Twisted Devotion: A Dark Obsession Romance (Kings and Consorts)

Just watch it, she said.

You’ll like it, she said.

Sucking down my third glass of wine since putting on the movie, I eyed the screen with suspicion. I tried it like Tessa wanted but unlike the books she had been dead wrong with this atrocity of filmmaking.

Whoever wrote The Paris Hotel should be taken out to the square and flogged.

The romcom was absolutely absurd.

I was promised sex and passion and angst.

All I got was an absurd romcom about an American girl who took a trip to Paris after her fiancé called off their wedding. Predictably, she runs into a French guy and they fall in love. After some third act misunderstanding, they come back together in a triumphant reunion.

I was an hour in–an hour I would never get back–and there was still somehow another forty minutes of this crap. I could tell you now how it was going to end, with the ex-fiancé realizing his mistake, rushing to Paris to win her back, forcing her to choose between him and her new Paris love.

An obvious choice.

The way Tessa touted it, this movie was just the kind of light, fluffy entertainment I needed. Like somehow it would fix all my problems. Scare away all the bad vibes in the cabin and instead fill the space with unicorns and rainbows and really bad French.

After the third ‘Ooh La La,’ from the main female lead, I decided I’d rather stab myself in the ears with my dull kitchen knife than watch another minute of it, and clicked the TV off.

The movie was sinking me deeper into despair, not rescuing me from it.

It wasn’t even over and I had already taken down close to an entire bottle of wine. That wasn’t good.

I’d been trying to pace myself, but then remembered being drunk would be better than being sober. Carlos would be here soon.

If fucking him went the same way it did last time, I wanted to be drunk.

Eating me out had predictably been the best part. Afterward, he frantically slammed himself in and out of my vagina while pawing at my tits for about two and a half minutes before coming.

I remembered it being better than that. Really, I did. It had to have been, otherwise, I was sadder than I thought. Settling for that.

It was lost on me why I even agreed to him swinging by tonight when he called earlier. Likely something to do with the fact that I was dead certain I had a stalker by now, but resigned in my ability to do a damn thing about it without drawing unwanted attention to my father’s illegal activities.

Besides, the haunting presence never did more than leave a door or a drawer open. Aside from this morning of course, when I found a tall glass of water and pain killers beside my bed. I’d polished a bottle of wine, a habit that I’d have to kick eventually, before going to bed and I definitely didn’t have the foresight to prepare for the morning’s hangover.

Or at least, I didn’t think I did.

Who fucking knew at this point.

Was I really here right now at all?

Would I return from the bathroom to find the TV back on, the movie still playing? Maybe I never shut it off.

What did it matter?

My phone vibrated in my lap and I lifted it groggily to find a message from Carlos. He was on his way.

I grimaced and then mentally berated myself for letting this happen again, knowing I was only giving him hope.

It was worth the shitty lay to not be alone tonight. Did that make me a bad person? Was I using him?

I shook my head. He’d used me plenty. It was my turn now.

I sighed to myself, staring down into the dregs of wine left in my glass.

There were probably people out there who had really incredible sex. Swishing my wine around in my glass, I emptied the entire remaining contents of the glass down my throat.

My head swam as I stood from the couch, propelling me to the kitchen for a glass of water. I emptied it in three long swallows while standing next to the kitchen sink. Spinning to lean against the counter, I looked straight through to the living room, out the gap in the curtains and into the dark.

I hadn’t felt it today.

No eyes watching me. No presence just out of sight.

I knew better than to hope my shadow was gone, but the reprieve felt almost cruel.

I eyed the empty wine glass on the counter.

Tessa was always saying I needed more wine in my life. Maybe she was onto something. Maybe it was dulling my senses just enough that I couldn’t feel him.

My lips parted at the thought. I’d never really gendered the presence before but there it was. Him.

It felt right, and so, so, wrong.

Just a few more days, I reminded myself.

At the end of the week, Tessa and I would be in Portland.

You’re going to have to work, she warned, as if that would deter me in the slightest.

I’d be second assistant to the author, whose name I’d already forgotten.

I couldn’t imagine why she needed two assistants, but I wasn’t complaining. My ticket and accommodation were being paid for, even the meals were a tax write off for the author.

If I thought it would be difficult to convince Dad to let me go, I’d been dead wrong. I hardly got the whole request out before he agreed. No doubt he wanted me out of here for a while just as much as I wanted myself out of here.

Things had been tense since the standoff in the office. I knew better than to ask him about the things I’d seen a second time. When my Dad made up his mind about something he rarely changed it. If he decided to continue to keep me in the dark, no amount of questioning would make him turn on the lights.

A break would be good. For both of us.

It would give me time to figure out what to do. The biggest question–the scariest one—that I kept coming back to was whether or not I had a future here anymore. Could Snow’s Mortuary run with only one Snow? Could I leave mom’s legacy behind me?

The care she showed with each client… I might’ve been just a kid, but I remembered. This place meant something to her. It was a culmination of her life’s work.

Tainted.

Stained.

How long before Dad managed to destroy it entirely?

I killed time with snacks from the all but barren refrigerator, making sure Timmy was charged up in case I needed to finish the job myself later. Sighing for the tenth time in an hour, I finally gave up and went back to the couch.

I checked my phone but there was nothing from Carlos.

He should’ve been here by now.

Begrudgingly, I flicked the TV back on, the horrible movie beginning to play from where it left off.

