatose, I suck Ghost’s cock interchangeably with the beast’s on other side, the heady taste of precum coating my tongue as they play with my tits, pulling and pinching my nipples.

“Look at her,” someone says. “So greedy. So hungry for more cock.”

I moan, flicking my tongue against the hoop ring at the tip of Ghost’s cock, proving them right. I think I cum again… not sure, I’m still senseless and dazed after the last one.

The beast pounds into my pussy now, and I can hardly breathe, my body feels like it’s on fire, writing below him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna blow!” he warns right before the cum floods my cunt in thick ropes as he releases inside me powerfully, joining the mess already inside me. The sheer volume is making me feel impossibly full… and used, but in a good way.

But it’s not over yet.

Then, I hear hooves clicking on the concrete—sharp, rhythmic—as another one steps between my legs.

“Wait!” I cry out, my voice hoarse. My body is not ready for him. He is the biggest one. And, of course, he doesn’t care.

His crown stretches me wider than I thought possible, the burn white-hot. I hear his frustrated huff, hot breath against my skin, and his hoof pawing the ground impatiently as he forces his way until my body splits open around his unbearable girth.

I scream, my nails digging into whatever flesh I can reach, but he doesn’t stop.

“What a sweet, tight cunt!” he bellows, ramming into me as his cock sinks deeper, deeper, until I swear I feel it in my stomach.

Tears stream down my face as I’m filled, my body convulsing around the impossible intrusion. It’s too much. My head spins, and I go in and out of consciousness, the world flickering at the edges.

Over and over, they take me.

Filling me.

Marking me.

Praising me.

Degrading me.

I lose count of how many. Lose track of where one ends and the next begins. Their voices blur together—growls, snarls, words half-human, half-beast, a cacophony of hunger and possession.

“You did so good,” Ghost rasps when it’s all over, his fingers swirling inside my pussy, the squelch of cum loud in the aftermath. “You look so perfect like this. Covered in them. Full of them. Dripping.”

He slowly withdraws his hand, then I feel his fingers smearing cum over my lips, sticky and warm. I lick instinctively, the taste musky and thick and addictive.

I’m a mess. A wreck. Exhausted beyond belief.

And I’ve never felt more alive.

As the darkness swallows me again, one thought lingers—I want more.

19. Bunny

When my eyes flutter open, the light stabs straight through my skull. It’s quite dim, actually, but still makes me squint. My body screams in protest as I try to move. Everything hurts.

Focus, Bunny.

There’s a window right in front of me. Gross. Smudged, like someone smeared grease and dirt all over it and called it a day. Some kind of tarp flaps halfway over it. It barely filters the sun, just makes everything look worse—yellow, hazy, dirty.

I slowly sit up and look around.

I’m in a cabin. I think. Bare log walls and a ceiling that looks like it might cave in if I breathe too hard. It stinks like decay and mildew. Like the place gave up being livable half a century ago.

But the worst part—the part that punches all the air out of my lungs—is the metal. The distinct smell of rusty iron bars.

I’m inside a cage.

No. God, please, no.

I freeze. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. My heartbeat is in my throat. I feel like if I even twitch too fast, everything I’m trying to keep in will come screaming out of me. Vomit. Panic. Hysteria. All of it.

There’s an old mattress under me, stained with stuff I really don’t want to think about. The floorboards underneath are rotted and soft, like they might break under pressure. Just like me. And a bucket sits in the corner as if it’s supposed to be some kind of toilet. Cute.

What the fuck happened?

I squeeze my eyes shut. Try to rewind the last twenty-four hours. Bits and pieces flash. Blood. Screaming. Running. Kendra—

Kendra.

My chest caves in. She’s dead. I know it. I saw it. Her guts spilled all over the forest floor.

I gag.

Dev. Nate. They weren’t… they weren’t them anymore. Their eyes. Their bodies. Wrong. Just wrong. Twisting and shifting and growling. Like monsters from a nightmare I didn’t wake up from.

And Ghost…

“Good morning, sunshine.”

That voice.

I flinch so hard my shoulder slams into the bars. The metal rattles like a taunt. And despite everything, my stomach still does that fluttery bullshit thing it always does when I hear him speak.

Fuck you, hormones. Read the room.

I look down at myself. Naked. But of course I am.

I cross my arms over my chest, but it doesn’t help. I feel exposed, raw, like I’ve been sanded down to nerve endings. I’m covered in cuts and bruises all over, dried blood, and a sticky layer of shame coating my skin. My face burns. I just want to disappear.

I glance up, and there he is. Sitting in a beat-up chair like he’s waiting for coffee and toast. All relaxed. Confident. Arms spread, legs wide, mask covering his face as always.

“Ghost,” I croak. My throat’s raw from all the screams and tears. “What the hell?”

He ignores that. Just nods toward a dented metal cup by the bars. “Drink some water.”

I open my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself. I want to. God, I want to. But my voice dies halfway up my throat. Because I don’t know who—what—I’m dealing with.

This thing looks like Ghost. Talks like Ghost. Walks like Ghost. He didn’t morph into any creature like the others. Didn’t grow fur or claws or those nightmare jaws. Didn’t go full horror movie in the woods. And maybe that’s worse. Maybe he is still Ghost. Which somehow makes it even more terrifying.

But there’s that desperate, delusional part of me that wants to believe he’s not himself. I felt that unnatural tongue inside me. And he did call those beasts his “brothers”, whatever that meant. My Ghost would never hurt me like he did…

Would he?

Something snores. Loud.

My whole body jolts at the sudden noise. I whip my head to the corner of the room—and holy shit.

There’s a bear. A goddamn brown bear, curled up like some designer doodle-mix “fur baby” brought along by a childless millennial couple on a camping trip. Its back leg twitches—probably dreaming about mauling someone.

“That’s Khalok,” Ghost says, casual as you please. Like we’re naming party guests.

Before I can process that, he points across the room. A huge mountain lion is just waking up, stretching. Its bones crack in a way that’s anything but normal.

“And Zhyra,” he adds.

“And Doruun,” another voice booms out of nowhere. Deeper than deep. Like bass cranked too high, rattling in my chest.

I turn toward it—and just… what the actual fuck.

I don’t even know what I’m looking at. My brain can’t process it. It’s like someone mashed a wood bison and a Greek myth together and decided that was a good idea.

He’s got this massive head with horns that curve up like grim exclamation points. Straight, dark brown hair hangs like an emo fringe over his brow, and a matching beard, pointed and precise, like he got it styled at the barber shop. And then there's this hump—a real one, not a posture issue—that slopes into a wide, upright back. His chest is covered in fur, but not… gross fur. It’s dense and woolly, but looks soft to the touch. And underneath it, he’s ripped. Like… aesthetically, terrifyingly jacked. His arms are human-ish, but his legs? Not even close. Thick, muscular, ending in cloven hooves. A tuft of fur covers his junk. And yeah—tail. Swishing behind him like this is all normal.

I just stare. He stares back.

He’s horrifying. But also almost looks regal. Stunning in a way. And I think I might throw up.

Behind him, gray fur flickers past the open door, and before I even blink, a wolf trots in. It stops, looks at me, then starts to shift.

Crack. Pop. Snap.

Bones rearranging. Muscles twitching. All happening in a blur, then suddenly there’s a half-man, standing upright on powerful hind paws. And he grins at me like we’re old friends with his deadly jaws.

“Hi, little rabbit. I’m Varekka,” he rumbles, voice smooth and mocking. “Pleasure finally meeting you properly last night.” He licks his mouth. I see the tail still wagging behind him. Like he’s pleased with himself.

He reminds me of Nate. A more confident version of him. If that Nate had been eaten by the big, bad wolf.

He probably was.

I can’t say anything. Can’t think. My brain is just screaming: “Too much! Too much! Too much!” on a loop.

They’re all quiet. Too quiet. But I feel it—they’re talking. Not with words. Some creepy, telepathic shit that’s making my skin crawl.

Then, like it’s no big deal, they all stand and head out. One by one. No goodbyes. No threats. Just… gone out the door.

Except for Ghost. He stays behind. With me.

He nods at the water cup again. “Drink,” he says, more forcefully this time, like I’m being difficult on purpose.

I stare at the cup like it’s poison. It very well could be. But I can’t deny it—I am thirsty. My mouth is dry like sand in the desert, tongue feels like it’s coated in cotton and old pennies. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Because I know what happens next. I drink the water, I’ll have to pee, and then it’s the bucket. In front of him. I already feel it—the pressure building in my lower belly, sharp and insistent.

Or maybe that’s not it. Maybe it’s still them deep inside of me. That thought makes me swallow painfully. My stomach twists. My thighs clench. I feel raw, sore in ways I didn’t even know a body could be.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. Just watches me.

And even through all this—through the filth and fear and whatever the fuck I’ve been turned into—there’s that stupid, stubborn part of me that feels safer with him here. Like he’s the least monstrous of the monsters. It’s fucked up, I know. But he’s still human. At least on the outside. And that last brain cell that hasn’t caught up to the horror still sees him as a tether. I latch onto him like he’s a lifeline, something familiar I can hold onto while everything else slips into a nightmare.

I’ve been down the paranormal rabbit hole for years. It’s part of the job, part of who I am. Ghost hunting. Cryptid theories. UFOs. The weird disappearances, unexplained deaths, shit no one wants to talk about. I’ve spent so much time researching things people laugh off, digging for proof everyone else ignores.

But Alaska was different… That case stuck with me. It still gives me nightmares, and not even my anxiety meds help. The image of those bodies—they were barely even bodies anymore. Torn apart. Shredded. Pieces of them scattered, like something had just tossed them around for fun. Bones snapped like twigs. Skins slashed open like paper. Their faces twisted in terror, frozen mid-scream. Blood sprayed across the walls and ceiling, spilled in snow like someone created abstract art, the hot tub like a bucket of red paint. And the footprints? Nothing on this planet should make prints like that—massive, clawed, not human, but not animal either.

That was when I knew for certain.

There are monsters.

And now I’m here. With them.

I saw them with my own eyes.

They aren’t just beasts. They’re power. Hunger. And not just the kind that wants to eat.

It was about owning me. Marking me. Claiming me. Like I was some kind of prize. A fuckdoll to pass around while they took turns deciding if I was worth keeping.

I survived last night.

Barely.

But what happens when they get bored? When the novelty wears off and I’m not a shiny new toy anymore?

The thought hits like a gut punch. My chest tightens, my breath shortens. I start to panic, full-on. Shaking, gasping. Hyperventilating like my lungs forgot how to do the one thing they’re made for.

My eyes dart back to Ghost. “Please,” I whimper desperately, my voice cracking in half. “Please, let me go. Please! Ghost, I’m scared…”

Nothing.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t care.

He just stares at me like I’m a stranger. Like he’s trying to decide if I’m even worth a breath.

My brain scrambles, looking for another angle, any angle.

So I switch tactics. Fast. And I lie.

Or maybe not. Maybe it’s the truth, buried under all this terror and filth and ruin.

“Come with me,” I whisper, trembling. “Let’s run away. Together. You and me. We can leave all this behind. Forget about it and start over. Just the two of us.”

“Oh, now I’m good enough for you?” His voice is ice. Sharp. Mechanical behind the mask, but so familiar I can feel it slicing straight through me. “Funny. Last time I checked, you were telling me how you wanted to be just friends.”

A sob rips out before I can bury it. “I was just confused.”

“You didn’t seem so confused the other night when your cunt was clenching around my tongue.”

“But I was,” I choke. “It’s this place! It messed with my head! I thought you… were one of them—”

“No, Bunny.” His voice flattens. Deadpan. “Just like before. You had me and threw me away.”

Shit, I really did that.

I shake my head, tears mixing with the damp on my cheeks. “Ugh, I didn’t know what I wanted then! But I do now.”

His silence is louder than anything I’ve ever heard.

It’s crushing.

It wraps around my ribs like barbed wire. I’d rather he screamed. Raged. Did something.

Instead, he just sits there and stares like I’m a caged animal at the zoo.

And then, after what feels like forever, he moves.

Slowly, so fucking deliberately, he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a phone. My phone.

My stomach drops as a fresh wave of horror settles into my bones.

“You didn’t know what you wanted?” he repeats, tilting his head. “That’s funny, babydoll, because you sure seemed to know what you wanted when you were sexting me every fucking night.”

My entire body locks up. Like if I don’t move, this won’t be real. But he’s so full of resentment I can taste his bitterness on my tongue.

He swipes.

And scrolls.

And scrolls.

Stopping briefly every now and then—which I know is when a naughty picture pops up.

And then, he reads.

My words. My late-night messages. My own voice reflected back at me in every filthy, desperate message I sent him.

“I want you so bad, Daddy.”

“You make me so wet.”

“God, I wish you were here… Inside me…”

“I can’t stop touching myself thinking about you.”

“Stop!” I scream. My voice is broken glass. “Stop it!”

But he doesn’t stop.

He just grins beneath his mask. I feel it. Smug. Brutal. Vindicated.

“But you didn’t know what you wanted, huh?” he taunts. “So which is it, little bunny? Are you a liar?” His voice sharpens and he leans in with his forearms on his knees. “Or just a fucking slut?”

My knees give. I drop, sobbing now, ugly and loud and helpless. My body shakes and I hate it. I hate how small I feel in front of him. How exposed. How seen, in the worst kind of way.

He exhales like I’m an inconvenience. Like this isn’t fun anymore.

“Doesn’t matter either way,” he says, pocketing the phone. “Because you don’t get to decide what you want anymore. Never even considered I’d take what you owe, did you?”

My chest heaves. I can’t breathe right. “I hate you,” I slip up.

“I know,” he responds. No heat in it. No pity either. “And the feeling is mutual, baby.”

I make a frustrated noise, and all I see is red. I’ve never in my whole life felt this enraged… and powerless at the very same time.

“Now drink your fucking water,” he commands, low and final. No room for argument.

So I obey. I reach between the bars and pick up the cup. Because I don’t know what he’ll do if I don’t.

The water is cool. Clean and fresh. Almost soothing against my parched throat.

And he just watches me. Quiet. Patient. Like he already knows he’s won.

I want to wipe that smirk off his face that I know is still there. At least I can do that.

“You know, I’m gonna need my birth control pills.”

It takes a second for him to process before he throws his head back and hollers in laughter.

God, I despise him.

A whole eternity later, the pressure in my bladder is a slow, insistent torture. I’ve been helplessly pacing the cage for what feels like hours, my bare feet padding against the rough wooden floor.

The need is bordering on unbearable, a hot, throbbing ache that makes my stomach clench. I glance at the bucket in the corner that’s keeping me company.

No. Thanks, I’d rather burst.

The cabin is silent except for the distant creak of wind through the trees outside and the occasional rustle of Ghost’s clothes as he shifts in that rickety chair of his, watching me like I’m some kind of fucked-up reality show.

Look! The Paranormal Bunny. She needs to pee. Isn’t that adorable?

“You gonna sit there all day?” I snap, losing my mind.

“Mhm.”

Oh, fantastic.

I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper, then throw myself on the mattress and stare at the ceiling.

It takes only a moment to realize it was a bad idea. It’s much worse this way. I squeeze my thighs together so hard it almost hurts. Almost. The truth is, the pressure is toeing the line between agony and something… else. Something shameful that makes my breath hitch every time I slightly shift.

Oh God. Oh God, I can’t.

With all the dignity I have left, I stand back up and return to pacing.

His fingers tap lazily against the armrest in the rhythm of my footsteps. Like my suffering is just background noise.

I suddenly stop and grip the bars, pressing my forehead against cold metal. “Ghost,” I whine, hating how pathetic my voice sounds. “Come on. Please. You can’t just—”

“Can’t what?” His voice is lazy. Amused.

I grit my teeth. Asshole.

“I really need to go,” I try again, crossing my legs and shifting my weight from one foot to the other. It’s impossible. “Like, now.”

He tilts his head slightly as if he’s talking to a misbehaving pet. “Bucket’s right there, Princess.”

I glare at him. “I’m not using that thing in front of you.”

A slow, infuriating shrug. “Then hold it.”

Fuck you.

I know he’s doing this to humiliate me. To establish his dominance. And God help me, I won’t let him.

But another wave of desperation rolls through my body, and my hips rock forward, seeking relief that isn’t there. The movement sends a jolt through me—sharp, almost electric—that pulses right between my thighs. And the worst part? It doesn’t just hurt. It feels… good. Not just the rush of release I would feel if I let go, but the tension itself. The way my body clenches around nothing, the way my pulse flutters low in my belly, the way I’m so full it feels like I’ll rupture. Like my body’s decided this is some kind of fucked-up foreplay.

Oh, no. Nope. We’re NOT doing this.

My breath stutters.

Ghost notices. Of course he does.

“Aw,” he coos, “Does it feel good, holding it like that?”

“Shut up,” I gasp, but my hips give a tiny, involuntary roll.

It’s degrading. It’s wrong.

And he’s enjoying this. My suffering. My squirming. My struggle.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Please,” I whimper, gripping the bars so hard my knuckles whiten, and it’s pathetic even to my own ears.

Ghost exhales, a slow, theatrical sigh. “Pride’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Too stuck up to use the bucket but not to beg. Those pretty doe eyes won’t help you right now.”

“Just let me go outside. I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want after. I promise.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You think you’re in a position to negotiate? You’re already dripping on my floor.”

My stomach drops, and I quickly glance down.

Oh God.

A thin, traitorous trickle escapes, running down my inner thigh. I gasp, mortified, but it’s too late.

My muscles give out, and I can’t do anything to stop it. A shuddering rush surges through me as warmth spills down my legs, splattering onto the floor beneath me. The relief is euphoric, a full-body release that sends sparks up my spine and leaves me dizzy with my knees weak.

I slump against the bars, moaning softly, my face burning with shame. But beneath it? Something darker. It feels like I just came. Not in a sexual way—just that helpless feeling of completely losing control.

Terror comes next. I need a bath. Now.

Ghost stands slowly, stepping closer, his boots thudding against the floor. I can’t look at him. Because he’ll know. Can’t bear the sound of it—the steady, mortifying drip between my feet.

He stops just outside the cage, looming over me.

“Look at what you did,” he murmurs, voice thick with something between disgust and want. “What a filthy girl you are. I should  make you clean it with your tongue now.”

“Go to hell,” I hiss, breathlessly.

“Too late.”

I should hate him.

I do.

But as he reaches through the bars and his hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze, my pussy flutters.

I’m so fucked it’s not even funny anymore.

“Next time, use the bucket like a good little pet. Now sit in the mess you’ve made and think about your behavior.”

Then he turns and walks away, disappearing behind the front door. And a raw scream rips from my throat.

I’ve never been this disgraced…

Worse—a tiny part of me, buried deep and rotten, liked being owned.

The air inside the cabin is thick and stale, like breathing through a damp rag. I sit curled in the far corner of the cage, arms wrapped tight around my knees, shivering despite the heat and humidity. My skin sticks to the floor, sweat pooling in places I didn’t know could sweat. Every inch of me feels sticky, grimy, trapped.

Time doesn’t move in here—it drips, like the condensation sliding down the rusted bars, bead by bead. The way blood would.

I’m not sure how long it is before I hear movement outside. Then smoke. Then the sharp scent of fat and blood being burned. Underneath it, the mouth-watering aroma of roasted meat.

My stomach growls, a sudden cramp of hunger tightening low and mean in my belly. I’m starving. It hits me all at once, the gnawing emptiness twisting in my gut.

The door creaks open, and every muscle in my body goes still the moment he walks in. It’s instinct now. Survival.

I hear his boots thud against the floorboards as he approaches. Then the clink of metal as something is placed beside the cage. I don’t move. I don’t even look.

“Still got attitude?”

I don’t answer. Not out of defiance this time, but because I don’t trust my voice not to tremble. I don’t want to give him that.

“Eat,” he orders. “Then, we’re gonna go wash you up.”

I sigh. Low. Resigned. I don’t even argue.

I reach for the plate and see a nice-sized chunk of steak. I have no idea what kind. Could be a deer. Could be a person. But at least he cooked it. A win is a win.

I tear into it like an animal, fingers greasy, meat juices dripping down my chin. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as he watches me quietly.

Always watching.

“Good girl.”

The key slides into the lock. A sharp metallic click. One turn, and the cage creaks open.

He grabs my upper arm—not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to remind me I go where he says I go.

He drags me outside into the thick summer heat. The sun is low, but the air still clings to my skin like syrup. It smells like remnants of smoke and pine and him. The trees hum with cicadas, which stuns me for a second—the beasts must be far then.

The “shower” waits around the back of the cabin. The old wooden platform with rough planks, rotting a little at the edges. Above it, the rust-stained metal drum, patched with duct tape, sunlight glinting off the water inside.

I notice there’s a rug. A body wash—the same kind that I used at home, the expensive stuff. A toothbrush and toothpaste sit in a cup in the corner.

Then, the terror settles in.

He prepared this for me.

How long has he been planning to kidnap me?

“Step up,” he commands.

I obey. I hate that I obey.

The wood under my feet is sun-warmed, almost burning, and the rope dangles beside me like a noose.

He yanks at it, and a brutal gush of cold water crashes over my head, drenching me instantly. I gasp, shoulders jolting. It’s not freezing, not really, but after hours in that cage, it’s a shock straight to the bone.

He says nothing as I stand there, shivering. The water drips from my lashes, my lips, the ends of my hair. My skin pebbles. My nipples harden. My thighs tense.

I don’t look at him, but I feel him—muscle and menace pressed right against my back. His clothes are getting soaked, but he doesn’t seem to care. The rough texture of his jeans rubs against the backs of my thighs.

His soapy palms drag across my scalp, fingers massage, lathering. It should feel clinical. It doesn’t. He works slow, kneading. Down my neck, across my shoulders, between my shoulder blades. His hands are big, rough, used to controlling—breaking—things.

