Grave Love by Faedra Rose

Author:Faedra Rose
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gemini Rose Press
Published: 2023-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dumbstruck by the revelation of their deaths, I realize they were just forty-three years old when they died. Men in their prime, really. They were roguishly handsome, and no doubt had loads of money behind them at one point. Sucking in a deep breath, I sit on the slab of cold, gray stone and look up to the moon as it peeks through the ominous sky. “So, are you three the reason your family fell apart?” I ask aloud. “Were you the downfall of your own noble family?”

“Such crass words, lovely,” answers a bodiless voice.

“Truth is sometimes ugly,” I retort, glancing around, fear thumping in my belly.

“Sometimes truth is simply truth,” says another voice.

“Then tell me, where will I be buried at night’s end?” I ask.

“Buried?”

Calamitous laughter follows.

“We have no intention of burying you, darling. We’re going to leave your body to the ravens. Such honorable harbingers deserve a tasty treat.”

I purse my lips. Well, fuck. “Not even so much an unmarked grave...”

“But why does it matter how you die, pretty?” asks one of the brothers, though I can’t guess which; they all sound nigh on identical!

“Ultimately, I guess it doesn’t,” I say, struck by the sobering truth of it all. “I have no family left to speak of, I’m broke, and I can now officially add ‘raped by a ghost’ to my short list of unimpressive lifetime accomplishments.”

A light touch brushes against my cheek and I shiver in response.

“There’s no time to wallow in self-pity. We’re going to fuck you, now,” says a voice close to my ear, as an iron grip seizes my wrist. “And you’re going to love every moment of it, Victoria.”

“The pleasure, the pain, the terror. All of it,” says another Haywood.

My mind wanders back to the bedroom and the delicate, antique music box, and the mind-bending, world-altering orgasm that Darius tore from my unwilling body. “I have no doubt,” I answer, the bitter tang of reality staunching the wounds of hope in my soul as surely as a tourniquet. If my destiny is death, then at least I won’t be alone when it happens. At least my life will end with insurmountable, fucked-up, paranormal pleasure. How many people can say that?

And when they eventually kill me... well, I can hope for mercy and kindness. But my core burns with ill-humor. That would be asking far too much of my deviant, ghostly paramours. I know it in my bones. They are forces of chaos and destruction—selfish and cruel to a fault. I have no doubt that when my death comes, it will be horrific, painful, and something so unsightly that not even the daily paper will be able to run the story. My end will come, and I’ll be nothing more than carrion for the black birds.

Dragged from my musings, I’m manhandled and lifted through the air by unseen hands. And though I appear to be suspended above the large slab of stone that rests upon the brothers’ grave, I can feel a ghostly body wedge itself beneath me.

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