I watched but didn’t watch it, my mind wandering, periodically checking my phone for signs of life as I sank deeper and deeper into the couch.

The voices on the screen dulled to a distant drone and I dragged the throw blanket over myself, blinking heavily as I tugged the little lumpy cushion under my head.

I could stay awake. I just wanted to get comfortable while I waited. He’d be here any minute now.

Something fell.

The metallic clang of it hitting the ground had me wrenching my eyes open, groaning, disoriented.

An ache swelled in my skull and I moaned in pain, squeezing my eyes back shut. Dying to fall back asleep quickly, I prayed the headache wouldn’t be there the second time I woke.

A shiver rolled up my spine and I froze beneath the thin blanket on the couch.

Wait, something fell in the kitchen. What was that?

I peeled my eyelids back, resisting the urge to hiss as my eyes burned, assaulted by the blue light from the old television and the glow of the lamp I left on in the bedroom.

With a groan, I propped myself up on an elbow, peering into the kitchen, but from this angle I couldn’t see much past the little island.

Carlos.

I frowned, clearing my throat to call to him, but the silence in the cabin replied before I could ask the question. I was alone. He wasn’t here.

Groping into the couch cushions for my phone, I checked the time.

No new messages, and if this was right, Carlos should’ve been here an hour ago. I thumbed the dial pad, punching in three digits before his number came up, but a second before I could click call, the cabin went dark.

The digital hum of the TV cut out with a static chirp, taking the lights with it.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Stupid breaker.”

Normally, I called my Dad out to fix it for me, but right now I’d rather sit in the cold dark than see his face any more than I had to.

I could do it myself.

Giving myself a mental pep talk, I forced myself to stand, exacerbating the pain in my head. I stumbled, catching myself on the windowsill as I squinted out into the night, seeing the faint glow of the mortuary security lights still on through the trees. They were.

So, it was just the cabin again. Great.

I almost turned away, but looked again, searching for movement, or any sign of Carlos. I craned my neck to see the side of the cabin, where he usually parked, and found only my old Rav4 sitting there, looking like she could use a good wax.

Where the hell is he?

He did not stand me up. If he did, that was it. I was fucking done. He could go back to pining over his pretty roommate and jerking off to free porn.

I tried his number.

It rang incessantly until finally going to voicemail.

He couldn’t still be driving. Unless he left late. Or stopped to get us some takeout, maybe?

It was 11:15 which meant if that was the case it would be greasy fast food at worst, a pizza at best. I’d take either, I was going to need a handful of pills to kill this headache and it was better to take them with something in my stomach that didn’t have an alcohol content.

Hopefully, I could get the lights back on before he got here.

I turned, and there it was.

Settling over my shoulders like freshly poured concrete, cold and heavy.

The eyes I couldn’t see. Watching. Waiting.

I scoffed bitterly, chastising myself for thinking whatever it was had gone. A dark laugh left my lips and I tipped my head back, staring up at the ceiling like it had all the answers instead of a bunch of cobwebs I couldn’t reach to clean.

“Hello darkness my old friend,” I singsonged, trying to make light of a shitty fucking situation, but my voice sounded meek in the shadows, seeming to echo on forever and I swallowed as a fresh frost crept over me.

Where the hell was that fucking breaker?

Kitchen.

Right.

I swung my phone light around and stopped still, a scream lodging in my throat.

I blinked, internally screaming at myself to wake up, but the nightmare didn’t end, and still he stood, perfectly calm, with eyes that reflected silver in the light like a wolf’s.

“It’s you.”

A slow grin split his lips.

Tattoos and bloody hands.

The ghost.

I staggered back a step and the spell was broken.

He lunged at me. I fell to the ground, my phone knocked from my grasp, scattering to someplace unseen. Going dark.

Blind, I flipped to my hands and knees and dove for the front door trying to wrench it open.

I screamed, but callused fingers clamped over my mouth, muffling the sound. I flailed wildly, throwing feet, elbows, and hands, connecting with hard muscle and bony joints.

He lifted me off the ground and dropped me face down on the couch. I tore at cushions, trying to toss them back at him.

“Come now, little lamb,” he crooned.

I slid to the floor, the jar of it should’ve registered with pain but I felt nothing as I scrambled to get back to my feet.

His hand circled my ankle, dragging me down again. The air left my lungs and I croaked to get it back, kicking with my free leg, trying to knock him off.

With a single strong pull, he had me on my back and I gasped, trying to clench my thighs shut but he wrenched them apart, wedging a knee between them. I protected my face with my arms and he trapped those, too, pinning them above my head with a rough fist.

“Don’t!” I shrieked. “Please, please don’t kill me.”

I squirmed against his hold, my whole body shaking, the pain in my head gone, replaced by a ringing in my ears so loud I thought I’d go deaf. This was it. This ghost, this monster was going to kill me and it was all my Dad’s fault. I’d seen him that night in the mortuary and now I was a loose end.

I should’ve gone to the cops. I should’ve—

“Kill you?”

All the hopeless, chaotic thoughts came to a jarring halt at the sound of him laughing. At the deep rumble I could feel against my chest. “Kill you?”

“But—”

He clamped a hand over my mouth, his laughter dying so suddenly it took with it my will to speak.

“No, little lamb. I’m not going to kill you,” he said, his eyes roaming my face in the dark, making me feel his intentions like a fire held too close to flesh. “I’m going to keep you.”