They glide lower. Across my back. My ribs. Then they’re on my breasts.

He lingers too long.

His touch changes.

Slower. Deliberate.

Palming. Pressing. Rolling.

His palm glides down my belly, rough calluses scraping across the hypersensitive skin just above my pelvis. My muscles flinch.

I try to twist away, but his grip clamps around my waist, bruising-tight. His other hand snakes down between my legs before I can close them.

I press my thighs together in protest, but he shoves his knee between them, prying me open.

“Spread your fucking legs.”

The order is a blade against my throat. I shake my head, but he doesn’t wait—he wrenches my thigh open, his thumb pressing hard against my clit. A sharp gasp tears out of me.

God, no!

I’m raw there, swollen from last night. But his touch doesn’t care. His touch hunts. It knows what it’s doing. I jerk as a bolt of unwanted heat shoots straight to my core, and he chuckles.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with mock admiration, dragging his fingertip down my slit, slow and filthy. “All puffy and red. Still wet for me even when you’re sore.”

“It’s just—ah!—just water,” I pant, but my voice cracks as his fingers circle my entrance, teasing, testing.

“Liar.” He pushes two fingers inside without warning, and I cry out, back arching. My body clenches around him, betraying me instantly. Shame burns through my veins.

I slap at his wrist, nails raking over his skin, but he just laughs, low and dark, curling his fingers.

A whimper escapes me. My hips rock, seeking more, and horror floods me.

“See?” He pumps his fingers lazily, watching my face. “Your cunt knows what it wants. Even when you’re fighting me.”

Horror and pleasure coil together, twisting my stomach. I can’t… I can’t let this happen again.

I lunge sideways, scrambling off the platform, but he’s faster. His arm locks around my waist in an iron grip, hauling me back against him.

“Oh, Bunny,” he purrs, fingers still buried inside me, “you really think you can run? Where you gonna go?”

I thrash, kicking back, my heel connecting with his shin. He grunts but doesn’t let go—just yanks me harder, his free hand fisting in my hair. Pain sparks across my scalp as he drags my head back, forcing me to look at him.

“You’re mine,” he snarls. “Every fucking inch of you.”

I spit on his stupid mask.

For a heartbeat, he just stares at me in silence. Then he rasps, in that rough gravel of his, “You don’t learn, do you?”

Before I can react, he lifts me like I weigh nothing, throwing me over his shoulder. I scream, pounding my fists against his back, but he just walks, unfazed, one arm clamped around my thighs to keep me pinned.

“Let me go, you sick bastard!” I writhe, hitting him harder, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“You had your chance to behave,” he says, voice chillingly calm. “Now? Now I’m going to show you what happens when you disobey me.”

The cabin door looms ahead, and my pulse roars in my ears. How much worse can it get?

He adjusts his grip, fingers biting into the back of my thigh. “And I’ve been dying to punish you, Bunny.”

20. Ghost

My boots creak against the rotting wooden floorboards as I walk through the main room into what used to be a bedroom. The door locks behind us with a heavy click, sealing us in. The air is thick with dust and the faint, metallic scent of rust.

Her breath comes in quick, panicked little hitches as I haul her over my shoulder, her naked skin still slick from the shower, the heat of her body seeping through my drenched clothes. God, she’s light—like a doll made just for me to play with.

She squirms, putting up a fight, but it’s useless. Adorable, really. Indeed like a little rabbit caught in a snare, kicking and thrashing, not yet realizing there’s no way out.

I give her juicy, round ass a sharp smack—the sound cracks through the room as the sting lingers on my palm, sweet and satisfying. She yelps and the vibration of it travels straight to my cock.

The room—this dungeon—is a shrine to my obsession, meticulously curated just for her. The chains sway slightly from the cracked ceiling, moss creeps along the cracked plaster. My collection displayed with care—belts, floggers, Shibari ropes—all hung neatly on the chipped-paint walls. The long dining table by the far wall is lined with toys laid out in perfect order: polished metal, sleek leather, things that’ll make her scream in ways she never has before.

And then there’s the centerpiece—the X-cross I built myself, rough wood planks nailed together, sturdy enough to hold her while she learns.

I set her against it, her back pressing into the unforgiving wood. Her wrists are delicate in my grip, her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird as I fasten the cuffs, pinning her arms apart above her head. The ankle restraints follow, spreading her wide, leaving her open, exposed.

Fuck.

She’s gorgeous. Her skin is still damp from the shower, glistening under the golden light of the setting sun that bleeds through the old, torn curtains. Water droplets cling to her collarbone, trailing down between her breasts. Her chest rises and falls too fast, her pink nipples pebbled from fear or cold—or maybe, just maybe, from want.

I hum, running my fingers down her sternum, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. “Look at you,” I rasp. “All mine.”

She sucks in a sharp, hysterical breath, her fingers twitching against the leather straps at her wrists. Then, she tries to move. Her arms won’t lower. Her legs won’t close.

Realization dawns.

And she screams.

God, I love that sound. I feel it crack apart inside me, splintering through my veins, making my cock throb so hard it hurts.

She thrashes, yanking against the bindings, but she’s got no leverage. The X-cross stand keeps her helpless, vulnerable, mine.

Fucking hell.

She looks so goddamn sweet like this—panting, desperate, pure fucking prey. I was right all along. She was made for this.

Her wide, terror-glazed eyes snap to me, her throat bobs as she swallows hard, but before she says anything, I already step to the table. I get rid of my soaked hoodie and the t-shirt under, but I keep the balaclava with the sewn-in mask—just because I know how much she loves the mystery. I pull on my gloves with a satisfying snap, the leather creaking as I flex my fingers. Then I pick up her choker, running my thumb over the cold metal ring at the front—the choker she loves so much, the one she wore just to tease me with that pretty little throat on display, pretending she wasn’t mine.

“You always did like this one,” I muse, clicking the buckle open. “Knew you were fucking with me.”

She stiffens as I fasten it around her throat, snug but not choking. Yet. The black leather stands out stark against her pale skin—a collar for my pet. She quivers, her pulse fluttering under my thumb.

“You look so pretty scared like this,” I whisper, grazing her cheek with the back of my hand.

She jerks away from my touch, but there’s nowhere to run.

“Let me go!” she snaps, wiggling against the restraints, but it only makes them tighten harder. “Ghost, what the hell is all this?!”

I tilt my head, drinking in the sight of her, my cock aching. “What I always wanted. You, being Daddy’s good little girl.”

Her pupils are blown wide with fear—but also something else. Something I know. Something I recognize.

I inhale slowly, dragging the moment out, reveling in the way she shudders as I seize her chin. She smells like panic and something sweeter—something she won’t admit yet.

“You made me do this,” I murmur, voice low, rough.

She lets out a soft, ragged breath and stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Her lips tremble, pouting, and I want to bite them until they bleed.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” I gesture around us, at the room. “I did all of this for you… For us. So we can finally be together.”

“Oh, my God… You’re actually insane,” she mumbles, shaking her head, her breath uneven.

I slam my fist against the wooden beam above her head, making her flinch. I hate her so much I can barely see straight. I need to hurt her, need to make her understand what she does to me.

“You fucking tease,” I growl. “Parading around in those little skirts, giving me those looks, sending me those texts, acting like you don’t see what you’re doing to me. Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to breathe around you? How much I hate wanting you? How much I hate you?” I exhale sharply, trying to rein myself in, but it’s impossible. She’s too close. She’s always too close.

And yet, never close enough.

I lean in, my bare chest nearly brushing hers. I drag my hands down the length of her arms, watching the way her skin prickles beneath my touch, so warm from the blood pounding hot beneath. She’s terrified.

As she should be.

Because I’m never letting her go.

“You're mine now, Bunny,” I whisper. “No more running. No more teasing. No more pretending you don’t fucking feel this too.”

Her eyes flicker—anger, defiance, fear. It makes me want to break her even more.

“You can struggle all you want. You can scream. No one's coming for you.” My voice drops to something almost gentle, almost loving. “No one will ever take you from me.”

Her breath stutters, tears streaming down her face now.

I drag my fingers down her sides, tracing the soft dips and curves of her perfect figure, feeling her tremble under my touch. It’s difficult to decide whether I want to worship her or slash her throat—both options are equally tempting. I want to rip her apart and crawl inside, make a home beneath her skin, wear her like my own flesh.

But I can’t.

Because worst of all is that she made me need her.

So I admire her instead, hungry and obsessive.

The sun is sinking, the room drowning in shadows. Only slivers of dying light cut through the room, painting stripes across her body like she’s already bleeding.

“It’s getting dark in here, no?” I ask without expecting an answer, moving back to the table from where I grab the lighter. “Let’s create some mood.”

The flame flickers to life, and I light a few candles scattered around us. As the wax melts, the scent of vanilla and sandalwood fills the air. The glow licks up the walls, casting long, twisting shadows that dance over her skin.

“There, much better.” I turn back to her. “See, I can be romantic. Isn’t that what you wanted from me?”

Her lips part, trembling, her eyes wide with disbelief. So confused… so fucking cute.

“Now… damn, look at those tits,” I groan, and my hands are on her before she can protest, palms molding to the soft weight of her breasts, squeezing just hard enough to make her gasp. My thumbs rub circles over the stiff peaks, and fuck, she can’t hide the way her breath hitches.

“Baby, you’re driving me crazy,” I murmur, pinching her nipples sharply.

Despite herself, a moan slips out.

I smirk, knowing she can’t see it. But she can feel it—the weight of my obsession sinking into every touch, every breath, every second I refuse to let her go.

“I love seeing you helpless like this, Bunny.”

With a hum, I step back to the table, squeezing lube onto my fingers before grabbing the small butt plug, gleaming in the candlelight.

She watches me warily as I approach, then I press the cold metal to her lips.

“Suck.”

She turns her head away.

I sigh, feigning disappointment. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be shy now. You know there are five of us here. We need all your pink holes ready to be used.”

“Fuck you,” she grits out.

I laugh, low and dark. “I love that fire in you, it makes it so much more fun.” My thumb strokes her bottom lip. “But you should start appreciating how good I am to you. Opening you up first is for your own enjoyment, after all. I don’t want to hurt you… well, not like this anyway. And you’ll see how much you love your ass getting fucked.”

“You’re sick,” she spits with disgust. I let it slide this time, too entertained to even get mad.

“Hmm, looks like you prefer pain.”

Her breath catches, and she shakes her head wildly.

“Open your pretty little mouth,” I command.

A beat of defiance—then her lips part, just a fraction. Good enough. I slowly slide the plug inside, her tongue darting out instinctively to wet it.

“That’s it. Good girl,” I murmur as my other hand slips between her parted legs. My gloved fingers find her sweet asshole, spreading the lube, teasing the tight ring of muscle.

She tenses, whimpering, and I love the way she struggles.

“Shh. Relax for me, baby.” One finger probes in, slow but relentless. She moans around the plug, the sound muffled and soft, as my finger pushes in, just the tip. Her body jolts, and she clenches around the intrusion. “Mmmm, you’re so fucking tight,” I growl, working my finger deeper. “I can’t wait to have that tiny hole wrapped around my cock.”

I pull the plug from her mouth, now warm and slick with her spit, and press the pointed tip to her entrance.

She mewls, her body immediately resisting.

“Breathe,” I tell her, and I don’t stop putting pressure until her body is forced to accept it. The plug pops into place, the pink diamond heart nestled snugly between her cheeks, almost mocking in its cuteness.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, stroking her thigh. “Wasn’t that hard, now was it?” Then I step back, admiring my work in her all glory. Goddamn, she is a vision.

“I hate you!” Her voice is raw, her chest rising and falling in frantic little bursts as she jerks against the restraints.

And she has absolutely no idea what’s coming.

“Oh, my little bunny…” I cock my head, grinning beneath the mask. “You’re about to hate me so much more.”

I step to the wall, dragging my fingers over all the paddles and whips, taunting her.

“No!” she wails, tossing her head from side to side. “Please, don’t!”

“You beg so pretty,” I whisper, stopping. “But it’s time for your punishment.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise. Please, don’t do this.”

“Ah, that’s what you were so scared of…” I chuckle, loving how the aroma of her fear fills the space between us. “Is it the pain? Or the fact that you just might enjoy it?”

She stays silent. It’s both. It’s always both with her.

I sigh. “That’s okay, I can get more creative if you want.”

Instead, I pick up the candle and approach her back. The flame dances across her jawline as I step closer.

She’s crying uncontrollably now. Pretty little tears tracking down her flushed cheeks, slipping down her throat, wetting the soft curves of her breasts.

Fucking perfect.

I tilt the candle just enough. A single bead of melted wax swells at the tip before falling. It lands just above her collarbone.

She screams in shock. The sound is sharp, high-pitched, and so fucking sweet it makes my cock throb inside my jeans. Her body thrashes against the bindings, muscles tightening, trying to escape the heat. But there’s no escape. She’s stretched open and entirely at my mercy. Where she belongs.

Her chest heaves with panicked, stuttered breaths. The wax cools almost instantly, hardening against her skin, but the damage is done. I know a small, angry-red mark blossoms beneath it.

I exhale sharply through my nose, grip tightening around the candle. I probably shouldn’t be enjoying this so much.

But she’s made me like this. Made me cruel.

I lift the candle again, the flame flickering violently as I tip it toward her chest. The drip lands on her breastbone, and she cries out, head tilting back, exposing the pale, vulnerable curve of her throat.

Another drip.

Then another.

Slow and precise, I let the wax fall in a perfect line between her breasts, watching the way it pools, the way her chest rises and falls so frantically. The wax cools against her skin, leaving behind angry little blotches, stark against her pale flesh.

“Such a pretty little thing,” I murmur, dragging my gloved fingers through the cooling wax, breaking the hardened pieces apart into small pieces, watching them fall away from her skin. Underneath, she’s so pink. So raw and warm. So mine.

My cock strains painfully against the denim fabric, sticky with precum. God, what is she doing to me…

I pinch her nipple between my fingers, rolling the stiffened peak. “So sensitive, too. I barely did anything, and you’re already shaking.” I tilt the candle one more, and this time, I pour a cascade of hot wax directly over her bare breasts.

Her adorable scream is muffled by the way her head snaps back, every muscle tensing, legs straining against the leather straps binding her apart. The wax splashes over her nipples, and fuck, the way they tighten so beautifully under the punishment, her body convulsing under the mix of pain and pleasure, her whimpers hitting some primal part of me—it ruins me.

“Are you crying because it hurts… or because you like it?” My voice is hoarse, dark, curling with amusement.

She gasps instead of answering, sucking in quick, panicked breaths through her nose.

I grip her chin between my fingers and force her to look at me. Her lips part, gasping. Those big, terrified eyes stare right into the dark slits of my mask. She shudders but doesn’t answer.

I drag my thumb over her cheek, smearing the tears there, then lower it to her swollen, trembling bottom lip. My thumb presses in.

“Open.”

She resists for a second—just a second—but I push harder, and her lips part with a choked gasp. I slide my thumb over her tongue, pressing down, feeling her wet heat wrap around the leather of my glove. And I have to choke down a moan.

“Good girl.” My voice is rough, uneven.

Her teeth clench. She hates that praise, and it only makes me smile under my mask. I pull my hand back, trailing saliva over her chin, and suddenly—I slap her. Not hard enough to cause her pain. Just enough to make her jump. Just enough to remind her who she belongs to now.

I bring the candle in my other hand closer to her face. She sucks in a sharp, broken breath, her cheeks flushed, eyes wide.

I cup her throat, thumb pressing gently over her pulse, feeling it race. She’s so alive. So fucking aroused in all her fear.

“Answer me, you little slut. Did you like it?”

She hesitates—just a flicker of resistance, but I see it. Feel it in the way her breath catches, in the way the adrenaline rushes through her veins, her body arching to get closer.

My grip on her throat tightens, and her lips part in a silent moan, “Yes.”

She’s so fucked up. Perhaps even more than I am.

But my cock aches to be buried inside her cunt.

“Good.” I let go of her throat, but I don’t let her breathe. Not yet.

The wax coats her nipple, the hardened little pink bud disappearing under the molten heat. She screams and her body convulses, every muscle contracting as she fights the overwhelming sensations. God, it’s beautiful.

“You love it,” I whisper.

I don’t even give her a chance to deny it. I tilt the candle further, dragging it down the length of her quivering belly. The wax splatters, spreading over her ribs, her stomach, filling the dips between her curves.

She sobs, squirming against the bindings, her body glowing under the soft flicker of candlelight.

I let my free hand wander up her body, dragging across her belly, her chest, the ruined, wax-slicked peaks of her perfect, trembling tits. Then back down again.

“Baby, look at yourself,” I murmur, reaching out to stroke her hip, the wax still warm against my fingertips. “Terrified. Trembling. So fucking perfect.” I trail the candle lower, just to the top of her thigh.

She freezes. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps. I can hear her heart pounding.

“Oh, Bunny,” I hum, my tone almost mocking. “You know where this is going, don’t you?”

Her thighs quiver and she tries to clamp them shut, but I’ve kept her spread just for this.

Just like I kept her lovely pink pussy untouched so she can feel all of it at once.

I tip the candle, and the wax falls directly over her inner thigh. She mewls, tugging against the restraints, but I don’t stop.

I keep pouring, watching it coat her delicate skin, pooling dangerously close to where she’s already soaking wet and pulsing with need.

I let it cool for a moment, admiring the way it clings to her. My gloved hand brushes against the wax, pressing down lightly, feeling the heat radiate from her skin.

“You’re burning for me,” I rasp in a thick voice.

Her shuddering whimper only makes my cock throb harder. I bring the candle lower and hover just above her bared, trembling little pussy.

Her breath hitches, and she shakes her head, frantic. “No!”

I tip the candle anyway.

The first drop lands directly on her swollen clit, peeking between her puffy lips.

She shrieks, her entire body seizing up, her voice breaking into sharp, choked cries.

I keep pouring, slow and precise, watching as the wax coats her like a second skin—from her silky smooth mound, pretty pink folds, down to the crack of her ass where the butt plug still rests flush.

She writhes, moaning loudly, her body convulsing under the onslaught of sensation—pain and pleasure, heat and cold, too much and not enough.

I let the wax cool for a moment before slapping between her legs, crushing the pieces away and revealing her flushed, swollen cunt. It glistens in the candlelight, contracting around nothing.

What a horny little nympho.

I hum in satisfaction, dragging my leather-clad fingers through her slit, feeling how soaked she is. “You’re dripping like a whore.” I lean into her, inhaling her scent through my mask. “I fucking love it.”

Her breath hitches as I press my thumb to her aching clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the oversensitive bud.

“It turns you on to be used like this,” I whisper, voice dark and low. “To be forced against your will, to push your boundaries to the limits. Doesn’t it?”

She whimpers, shaking her head, but I can feel the way her hips twitch forward, the way she grinds against my hand, needy and weak.

I smile to myself. “This is how it’s always going to be. You’re mine now. My perfect little toy,” I murmur, my fingers dipping lower.

She shudders violently, a broken sob catching in her throat as I slide two fingers inside her.

Deep. Slow. Unstoppable.

She’s sobbing. Writhing. Humiliated and helpless, yet still desperate. Her cunt clenches so tight around my fingers, as if begging me for more before her pride can stop her.

A rough, choked laugh scrapes up from my chest like it’s burning its way out. “You were made for this,” I croon, thrusting deeper, curling my fingers, and pressing against that sensitive, aching little spot inside her.

Her walls flutter around me, squeezing, her sweet juices dripping down my wrist. I know she’s so close, and I let her ride that edge.

Her body trembles uncontrollably against the leather straps. Her chest heaves, still covered with wax drips and red marks. Tears track down her cute face, hot and wet, shimmering in the flickering light.

My God, she looks so fucking perfect.

I have never been this enthralled with anyone before her.

“You want me to finish you off, don’t you?”

She shakes her head, frantic, but I know better. Her body can’t lie to me. And it’s about to betray her.

“Really now? You think I don’t feel the way your pussy is choking my fingers, so fucking greedy to cum?” I halt any movement just when she’s about to reach her peak, and she gasps, disappointed. “You’re lying to me again!”

I want her ruined.

I want her obliterated.

I lift the candle, and the sheer terror that flashes in her dazed, teary eyes makes my balls tighten painfully.

I tilt it, letting the wax drip onto her overstimulated clit.

She squeals. It’s beautiful. Her body convulses against the restraints, her back arching, her thighs quaking, her cunt clamping so hard around my fingers I groan aloud.

“Fuck yes!” I renew pumping in and out of her, tipping the candle again. I watch in awe as the wax coats her, dripping over her folds, framing the hot little wet hole I’m working open with my hand.

She’s trembling wildly, gasping, sobbing, fighting it, but she can’t help how good it feels.

And just when she’s about to break, I stop. “No, no, no.” Withdrawing my fingers, I slap her swollen clit. “You don’t cum until I let you.” I smack it again. And again. Then I pour more wax over it, making her yelp. I’m crazy about that sound. I could blow my load just from listening to her.

“Please! Ghost, I can’t take this anymore! This is torture!” she bawls, pleading like the pathetic little slut she is.

“That’s the point, Bun-bun.”

“Please, let me cum! Please!”

How could I ever resist her?

Even now, even after everything, she’s still my weakness.

And I fucking despise her for it.

But I give in.

I blow the candle, tossing it behind me before I grip the wooden plank, leaning against her. Resting my forehead against hers, I slip my finger back into her heated, pulsing cunt.

“Oh, Daddy,” she whimpers, breathing into me, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, her soft, damp lips parting.

Damnit, I want to kiss her. I almost yank off the balaclava before I get a grip and remind myself why I’m doing this.

I fuck her with deep, fast strokes, making sure I hit her G-spot with each thrust. Wet, squelching sounds fill the quiet room, only interrupted by her moans.

