A Bedtime Story (21 page)

“How are you holding up?” he asked with a knowing smile.

She just shook her head, warning him she would not
answer, would not follow this line of questioning.

He chuckled. “Frankly, I think it was a beautiful wedding. Though
you might just be the saddest-looking bride I’ve ever seen.”

“You’ve been to many weddings?”

“No,” he conceded, which made them both share a chuckle.

“Were you ever in love, Lucas?” she asked, out of the blue, without
staring at him, watching the dancing, celebrating crowd, further ahead. The groom
was long gone, having retreated to the men’s private party. The bride was nowhere to
be seen, but the guests didn’t ask. With music, vodka, and some good food, the feast
would never end.

He considered her for a moment. “Yes. I believe I was.”

“What happened?”

“Well… I didn’t marry
her
…” He replied, trying to get his
message across.

“Kayne doesn’t love me...”

Though she still avoided his gaze, he could sense the pain in her
eyes at the admission. He lifted his brows, considering her statement.

“Do you know Tanya?” she asked, her voice flat, her stare fixed in
the distance.

He snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah… I knew her.”

“I think he loves her.” She felt the stab in her chest pronouncing
the words but somehow felt immune to the pain.

Lucas’s expression betrayed his surprise. “Loves her? I highly
doubt that…” He shook his head again.

“I hate her.”

“I could see why,” he answered, a telling smile on his face.
“But... you know... she’s gone… Kayne
took care
of her.”

“What?” In a second, he commanded her full attention.

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” He shook his head in
indulgent disapproval of his friend. “Yeah… you were still bedridden...”

“He... killed her…” Laura reiterated, more for her own benefit,
realizing it was the third time she had caused someone’s death. For the first time,
she fought the urge to smile.

Lucas nodded, his gaze meeting Laura’s.

“Because... of what she said to me?”

“Maybe you should ask your husband that, Mrs. Malkin.” He
smiled.

She returned the smile, she liked the sound of that. Even if Mr.
Malkin was currently at a private party, and she could only imagine what he was
doing there. Her eyes hardened. “How come you’re not at the party with him?”

“Not really my scene.” He shrugged his shoulders.

She smiled bitterly at him.
Just her husband’s
.

“I’m no angel.” He was quick to add. “That’s just not my poison.
The real question is, how come
you
’re not with him?”

Her eyes shot him daggers for an answer.

He chuckled softly. “It’s none of my business… But… if I were you,
of all nights, I wouldn’t want to spend my wedding night chatting it up with the
head of security.”

“The best man,” she corrected.

“Just go get your man.
With all due respect, Mrs. Malkin
,”
he added, in mock politeness.

She considered him for a second, then her eyes lowered. “You know I
can’t go in there.”

“You’re
Mrs. Kayne Malkin
. Who would stop you?”

She nodded slowly, a sad smile on her face. She already knew she
would not follow the advice.

It was already past midnight when they parted ways. She withdrew to
her room and remained sitting on the couch in her wedding dress, watching the
hypnotic fireplace. She didn’t know
how long she stayed like that.
The whole day had felt surreal. She replayed the kiss in her mind, could still feel
his lips against hers, feel his gaze boring into hers. She opened a bottle of red
wine and started drinking alone, her cold bitterness coming to life with each sip,
her cold rage enflaming along with the fire burning in front of her. She would not
spend her wedding night alone. She would find him, in hell if necessary, and bring
him back to her.

She left her room and walked straight toward the forbidden private
party, her walk resolute, her feet carrying her despite her frantic heart. The
doormen eyed her apprehensively.

“Mrs. Malkin. It’s a private party,” one of them stuttered
uncomfortably.

“Step away.”

“Mrs. Malkin, I’m really sorry about this. Our instructions are
clear—”

“I need to speak with my husband. Move… or answer to him.”

They looked at each other, disconcerted.

“Maybe we can get him for you?” the other added, his uncertain tone
already betraying his weakness.

“Move!” She raised her voice, her eyes cold as stone. They stepped
aside, each pulling open one of the doors.

She walked past them, her head held high. The party was held in one
of the lower-level reception halls. There was a vast room with many corridors
leading to smaller private rooms. It was lit by thousands of red candles spread
throughout. Everyone was dressed in black, most wearing capes. Men and women swayed
their bodies to Khachaturian’s spectral masquerade waltz, bonded in the same lustful
opulence. All were wearing masks; some being held in place by a stick, others
secured with an elastic band.

It was very different from the party Kayne had brought her to.
There was no established hierarchy, no organized sexual abuse and degradation. This
was pure chaos. Men and women equally partaking in hedonistic decadence. A woman was
riding a man on the floor who neighed wildly like a pony. Another was dripping
wax onto the chest of a blindfolded man strapped to a table. One
was being showered with champagne, while black-caped men leaned over her body like
vampires and drank it off her.

Orgies were happening left and right. Everywhere she turned, masked
faces looked her way, stopped for a moment, and cackled at her horrified face. She
had thought she could handle it, but her head began to spin. Everywhere, masked
faces, everywhere, madness, and no Kayne to be found. She stumbled forward in her
white gown, with every step separating the black sea of masked faces, which would
gather back behind her, like a drop of oil seeking itself, finding itself. She
wanted to scream for him. Couldn’t he sense her presence? Why didn’t he come for
her? Why couldn’t
he
find her?

She finally leaned on a wall for support, gasping for air that made
itself scarce. She felt uncomfortably hot and light-headed. Her eyes glistened with
unshed tears. She’d come all this way, crossed the River Styx, and paid the
ferryman, only to land in a Kayneless hell, her one true hell.

As her tears finally spilled over and she felt her knees give out
on her, she was pulled backward by a strong arm hooked around her waist. She wanted
to scream in panic but couldn’t make a sound as she wrestled vainly out of the firm
hold.

“Laura. It’s me.”

His voice was hoarse, vibrating so close into her ear. In an
instant, her whole body relaxed against his. Her tears flowed with relief, air
finally reaching her lungs.

She could feel his heat radiating behind her; she could breathe
now.
Everything is going to be okay. Master is here
. She closed her eyes,
could finally see the shore, and knew she would reach it safely.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was calm, though intense, did
not threaten.

She didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know if her voice would
obey her command. She was still gasping for air, having spent too much time
underwater. She turned in his embrace to face
him. It wasn’t his
beautiful devastating face she found; it was the mask of the Beast. A mask that
revealed his true nature more than his spellbinding features ever would. She was
ready to face her beautiful monster, not the beast she knew lurked underneath. She
covered her eyes with her hands in a childlike gesture. Kayne exhaled slowly,
feeling her shoulders shake with her soft sobs. He lifted his mask, letting it rest
on the top of his head, and gently nudged her hands away.

His beautiful bride, in his cruel world. Tanya was right, he
thought, she would not survive him. Maybe he needed someone like Tanya, who would’ve
gladly accompanied him to the parties, who would’ve offered him women and watched
with animalistic hunger as she forced their heads onto him, forcing them to take him
in completely. Who would’ve whipped a woman bloody at his single command and
would’ve devoured every instant of overpowering other women, avenging her own
treatment at his hands.

Laura… his beautiful bride, his innocent girl. He had stolen her,
had fought for her, killed for her, all because of her. Laura, who to this day
managed to surprise him, who showed strength and resilience, who sacrificed
everything, because of him. He wondered how she did it. The more he took from her,
the more power she held over him. His little white lamb, who willingly penetrated
the lions’ den, for him. He would slaughter them all for her, would paint the world
red and lay its carcass at her feet.

She looked up at him, her eyes tentative, and smiled feebly at
finding the familiar face. Tears fell down her face as she held his stare; she
didn’t bother to wipe them.

His eyes penetrated hers. He wiped her tears with his thumbs,
cradling her face in his hands. He took her hand and, without a single word, led her
away from his world of depravity.

They walked in silence, hand in hand, as he led her to her
designated room.

“Take me to your room,” she whispered softly as they reached the
third floor, approaching her room.

He stopped for a second, looked her in the eye, and
kept walking. He pulled her along, past the door to her room, all the way to the end
of the corridor.