I feel it the second it hits her. The way she locks up. The way she breaks. And the orgasm slams through her, hard and violent, tearing a ragged scream from her throat as she comes, convulsing, wrecked, mine. Her pussy tightens, spasms, gushing around my fingers, sucking them in like she never wants to let go.

I let her ride it out, watching her unravel beneath me, knowing that after tonight, she’ll never be the same.

In the distance, I hear them approaching.

Just in time.

I slip my fingers out of her and have her clean my glove before I grab a chain leash off the table and clip it to the ring on her collar.

“Come, sweetheart,” I murmur as I unfasten her binds, helping her off the cross. “You have a guest.”

She blinks at me, confused through her haze as I force her onto her hands and knees.

“You promised him a date, after all.”

21. Ghost

Bunny crawls by my side as we move into the dark main room, then I have her sit on her heels and wait like a good little pet she is.

The door creaks open. Heavy sets of feet stomp across the wooden floor, dirt and old, dried leaves trailing behind. And then, a body hits the ground with a loud thump.

The kid coughs, groaning, already bloodied. Doruun shoves him, hooves clicking on the floorboards as he works with the rope, fastening him securely in place.

Zhyra moves to light a few candles around. The fire flickers against the rough-hewn logs, casting long, writhing shadows. Mark’s tied to that old wooden chair, his clothes ripped, leaving him naked, his skin a mess of red slashes from my brothers’ claws.

He looks up, dazed, and his eyes immediately lock onto Bunny. The horror in his face? Delicious.

And then there’s she.

My sweet, trembling little bunny, kneeling at my feet like she belongs there. Because she does.

“Bunny, darling,” I purr. “You remember your new friend, don’t you?"

Her eyes are wild, wet, panicked. She shakes her head weakly, but I know she remembers.

She’s the reason he’s here.

“Ghost,” she breathes, voice raw. “What the hell are you doing?”

I ignore her, stepping closer to the chair where he sits.

I grab him by the nape, my fingers digging deep into his flesh, holding him like a caught animal. He tries to fight it, but I’m too strong.

“Look at her.”

He whimpers, but I drag him forward with the chair until he’s inches from her, forcing him to look at her—at her bared, violated body, leashed and vulnerable, coated in wax, in sweat, in her own juices.

“I said—look at her.”

And he does.

I watch his pupils expand. I smell the shift in his blood—the rush of fear, of shame, of something filthier. Even now, bound, terrified, he wants her.

She’s exposed, shivering, but she’s not trying to cover herself. Good girl. She knows better. Or maybe she’s just frozen in place. Either way, she looks sweet enough to eat.

“See how fucking pretty she is when she obeys?” I growl, my voice rough, edged with something dark and hungry.

Mark’s trying not to stare—or pretending—but he’s breathing hard, naked, already half-hard despite himself. Pathetic fucker can’t help it.

I grin behind my mask and move around and tighten my grip on the leash, making her gasp. “Lick my boots, Bunny.”

A whimper escapes her, but she doesn’t hesitate. She bends forward, her pink tongue darting out, lapping at the dirt and dried blood caked on my boot like she’s desperate for it. The chain rattles as she moves, the sound mixing with Mark’s ragged breathing.

“Fuck,” Varekka mutters from the corner, shifting where he stands. I don’t have to look to know he’s palming himself.

They’re all restless, all aching. The room’s thick with it—the scent of fear and arousal, the kind of tension that coils tight before it snaps.

When Bunny’s done with the boots, I yank the leash, forcing her head up. “Now unzip me.”

Her fingers shake as she reaches for my jeans, fumbling with the button, the zipper. The second she pulls my cock free, Mark groans—like he can’t help it. Like he’s already imagining her lips wrapped around him instead. His dick betrays him, twitching against his thigh.

I laugh, low and mean. “You want her to suck you off, Mark? That’s too bad. She’s mine.”

I fist Bunny’s hair and drag her onto me. She gags immediately, tears spilling down her cheeks as I push deep, holding her there until her throat flutters around me. “Such a good little slut,” I croon, pulling her back just to shove her down again. “Look at her, Mark. Look how she takes it.”

And fuck, he is. His cock’s fully hard now, leaking against his stomach. Disgusting.

Bunny’s crying in earnest, spit and tears slicking her chin, but she doesn’t fight. She never fights. Just takes it, just obeys. I let her suck me for another minute, watching Mark’s face twist with jealousy and lust, before I finally pull her off with a wet pop.

“That’s enough,” I purr, yanking the leash until she stumbles to her feet. “Don’t want him jizzing all over my floor.”

I spin her around, my hands rough on her tits, squeezing hard enough to make her whine. “Show him what he can’t have.”

She’s shaking as I manhandle her, spreading her legs, forcing her to arch her back so Mark can see every inch—the curve of her waist, the swell of her ass, the glint of the plug nestled between her cheeks. I land a sharp smack on her ass, the sound cracking through the cabin. Her skin flushes pink under my palm, and Mark actually whimpers.

“You like that?” I sneer, spanking her again, harder. “Like seeing her like this? All spread out, all mine?”

Mark doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to. His cock jerks, and that’s answer enough.

I can’t wait anymore.

I grab Bunny by the thighs and lift her, her back pressed to my chest, her legs spread wide in my grip. She’s right at Mark’s eye level now, close enough that he can smell her—the musk of her pussy, the sweet juices I know are dripping out of her.

“Watch,” I snarl at him. Then I slam into her.

Bunny cries out, her body clamping around me, tight as a vise. The plug in her ass, stretching her, making her feel even fucking better around my cock. The piercings along the underside of my shaft drag against her walls, and I know she feels it—know it’s tearing her between pain and pleasure because she’s sobbing, but her cunt is gripping me like she never wants me to leave.

“Fuck, you see that, Mark?” I grind into her, making her moan. “See how tight she is? How soaking wet?”

I don’t go slow. I fuck her hard, like a doll in my arms, her body jolting in my grip. The sounds are filthy—skin slapping, Bunny’s choked cries, Mark’s ragged panting. My brothers are circling now, growling, their claws digging into their own thighs just to keep from touching.

“Look how hard he is for you,” I whisper into her ear. “Leaking. Making a mess. You enjoy that, don’t you? To see him lust over you even when you’re being fucked by another man. Filthy little bunny, loves being a show.”

Her cunt flutters around me, giving me the answers I need.

“Look at all of them. Stroking their cocks because of you. They all want you, baby.”

She moans and her hips buck against my thrusts.

“You want them to take turns on you again, don’t you? You fucking loved how they wrecked your body.”

Her breath hitches, and I know she’s close.

“That’s it. Cum on my cock like the good little whore you are.”

She shatters with a broken scream, her body clamping down on me. I lose it then, fucking into her through her orgasm, my own release roaring up my spine. I bury myself deep, spilling inside her, a hot, pulsing flood that fills her to the very brim. The sensation is electric, a primal satisfaction that ripples through me as I feel her body shudder in response. Her pussy contracts around me, milking every last drop, and I let out a low, guttural groan that echoes in the dimly lit room. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and something darker, something metallic and ancient that clings to me like a second skin.

As I catch my breath, my gaze snaps to Mark. I can hear the rapid thud of his heartbeat, the shallow gasps of his breath. He’s trying to keep his composure, but his trembling gives him away. He’s terrified and yet so fucking turned on, he must feel like going crazy.

Good. I want him broken.

I want him to know his place.

I slip my dick out of her pussy with a wet, obscene sound, but I keep her spread open in my arms, her back pressed firmly against my chest. Her head lolls on my shoulder, her breath coming in soft, uneven pants. She’s pliant in my grasp, her body still humming with the aftershocks of my possession.

I step closer to the chair. “Clean up,” I order Mark, my tone leaving no room for argument.

He hesitates, his eyes darting between her glistening folds and my mask. I can see the conflict in his expression—the shame, the reluctance, the flicker of defiance that he’s too weak to act on.

“Suck that cum out. Now,” I snap, my voice sharp enough to make him flinch.

With a shuddering breath, he leans forward and seals his mouth over her dripping pussy. The sight is vile and beautiful at the same time—his humiliation, her submission, the way her body twitches as his tongue tentatively flicks against her.

“Yeah, taste who owns that fucking cunt,” I sneer, my words dripping with venom.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t stop. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head, his ego crumbling with every second. But it’s not enough. He’s too hesitant, too clumsy. I can feel Bunny’s disappointment as she doesn’t seem to be finding any pleasure in his lack of skill, and I can’t resist twisting the knife.

“Not as good as when I eat your pussy out, hm?”

She moans, a soft, breathy sound that sends a thrill through me. My words excite her more than whatever the fuck he’s doing with his tongue. Her pulse quickens, her body arching slightly as she rubs against his face.

“Look at her, she’s bored, you useless pathetic piece of shit,” I growl, my voice rising with each word. “You’re not even worth the air you’re breathing.”

Khalok steps closer, his massive, grizzly-like frame casting a shadow over Mark. Without a word, he grabs a fistful of Mark’s hair and shoves him deeper into her, suffocating him.

Mark’s muffled gasp is music to my ears.

“Ride his face, baby,” Khalok rumbles, his voice a deep, commanding baritone that sends a physical shiver down Bunny’s spine.

She obeys, grinding her hips in my grasp as Mark struggles to keep up. His tongue moves more frantically now, but it’s still not good enough. I can feel her frustration, the way her body tenses as she seeks the release that only I can give her.

And when Mark finally makes an attempt to actually play with her, to bring her some semblance of pleasure, I step back abruptly, pulling her away from him.

“No,” I snarl, my grip tightening possessively around her. “You don’t get to have what’s mine.”

Her body trembles in my arms, a mixture of arousal and fear that makes my blood sing. I can feel her heartbeat, rapid and erratic, and as I hold her close, her body still trembling with need, I know that she’s mine in every way that matters.

She’s now slowly learning that, too.

Mark collapses in the chair, gasping for air, his face slick with her arousal and my cum. He looks up at me with a mixture of hatred and fear, but I don’t care. He’s nothing. Less than nothing.

And I intend to treat him as such.

I put her down on her feet, her legs shivering as I bend her over, hands braced on Mark’s thighs, her face just inches from his dick, leaking uselessly against his stomach. She’s close enough to feel the heat, but not close enough to taste—teasing the fuck out of him.

Mark’s groan is a pathetic, desperate little sound, almost like a kicked dog begging for scraps.

I laugh—low, mean, savoring the way his face twists in shame. “That sad little dick would never satisfy her. Look at her. Look how fucking hungry she is. She needs real cocks.”

I step back, and Zhyra takes my place.

His green, wild cat’s eyes gleam, his deadly claws digging into Bunny’s hips as he slams his tapered, barbed cock into her from behind. No warning. No easing in. Just a rough thrust, and he’s burying himself to the very swell of his knot, pressing against her entrance.

Bunny screams, back arching, tits bouncing, that sweet little ass jiggling with every brutal thrust.

“That’s it,” I murmur, stroking my still-rock-hard cock as I watch. “Take it like a good girl.”

And she does it so beautifully. Whimpering, moaning, sobbing, her pussy so fucking wet I can hear it. Her tits bounce as he sets a punishing pace like he’s trying to break her. Every brutal snap of his hips makes that sweet little ass jiggle, driving the butt plug deeper, while he pounds her raw.

Mark’s losing it. Straining against the ropes, his dick flexing, leaking like a fucking faucet. Pathetic.

Zhyra’s teeth flash, his feral hiss vibrates through the room, his tail flicking behind, claws raking down, leaving red streaks on her flesh, and he stills.

I groan, teasing the swollen head of my cock as he spills deep inside her, pumping her full, his seed mixing with mine. Her cunt drips around his cock before he pulls out, leaving her spent.

Then it’s Doruun’s turn. He takes his place behind her and yanks her hair back, forcing her back onto him. The squelch of her cunt is obscene. He’s massive, his thick cock stretching Bunny wide, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as he bottoms out—nearly half of his shaft unable to fit inside.

“Fuck! Your pussy feels like goddamn heaven, Bunny,” he praises before he spanks her ass hard enough to leave an oversized handprint.

She moans, loving the attention, and I can tell that little slut is already clenching around him.

His hooves scrape the floor as he pounds into her, fucking her like she’s nothing but a warm hole, lifting her feet off the ground with every thrust.

It’s like watching art. All of us—minus Mark, of course—stroke our cocks in the same tempo, joined in the shared pleasure.

With the last sharp snap of his pelvis, he tosses his head back, huffing wildly, holding her impaled on his shaft as he blows a huge load inside her. Her pussy overflows, blend of cum and her slick dripping down her legs, dangling helplessly in the air.

Khalok is next. His clawed paws grip Bunny’s waist, ripping her from Doruun’s hands like a toy he now wants to play with. Which is precisely what she is.

He flips Bunny around, her legs hooked over his arms, and destroys her, driving into her, massive and relentless.

Bunny’s back bows, her nails raking her tits, her cries breaking as she comes again, squirting across Khalok’s thighs.

Mark’s eyes are wild, his cock pulsing, his breath coming in ragged, panting gasps, his whole body shaking.

“You wanna fuck her that bad?” I taunt, leaning beside him. I don’t feel sorry for him even a bit. But I do know the pain he’s going through. “Aw, poor you. All you can do is watch while she’s being passed around.”

With a primal roar that shakes the room, Khalok reaches his peak, flooding her with his pent-up release.

Varekka takes her last, already in rut, his knot fully formed. He flips her onto her knees, crouching on his haunches behind her, his claws digging into her thighs as he spreads her open and rams into her. Bunny’s beyond words now, her body used, her cunt ruined, her moans shattered as Varekka claims her, fucking her through it until she’s screaming, squirting again—all over the floor this time.

“Fuck, little rabbit, you squeeze me so tightly!” he pants, licking his chops, rutting in and out of her desperately, his hips a blur. Her thighs bleed where his claws dig, which only adds to his frenzy.

With a loud snarl, he forces his knot inside her, making her yelp in shock at the sudden stretch. But he’s not finished. He nips at her neck, marking her, as it swells further, inflating inside her, locking them together. The sharp pressure makes her burst into tears. Her cunts weeps, too, gushing violently around him as he pumps her so full of his seed, I swear I see her belly bulging.

What a sight. Fuck me, I’ll never get over her beauty.

By the time they’re done, she’s a wreck. His knot subsides in size enough to slip out of her abused cunt with an obscene wet pop. She collapses under Mark’s feet, trembling, half-conscious, cum dripping down her thighs, her pussy lips red and swollen, her leaking hole gaping open.

But I’m not nearly finished with her yet.

I step forward, grab her hair, and yank her up on her feet again. “Turn around,” I command. “Present yourself.”

She whimpers but obeys, shaky, turning and sticking out her ass to show off. That pretty pink heart-shaped plug is still nestled between her cheeks, her ruined, cum-covered cunt glistening, engorged clit throbbing.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, then grab Mark’s hair, forcing him to look. “See what real cocks do to her?”

Bunny’s breath hitches as I order her to play with herself. Her hand slides between her legs, fingers spreading her pussy lips, taunting us more than toying with herself. Gathering the mess, she brings her coated fingers to her lips. She licks them clean, moaning as she swallows, before they return to rub up and down her slit, circling her overstimulated clit, then plunging inside her fuckhole.

Mark chokes, his cock jerks and pulses, a weak spurt of cum dripping down.

Rage burns through me.

She’s too perfect for his eyes.

And I lose it.

The butterfly knife is in my hand from my pocket before I even think—cold, sharp, hungry. I flip it open in one practiced move, and after slashing his ropes, Mark crashes to the floor. I kick him onto his stomach with his face right in the puddle on the floor.

“Lick it up,” I snarl. “Every fucking drop.”

He hesitates, so I slam my boot into his ribs. He wheezes, out of breath, then his tongue flicks out, lapping at the sticky mess of squirt and cum like the whimpering, sorry-ass looser he is.

I grab his hair, wrench his head up, forcing him to stare at Bunny.

“Take a last good look at her,” I hiss through clenched teeth, venom in my voice. “You were just here to teach her a lesson.”

She turns to face us with a blank expression, only her eyes betraying her panic.

Mark’s on his knees in front of me, sweat and snot running down his face. He’s begging, “Please, please, man, I’m just her fan. I never even stood a chance. I just… God, please, I don’t want to die. I have to take care of my Meemaw.” Like that fucking matters now. Like words ever mattered.

It’s her fault. She pushed me to this point.

“Baby, you really shouldn’t try to make me jealous,” I tell her, my voice dripping with hatred… with insanity. “Don’t you know it drives me fucking mad?”

Her throat bobs, and she trembles, realizing this is real. That I’m truly that unhinged, that deeply consumed by my fixation on her.

I lift the knife, slowly, almost mischievously. The first cut is shallow, only a tease across his cheek. But it rips through his skin, ruining his pretty-country-boy face, crimson streaks dripping fast down his trembling chin onto his heaving chest.

Mark gasps, eyes bugging, as he struggles against my hold, pleading for mercy. But it’s just background noise. And I laugh because he thinks that’s pain.

No. Pain’s coming.

My brothers linger in the corners of the room, shifting on their feet, their breaths coming quicker. The sharp, metallic scent of blood is thickening the air, along with the mouth-watering aroma of fear, and I can feel them getting antsy, hungry.

Making me crave…

This is for Bunny, but it’s mine first. And I’m going to enjoy every goddamn second of it.

“Now watch what you did,” I continue, tilting my head at her with a wicked smirk underneath my mask as the edge of the blade slides down Mark’s throat. “Watch what happens when you play fucking games with me.”

22. Ghost

Mark thrashes, screaming.

“Ghost, no!” Bunny calls out, pale and hysterical, leaping forward.

But it’s too late.

The second slash bites much deeper, splitting skin across his throat like wet paper. Blood spurts, thick and dark, splattering across the walls, the floor, across Bunny's bare skin.

Mark’s gurgled bellow is fucking music, combined with Bunny screams. She’s held by Doruun, blocking her from trying to stop me. Not that she could. She’s only tossing her head as if that could chase the view away from her eyes.

The third strike cuts deep into Mark’s belly, carving open his useless flesh, blood pooling around us.

My brothers are groaning, excited. Zhyra licks his mouth with feverish hunger, ready to pounce and chew. Khalok grips his hard, throbbing cock, admiring how the boy’s muscles twitch under the blade. Varekka’s already on the ground, lapping at the spilled blood.

And I? I feel alive.

Fourth. Fifth. I lose count after that, just slashing him in blind, hot frenzy. Mark’s blood is warm, sticky, fucking perfect as I drag my fingers through the mess I made of him. The bastard’s heart is still beating—barely—but it won’t be for long. Not that it matters. He served his purpose.

I bring my hand up under the balaclava, copper and salt on my tongue as I lick my fingers clean with a groan.

Fuck, it’s good.

Almost as good as the way Bunny’s shaking right now, her big, terrified, watery eyes locked on me. My good girl. She should be scared of me. It makes my cock twitch like a live wire.

“Look at him,” I growl, grabbing her leash and forcing her face toward Mark’s ruined body. “This is what happens when you fucking tease me.”

She whimpers, but I don’t give her time to beg. I slam her down into the blood-soaked floor, her naked skin smearing red as she writhes under me. The scent of her fear, the heat of her body—it’s intoxicating. Mixed with his blood, creates an aphrodisiac that’s impossible for me to resist.

I grind my cock against her ass, letting her feel how fucking hard she makes me.

“You’re a monster!” She sobs, trying to twist away, but I yank her back by her hair and lock her in place.

“No, Bunny, you did this,” I snarl. “You made me hurt him, you little fucking slut. You shouldn’t have smiled at him. Let him think he had a chance.” I yank her hair, just a little harder. “Did you really think I’d let another man touch what’s mine?” Leaning over her, I add, “What’s ours?”

She screams, and her fear is delicious. But her surrender? That will be divine.

I flip her onto her back, shoving her right on top of Mark’s dying, twitching body. His blood’s still pumping out, slow and weak, soaking into her skin. She looks so pretty, wrecked like this.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re afraid. It makes us want you even more.” I grab her by the chin, forcing her to look at me, at the mask, now dripping in blood, hiding what’s left of my humanity. “So scream louder, cry harder. It won’t change a thing. You’re ours. To share. To ruin. Every whimper, every tear, every shudder—it all belongs to us.”

“No!” She still resists. God, she never fucking learns.

“No?” I pull her legs apart, forcing her open. “But you’re shaking.” I drag my bloodied fingers through her wet, swollen cunt, groaning when I feel her throb around nothing. “Is it fear or is it excitement, little bunny?”

She lets out a choked sob.

I smirk to myself. “Both, isn’t it?” I stroke her tender, ravaged clit. “Your body doesn’t know the difference.”

She bucks, writhes, her whole body working against itself.

She doesn’t want this.

But she needs it.

“That’s right, baby—struggle all you want. It only makes it sweeter when you break.” I rub her, slow and cruel, watching her fight herself, fight me, fight the deep, desperate hunger building between her thighs.

She’s soaked. Drenched. Covered in cum and blood. And so fucking helpless under my touch, whimpering like the whore she is.

I make a mocking noise of disappointment. “Messy, messy girl.” Then I slap her clit—sharp, punishing.

She mewls, thrashing, her face contorted in impossible ecstasy that doesn’t end.

“Aww, does it hurt, sweetheart?” I do it again, harder. “Good. Pain is just your body learning how to be ours.” And again. Until her hips jerk uncontrollably, thighs trembling, legs trying to slam shut. But I hold them apart.

I own her body.

And she’s going to know it.

“You love this, don’t you?” I growl.

She shakes her head, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Still, such a fucking little liar.

“You can lie to yourself, but your body doesn’t lie to me.”

Finally, I drive into her in one brutal thrust. She cries out, clawing at my chest, legs kicking, back arching, but I hold her down, pinning her open, forcing her to take every inch of me. Her pussy is tight and wet and hurting—just the way I like it.

“You feel that? You feel how I ruin that cunt?” I snarl, pounding into her. “That’s what you get for being a greedy little slut.”

The air’s thick with blood, musk, lust, and something deeper. Primal. Sick. Addictive.

Around us, my brothers circle like fucking vultures, eyes black with hunger for a taste. For her. For flesh. For violence. I hear the slick, obscene sound of cocks pumping, desperate, aching. They’re stroking themselves, their fists working in time with every brutal thrust I bury inside her.

They feel everything I feel.

They share everything I take.

This desire isn’t just mine.

It’s theirs.

It’s ours.

And she is the center of it all.

I glance down, and fuck me, it’s perfect. Bunny’s sobbing, overstimulated, her body small and weak, shuddering under my assault. I groan, rolling my hips deeper, harder, watching the way her pretty little pussy stretches around my cock.

Mark’s dead now. Cold. Forgotten. His worthless corpse jerks beneath her, his blood smearing across her back, her ass, my cock.

“Too much!” she chokes, gripping my shoulders to push me away, but her hips buck against me, betraying her.

My fingers lock around her throat. I squeeze—just enough to watch her lips part, her lashes flutter, her breath stutter. “Tell me to stop.”

Her voice cracks. “P-please—"

My jaw clenches, my grip tightens, and I don’t stop. I can’t. All I care about is the way her body tries to reject me even as she drips down my thighs.

“Louder. I couldn’t hear you.”

Her breath hitches. But she doesn't say it again. Because she knows it’s too late. She’s getting wetter, tighter, clenching around me despite it all.

“That's what I thought.”

I fuck her harder. Punishing. Unrelenting. Dragging her body through the filth and blood and sin, forcing her to feel every inch of my thick throbbing cock and every ounce of my fucking obsession.

All of a sudden, her hands shift higher, her dainty fingers hook into the fabric of my mask. And I let her. I want her to see.

The mask slips off my head, and our eyes lock. I don’t know if she sees a man or a monster, but her lips part, breath hitching, and—fucking hell—she likes the view. Her cunt flutters around me like a goddamn heartbeat.

Something clenches in my chest. I crash my mouth onto hers, swallowing every single one of her desperate, choked little sobs. The rhythm turns savage, my hips pistoning into her, her cries pitching higher, broken.

“You're gonna cum for me again, Bunny,” I murmur. My teeth find her throat, marking her as mine, only mine.

She shakes her head wildly. “No.” But she fists my hair, pulling me closer, kissing me with carnal need.

I chuckle darkly. “You do whatever the fuck I say you do.” I slide a blood-slick, gloved hand between her thighs where our bodies become one, finding her swollen, abused little clit, rubbing it slow, deep, merciless.

She hates it. She loves it. She doesn’t know where the line is anymore. And I feel her body betraying her—the way her inner walls squeeze me like a vice, milking me, begging for more even as she sobs.

I thrust harder, deeper, rougher, and when she screams in pain, I swallow the sound, too. Her breasts bounce with every brutal stroke, her pink nipples tight, swollen, begging for my mouth. I give them what they want. I latch on, sucking, biting, licking, leaving them wet, raw, and bruised.

I feel delirious as I set a ruthless pace, fucking her like an animal, like I’m trying to tear her apart. And maybe I am. I drag her over the edge, pulling her down into the abyss with me.

She convulses, her back arching, her thighs trembling, now wrapped around my waist, nails digging into my back. “I-I can’t—please—”

“You can,” I growl. “And you will.”

Her body locks up, her broken moan shredding the air as she squirts, gushing over me, over the corpse below her, twitching violently. Then—fuck yes—her eyes roll back, her body goes limp, and she blacks out from too much pleasure, too much pain.

Fucking breathtaking.

I don’t stop.

I chase my own release, pounding into her limp body until I feel the tightness in my balls and the tingling along my spine. I then pull out, panting, shaking, feral. My cock twitches, throbbing, pulsing, and then I release. Thick ropes of cum splatter across her raw pussy, painting her in the evidence of what she’s become. I watch my cum drip, mixing with sweat and blood, soaking into her skin like it’s always meant for her to wear it. Marked. Claimed.

A growl rumbles behind me. The others are close. I glance over my shoulder, watching as they stroke themselves harder, faster, caught in their own frenzy.

Varekka groans first, spilling thick and hot across her belly.

Zhyra follows, his seed covering her breasts in abundance.

Doruun grips her thighs, his release splattering against her inner skin, joining the mess I’ve made of her.

And Khalok finishes on her face, roaring loud and proud.

It’s obscene.

It’s holy.

It’s ours.

And then—the feast begins.

The sound of tearing flesh. The crack of bone. The wet, slurping snarls as we dig into what’s left of Mark. I twist my hand into his sunken chest, past cartilage, past bone, past everything that makes him human until I feel it. I wrap my fingers around his heart and rip it out with ease, consuming his whole being.

And he’s forever with me now.

Forever part of us.

I step back and take a slow breath, letting the chaos fade behind me as I lay my eyes back on her. My Bunny—my perfect, ruined little bunny—left on the ground in the pool of blood. And she looks so fucking beautiful, passed out from being fucked half to death. Her muscles are trembling, her delicate frame marked with bruises and bite marks—my favorite kind of artwork. Her breathing is shallow, weak, but she’s very much alive.

I scoop her into my arms, her body almost weightless. Her head falls against my shoulder as I carry her into her cage, laying her down on the mattress. She’s in and out of consciousness, lost in whatever darkness I’ve dragged her into.

She doesn’t stir, just whimpers softly as her body settles against the cushioning. Behind me, my brothers are still lost in their feeding frenzy, tearing into what’s left of Mark’s carcass. I should have joined in the madness with them. I normally would. But something twists inside me, sharp and unwelcome as I look at this fallen angel before me.

Fuck.

I know it’s not guilt—I’m incapable of feeling that. Perhaps it’s Nate’s stupid need to coddle her, whispering in the back of my skull. Or Dev’s nagging voice, bitching at me for being too rough. Or maybe it’s Mark’s pathetic worship of her, lingering like a ghost. Whatever it is, it doesn’t belong.

I grit my teeth, exhaling hard through my nose..

She whimpers, curling slightly into herself, and that thing inside me twists harder.

“Fuck this,” I mutter, but I’m already moving, stepping out of the cage, then walking outside

The night air is thick with the scent of copper and pine. The water drum sits behind the cabin, filled fresh from the creek every morning. I grab the bucket, dunk it in, letting the cool water rush over my fingers. I also take a fresh rag and Bunny’s favorite vanilla and coconut scented body wash—because, of course, I remember—before stalking back inside.

Bunny hasn’t moved. Her lashes flutter as I kneel beside her and tilt her head up, pressing the cup to her lips. “Drink.”

She does, weak little swallows, water spilling down her chin as a soft moan escapes her raw throat. I wipe it away with my thumb, catching the stray droplets before they disappear between her breasts.

Then I start cleaning her face, and she doesn’t fight me.

Good girl. She needs her strength to recover quickly.

I soak the rag, squeeze it out, then drag it down her neck, over her collarbones, her breasts, the curve of her stomach. It’s cool against her feverish skin, and the water must feel like heaven as I rub the tension from her sore muscles.

I take my time, washing every inch of her wrecked body—every cut, every bruise, every mark we left on her. The blood comes away in streaks, revealing pale skin beneath. She shivers when I swipe over her swollen nipples, her pussy—still dripping with cum—and finally, the tight clench of her ass as I pull out the plug and clean her there, too, thorough, making sure she’s fresh and spotless again.

I even clean her hair, working the gunk from the strands. She lets out this soft, sleepy noise—almost a purr—as I massage her scalp, her body finally relaxing under my hands. It’s… nice. Too nice.

“Thank you,” she whispers, so faint I almost miss it.

Something in me snaps.

I drop the rag, my hands tightening on her hips hard enough to leave fresh bruises. I hate that she still gets to me like this. That after everything, her gratitude still fucking matters.

No more tenderness. No more weakness.

Abruptly, I stand, pushing the bucket aside. Water sloshes over the cage floor as I yank the door shut behind me, locking her in for the night.

The others are done feeding, grinning at me knowingly, like they see the cracks. But all I can focus on is her quiet yet steady heartbeat. My own adjusting, beating in the same rhythm.

And I hate that most of all.

Before I know it, I kick off my boots and hurdle out the door. My bones snap, the denim of my jeans rips, and even the leather gloves give way ay as my limbs expand. I run through the night, run to get away, to clear my head, but the voices are still there. I swear I hear Kendra’s annoying whine as she’s lecturing me.

Even worse, Bunny’s sweet scent still clings to me. There’s no escaping her.

I growl in frustration, the sound traveling, transitioning into a high-pitched whistle that echoes off the mountains.

When I return, the morning sun already bleeds through the cabin windows, illuminating the carnage left behind on the floor. My brothers stir, groaning as they stretch before they leave for the hunt, leaving me alone with her.

Perfect.

Bunny sleeps peacefully, her naked body a canvas of our shared obsession. She will learn to love her cage. To crave the hands that hold her down. To beg for the pain like a trembling little thing, desperate to please. Because she was made to be ours. We’ll rip the defiance out of her with our teeth and claws, fuck obedience into her bones, and tear her apart piece by piece until she forgets what it was like to be anything else.

The sight of her makes my cock twitch—on her belly, with one knee bent, legs spread, and the soft curve of her ass still marked by claws and spanks.

My hands burn to touch her, but I move into the dungeon first. I only grab Shibari ropes off the wall and don’t care that I have no clothes on, not even the mask.

She doesn’t wake as I unlatch the cage door, doesn’t even flinch when I kneel behind her. My fingers trace the map of welts and bruises on her skin, ropes coiled neatly in my other hand. She looks so innocent like this, so fragile. It’s almost too easy.

Her pussy is still swollen, lips puffy, glistening faintly in the light. Red. Tender. Used. I drag my fingers down the curve of her spine, tracing the dip of her lower back, and lower still, her ass flushed and warm under my palm.

She’s so fucking perfect like this, sprawled and vulnerable, her breath slow and even. And she’s so deep in exhaustion that she doesn’t wake, not even when I gather her pink hair in my fist and pull it to the side, exposing the delicate slope of her neck.

I take my time selecting the first length of the rope, running the red, silk-rough hemp between my fingers before I twist her arms behind her back, tying the first knot snug against her wrists. She sighs in her sleep, a soft, broken sound that makes my cock ache.

The ropes come alive under my hands, weaving around her in intricate patterns—cinching her elbows, framing her shoulders, pulling her chest forward until her tits press into the mattress. I adjust her knees, spreading her wider, lifting her ass higher. Every knot is a promise. Every tug is a claim of my possession.

By the time I’m done, she’s a work of art. Bound. Exposed. Completely at my mercy. Looking like a dream spun out of my dirtiest fantasies—innocent on the surface, corrupted just for me underneath. The ropes frame her perfectly, accentuating every curve, every line of her body. She’s my masterpiece, my creation. And she’s all mine.

My cock is already fully awake and throbbing, impatient. I stroke it slowly as I admire her. The way the ropes dig into her skin, the way her cunt is wrecked, the way her asshole is still slightly gaping open from the plug left in her for hours.

I can’t resist.

Leaning in, I drag my tongue over her virgin hole, lapping at her slowly, savoring the taste of her.

Fuck. As sweet as she looks.

I can’t get enough. My hands grip her hips, holding her in place as I spread her with my thumbs. And I devour her like a snack, my tongue working her until she’s squirming against the ropes, her breath coming in shallow gasps. But my tongue spears deeper, greedy, relentless, fucking into her. Her hips roll back instinctively, seeking more even in sleep.

Good girl.

She moans. A soft, broken sound, but it sends a jolt of heat straight to my cock, a bead of precum dripping onto the mattress.

“Does it feel good when Daddy eats your ass, baby?”

She’s too far gone to answer, but her hips twitch, her body responding even as her mind clings to sleep.

My fingers slide across her upturned pussy slit, rubbing her oversensitive clit until she whines. She’s so wet. So pliant.

I spit against her hole, watching the saliva drip down before working my thumb inside, stretching her. She’s still so tight, her body resisting even after everything I’ve done to her.

Fuck.

I grind my cock between her ass cheeks, the swollen, pierced head catching on her entrance, but she’s not ready. Not yet.

“Damn, sweetheart, we need to open you up some more.”

I grab another rope, flipping her onto her back, her arms trapped beneath her. This one I loop around her hips, then up her torso, crisscrossing over her ribs in intricate lacing, pulling tight until her tits bulge between the binds of chest harness. She whines, her back arching, but I don’t stop. Not until she’s perfect.

Then I lift her. She’s light in my arms, her body limp like a doll as I carry her to the dungeon. The chains rattle as I hook her ropes to the ceiling, suspending her just enough that her toes barely brush the ground. Her head lolls forward, long, pink hair cascading over her face as I step back to admire my work.

But she’s not done yet.

The last length of rope I slither between her legs, threading it through her pussy slit, pulling it taunt, so fucking tight until she jerks. A sharp cry tears from her throat as the rough fibers bite into her clit. Her eyes are hazy, unfocused, but they find mine.

“There you are,” I murmur, stroking her hip as she whimpers. “Now you’re awake.”

Then comes the final touch.

I step to the table and grab the anal hook. She shakes her head violently in protest, like I’d care.

After lubing it and warming it in my palm, I approach her back with the wicked smirk playing on my lips.

“This is going to hurt,” I whisper, kissing the corner of her mouth as I pressing the hook against her clenching asshole.

She jerks when I push it in, her body arching, a broken cry tearing from her throat as the metal ball stretches her wider than the plug ever did.

The moment it’s seated inside her, I connect it to the crotch rope between her legs, yanking it secure. It pulls tighter with every movement, rubbing against her hypersensitive flesh, the hook dragging deeper with every shift of her weight.

She sobs, scrambling for balance as the ropes dig into her flushed skin.

And I exhale with relief, finally being able to admire her in a way I’ve been aching to since the first time I saw her.

“Gorgeous. Now, let’s play a game and see how long you last,” I propose, taking a seat on a chair by the wall as I stroke myself slowly, watching her struggle. “You cum, I punish you.”

23. Bunny

I can’t.

My toes barely touch the ground, my legs trembling, my thighs slick with panicked sweat and something else—something shameful. The ropes press into my flesh, the rough fibers burning where they bite into my arms, my breasts, my pussy. The anal hook is seated deep, impaling me, the metal ball stretching me wide. Every shift of my weight sends a jolt of pain and pleasure straight to my core, the crotch rope sawing against my swollen clit.

And he just sits there, watching me.

Ghost lounges in the chair across from me. Naked. All lean muscle and ink over his tanned skin. His pierced cock is hard in his hand, stroking slow, so large that it rivals the beasts he calls “his brothers”. A mocking smirk plays on his full lips, his eyes dark, almost fully black, drinking in every twitch of my drained body, every desperate whimper I can’t swallow down.

I hate him.

And I hate how much I want him at the same time.

Seeing him without the mask is even worse… because he is so fucking breathtaking. I just can’t understand how such a beautiful man can be this cruel.

Fuck him and his perfect face.

My nipples ache, hard and sensitive beneath the Shibari harness, my clit pulsing with need. Every little movement drags the hook deeper into my tight, virgin ass. Every inhale makes the unforgiving ropes dig harder. Every exhale turns into a moan.

The pressure between my legs is unbearable. My hips jerk on their own, seeking more friction, more anything, even as my thighs quiver with exhaustion. Last night was too much. My pussy hasn’t recovered from the stretch of too many cocks, from how many times they made me cum against my will.

And now? Oh fuck. It hurts. And it’s too much…

That pain feels too good.

I can’t hold it.

A spark races up my spine, and my blurred vision whites out as a sudden orgasm crashes into me like wildfire, violent and raw. My back arches, my hips rolling shamelessly against the harsh hemp, as my ass clenches around the intrusion. A scream tears from my throat as my legs give out, my weight sagging into the bindings, and the hook feels like it’s in my stomach—I’m suspended now, pathetic, like a broken doll.

Ghost tsks, standing in one fluid motion. “Already?” His voice is a velvet blade, slicing through the haze. “That was fast, little bunny.”

I sob, my body still twitching from the aftershocks, as I plead, “Please, I can’t take anymore.”

But he doesn’t care. He seizes my chin, fingertips digging in hard enough to pry my jaw apart, forcing me to look directly into his hunter eyes. There’s that sinister, unhuman flicker in them, but it doesn’t take away from how much I yearn for him. He most likely is a beast, just like the rest of them—I’m almost certain.

Yet, my heart can’t tell the difference. Our history runs too deep, the feelings too real. Some fractured part of me still can’t let go of him, clinging to memories… to what we could’ve been.

“How bad did it hurt?” he asks in that deep, gravelly voice that makes my stomach flutter.

I don’t have an answer—how could I ever put it into words? Because he doesn’t necessarily mean physical pain. He knows he’s shattering me from within. And he relishes it.

“Good,” he rasps against my lips. “Now you know what a fucking torture it is to love you.”

God, I need that man to destroy me entirely.

The next thing I know, he kisses me. Or maybe I kiss him first. Doesn’t matter anyway.

It’s not tender. It’s desperate, punishing, filled with passion. Our mouths crash like we’re trying to fight each other, like we’re both starved and furious that we still crave the taste. His hand fists in my hair, pulling hard enough to draw a gasp, and I bite his bottom lip until I taste blood. There’s no mercy in it. Just hunger and hatred twisted together—two people trying to devour the pieces they broke in each other.

He steps back too fast, breath ragged, brushing one hand through the dark hair that’s fallen messily over his forehead.

He’s affected. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a way for me to get through to him.

“Daddy, please,” I whisper softly. “You don’t need to do this. I’m yours.”

He freezes for a brief moment, frowning as though he‘s contemplating it. But when his eyes meet mine again, they are hardly human.

Without responding, he strolls toward a heavy wooden table set against the far wall like he has all the time in the world. My stomach churns as my eyes scan what’s laid out there. Neat, pristine rows of meticulously arranged tools—gleaming metal, leather, toys.

He reaches for the ball gag from the table before returning to stand in front of me. My pulse spikes, breath hitches, but the rubber already presses against my lips. My muffled protest dies in my throat as I’m forced to accept it, the strap cinching tight behind my head.

He steps back, tilting his head. “Better.”

Before I know it, his hands are on my tits, rough and possessive, squeezing hard. Then—slap. The sharp sting across my flesh makes me jerk, my nipples arching, and my muffled cry escapes the gag.

“I want you to feel everything I give you,” he murmurs into my ear, his thick, dark stubble tickling my skin. “Pain. Pleasure. Fear. I want all of it. Can you give that to me, Princess?”

He does it again, harder, slapping my other breast, before his mouth replaces his palm, sucking one peak between his teeth.

I jolt as he bites down. The pain is bright, electric, and my cunt pulses in response, betraying me with a treacherous ripple of heat.

“Don't pretend you don’t want it,” he whispers against my flesh. “I can smell it on you.”

“No,” I muffle over the gag, drool trickling down my chin.

He chuckles darkly, then flicks his pierced tongue over my other nipple before sucking it into his mouth—warm, teasing, coaxing. When he pulls away, the clamps come next, cold metal pinching my tender nipples tight. The constant pressure is making my back bow off the ropes. It hurts, but not in the way I expect. I feel it between my legs, a slow, pulsing ache like it’s a direct link to that sharp pinch.

Ghost’s fingers slide under the thin chain connecting the clamps, wrapping it around his knuckles, giving a light tug. A whimper escapes me before I can swallow it down.

He hums in approval, watching me struggle. “You’re so fucking stunning like this, Bunny.”

Then another pull. The pain lances through my chest, sharp and searing. I scream against the gag, saliva spilling over my lips as I squirm, trying to escape the sensation. My body jerks in its bindings, but there’s nowhere to go.

“See? You can be good when you try.” He smiles at that, cruel and pleased, and I just want to fucking kill him.

With all the strength I have left, I try to kick, but all it does is causing the hook in my ass to shift, massaging that wonderful spot inside me.

I hate him.

I hate what he’d done to me.

And I hate how he’s making me feel.

But he’s just starting.

He grabs something else from the table, and before I can get a peek, he kneels, fastening binds over my ankles.

I whimper, struggling, but my legs are yanked apart as the spreader bar locks into place with a metallic clink, keeping me open. Vulnerable. Just the way he likes it.

Then he rises to his full height and tugs the other end of the chain that’s suspending me from the ceiling.

The ground disappears beneath me until my face is level with his. My body dangles uselessly, weightless in the lacework of knots, like a fly caught in a spider's web.

Tears spill over my cheeks, but my screams are nothing now. Just muffled, pathetic little noises behind the gag, swallowed by the thick wooden walls of the cabin.

He strokes my hair almost lovingly. “Shhh. No use wasting your breath.”

I shake my head desperately, pleading with my eyes, but he only watches me. Drinking in my helplessness. Savoring it. His cock bobs, drop of precum traveling down his shaft between the barbells of his Jacob’s ladder.

He’s so hot, I just want to shout.

He curses under his breath as he moves, but not towards the table. I follow him with the corner of my eye, and just then, I notice there’s a camera on the stand in the corner. He brings it closer, setting it in front of me before the red light flicks on. I don’t know why he records it. Maybe so he can have a torture porn to jerk off to after he kills me. Or maybe it’s just to piss me off more.

Joke’s on him because I can’t feel any more humiliated or mortified than I already am.

“Now,” he says, voice velvety smooth, as he approaches me again, “let’s teach you how to behave.”

The next thing I hear is a soft rustle of leather. And the first strike lands with a swishing sound as it cuts the air, ending in a sharp bite of pain across my stomach.