He opened the door and motioned her in. His room was huge, far
bigger than hers. She walked to the center of the room and stopped in the middle,
between the couch and the burning fireplace. She looked around, watching as Kayne
entered, and walked past her. His eyes remained fixed on her as he made his way to
the bar and poured two whiskeys. He walked up to her, his body so close, almost
touching hers, and handed her a glass. They tipped their glasses to each other
without clinking them.

She felt the alcohol burn in her throat, liquid fire rushing
through her veins. She carefully placed the glass on a table nearby, then turned
back to Kayne, still silent, still watching her intently. Without a word, she placed
her hands on his chest, looking up to see his reaction. No help would be found
there, his expression remained inscrutable. With shaky fingers, she began to
unbutton his shirt. She felt his chest rise and fall under her fingers, felt his
ragged breath on her neck, yet he remained silent, not moving a muscle. Once his
shirt was completely open, she leaned in, softly kissed his chest, and with subtle
fingers, removed his jacket then pushed his shirt off his shoulders.

She moved to his belt and struggled with the buckle. With a smirk,
he patiently waited, letting her discover his body, and watched her furrowed brows,
amused, as her trembling fingers tugged and pulled on his belt.

The belt unlocked at last. With utmost care, she unbuttoned his
trousers and pulled the zipper down. She met his gaze as she pulled his briefs down
and over his growing erection, lowering herself to the floor. Her eyes were
determined and hungry as she leaned in and took him in her mouth. She wet the skin
first, covered her teeth with her lips, and wrapped her hand around him, slowly
taking the whole length of him.

A rough groan escaped his lips. He brought his hands down on her
shoulders and closed his eyes, consumed by the pleasure she gave him. But it
wouldn’t take long for his nature to break the spell,
forbidding him
a pleasure he did not control. His hands wrapped around her wrists, pulled them
apart and away from him.

She looked up inquisitively, afraid she’d done something wrong. He
pulled her to her feet and gently caressed her, reassuring the nervous face in front
of his. He circled around, his eyes on her, once again, reminding her of a tiger on
the prowl. She felt her stomach knot, her heart flutter in her chest, as she lay
waiting, trying to anticipate his next move. He settled himself behind her and
impatiently unlaced her gown. He tore the dress off her back, pulling it roughly to
the floor. When he came around to face her, she shivered in her white corset and
garter, feeling shy and vulnerable under his wicked stare.

He picked her up and carried her to bed the way he knew grooms did;
he could at least give her that. Her eyes never left his, her nervousness creeping
in. He leaned in, gently kissed her on the lips, and swiftly turned her around,
laying her flat on her stomach. He stripped her naked and used her garter to tie her
wrists together above her head.

Her breathing quickened, she turned her head and kept her eyes on
him, not as a loving bride, but as fearful prey realizing the trap was set,
carefully monitoring her predator’s movements. He removed his remaining clothes and
returned her gaze with unabashed hunger. He smirked at her nervousness, at the
desire he knew overpowered her apprehension. He missed their old games. Tonight,
lion and lamb would meet again.

He laid himself by her side, his body turned toward her, and let
his fingers glide on the soft skin of her back.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked her, his voice husky with carnal
desire.

She panted but, keeping her eyes locked on his, didn’t answer.

“Laura…” He shook his head reproachfully, a wicked smile on his
face. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

Her eyes widened, panic rising to another level, but still, she
kept silent.

He turned her on her back; his naked body hovered
over hers, his fingers trailing her every curve. “Tell me. Tell me what you’re so
scared of,” he whispered in her ear.

One night, all she wanted, was one night, of pleasure, with her
husband. She would get it, she would always get her pleasure, if she was willing to
accept the cost. She closed her eyes, a lonely tear falling down her cheek. She
would always accept the cost, no matter how high. She would not only accept it, she
would willingly seek it, regardless of the tears, fears, and pain that inevitably
came with it. No cost was too great. In a perverse way, she thought, weren’t they
perfect for each other? Who else but her Monster could truly understand her broken
soul, meet her in her madness, find her in the depth of her despair, and somehow,
alleviate her from it.