I jolt, my head falling forward, and I cry behind the gag.

The flogger snaps against my skin again, this time lashing across my breasts. A shock of heat blooms where it lands, a sting that fades into something warmer, sending a ripple of electric sensation far more dangerous through me.

Why is my body reacting this way?

He keeps going. My thighs. My hips. The curve of my ass.

I whimper, my skin heating, burning, pulsing, but my traitorous flesh shivers. Heat coils low in my belly, tighter and tighter with each punishing strike.

I’m enjoying this.

He tsks, dragging the flogger between my legs, teasing me with the soft leather before the next impact—this one right where I’m most sensitive. A ragged, broken moan rips from my throat as I beg him to stop.

To my surprise, he steps away. I almost thank him before I hear the distinct crack of something firmer cutting through the air. My breath stutters.

I look up to see the long riding crop in his hand, and my body immediately tenses, bracing.

The first hit lands right between my legs, driving the rope into my throbbing clit. I jerk violently, screaming into the gag, but the pain is a lightning bolt straight to my core, sharp and electric, melting into something unbearable.

Another strike. Harder. The pain blends with something else, something humiliatingly good.

“Such a perfect little plaything. Taking your punishment so well for Daddy,” he murmurs, circling me just to get the full picture. I hear his hand working over his cock, sticky wet with his precum, and I crave the taste.

God, why am I like this?

The third strike lands out of nowhere.

At the exact same moment, Ghost yanks the chain, releasing the nipple clamps in one brutal snap.

The pain is a shockwave. Intense and burning, like a flash of fire surging through my body, as blood rushes back to my aching nipples.

And then, the last strike of the crop slaps against my clit.

My body locks up, a scream ripping from my throat, before I start to convulse, my body shuddering in the ropes, as white-hot pleasure tears through me, violent and unstoppable.

I don’t want it. But my body accepts it greedily, melting into it.

Ghost isn’t surprised. No. He expected this. He planned for it. “There it is,” he breathes, his voice thick with triumph as he watches me with fascination.

I gasp for air, still trembling from the aftershocks, shame searing through me like an open wound.

He strokes my cheek, almost tender, kissing me over the slobbered gag. “See how good you are for me?”

I hate him.

I hate myself more.

His lips kiss down the column of my neck, leaving a wet trail behind. His hand grips my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I feel it—his arousal, thick and unforgiving, pressing into my stomach.

It shouldn’t feel this good.

And I hate that it does.

I squirm, trying to deny it, but my hips tilt forward, seeking, drawn to the rigid heat against me.

“Needy little slut,” he murmurs, pulling away, leaving my skin aching where his mouth had been. “You’re starting to enjoy this, aren’t you?”

I shake my head desperately, but the movement is weak.

Ghost just knows. His fingers trail between my legs, spreading me wider with a slow push of the spreader bar. Then he slides his cock against the drenched rope, dug into the slit of my pussy. His swollen crown taps against my abused clit, each smack harder than the last, until—

Nothing.

He moves away just before I gush all over his throbbing shaft.

Unintentionally, I suck in a sharp breath in disappointment. But it quickly goes away as he reaches for the wand.

No.

He slides it securely beneath the crotch rope, the vibrating head nestling right against my abused little clit—oversensitive, overstimulated, still pulsing from the last orgasm.

My stomach drops, and I twitch before anything even happens, glaring at him.

“Don’t give me those eyes. I know it’s your favorite, baby,” he murmurs like the sadistic piece of shit he is.

He’s right, though he has no business knowing that. But before my mind can even process it, he turns the wand on.

The first buzz has me screaming into the gag, my hips bucking wildly, but I fight it, trying my hardest not to give him any more satisfaction.

Yet, no matter what I do, there’s no escaping the relentless sensation between my legs. The ropes hold me in place, the hook drags inside me, and the wand destroys me.

I cum.

Again.

Again.

And again.

Until I’m weeping, until my throat is raw around the gag, until my thighs are slick with my own mess, juices dripping on the floor.

All of a sudden, silence.

The wand flickers, sputters, then dies completely.

But Ghost doesn’t stop.

After tossing the toy on the table, he falls to his knees, pulling he rope to the side and baring me.

I shriek as his tongue swipes through my soaked folds, lapping every last drop—too long, too good to belong to a human. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open as he devours me, his piercing dragging against my swollen flesh. Over and over, he works me with the relentless, merciless rhythm.

I’m begging now, babbling around the gag, my hips jerking helplessly, my toes curling in impossible pleasure.

“That’s it. Give it to me,” he hums low in his chest against me, the vibration making me squirm.

Then, his lips seal around my clit, and I fall apart as soon as he starts sucking.

My orgasm is a tidal wave, violent and all-consuming, my body seizing as I squirt into his mouth. He drinks me down, his fingers digging into my skin, his tongue relentless until I’m limp in the ropes, only half-conscious, my vision swimming.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are glistening. “Good girl.” The words are a brand. And I hate how much I love them.

But before I can catch my breath, rough hands are on me—everywhere, all over my trembling body. I haven’t even noticed when the others came back, but they are clearly excited by the show.

Zhyra’s claws dig into my inner thighs, splitting skin. I gasp as blood wells up, hot and metallic.

Khalok growls, crouching low, his tongue lapping at the fresh wounds. The sting melts into something darker, pleasure threading through the pain.

Varekka’s teeth sink into my shoulder, sharp enough to bruise. I whimper, arching, my bound wrists straining against the ropes.

The sound of Doruun’s hooves scraping the floor sends a violent shiver through me.

“Fuck, I need to be inside her!” He shoves the others aside, his fingers working the clasps of the leg spreader. The metal clatters to the floor, and then he’s there, stepping between my thighs, his mammoth cock already hard and dripping.

When he slams into me, he’s too impatient, too aggressive, forcing his way in. A raw cry tears from my throat as he bottoms out, my walls clenching tight around him, unprepared. He doesn’t give me time to adjust. He’s in a rut.

His eyes glow red, his breath steaming from flared nostrils. Every deep, brutal thrust bruises my cervix, his hips pistoning, relentless. My pussy is so tiny because of the stretch in my ass, the friction burning, but he only groans, gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks. My eyelids fall heavy, my teeth chatter against the gag, and my awareness grows more questionable by the second.

“Damn it, she’s bleeding,” Varekka growls somewhere far away, his voice like coming from above the water.

“Stop.” Ghost’s voice cuts sharper.

A snarl.

Then Doruun is yanked off me, thrown back by an invisible force. Weirdly, the sudden emptiness makes me shudder.

The chain rattles, lowering me back to the floor in a slow, controlled descent. My legs buckle the moment I touch down, my thighs slick with blood and sweat, my pussy throbbing from the brutal stretch. My body is weak, aching, and I feel defeated.

Ghost doesn’t let me fall. His grip is firm as he grabs me, yanking me upright in his strong arms. His fingers work quickly at the crotch rope, loosening the cruel bite of it before sliding the anal hook free.

A broken sob rips from my raw throat as I sag against him, trembling. The relief is instant, but short-lived—my muscles are still clenched tight, my nerves alight with lingering pain.

He carries me toward a chair, where he lays me on my stomach over his lap. His hands slide down over my hips, parting my legs to check the damage. I twitch when I feel his fingers tracing across my raw pussy, though I can’t do much more than that, still being bound by ropes. But his touch is different now. Softer. Almost gentle compared to the others.

And I don’t know if that’s worse.

Doruun growls. I hear his hooves approaching, so I lift my head to look. His massive fists are clenched at his sides when he spits, “I wasn’t done.”

Ghost’s grip tightens possessively around my hip. “You were done.” His voice is low. Final.

“You’ve gotten soft.” Doruun isn’t letting go.

“She’s still just a mortal,” Varekka cuts in.

Doruun doesn’t take his eyes off Ghost. “You know what must be done. Are you going to be able to finish it?” He folds his arms, almost taunting. “Or has she already gotten too deep under your skin?”

I don’t have the strength to speak. My breaths come in shallow hitches, everything distant and close all at once. I’m not sure I even understand what they’re fighting over. I just know it’s me.

“Don’t make me remind you who you’re talking to, brother.” Ghost’s voice is quieter now. But deadlier.

Doruun doesn’t respond. Not verbally, at least, because it once again feels like they are having a whole-ass conversation without uttering any words.

Zhyra sighs theatrically, tossing his head back and rolling his eyes.

And then Khalok laughs, low and feral. “You’re ruining us, Bunny. Driving us insane. And you love that power, don’t you?” He steps closer, crouching by my face, voice curling around me like smoke. “Love knowing we’re all so fucking obsessed we’d kill to keep you. That we’d die just to be the last cock inside you. We’d even tear each other apart for you, if it came to that.” His honey-gold gaze pins me in place. “This is what you were made for. To be the center of our fucking madness.”

I blink up at him, barely holding on to the edges of reality, every word sinking into me like venom and sugar. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do love it—their obsession, their violence, the way they come undone over me.

Ghost’s palm slides over the curve of my ass, rougher again. I can feel his frustration, simmering just beneath the surface, as if what Doruun said still bothers him.

“Now, Princess,” he says, his voice hoarse and demanding, “we’re not yet finished here.” He shifts my weight slightly across his lap, grabbing a handful of my cheek and spreading my legs farther apart.

All of them groan in unison.

Ghost spits across my ass, and his fingers brush over my tender, gaping hole. Teasing. Exploring. A muffled sob catches in my throat when he pushes a finger inside me, slow and deliberate.

A deep, satisfied hum rumbles from his chest. “I love breaking in something new.” He adds a second finger, inching it past the tight muscle.

I shake my head, my body rigid, my stomach clenches. But his fingers move, slowly at first, careful, coaxing sensations I’ve never known. The stretch is strange, friction foreign, but not unbearable. The hook did its job preparing me, and now every stroke opens me up further.

“Fuck, look at that sweet ass,” Zhyra purrs, his clawed hand palming his barbed shaft. “I bet she feels like heaven.”

Ghost eases in a third finger. “She’s still so goddamn tight,” he growls, and his pace changes, growing faster, more insistent.

The pleasure builds, twisting, warping into something that terrifies me, something I can’t want—but I do.

Ghost knows. “That’s it. You’re not strong enough to resist us. So stop fighting,” he murmurs, his free hand twisting in my hair, pulling, forcing my gaze up.

And I see them. His brothers, or whoever—whatever—they truly are. Watching, stroking themselves, still fixated.

A fresh wave of humiliation washes over me, but my body is only loving this more. My hips roll against his hand, chasing the forbidden release.

“Look how desperate she is,” Doruun rumbles. “Such a perfect little slut.”

Ghost stops. The sudden absence is so jarring that I gasp, my whole body seizing in confused frustration.

“Not yet, baby.” He snaps his fingers, and Zhyra moves in a flash, handing him something.

Then—crack.

A sharp, stinging slap lands across my ass, making me jolt. Not his hand, but leather. Probably the paddle.

I bite down on the gag, my muffled cry lost beneath his satisfied hum.

The paddle cuts the air again, landing on my flesh harder, certainly leaving a red stripe.

Again.

And again.

Until my skin is burning, hot and tingling, and my pussy instinctively grinds against his knee, seeking friction, heat, anything to ground me.

“What a snack!” Khalok hisses. “Oh, she’s loving this.”

“Damn, look at her cunt dripping,” Vareka adds, and I can hear his mouth watering in his voice.

Suddenly, Ghost’s hands grip my waist, firm and unyielding, and I’m lifted effortlessly, my body rearranged like a doll in his grasp. My back presses against his chest, the heat of him searing through my skin even as my bound arms strain behind me. My legs fall open over his lap, spread wide, and I feel the cool air of the room brush against my bared pussy, making me shiver.

He shifts slightly in the chair, adjusting us both until I’m perched over his hips, my feet resting on his knees. The position forces me to look ahead, and my breath hitches as I’m left on display, utterly exposed. And yet there’s a strange, twisted thrill in the way they watch me.

Their glowing eyes pierce through me with an intensity that makes my stomach twist. The wet, rhythmic sounds of their hands stroking their cocks fill the space, a lewd symphony that sends a flush of heat creeping up my neck.

My pulse quickens, my skin tingling with a mix of fear and anticipation as Ghost’s cock slides against my soaked slit, thick and heavy. The sensation is electric, my pussy fluttering with excitement as my juices coat him, glistening in the dim sunlight.

But he doesn’t give me what I crave. Instead, he aligns the tip of his cock with my other hole and smears his leaking precum over the sensitive rim. I barely have time to take a breath before he pushes in, slow but relentless, the stretch burning as he fills me inch by inch.

I cry out through the gag, my muffled sobs echoing in the room as tears stream down my cheeks. His girth is too much, the piercings along the underside of his cock scraping against my walls, sending sharp jolts of pain and pleasure through me.

Ghost doesn’t stop, doesn’t give me a moment to adjust. His presence behind me is overwhelming, his dominance undeniable as he claims me in front of them.

“Fuck, Bunny,” his voice a low, possessive growl in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Your virgin ass feels amazing. So tight, so perfect… Just a little more. Open up for me, baby.”

His words are filthy, degrading, and yet they send a jolt of heat straight to my core. I hate how much I love it, how my body responds to him despite the pain.

He grabs my thighs, spreading me even wider, and I feel him impaling me deeper, his thick cock stretching me to the limit. I’m trembling, my muscles clenching around him as I struggle to take him.

“Varekka,” he calls, his voice rough with desire.

The werewolf steps forward, his muscular legs bend unnaturally, ending in clawed paws that click against the floor. His slick fur is a mix of grey, white, and black, and his cock is fully erect, red and dripping, the knot at the base swollen with need.

His yellow eyes glow with hunger, and he licks his muzzle with a long, wet tongue, sharp teeth glinting. As terrifying as he is, I can’t help but find this beast beautiful.

All of them are.

Varekka drops to his knees in front of the chair, and with Ghost still buried deep inside my ass, he grips my thighs, pressing my knees to my chest as he leans in. The first swipe of his tongue against my slit is electric, a jolt of pleasure that makes me moan through the gag. He laps at me like an animal, his tongue rough and relentless, and I can feel my body loosening, surrendering to the sensations.

“There’s nothing quite like a wolf’s tongue on your pussy, is there?” Ghost taunts, his voice dripping with dark amusement.

Varekka devours me with a feral intensity, his canines nipping at my folds, drawing tiny beads of blood that only seem to excite him more. His claws leave crescent-shaped marks on my flesh, his tongue curling around my oversensitive, swollen clit before dipping lower, plunging into my core.

I’m trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps as a new orgasm builds inside me, until I shatter. My release gushing out in waves, flowing between us and helping Ghost’s cock to slide deeper with each thrust. The pleasure is intoxicating.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “Doesn’t it feel good to be stretched by Daddy’s cock?”

I only moan through the gag, my head falling back against his shoulder. This is too much. All of it is too much.

Varekka straightens, his knot fully formed, pulsing, as he strokes himself. With just a few rough jerks, he comes, thick ropes of cum splattering across my harnessed chest, painting my tits.

“Oh, look,” Ghost says, his voice dripping with amusement. “You made him cum just from tasting your sweet little cunt.”

But there’s no break. Zhyra is already behind him, his barbed cock throbbing and leaking precum. He pushes Varekka aside, his emerald eyes gleaming with lust as he grips his cock, aligning it with my center.

The first thrust is brutal, his barbs catching on my sensitive flesh as he forces himself inside me. I scream through the gag, tears streaming down my face as I feel impossibly full, both of my holes stretched to their limits.

“Fuck! She takes it like a dream,” Zhyra purrs, his voice a low, predatory growl. His fluffy tail rubs against my clit, making my pussy clench tighter around his shaft. “You feel how tightly she’s squeezing us both, brother?”

Ghost’s voice is a constant in my ear, his words filthy and degrading, praising me for how well I’m taking them, how good I feel around their cocks. Varekka watches with fascination, his cock already hard again as he continues stroking himself.

Then, Khalok looms over us, his massive form casting a shadow over the chair. His rough, calloused paws unclip the gag, removing the ball from my mouth.

My jaw aches, drool dripping down my chin as I gasp for air, but he doesn’t give me a moment to recover.

“What a mess you are. Spit on that cock,” he demands.

I obey, covering his shaft with my saliva before his thick, flared crown presses against my lips, and I have no choice but to open for him.

“Good fucking girl.” He thrusts into my mouth with a growl of satisfaction, his clawed hand clasping around my neck as he fucks my face with brutal force. I feel each bump and grove of his cock against my tongue, his head hitting he back of my throat with each thrust.

“Mmmm, let me hear you choke on my brother’s cock while he fucks that tight little throat.” Ghost rasps, his voice deep and guttural. “That’s how I love to have you—all your holes stuffed full, yet still greedy for more.”

I shut my eyes, overwhelmed by the sensations—the piercing of Ghost’s cock in my ass, the barbs of Zhyra’s cock in my pussy and softness of fur teasing my clit, the roughness of Khalok in my mouth.

Varekka’s cock slaps against my breast as he chases another orgasm, his claws leaving marks on my skin. And when Zhyra forces his knot inside me, locking us together, I shatter again, my release gushing out as he fills me. Ghost impales me one final time, his hips flush against my ass as he comes deep inside me. Khalok’s grip on my throat tightens, his cock stilling in my throat as he roars, flooding my mouth with his cum.

My vision is spotting, but I feel being lifted and moved onto a body below me, my hands digging into thick fur. Then, my cunt is being stretched all over again as I’m straddling Doruun.

“Yes, ride that cock like a good little fuckdoll,” he urges as his hands spread my ass cheeks, helping me bounce on him.

Once we find a rhythm, Varekka kneels behind me, his cock slowly slipping into my other hole. His howl dies on a nip at my neck, his clawed hands palming my tits.

“You feel so perfect, little rabbit. Look at you taking both of us so beautifully,” he growls, rutting against Doruun’s deep thrusts. “You can’t get enough, can you?”

I’m broken, feeling used, like a toy in their hands. And yet every nerve in my body is on high alert as I respond just the way they want me to. They shame me for it, their words cutting deep as they degrade and humiliate me. And they praise me for it, with so much love and care that my mind can’t keep up. It’s so confusing. Everything is a haze of pleasure and pain.

But through it all, I can’t deny the sick, twisted satisfaction of being theirs—completely and utterly owned.

And I never want it to stop.

24. Bunny

It never did.

Minutes bled into hours. Hours bled into days. Days bled into weeks. Time dissolved until all I could do was exist between bruises and moans.

They took and took and took. Piece by piece, breath by breath, they stole me. My body wasn’t mine anymore—it was their possession to do what they pleased. No safe word. No break to heal.

And what shames me the most is that I enjoyed it, for the most part. I got used to it. It became something I looked forward to. But then, even that enjoyment turned into a torture. It twisted inside me, until I couldn’t tell pain from pleasure anymore. It was too much.

Yet, somehow, still not enough.

I was losing my senses.

I was losing myself.

They kept me locked in the cage in that godforsaken cabin and only left to hunt for food… or to scare hikers for fun. I actually have no idea what they did. Usually, at least one stayed behind to watch—just in case.

Slowly, they began to be less careful. More confident. They knew they were breaking me. They knew I was too weak. Knew escape was no longer a word I believed in.

But in all of this, I have not once stopped hoping that Ghost would find his way back to me.

At first, I thought that Varekka would be the weakest link. Just because I saw so much of Nate in him. But no. It was Ghost, after all. The majority of the time, he took care of me. And I hated how much I loved those little moments. They were never proper aftercare, but they were something. And I held on to that. It helped me survive each session knowing that he’d be there to give me that cold shower or sponge bath after. That he’d bring me food and clean my cage of waste. Massage sore muscles. Kiss my wounds better.

If I obeyed, if I were a good girl, maybe he would free me from this torment. Maybe he just needed to see that devotion.

So I did everything he wanted.

I gave in. I submit. Surrendered.

Until I couldn’t anymore.

And today…

Today is that day.

The air feels different. My body aches the same way it always does, but something inside me has shifted. There’s a sharpness under the exhaustion. A pulse. A determination I haven’t felt in weeks.

The door creaks open, and Ghost steps inside, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. I lift my head from the mattress, blinking up at him with what I hope are doe-eyed innocence and longing.

He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans and a hoodie, but no mask. He never wore it again after that night when Mark was here. When he killed him.

I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t forgiven.

Yet, I still get butterflies in my stomach every time I look at this monster.

“I missed you,” I murmur, stretching just enough to make my body arch, my bare skin pressing into the mattress beneath me.

Ghost exhales through his nose, a rough sound, but I see the way his fingers twitch at his sides. He wants to touch me. He always does.

“Aww, is my girl trying to earn a reward, being so sweet today?” he murmurs, but there’s no real suspicion in his voice—just that dark, possessive warmth that makes my stomach tighten.

“I just wanna be close to you.” My bottom lip quivers. “Come hold me. Only for a little while.”

His jaw tightens, those dark eyes flickering, and I see the war inside him. He knows he shouldn’t. But he’s tempted.

I press my thighs together, shifting my weight with a delicate, helpless moan. “Please, Daddy? I need you.”

That does it.

I see the moment he caves, the way his shoulders relax just a fraction before he steps into the cage, lowering himself onto the mattress beside me.

I don’t give him time to second-guess it. Once he’s within reach, I curl into him. His arms wrap around me automatically, pulling me tighter, and I let out a soft, contented sigh.

“Love you,” I whisper, nuzzling into the hard plane of his chest, inhaling the scent of leather and musk and him.

His grip tightens. “Fuck, Bunny.” His voice is rough and strained.

I tilt my head up, lips parted, eyes wide. “I mean it.”

He groans, fingers tangling in my hair, and then his mouth crashes down on mine.

The kiss is hot, hungry, all tongue and desperate, bruising pressure. I moan into him, arching my back to get closer, my hands sliding up his chest to fist in his hair. He growls, flipping me onto my back, his body heavy and warm on top of mine.

I whimper, but it’s not fear—it’s lust, crazy and obsessive. I let him feel it, let him hear it, my legs wrapping around his waist as I grind up against him.

“Touch me,” I gasp when his lips leave mine to trail down my throat. “Please, my body’s burning for you.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

His hands are everywhere—squeezing my ass, massaging my thighs, kneading my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples until they’re tight and aching. I writhe beneath him, panting, my fingers tugging at his hoodie until he finally pulls back just enough to yank it over his head.

I take the chance to admire him—the tattoos winding over his shoulders, the hard lines of his abs, the way his muscles flex as he moves over me. He’s beautiful like this, all raw power and barely leashed control.

His mouth lowers onto my breast, his tongue swirling around my nipple before he sucks hard.

I cry out, my back bowing off the mattress. “My pussy…” I whimper, “Oh, please, play with my pussy.”

His fingers dip lower, teasing between my thighs, stroking over my wetness. “Fuck, you’re soaked,” he growls against my skin, his fingers circling my clit, torturing me. “You love this, don’t you? Love being my good girl.”

“Yes,” I whimper, my hips rocking against his hand. “Yes, Daddy.”

He chuckles, dark and pleased, before suddenly yanking me up, flipping me over so I’m straddling his chest. I barely have time to brace myself before he drags me directly over his mouth and his tongue is on me, licking a hot stripe through my slit.

I moan, my fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue fucks into me, the metal of his piercing dragging deliciously against my walls. He’s good at this—too good—and I’m already trembling, my thighs shaking around his head.

“I’m—oh fuck—”

He doesn’t let up, his tongue working me mercilessly until I’m coming with a broken cry, my pussy clamping down around him as pleasure rips through me.

I collapse forward, panting, but he’s not done. His mouth seals over my clit, and he sucks while the tip of his tongue laps in a fast, steady rhythm. My hips buck, my toes curling, my entire body seizing as pleasure detonates inside me. Another orgasm rips through me, bright lights flashing behind my eyelids, my throat raw from moaning, thighs shaking around his head.

I need a moment to compose myself, but he doesn’t mind, his face buried deep in my cunt as he drinks every last drop of my release, savoring it.

When I finally slide down his body, I’m still breathless, but my lips find his neck, his collarbones, the ink staining his chest. I kiss every tattoo, every scar, my hands roaming lower, over the hard muscles of his stomach.

He lets me, looking at me like I’m something precious. But beneath it, his eyes are wild, hungry, his cock straining against his jeans.

“My turn,” I giggle playfully.

I undo his belt, his zipper, my fingers trembling just enough to make it seem like eagerness, not nerves. But maybe it’s both.

I purr as his cock springs free, thick and heavy in my hand, the barbells of his ladder piercings glinting in the dim light.

I lick my lips, meeting his gaze as I take him into my mouth.

“Fuck!” His head thuds back against the mattress as I swirl my tongue around the head, teasing the metal ring before sucking hard.

His groans fill the cage, his hips jerking. “Such a good girl,” he rasps, fingers threading through my hair. “Take it all, baby.”

And I do. My mouth slides lower down his shaft as I take him deep, my throat working around him, my eyes watering.

“Shit,” he hisses, his fingers tightening in my hair.

I manage not to gag as he pushes my head farther down, holding me there until I can’t breathe.

He moans, releasing my hair, and I hate that I love it when he’s this pleased with me.

I hum, pulling back to lick along the underside, teasing each piercing with my tongue. Then I suck him down again, my hand working where my mouth can’t reach.

His hips jolt, but I  free him from my lips, my palm trailing lower to cup his balls. I roll them gently before my mouth joins, sucking it gently. My fingers trace lower, lower, my tongue following the path down his taint.

He snarls, his whole body tensing. “Fuck, Bunny! Fuck—”

I smile against his skin, and taking advantage of his haze, my fingers creep toward the back pocket of his jeans.

The knife is there.

I reach for it, the metal cold against my palm as I quickly tucking it beside the mattress before returning to his cock.

“Ride me, Princess,” he demands, voice rough but edged with something almost desperate. “Daddy needs to feel that tight little cunt.”

I press one last kiss to his inner thigh before crawling back up his body, mounting his hips.

His hands grip my hips, positioning me exactly where he wants me. I rock against him, my wetness dragging along his cock as I grind my pussy, the piercings teasing my clit with every movement.

“You’re so perfect,” he rasps, his praise washing over me. “And mine. All fucking mine.”

His hands roam over my body, worshiping me, his eyes locked on where we’re connected, where I’m dripping onto him.

“I want you so badly.”

I lean down, kissing him deeply as I finally slide him inside, sinking down onto him. My moan gets swallowed by his mouth.

He fills me perfectly, his piercings rubbing deliciously with every roll of my hips as I take him deep, my walls clenching around him.

“That’s it,” he grits out. “Squeeze harder. Milk that cock, baby.” His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise as he guides my movements, owning me.

But I’m the one in control now.

I ride him faster, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside me, pleasure builds again, hot and tight in my belly. I don’t even realize I’m crying until my tears fall on his chest.

He doesn’t notice. His eyes are glazed, lost in pleasure as I grind down on his throbbing length, and he’s close. I can feel it in the way his thrusts grow erratic, in the way his fingers dig into my skin like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

“Bunny—” His voice is wrecked. “I’m gonna—fuck—”

I lean down, my lips brushing his lips for the last time, my fingers curling around the knife.

“I love you, Daddy,” I whisper.

Then, I don’t hesitate. I plunge the knife into his chest.

His body jerks beneath me, his eyes flying wide open—shock, betrayal, pain—but I don’t stop.

I stab again.

And again.

Blood spills between us, hot and slick, but I keep riding his still-rigid cock, my hips gyrating, pussy clamping, unable to let him go.

His hands scramble at my waist, weak now, but I don’t let go. I can’t. I drive the knife deeper, and deeper, until his breath gurgles in his throat and his hands give out.

The last thrust is the hardest. The knife sinks straight into his heart, and at the same moment, pleasure shatters through me, my walls contracting around him as I come with a broken sob.

His body goes still beneath me.

I stay there, panting, the knife still buried in his chest, his blood sticky on my skin.

Then, slowly, I twist—just making sure—and the cage goes silent.

I sob. Just for a second, I let myself feel it. The crashing pain, breaking my heart and wrecking my soul.

“I’m so sorry,” I breathe, stroking his perfect face with my bloodied fingers before closing his eyes.

Then, the survival instinct kicks in—I don’t have much time.

I pull out a knife from his heart and scramble to my feet, tossing his hoodie over my naked body before I leave. The cage door clinks shut behind me as I rush to the exit.

I don’t run. I’m still terrified of these woods. I don’t know how far the others are, and I don’t want to do anything hasty that could alarm them.

I have no idea where I‘m going, I just know I need to get as far from here as possible. The sun is still high, filtering through the thick crowns, and the cicadas are singing, which must mean the path is clear.

Everything seems to go smoothly. Just my legs tremble, feet hurting against the rocks and roots. I have no idea how long I wander around, but my exhaustion is getting the best of me. I’m weak, even with all this adrenaline pumping through my veins. I start stumbling, my head getting dizzy, but I push forward. I have to.

My foot catches on something hard, harder than a root. Maybe a bone? I crash to the ground with a shriek, my hands sink into something wet and spongy. I don’t want to know what it is, but the smell of rotting flesh hits my nose, making me gag.

I try to get back up, but my body screams in protest.

Then I see it.

A camera. It’s lying a few feet away, half-buried in the dirt. The screen is cracked, but it’s still intact. I recognize the sticker on it with Ghost Daddy’s logo.

I crawl toward it, my hands shaking as I pick it up. It’s cold, the metal casing rough against my skin. I press the power button, not expecting it to work, but the screen flickers to life. The battery icon is red, almost dead, but it’s enough.

A video starts playing, dated early May. What the hell? That’s a month before the gang and I arrived at the Airbnb.

At first, it’s just shaky footage of the woods, the camera jerking around as whoever’s holding it runs. Then I hear it—his voice. Ghost.

My stomach twists as I listen to him, his voice panicked, breathless. He’s saying something, but I can’t make out the words. The camera swings around, and for a moment, I see his face. He’s terrified.

Then he screams.

The camera drops, the image spinning wildly before settling on the ground. I can still hear him, his screams growing louder, more desperate. Something moves in the background, something dark and fast. There’s a sound—a wet, tearing noise—and then silence. The screen goes black.

My mind races, trying to make sense of what I just saw.

Ghost. He’s dead. I mean, he's been dead before I… But how? He was with me this whole time. He was—

What’s happening? What is this? I don’t understand. I don’t—

I feel like I’m going to be sick, but I force myself to my feet, my legs unsteady. I have to keep moving. I have to find help. I stumble forward, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The woods feel darker now, the shadows deeper.

Then, I notice silence. The cicadas stopped buzzing.

With a pounding heart, I turn around…

And there he is. Alive and well.

Ghost is standing right before me, his pants up, no mask, crazy hair. Blood covers his chest, but the cuts are gone. His eyes are raging, boring into me.

“You thought you could escape?” he growls, making me jump up. “How cute. You’re my little prey, and I’ll hunt you down every time you try to run.”

Everything slowly sinks in.

My hands are shaking so bad that the camera slips onto the ground. I look around and realize that I’m standing in human remains. In what’s left of the real Ghost.

He—this being—wanted me to find it. To learn the truth the hard way. He probably even wanted me to kill him—or try to—just to show me that I can’t. That no matter what I do, I’m trapped.

I yelp as he moves, approaching, but I’m frozen in place, paralyzed by fear. His bones are snapping with each step, limbs elongating, boots giving way for cloven hooves. Reddish-brown fur pushes through his skin, short and sleek. Antlers crack from his skull, spanning wide like a jagged crown.

And then, there’s nothing else, just darkness before my eyes.

25. Ghost

Oh. Right. I’d almost forgotten.

I’ve been dead this whole time.

Well, Ghost has been. I just replaced him.

It was quite hilarious. Wearing his skin. Playing house in it after inheriting not only his body, but his mind, his soul, all that made him.

I missed the feeling of freedom riding on open Arizona highways, even though I’ve never sat on a motorcycle.

I missed greasy tacos and sticky root beer floats from that one food truck, though my tongue has never known the taste.

And most of all, I missed her.

Fuck, I missed her to the point of insanity, even though I’ve never met her before.

But he had. He was so in love with her. So captivated and consumed, yet… held such strong animosity towards her.

He worshipped her. Hated her. Violated her.

His obsession became the driving force in this meat suit I wore. I just… sharpened it. Made it darker. More honest. It twisted and coiled like a nest of serpents inside me until I knew I had to have her.

Not just fuck her.

Own her.

So I lured her out here.

Yet, somewhere along the way, things became too real. She made me feel human. Almost.

But I wasn’t. Not even close.

And now, she’s about to find that out.

Game over.

She’s limp in my arms, passed out cold, as I carry her back to the cabin. Not the worst reaction to seeing my beast form, I suppose. Could be worse. Just like my brothers, who each have their own spirit animal, mine is an elk.

She stirs, slowly coming around. Then thrashes, screaming and pounding my back with her fists, kicking at my chest, teeth snapping like a feral animal.

Adorable.

I bring her into the dungeon, where I place her on a table topped with fur for cushioning. The height is better for our size than any bed, easier to work with.

She continues to struggle, refusing to lie still as I attempt to bind her.

“Don’t make this harder on yourself,” I murmur, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

Disobedient, she bucks again, shouting profanities at me, but I tighten the straps at her wrists by the top corners of the table.

“You think this is bad?” I laugh, low and sharp like gravel in my throat. “Wait till you hear how he watched you. For months. Online. In person. Through those little hidden cameras he installed around your apartment.”

She freezes, staring at me with those big blue eyes..

“He had you caged in your own fucking home,” I continue, twisting the knife, just like she has done earlier—and I mean, literally. “He took you in your sleep, Bunny. When you were inebriated. Unconscious. Vulnerable. He had his way with you while you missed him. While you wondered if dumping him was a mistake.”

She shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks, lips trembling. “No… no. I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t want to believe me because it hurts too much,” I whisper, leaning close, my breath hot against her ear. “But tell me, Bunny… how else would I know things about you that no one else does? Like, the way you play with your pretty little pussy every night for bedtime to chase the nightmares away. Or how you moan his name breathlessly when you climax. Or how you love humping that stupid plush teddy bear he gave you.”

Her eyes widen in terror. She pulls at the restraints like she might tear her arms off trying to get away.

Good. It’s starting to click for her.

“Oh yeah. Freaky little thing you are,” I grin. “But now you’ve got a real teddy bear, right here. Doesn’t bouncing on Khalok’s cock feel so much better? You love the fur… teeth… claws. Don’t you, baby?”

“Let me go!” She jerks, afraid to face the reality. Afraid to admit it to herself. “Get me out of this hellhole!”

“When will you finally realize that there’s no way out?” I bend low, nose brushing her hairline, inhaling her fear. “We fed you. Took care of you. Fucked you senseless. And still, you tried to escape, you ungrateful little whore. Even with his skin, even with his voice in my throat… you discarded him. Just like you did before. How fucking cold-hearted can you be?”

She sobs, face twisted in guilt and shame.

I caress her cheek tenderly. “Your beautiful tears only make me want to ruin you that much more, Bunny.” Her breath hitches as I speak softer now, like I’m sharing a secret between lovers. “He wanted this for you, you know. He wanted to taste revenge even after death. So I let him take the reins. And he had his fun. He lived out every sick, twisted fantasy. He’s at peace now. Content. Forever part of me.”

“You’re insane,” she whispers.

“Sure am. And so was he.” I grin. “See, he wasn’t just a sadist. He was diagnosed as a psychopath at age twelve. Imagine that!”

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I do that? He’s dead anyway. Has been for a while.”

“I don’t know!” Her mind is still in denial, trying to protect her from shattering. “Just to fuck with me maybe?”

“Sweetheart, fucking with you is just a bonus.” I laugh. “He was high-functioning, charming even. Everyone loved Ghost.” I tap my temple. “But now I’m in his head. Every thought. Every memory. And let me tell you—it’s fucking dark in here.”

She recoils. Her chest heaves, eyes blinking fast.

“Think about it, Bunny.” I tilt my head, my eyes never leaving hers. “He was always a little off, wasn’t he? That edge in his voice. The way he stared too long. That calculated composure. Deep down, you knew that there was something wrong with him. A void where feelings should be. No empathy. No remorse. That’s why you asked him not to come on Valentine’s, isn’t that right? You ran because he didn’t make you feel safe enough to stay.”

“I—” Her voice breaks as she sobs.

“Aw, baby. You weren’t scared of loving him. You were scared of him.”

She kicks. Wild. Desperate. Useless.

I drag her fully onto the table and finish strapping her ankles down. Tight. Bruising. Satisfying.

“So you’ve been pretending to be him for weeks now? Was the documentary your idea?”

“No. That was him.” I snort. “But he wanted to do this on his own, so he came alone. Wandering through these woods like a daredevil with his little camera and a stupid mask on until he got lost. And he stumbled right into our home.”

Her lips part, and I watch the realization settle in like rot in fresh meat.

“That’s when we killed him. And when we kill… we don’t just eat the flesh. We devour the spirit, whether it’s human or animal. We become everything they were and more. We can even wear them. And the longer it lasts, the better we mimic. It’s impossible to tell the difference after a while.” I drag my finger along my jawline. “And living in his skin? In this obsession with you? It’s exhilarating. All this rage, all this desire… I knew I had to bring you here.” I spread my arms, showing around the room. “So I prepared all of this for you. The documentary was a perfect bait. I wanted your little friends too, so my brothers could feast on everyone you love.”

Her mouth falls open. “No…”

“Oh yes. They’re all part of us now. Their memories. Their love for you… and the hatred. Their filthy little dreams about you. It all feeds the hunger.”

“You’re not them!” she screams, more trying to convince herself. “Not him!”

“You’re right.” I grin, slow and cold. “Thank you for the reminder.” Then I grip her throat with one hand, fingers pressing into her pulse. “You might have been special to him. And to your dead friends. But to me?” I squeeze harder. “You’re nothing.” My hold tightens until she can’t breathe, until she twitches, until her eyes roll to the back of her head and she blacks out.

“You need to control your emotions better,” Doruun says, chuckling low, as he steps into the room.

The others follow behind him.

“It’s getting dark. Everything is set,” Zhyra says, tossing me a robe.

When Bunny’s eyes flutter open, she immediately gasps, squirming beneath the leather bindings. Still strapped to the table, right where I left her. Naked. Open. Helpless.

The sun’s already set, and the candles flicker low, shadows dancing across the walls. We’re standing around her, my brothers and I, dressed in robes. Just dark silhouettes in candlelight, but underneath the large, loose hoods, we’re wearing the faces she used to know. It’s theatrical as fuck, and it works. The fear slams into her all at once. I can smell it. Taste it. But something even sweeter blooms there—her arousal. Her body is confused, already trained to respond.

Kendra’s the first to step forward. She moves slowly, but just off enough to make it wrong, like a puppet with slack strings. Then she reaches up and slips off her hood.

Bunny’s breath punches out of her, eyes wide, wet, locked on the face of her dead best friend.

Kendra doesn’t wait. “You know what sucked the most?” she spits out, crawling onto the table, her hands sliding over Bunny’s trembling skin. “Living in your fucking shadow.” Her voice twists, dark with jealousy and something raw, bitter. “You got everything—attention, love, the spotlight. Every room we walked into, I was ‘Bunny’s friend,’ just the accessory. No one saw me.” Her words crawl under Bunny’s skin, sharper than any blade. “You didn’t see me.”

“Ple-please,” Bunny whimpers with tears streaming down her face.

“I always wanted to do this.” Kendra leans down, her lips crushing Bunny’s in a deep, hungry kiss. Her tongue snakes into Bunny’s mouth, claiming, exploring every inch, like she’s tasting old revenge.

Bunny moans into her, maybe it’s a plea, but her body arches despite herself.

I yank Kendra’s robe off, wanting a better look at their naked bodies, skin on skin. She grinds her hips, pussy rubbing wet and slick against Bunny’s with slow, delicious pressure.

My cock flexes beneath my robe, hardening at the view. Fuck, this is the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.

Kendra trails open-mouth kisses down Bunny’s neck onto her tits, sucking one nipple between her lips before releasing it with a wet pop. Then lower, across her stomach, until her face is buried between Bunny’s thighs.

“Mmm, you taste like heaven,” Kendra purrs, working Bunny’s clit with little flicks of her tongue, teasing yet precise.

Bunny whimpers, her legs strain, trying to close, but can’t. She’s locked down and soaking.

Giggling, Kendra pulls away, leaving Bunny aching for more. Then, without warning, she slips down the table and sheds her skin like it’s nothing, revealing Zhyra underneath.

“Damn, that was fucking incredible,” he gasps, licking his mouth, still tasting Bunny’s juices, as he palms his cock.

Next is Nate. He steps between Bunny’s legs, robe already open, and slides his cock inside her in one smooth, greedy thrust. Her scream echoes, but it’s not just fear. Her body clenches around him like she’s been starving. He curses, tossing his head back, as he strains not to cum at that very second. That boy’s been waiting his whole life for this. Little did he know, he’d have to get eaten alive first.

Devin stands by Bunny’s head, fingers curling into her pink hair, pulling her head back sharply. His cock pushes forcefully into her mouth until she gags around him, the sound making him groan low.

“Goddamnit, Bunny. You’re so fucking perfect.” His grip tightens, his voice more bitter. “To think I could’ve had that. But you denied me, just to turn around, seduce my best friend, and deny him, too. What a stone cold bitch you are.”

True.

He can’t hold the shape much longer, and Dorunn claws his way out. His cock slips from her mouth, hanging low and heavy between his thighs as steam rises from his nostrils.

Nate’s gone too, shifting back into Varekka, his claws piercing the flesh on her hips. He snarls when Mark shoves him to the side and takes his place.

“How many?” he hisses, removing his hood. His eyes burn as he glares at Bunny, still pinned down, squirming and in shock. “Millions. Millions of followers, and tens of thousands of those—maybe more—lusted after you… I was one of them. But a girl like you would never look at a guy like me. You used me to make your crazy almost-boyfriend jealous. Now look what happened to me.”

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” she chokes on her tears.

“Still, I can’t help but want you so badly.” He reaches his hand, his fingers ghosting over her trembling thighs.

I grab Mark’s robe and yank him back hard, still hating his fucking guts. “You don’t get to touch her,” I snap, my voice a dangerous growl, laced with possessiveness.

His laugh rumbles deep, shifting into Khalok’s guttural voice. His spine cracks as fur bursts from every pore. With one swift motion, his claws slash into Bunny’s breast before his mouth mauls it. His jagged teeth sink into the tender flesh, his tongue curling around the hardened peak as he sucks it ravenously.

She screams, more from pleasure than pain, as he laps every drop of her sweet blood like it’s ambrosia. His cock throbs, leaking precum on the floor and we groan as one.

Impatient, I step closer, pulling off the hood to reveal the familiar white mask. Her eyes widen in surprise… in hurt.

“You see, Princess, I never lie,” I say, almost mocking, “They’re all here. And they all want their payback. Just like me.” I yank off the balaclava, letting her see the man she once loved. Maybe she still does, even though he is no more.

“Ghost…” her voice pitches higher, slipping into that alluring sweetness she’s practiced so well. “Daddy, please.”

“No, Bunny,” I respond firmly, ignoring that sharp sting somewhere deep, deep inside. “You fooled me for the last time when you drove that knife into my heart. Somehow I always knew you would.”

Then I shift, reminding her of what she saw back in the woods. And she can deny it all she wants, but I see how her eyes devour my form. She may even like it more than the man behind the mask she fell for. Her cunt is always weeping for me.

The longing in me flames, but I stick to the plan. “No matter what I do, your heart won’t open. I know that now.” I slowly circle the table, my hooves clicking on the old floorboards. “But if you won’t be mine, you won’t be anyone’s.”

“No!” she shouts, thrashing as if she’s set on fire. “Please, just let me go! I’m begging you!”

“Shhh. No need to fret,” I whisper into her ear, leaning over her. “These woods need to feed. And you… You’re the perfect little sacrifice.”

She squeezes her eyes, tossing her head from side to side like she was waiting to wake up from a bad dream. “This is not real. This is not real.”

“Oh, but it is, baby.” I lick the tear from her cheek, my breath hot against her skin.

She gasps through the chokehold, voice shaking. “Who… what are you?”

“I’m Tyorin.” I straighten, raking my nails down her body, leaving fresh streaks of blood from the wound Khalok left behind. “We’re called Hollowraiths. I’m the Alpha of our brotherhood. Doruun’s second in command. Our hierarchy comes with power earned. But we share everything, inside and out, like a hive mind.”

I pause, letting it sink in. She’s frozen, pale, barely even breathing. So I keep talking, because it feels good to finally tell her. It’s quite amusing, actually.

“We exist between this world and the spirit realm. We don’t have bodies of our own, only the skin we choose to wear. We’ve been around a long time. Longer than anything else walking this earth. These woods are our home. Our altar. Every drop of blood spilled here is for the god we serve.”

A wail rips from her raw throat as she realizes she’s the offering. And fuck me, she’s beautiful like this. Terrified. Wild-eyed. Holy.

“You should be honored,” I hiss. “You’re not just dinner, Bunny. You’re the final piece.”

The candles flare, tongues of flame licking high in the stale air as smoke coils in the corners like watching eyes.

“Show her,” Doruun murmurs, handing me the dagger. “Show her how sacred it is to be marked by us.”

I smile as I press the obsidian blade to her chest.

“Lucky rabbit,” Varekka rasps, hardly controlling his excitement, tail wagging fast behind him.

Bunny screams when I make the first cut. The blade slides clean, leaving a thin ribbon of blood that trails down her sternum, over her stomach.

We moan in unison—the sight is too erotic, her scent too tempting.

I carve the first rune into the flesh, slowly, with reverence. The symbol is primitive—nothing from books, nothing that ever touched a page. It's a shape we remember. A map of hunger. A brand of belonging.

It sears into her. Her body jolts, seized with the burn of it as more blood spills, soaking into the fur below her

“She bleeds easy,” Zhyra purrs, tracing Bunny’s inner thigh with a claw, not cutting. Just feeling her shake.

“It means the body accepts us,” Khalok says. “It means the spirit listens.”

She sobs harder, her voice echoes off the wooden beams like a hymn. She writhes. Bucks. Tries to twist, but the bindings hold, keeping her right where she belongs.

We take turns, not with our cocks, but with our blades this time. Every stroke is precise. Intentional. Violent and loving. Not too deep—we don’t want to lose her yet. Enough to brand her soul. Each mark has a meaning only the trees understand.

She’s not just scared now. She’s overwhelmed. Gone limp in parts. Raw. Fucked without penetration.

But of course, her cunt glistens in the candlelight.

“She’s wet,” I tell my brothers, sliding the edge of the blade along her slit. “Wet while we carve her. He will love that.”

She cries for mercy until her throat goes raw. But it’s too late for mercy. She was claimed the second she stepped into these woods.

I engrave the final sigil directly above her womb, slicing in slow, curving strokes that make her entire body shiver. Blood rivers between her leg, across her spread pussy lips. I lap it up, groaning, rutting against the edge of the table like I’ll come from the taste alone. It’s sweet, laced with terror. Pure.

Her lips are trembling. Eyes unfocused. She’s drifted to that space between pain and pleasure. That place we brought her to, again and again. The one she learned to love.

The others follow—each licking from her wounds, letting the blood trail down their jaws, their chests, their cocks.

We begin to whisper against her ruined skin.

Not in English. The language isn’t for her ears. It’s for the thing that watches from the woods. The old god. The forest itself.

The ancient tongue makes the candles flicker, and the room feels tighter, smaller, the walls closing in, leaving no air for her to breathe. The words are alive, like insects crawling over skin. The blood from her wounds pulses harder, darker, as if called by the chant. Her soul feels it even if her mind can't decipher it.

She’s shivering violently now, eyes wide with shock. Terror has stolen her voice, but her body won’t stop writhing. Her skin burns with the carved symbols, the power they hold sinking in deep—into muscle, into bone. Her blood drips off the edge of the table and soaks into the hardwood… into the soil below.

Then, a whistle pierces the night like a howl.

Again. Long and low. The sound is disturbing, like there are too many notes in it.

Bang.

Something slams against the cabin wall.

She flinches. My brothers stop dead. But I grin.

Whatever it is out there, it’s older than us. Hungrier. It smells her blood. And it craves her.

I lean in, my mouth against her pulsing jugular. “You feel that presence outside, Bunny?”

She nods frantically.

“That’s the forest. The god with no name. The one we feed. You’re almost ready for him.”

“No… no, no, please…” she sobs.

Another bang rips through the room.

She turns her head toward the door, eyes wide in panic, horror overtaking even the pain. Her lips move in a silent prayer, but no god hears her here.

“She’s glowing,” Varekka murmurs, stepping closer. “She’s really glowing.”

And she is. The runes on her skin blaze silver. Her body writhes as if something inside her is trying to claw its way out. Her hips buck, not in desire—never that—but from the unbearable invasion of energy and heat.

The ritual is working. It’s nearly complete.

The banging continues for a while longer, smoke curls, shadows welding in the corners of the room.

And finally, silence.

The cabin goes still. The glow is gone. Even the presence outside has stopped.

The flames flicker once.

Go blue.

Then return.

We nod at one another and unfasten the straps holding her down, slowly, one by one.

She doesn’t move. She’s too weak. Shaking, bleeding, a ruined animal sprawled across the blood-soaked fur. Her breath is shallow, but still there.

I lean down and lick a long stripe from her belly up to her throat, inhaling her ripe, heady scent.

“Good girl,” I murmur. “You took it all. You did so well.”

Her legs give out as I lift her. She can barely hold her head up. Blood covers her like a robe. Tears streak her face, but she doesn’t fight anymore.

Not because she’s compliant.

Because she’s broken.

I grab an axe from the wall before I walk her to the cabin door, naked and carved, blood trailing behind her, dripping from every rune.

I place the weapon into her palm, and she stares at it like it’s not real. Like it’s a hallucination.

“For old time’s sake,” I murmur, rubbing the back of her hand with my thumb.

Our eyes meet. And I hesitate, just for a second.

Then I remember why.

I lean in and whisper against her ear. “Run, little bunny.”

The door creaks open as I unlatch it. The air outside is colder than it should be. The trees are still. But alive. The presence outside is oppressive now. Watching. Waiting.

She gasps, stuck in her fear.

“Run!” I command.

And she obeys.

She runs into the blackness of the night, into the arms of something worse. The forest welcomes her. Or it devours her.

I watch as she disappears, her heartbeat echoing off the woods, her scent trailing behind her like perfume: blood, fear… and that traitorous slick heat between her thighs.

Doruun steps next to me, squeezing my shoulder firmly.

“I grew very fond of her,” I finally admit out loud.

“We all did.” He sighs heavily. “It’s already done.”

“We’ve prepared her for this,” Khalok adds behind us, but uncertainty edges his voice. “She’s ready.”

I close my eyes. I still smell her in the air. I still hear her pulse somewhere in the dark.

Only one thought spiraling in my mind:

Baby, please come back to me.

26. Bunny

Run.

The word screams in my head, over and over, like a drumbeat keeping time with my pulse. My bare feet slap against the damp earth, twigs snapping under me, leaves slick with dew making every panicked step that much treacherous.

The forest is alive around me.

Watching. Whispering. Laughing

Something breathes just out of sight—wet, heavy… hungry.

The sounds are loud at first, so loud they rattle my teeth. Then they fade, taunting, drifting farther away.

But I know better now. When it gets quiet, it means it’s closer.

I don’t look back.

I can’t.

The marks carved into my skin sting like a million needles piercing me at once, fresh blood trickling down my thighs, my stomach, between my breasts. The axe in my hand is heavy, the handle rough against my palm.

They gave it to me like it was some kind of mercy.

Like I stood a chance.

The whistling starts again—high, shrill, cutting through the trees.

It’s behind me.

Then to the left.

Then right.

Then somewhere far ahead, like whatever’s making the sound is everywhere at once.

My breath comes in ragged gasps, my lungs on fire. I don’t know how long I’ve been running. The moon is a sliver above, barely any light, but I see the shadows move.

Something grunts.

Low. Starving.

My legs ache, my lungs burn, but I can’t stop. Not now. Not when it’s so close. The sound of its breathing grows heavier, and I know it’s right behind me.

Panic surges through me, and I trip—my ankle twists, and I go down hard, the axe slipping from my fingers. I scramble for it, my fingers brushing the handle just as the air changes.

I glance over my shoulder, slow and terrified, and I see it.

It’s right there. The thing. That forest creature.

Gigantic. Nine feet tall, probably more, towering over me. Lanky, stretched too long, limbs bending wrong. Dark fur clings to its body in patches, the rest slick with something wet. Its head is a bare-bone stag’s skull, antlers curling up into the night, but wrong, twisted like gnarled branches of petrified wood. Empty sockets where eyes should be glow red, looking directly at me.

It sees me.

Its breath rattles, hot and thick with the stench of decay and rotting meat.

I don’t scream. I don’t even move. I only whisper, “P-please.”

It tilts its head. A wet, clicking sound comes from its throat. The creature is eerily beautiful in a way, like a haunting work of art.

I lift a shaking hand and press my palm to its snout. The smooth bone is warm. Alive.

It inhales deeply, sniffing me.

Its tongue flicks out, grazing the thin skin of my wrist. I gasp as it licks a slow, deliberate path along my arm to my neck, right where my pulse races beneath the surface. It’s feeding off my fear, I realize, savoring the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

A menacing roar splits the night as its huge, razor-sharp claws dig into my waist, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing—the axe left lying somewhere below. I’m trapped in its wide arms, my body pressed against its fur-covered chest.

I shriek, kicking, but its grip is iron. I can feel its power, the way it could crush me if it wanted to.

Instead, it flips me upside down, and the world tilts, blood rushing to my head. I grab its forearms, trying to right myself, but it doesn’t let go.

Its tongue drags up my stomach.
It’s wrong—too long, too pointed, wet and hot as it laps at the blood streaking my skin. It groans, the sound vibrating through me, and then it bites. Sharp teeth sink into my side until I hear my ribs crack.

Pain flares—sharp and bright—racing through my body. It’s blinding, electric, lighting every nerve on fire. And beneath it, something darker coils, something I don’t want to admit.

Its slimy tongue flicks over my nipple, and I gasp, my back bowing to get away, but there’s no escape. Its breath is damp and scalding, spilling over my hypersensitive skin in ragged bursts. It clings to me, suffocating, as if the very air around him is tainted. It makes a noise, something between a growl and a purr, that seems to rise from the depths of the earth. It vibrates through my bones, rattling me to my core, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

And then, it’s licking lower, over my stomach… between my legs.

No.

The sensation is shocking. The creature laps at my pussy noisily, tasting. Teasing. My thighs shake, torn between clamping shut or spreading wider. I cry out when its tongue pushes inside, the muscle writhing like a living thing, stretching me obscenely. It’s too much. Too thick. Too deep.

But when it pulls away, it’s too fast.

Its teeth graze my thigh, and it bites. Hard. Pain explodes, white-hot and jagged, as it rips the skin, the tissue, muscle.

Crack.

My head swims.

It adjusts its grip, one massive hand fully circling my waist, holding me like a doll. I’m helpless in its grasp, but I don’t fight it. Not now. Not when every instinct in me is screaming to survive, to do whatever it takes to live through this.

I feel its cock pressing against me. Huge. Inhuman. Thick and ridged, dripping with something slick and warm. The size difference is staggering, but the creature doesn’t seem to care. It rubs it against my breasts, my stomach, my pussy slit and the soaked mess there, grinding like it can’t decide if it wants to fuck me or eat me.

Probably both.

“No, no, no—” I sob when it lines the flared head of its cock against my tiny entrance. “You’ll—you’ll kill me—”

It doesn’t stop.
It rams inside, my body forced to stretch beyond what it can take. I scream, but it’s useless.

The pain is unbearable, like I’m being split in two. Its cock is too big, too much, and I can feel every inch of it pushing its way inside me, tearing me apart.

My nails claw at its arms, but it’s like scratching stone. Its skin is rough, like bark, and it doesn’t give. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel the agony, the violation… and somewhere at the bottom, the sick pleasure.

The creature growls, biting my shoulder as its hips snap forward, thrusting farther into me, relentless and merciless. The sounds are obscene, wet and squelching, mingling with his guttural growls and my own choked sobs and chattering teeth. Blood runs down my thighs, mixing with whatever’s dripping from it.

I’m going to die.　I know it.

The pain is all-consuming, a white-hot fire that spreads through my body, leaving no part of me untouched. It’s in my chest, my stomach, my legs, my mind. It’s everywhere, and there’s no escape. The forest seems to close in around us, the trees leaning closer, the shadows deepening, as if the very earth is complicit in this horror.

Its teeth sink deeper, and I feel it tear with a wet rip. A chunk of my flesh comes free, and I scream again, but the pain is fading. Everything is fading.

My arms go limp, and suddenly I’m dangling again, my hair brushing the ground. The axe is there. Just out of reach.

I twist, stretching my fingers.

Almost.

The creature fucks me harder, using me like a cocksleeve, each thrust a fresh wave of torment, more brutal than the last. Its shaft pulses inside me, buried deep, and I swear I feel it in my throat, my guts rearranged around the brutal thickness of him. My pelvis is surely broken by now, and I can’t feel my legs. Everything is broken.

Its claws digging into my hips, raking down, leaving deep slashes as they shred the skin.

I whimper, but I don’t stop reaching. My fingertips graze the handle. And I finally manage to grab it.

With the last of my strength and will to live, I pull myself straight and swing.

The axe buries itself in its skull with a sickening thud.

The creature stumbles, snarling—wet and hollow, like a dying animal—but it’s already leaning back in. It wants to finish this. It wants to peel me open.

I don’t let it.

A primal scream rips from my dry throat as I swing again.

This time, the blade drags down its body, splitting it apart like a gutted deer. Blood sprays, hot and thick, coating my skin, my face, my lips…

I can taste it, metallic, bitter, and thick. Something inside me stirs, something sinister.

Hunger.

Raw, desperate, consuming.

And then, I wrench the axe free and bring it down one last time, slashing through the creature’s neck.

It makes this awful, choking sound before its skull hits the forest floor with a hollow thud and rolls once.

Still twitching. Still trying to breathe. But its eyes dim down fast until they are just bottomless black pits.

Its headless body collapses.

I fall with it, shaking weakly. My ears are ringing. The cold is already crawling in. I look down and it’s everywhere. My blood. The creature’s blood. There’s no telling us apart now. It’s thick, black-red, pooling around us like some sick kind of womb.

The carvings in my skin—or whatever’s left of it anyway—glow, and for a second, I hear chanting reverberating through the night.

It’s probably just a delirium.

I think… I think I’m dying.

But the hunger doesn’t stop.

It grows. It spreads. It consumes me.

Until there’s only this insatiable primal need.

My mouth waters.

I shouldn’t be starving. Not when my body is shattered. Not when I’m this close to death.

But it’s all I can feel. Not the pain. Not the cold. Just the greed.

My vision tunnels, my stomach aches, and I don’t even think.

I crawl on my elbows, my legs dragging uselessly behind me, until I reach the creature’s chest. My fingers dig into fur and split flesh where its heart is still warm, still beating.

I rip it free and bring it to my mouth hurriedly.

I don’t hesitate.

I bite. It bursts like rotten fruit between my teeth, but I don’t stop. I chew. I devour. Like it will make the pain go away. Like it will keep me alive.

I can’t stop.

I eat like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.

And when it’s gone, when my hands are empty and shaking and painted in gore—I collapse. Flat on my back. Staring at the sky, I can barely see.

The hunger quiets.

For a moment, it curls up like a satisfied beast in my belly.

Slowly, my other senses return, and I wish they didn’t.

Everything hurts. My whole body is burning. Not like flames. Not like anything that would make sense.

Raw nerves exposed, screaming. Bones grinding where they shouldn’t. Skin torn wide open like paper.

My fingers twitch, and I don’t feel them. My legs—gone. Just weight, just meat now. They may not even be there anymore, but I can’t move my neck to see.

Then, worse comes.

Stillness.

And cold.

Bone-chilling cold. It’s creeping in like fog under the skin, turning muscle to stone. Until I feel nothing at all. Not even the pain. Just this deep, echoing silence, stretching out through my limbs.

My blood is cooling fast. Too fast. It smells like copper and regret.

Can they smell it?

Can he smell me as I lie here, bleeding into the dirt, the rot, the roots of this cursed place?

I know he’s no longer Ghost. Ghost is dead. But if the things Tyorin said were true, his soul—like he ever had one—lingers.

Can he hear my heartbeat flickering, softer and softer, like a dying moth trapped under glass?

Does he know what he did?

Does he care?

Did he ever?

I loved him. I truly loved him. Yes, he terrified the shit out of me, but the feelings were real.

God. Why him? Why did it have to be him?

My fingers twitch for the final time. Barely.

I’m so tired that my eyes won’t stay open. The trees above me blur, black veins in a dying sky.

I want to scream, but I can’t. My jaw is locked. My throat, thick with something wrong. I taste ash in my mouth.

I want to go home.

Not the cabin. Not the box he locked me in like a coffin.
I mean home. My dream brownstone apartment. The one I worked for and earned, with dedication and consistency, brand deals, and every comment that picked me apart like meat.

Yes, maybe the skirts were short. Maybe the videos were more than suggestive. But God forbid a girl has a body and dares to enjoy it.

No, I wasn’t innocent. I did manipulate men for my own gain. But I didn’t deserve this.

I guess I underestimated predators lurking behind the screen.

Never thought a like, a follow, a DM would end with me here.
Maybe I was just too naïve.

Maybe I was always walking toward this—barefoot, blind, and begging for someone to love me enough not to hurt me.

But nobody did.

Not even Ghost.

Especially not him.

I wish I could turn back time to the moment we met.

Before the lies. Before the woods. Before I knew what love could turn into.

But if I could go back to that night on the rooftop, would it change anything?

Would I still be here if I had just… loved him the way he wanted?

Or was he always going to ruin me?

I used to think he saw me. Really saw me.

Maybe that’s what monsters do.

They see the broken bits you try to hide, and they love you for them. Until they use them to gut you.

And he was that monster long before the forest took him.

He didn’t lose himself out here—the woods just gave him permission. He was already empty, even before something else crawled inside him and wore his skin.

Maybe I was never in love with him at all.
Maybe I was just in love with the ghost of who I thought he could be.

I’m so cold.

I can’t breathe anymore.

My heartbeat slows, my consciousness fuzzing at the edges.

But no one’s coming.

And I don’t think I’m scared anymore.

Just… sorry. For myself.

All I ever wanted was love that didn’t come with a price.

But the forest doesn’t give.

It only takes.

And it’s taken everything from me.

27. Bunny

I wake slowly, as though surfacing from the bottom of an ice lake.

The first thing I notice is the light. Dim, pale, filtered through the dense canopy of the forest above. It could be morning or late afternoon—I can’t tell. Time feels fractured, unreal. I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here. Hours? Days? Maybe more.

The air is still. Too still.

There are no birds, no rustling of leaves, no movement from the forest around me. Even the insects are gone. The entire woods feel hollow, emptied out, like every living thing fled before I woke.

I try to move. My limbs respond, stiff and slow, like they belong to someone else. My muscles ache. My skin is raw. The only sharp pain left is in my head—a deep, rhythmic pounding, as if something inside my skull is trying to break its way out.

I touch my forehead, and my fingertips graze two small, hard points rising beneath the skin.

Not bone bruises. Not scabs.

They’re velvet antlers. Tiny, but growing.

The realization settles over me like cooling lava, heavy and final.

I feel it now—the curse the creature passed to me. It slithers through my veins like cold fire, eating away what’s left, until whatever I was before… I’m not anymore.

I don’t panic. I don’t scream. I welcome it.

For a moment, I hear it again. Cackling.

Then I realize it’s coming from me.

I look beside me. Where its body once lay, there is only a ruin—scattered bones, picked clean and sun-bleached. It’s been a long time. The skull lies where it rolled, stained with dried blood and dirt.

I push myself upright, bones creaking under my skin.

It takes some effort. Not because of a lack of strength. But because everything feels brand new. My arms and legs are thinner now, stretched too long, too lean. I move differently.

But even uncoordinated, I don’t stumble when I stand. My steps are silent, too smooth. I barely disturb the leaves beneath me.

When I look down at myself, I see the evidence of what I’ve survived—or become. My body is caked in blood and filth. Sweat clings to me in cold patches. Dirt is smeared across my stomach and chest. There are other stains, too. Saliva. Semen. Old wounds and newer ones, dried and crusted. I don’t want to remember what happened before I woke. I just know Bunny died.

I feel disgusting.

But more than that, I feel something deeper, something worse.

Hunger.

It coils in my gut like a starving animal. Not normal hunger—not emptiness, not craving—but need. Impossible to overcome. My mouth waters in the worst way, and my jaw aches with the memory of the creature’s heart. The heat of it in my hands. The taste.

I need to feed.

Before I think, I begin to walk. I don’t know where I’m going, only that I have to move.

The woods stretch around me, familiar and wrong. I feel hunted, though nothing is chasing me. Or maybe I feel like the hunter now, and that’s worse.

My senses are sharper than they’ve ever been. I can hear the flutter of a leaf falling a dozen yards away. I can feel the pulse of the earth beneath my feet as I stomp without a sound. I can smell everything—the moss, the sap, the wet bark, old blood. I can taste the decay of long-dead things on the tip of my tongue.

Farther off, I catch the scent of water and I follow it.

When I reach the creak, I drop to my knees and drink. The water is cold, clean, but it does nothing to dull the emptiness inside me. I splash some of it on my skin, trying to wash off the filth, the blood, the memories.

It doesn’t help.

I glance around. The forest is still lifeless. Nothing stirs. No birds call. No deer move through the trees. Nothing dares to come close.

It takes me a moment to understand why.

It’s me.

They know. Whatever I am now, I sit at the top of the food chain. They feel it the way I do. I’m not prey anymore. Not even a human.

I am the thing that devours.

The hunger sharpens again, worse than before. It burns low and steady like a flame that won’t go out, no matter how much you try to put it down.

And then, something sweet and familiar hits my nostrils.

Fur and musk and sex.

My boys.

I smile to myself as I stand. The hunger twists inside me and turns into a different kind. More potent. Ravenous. Settling deep in my core.

I’m swallowed by it. But I don’t try to fight it. I don’t even want to.

I track the trail of pheromones back to the cabin, drawn like it’s a calling to me.

That old, wooden dump is still there. Half-rotted, tucked between skeletal trees and sagging earth, as though the forest itself wants to forget it exists. It smells like mold and old blood. Like smoke that never quite cleared. And it smells like them, so fucking delicious I shiver in excitement.

The hunger inside me growls, and I know that nothing will stand in my way.

I lift my head to the sky and whistle. Just one long, shrill note that cuts through the silence like a blade.

Something stirs inside the cabin. Footsteps. Boards creak. A shadow shifts behind the broken window before the door opens.

He steps out.

Not Ghost.

Tyorin.

He’s huge—taller even than Doruun—half-man, half-elk. His fur-covered body ripples with muscle and raw strength, antlers glinting in the sunlight. He’s magnificent. I’ve never seen anyone, anything, more stunning than him—not even the face of that psycho bastard I loved.

My body trembles. From crave. From lust. From hate.

How could he do this to me?

Tyorin squints at me like he’s not sure it’s really me. Maybe part of him hopes it isn’t. Or maybe he’s as excited as I am?

Curious, he approaches closer. “Little bunny?”

Behind him, the others follow. His brothers. The ones who laughed when he tied me down. The ones who watched. The ones who took turns.

Rage flames inside me. At them. For everything they did.

And more so at myself. Because I’ve grown so attached to them—to pain, to pleasure, to humiliation—that I missed them.

The air is thick with tension, with anticipation. They watch me, their eyes wide, their breaths shallow, as if they can sense the change in me.

I step forward without knowing it, my chin up high, my gaze steady. Even in my new body, they still dwarf me, their size imposing, their power undeniable. But I’m not afraid anymore. I am their equal.

No.

I am their superior.

And I’m the one in control now.

I tilt my head. “You thought you’d seen the last of me, didn’t you?” My voice sounds strange even to me—lower, raw, threaded with something that isn’t entirely human. There’s something ancient behind it. Something that doesn’t ask.

Tyorin takes the final step, careful but not scared, closing the distance. He shakes his head, his ears twitching. “Quite the contrary—we’ve been waiting for you.” His eyes soften, his voice dropping to a guttural murmur. “Every second without you felt unbearable. Like a void nothing could fill, aching to be whole again.”

I hum, caught off guard. Something in my stirs. I hesitate.

How can I trust him… them after everything?

But he’s already sinking to his knees. And I can’t focus on anything else but that beautiful beast submitting to me.

“We wanted you. We needed you. Long before you ever stepped into these woods. Just after seeing you through his eyes, we knew we had to have you.”

He raises his hands—tentative and reverent—reaching for my legs. His fingertips tremble as they brush my thighs, then he leans in, pressing his lips to the inside of one.

I grab his antlers to steady myself. To remain in power.

Yet, the hunger blinds me. Makes me weak to his words. Makes me want to believe.

“The only way to us was through him,” he whispers against my skin. “So we lied. We bled you open. We made you strong. You were never the offering. You were the ritual. And now, you’re forever part of the forest. Forever here with us.”

His mouth freezes as I force his head back. His eyes meet mine. And in that moment, he knows. He created something he can’t contain.

“You have no idea what you’ve made.” I smile, baring my teeth. “Now it’s your turn to scream.”

His eyes flash gold, like he’s enjoying this, and his grip tightens. “No, baby,” he growls, but there’s a playful edge to his voice. “Now I worship you.” His tongue flicks out, long and wide, tracing a wet trail up my inner thigh, right to where I ache for him most.

My head falls back, my lips part in a silent moan, as I feel the cool metal of the piercing dragging over my slit. I can’t focus, I don’t question. He’s so fucking good at this, I’m losing my mind.

My hips grind into his eager mouth as his tongue works relentlessly, lapping at me with a fervor that matches my need.

Then, I’m surrounded by them, their bodies pressing close, their heat enveloping me. They touch me like I’m a goddess, their hands and mouths worshiping every inch of my skin.

And I melt into them.

The forest is alive with the sounds of their adoration—growls, whines, and low, guttural moans that echo through the trees. The air is thick with the scent of musk, fur, and desire. I’m at the center of it all, basking in every second. I finally feel wanted. Accepted. Adored. No matter how sick and twisted it is. Even poisoned, it’s love. And it’s ours.

Then Tyorin stands, towering over me. I stroke his cock with both hands, the barbells catching on my skin, still there, even though he’s a beast now.

“I know how much you love them, so I kept them for you,” he says, noticing how my brows furrow.

“Did you lie about him, too?” I ask. And I hate that I still hope… I hate that it still hurts.

“No, that was all true.” Damn him. “But you’ll always have a part of him. The best part of him.”

I giggle as his words settle, warm and comforting, like sunlight after a storm.

His massive hands grip my hips, fingers digging possessively into my flesh as he lifts me effortlessly against him. Heat cackles between us, a current of raw need that arcs through my body as my thighs press against his sides. My body trembles with anticipation, every nerve alight, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My pussy is so wet, already aching for him, that when I rock against his length, I slide easily over his shaft. The swollen head catches at my entrance before I pull away again, taunting him.

“Quit teasing me,” he rumbles, his voice a dark growl that sends a shiver down my spine. His grip nearly bruising as I continue to rub against him, my clit pulsing with every slow, torturous grind.

Khalok crouches behind me, his breath hot against my skin as his wet tongue flicks over my asshole. The sensation makes me jerk, a whimper escaping my lips as Tyorin finally lowers me onto his cock—hard as steel, veiny, already throbbing with need.

I cry out at the first stretch, my body clenching around him as he fills me, thick and unrelenting. He pumps a few times, shallow thrusts to ease me into it, piercings rub against my walls with every movement. A deep, mutual moan vibrates between us, our bodies locking into a hungry rhythm, my hips rolling to meet his.

Then Khalok rises, his muscular frame pressing flush against my back, his heat searing into me. His calloused hands grip my breasts, kneading as his claws tease my nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. He nuzzles against my neck, his breath hot and ragged, before his teeth graze my skin in a promise of marks to come. I feel him shift, the thick length of his cock pressing against my other hole, already slick with his precum and the remnants of his saliva.

“That’s it, baby. Open for us,” Tyorin murmurs, his hands steadying me as Khalok pushes inside, stretching me even further.

I moan, arching between them, suspended in a dizzying haze of sensation. The fullness is overwhelming, euphoric—every thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through me, my body trembling on the edge of something unbearable.

I can already feel the pleasure building within me, hot and electric, coiling tighter and tighter until I’m gasping, my fingers clawing at Tyorin’s shoulders as they both claim me at the same time.

“You love being shared, don’t you?” Khalok growls low in his throat as he pushes deeper, his movements sharp and insistent.

“Yes,” I purr, my eyes rolling to the back of my head. “You both feel so good inside me.”

“Such a good girl for us,” Tyorin praises, spreading me wider for them. “Taking everything we give you, letting us fill you together.”

They move in tandem, their thrusts alternating, filling me completely, until I don’t know when one ends and the other begins. I cry out as the orgasm crashes over me, wave after wave of ecstasy that leaves me trembling and breathless. But they continue to fuck me through it, their movements becoming more frantic, more desperate, as they chase their own release.

“You’re ours, little bunny. And we’re never letting you go,” Tyorin rasps against my ear, pounding into me in a relentless, intoxicating rhythm. “Say it. Say you’re ours.”

“I’m yours.”

They both reach climax at the same time, pumping me so full their cum drips down my thighs. Their cocks pulse inside me with the beat of my contracting walls as I milk them dry.

Zhyra takes me next, his sleek, powerful body replacing Khalok’s. He lifts me in his arms, freeing me from their embrace, then presses me down onto my stomach against the forest floor.

I spread my legs for him, arching my back and lifting my hips high. With a soft giggle, I wiggle my ass, knowing exactly how obsessed he is.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Bunny,” he murmurs with admiration. His clawed hands grip my cheeks, opening me up further, before he leans in.

Zhyra’s tongue is sharp like sandpaper as he rims my asshole, each rough lick sending jolts of pleasure-pain through me. He laps at me with slow, deliberate strokes, teasing the tight ring of muscle until it quivers under his attention. He can taste Khalok—the musk, the faint salt, the lingering evidence of his brother’s claim—but he doesn’t care. If anything, it only spurs him on, his growl vibrating against my skin as he drags his tongue harder, wider, like he’s determined to erase any trace but his own.

Then he purrs, the sound dark and possessive, before his barbed cock sinks inside my ass in one brutal thrust. I gasp, my body stretching around the thick intrusion, the little spikes along his length catching deliciously on my rim.

He curses, his voice ragged. “Fuck, baby! That tiny hole is driving me crazy.”

His hips snap forward, burying himself deeper, the barbs dragging against my walls with each thrust in a way that makes my toes curl.

Unexpectedly, his tail snakes up between my thighs, the fur tickling my pussy slit, soaking in my juices, before the tip teases my entrance. Then, without any warning, it plunges deep, the sensation unlike anything I’ve ever felt. The fur is soft yet coarse, rubbing against my sensitive walls as his tail works in and out in a controlled, relentless rhythm.

“Yeah, you like that? You like my tail fucking your little wet pussy?” He leans down, his whiskers brushing against my neck, his breath hot against my skin, and I can feel his teeth grazing my flesh, teasing, threatening, but never breaking the skin.

“Yes! Yes! Oh, don’t stop,” I moan, bucking my hips against him.

His tail curls just right, pressing against that wonderful spot inside me, making me whimper. All the while, his cock ruts into my ass. The pressure creates a maddening friction against the thin shared walls, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure so intense I can hardly breathe.

Doruun can’t take it anymore. As he lies on the ground, he yanks me onto his body, forcing me to straddle him, his thick, ridged length pressing against my entrance. Zhyra’s cock is still inside my ass but his tail retreats from my cunt onto my clit.

I guide Doruun’s bull cock inside me, my breath hitching as it sinks deep into my pussy. He’s stretching me in ways that should be impossible. But I am no longer bound by the limits of my old self. My body accommodates him, welcomes him, and I throw my head back with a cry as he bottoms out, his hips flush against mine.

His movements are gentle at first, slow and deliberate, as if he’s savoring every inch of me. But I am impatient, hungry, and I grip his horns, urging him to move faster, harder. He obeys, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more desperate, and I ride him with a ferocity that matches his own.

Zhyra continues rutting into my ass, his barbs massaging my walls with that wonderful sharp sensation. But it’s not enough.

I want more.

I need more.

I reach out, my fingers tangling in Varekka’s fur, and pull him closer. He understands immediately, his lean body pressing against mine as he guides his length to my entrance.

Zhyra growls, unhappy, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts, his body moving to accommodate the werewolf’s cock.

Together they push inside me, both filling me, stretching so good it hurts. I scream, overwhelmed by the burn of stretch, as they take my ass at the same time, their movements syncing in a relentless rhythm. But I don’t stop them. I can’t. I need this, need them, need the pleasure, the pain, the control. It's intoxicating.

Something moves just out of my sight, so I lift my face to see Tyorin standing in front of me, his hoofed feet bracketing Doruun’s head. His cock is already in his hand, thick and flushed, stroked to full hardness. He’s ready for me. He always is.

I bite my lip, holding his gaze as my fingers dig into the hard curve of his hips, dragging him closer. The heat of him radiates against my skin, and I can already taste the musk of his precum on my tongue.

“Such a greedy thing,” Tyorin murmurs, his voice rough with amusement. “Begging for another cock when you’re already stuffed full.” There’s no condescension in his tone. Just reverence. Just awe. “You can’t get enough, can you?”

I don’t answer. My mouth is too busy swallowing him down, my lips stretching around his girth as I suck him deep.

But I’m not content just yet. My hand reaches blindly, fingers curling around Khalok’s cock, stroking him in time with the rhythm of my mouth.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, his claws tangling in my hair, tugging just enough to make me moan around Tyorin’s shaft.

“You were made for this,” Tyorin adds, his voice a rumble of pure lust.

Yes, I was.

I lose myself in the rhythm as I switch between them until the world narrows to filthy praise and darker promises, and I take it all, drunk on the way they ravage me.

Dorunn’s thrusts become more forceful, more desperate, as he feels his brothers move inside my ass in tandem. I can feel him pushing me closer to the edge, as the pleasure builds deep in my core before it erupts as I gush down on him.

He huffs, his nostrils steaming, and he’s the first to finish. His roar echoes through the forest as he floods my core down to my very womb, his seed hot and thick.

Varekka follows, his growl low and guttural as he fills me, his swollen knot throbs against my entrance. His teeth sink into my shoulder in a final, possessive claim before he pulls away.

Zhyra’s release is silent, his body tensing then shuddering as he finishes, his seed spilling inside me in hot, pulsing waves. He pushes his knot in me with a hiss, grinding his hips flush against my ass before stepping back and watching how stream of cum oozes out of my gaping hole.

“Still hungry?” Tyorin taunts, almost challenging.

I squeeze his balls with a wicked smile. “Always.”

Doruun flips me around, his cock still hard as he slides into the mess of my stretched asshole. Tyorin and Khalok kneel close, their cocks crowding into my pussy, making me scream. But the burn is fleeting—just a sharp, sweet sting that melts into pleasure, leaving me craving more. Pain is a caress I now long for.

They move in slow, deep strokes, groaning at the tight heat, their cocks grinding together inside me. My body clenches around them, shuddering through wave after wave of release, my pussy drenching them with each spasm. Everything is just a blur after that, my thoughts scattering into nothing but sensation.

The hunger finally quiets as I take all five brothers at once.

For now.

They collapse around me, their bodies spent, their breath coming in ragged gasps. I lie between them—their goddess, their queen—and I smile to myself, as I run my fingers through their fur, their skin, their cocks.

They’re mine—completely and utterly.

This is where I was always meant to be. And it’s only the beginning.

I’m no longer the helpless woman who stumbled into these woods. I’ve become something else.

Something primal.

Something divine.

Something insatiable.

They’ll worship me forever.

Feed the hunger.

Keep the beast at bay.

The woods belong to me now.

28. Epilogue

Tyorin

The woods are quiet tonight. Too quiet. Like something’s holding its breath just out of sight. I’m holding mine too, as I lean against a gnarled oak, watching from the shadows how Bunny stumbles into the campsite, set just off the trail. Her naked body is painted in streaks of crimson that glisten under the moon, bleeding silver light through the bare branches.

She’s perfect like this.

Her chest heaves, her breath coming in ragged sobs, her fingers trembling as she clutches at her arms, like she’s trying to hold herself together. The blood isn’t hers—not most of it, anyway. A few scratches, a bite mark on her shoulder where she’d let my brothers and me play a little too rough earlier. But the rest? The rest is art.

A group of hikers freezes when they see her. Three of them, all men, their faces twisting in shock, then concern, then fear.

Good. They should be afraid.

“P-please,” Bunny whimpers, her voice breaking just right, tears cutting clean tracks through the blood on her cheeks. “Help me—Please—Oh God!” She gasps, staggers, falls to her knees.

The tallest guy in the group rushes forward, reaching for her first. “Jesus, are you okay? What happened?”

Bunny shakes her head violently, her long hair sticking to her skin in damp, tangled clumps—the pink has almost faded by now, revealing bleached blonde.

“They’re coming—” She cuts herself off with a choked sob. “Please, just get me out of here!”

The bearded guy steps closer, his hand hovering like he’s not sure if he should touch her.

“Who did this to you?” he asks, voice tight, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

I bite back a laugh.

“The Hollows…” she whispers with tears spilling down her cheeks.

I lick my lips, my cock throbbing in my palm. God, she’s fucking amazing.

The tall guy tries to comfort her, patting her back awkwardly, his eyes flickering over her naked body—I know he loves what he sees. The bearded man can’t stop staring at the way her tits rise and fall with each shuddering breath, the way the blood clings to her thighs. The last one keeps a distance, his pulse spiking, his pants tented.

They don’t even realize they’re already dead.

Just like that, she stops.

The tears dry up. The shaking stills. And her lips curl into a slow, wicked smile as she announces, “I’m bored with this.”

Then she lunges.

Her hand snaps out, fingers curling into claws, burying into the closest hiker’s throat before he can even scream. Blood sprays as Bunny rips his flesh open with her teeth, her mouth sealing over the wound, drinking deep.

The other two barely have time to react before she’s on the bearded man. He howls, stumbling back as she rides him down to the ground, her thighs bracketing his hips. She tears into him. Rips flesh from bone, her mouth working hungrily, fingers clawing into his shoulders. The man gurgles, his hands flailing, his legs kicking uselessly.

I step forward, wearing Ghost’s skin—because it’s always more fun, more haunting when Bunny and I play this game. Only humans hunt for sport.

My cock aches as I watch Bunny work. She’s glorious like this, her body slick with gore, her mouth dripping scarlet as she chews through muscle.

She lifts her head, now crowned by antlers, meeting my gaze. Her eyes are glowing red, burning into mine with insatiable hunger.

“Put on a show for them,” she purrs, pouting.

I don’t need to be told twice.

“Look at her,” I growl. “Look at how fucking perfect she is. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

Bunny laughs, massaging the mess on her chest with her palms, smearing it over her jutting tits. She spreads her thighs wider, showing off her pretty pink pussy, already wet and glistening.

“Play with yourself, baby,” I command, but it comes out as a plea.

She rubs her clit in fast circles, her ass grinding against the dying man beneath her.

“Tell them how good you taste.” I pump my fist up and down my shaft.

Her fingers sink into her cunt. She thrusts once, twice, collecting her juices before retracting and bringing them to her mouth.

“Mmm, so sweet,” she murmurs, licking her fingers clean.

The remaining hiker—the young guy—is frozen, his breath ragged, his cock straining against his zipper. Pathetic.

But Bunny loves an audience.

She reaches for him, crooking a bloody finger. “Come here, boy. Let me see if you’re worth keeping.”

He stumbles forward, hypnotized.

Bunny smirks, then bites—sinking her teeth into the man’s wrist. He screams, but she doesn’t stop, her hips rolling, her breath coming in sharp, delighted gasps as she feeds.

I can’t take it anymore.

I shove him aside and claim Bunny’s mouth, kissing her deep, tasting blood and lust and her. She growls into me, her nails raking down my chest, her legs wrapping around my waist. I slam into her, pinning her down onto the hiker’s chest. Her teeth sink into my forearm, and I hiss, but the pain is sweet, electric. I fuck her harder, whispering filth into her ear, praising her, worshiping her, telling her how fucking magnificent she is.

The woods aren’t quiet anymore.

They echo with screams.

With moans.

With the wet, tearing sounds of flesh giving way.

The hikers don’t last long. But we make sure they watch.

By the time we’re done, the clearing is painted red.

Bunny collapses in my arms, panting, her body trembling with satisfaction. I cradle her close, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead. She cranes her neck to look at me, her lips swollen and smeared with deep red, eyes half-lidded with unquenchable thirst.

She’s remarkable.

She’s more than I ever hoped for.

She takes what she wants, how she wants it—no shame, no remorse, no hiding her desires.

She's always been a man-eater.

And now, she’s finally set free.

If you enjoyed this book, kindly consider leaving a review. Your support means the world to me.

— Riley C. Smith

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Riley C. Smith is a millennial multigenre indie author of dark romance, monster/paranormal romance, and horror erotica. When she's not crafting twisted storylines and imperfect characters, Riley enjoys traveling, experimenting in the kitchen, spoiling her beloved fur baby, and getting lost in a good book.

To learn more, visit Riley's website at:

byrileycsmith.com

And don't forget to follow her socials for new releases, sneak peeks, character art, and giveaways.

Table of Contents

- AFTER HOURS HORRORS
- Acknowledgment
- Blurb
- Author’s note
- Dedication
- 1. Prologue
- 2. Bunny
- 3. Ghost
- 4. Bunny
- 5. Ghost
- 6. Bunny
- 7. Ghost
- 8. Ghost
- 9. Bunny
- 10. Bunny
- 11. Bunny
- 12. Ghost
- 13. Ghost
- 14. Ghost
- 15. Bunny
- 16. Bunny
- 17. Bunny
- 18. Bunny
- 19. Bunny
- 20. Ghost
- 21. Ghost
- 22. Ghost
- 23. Bunny
- 24. Bunny
- 25. Ghost
- 26. Bunny
- 27. Bunny
- 28. Epilogue
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR