Gothikana

by RuNyx

“Why are you pretending to be a teacher?” His eyebrows went up. “I am a teacher.” “You’re also the owner of this castle,” she reminded him.

God, he could sound like a dick sometimes, and it still turned her on.

“Fifteen empty graves for fifteen of the Slayer victims who died there but were never found.” That was something, at least. “What about that piano there? The one you were repairing?” “It was my grandfather’s,” he told her, his teeth gnashing. “They liked having music with their murder.”

Corvina shuddered, remembering what they had done in that place. “I can’t believe we kissed by it. That’s just so … macabre.”

Something shifted in his eyes, a side of his lips curving. “I would’ve kissed you bathed in blood, Corvina. If I had a chance to kiss you while a thousand ghosts rose from their gr...

Their eyes, silver and purple, locked on each other. “Witch,” he murmured to her reflection, the affection evident in his gaze and his tone. “Devil,” she breathed, hoping he found the same in her gaze and voice.

“I’m building my castle brick by brick in the middle of the storm, and I’m wondering if the mountain underneath my feet will crumble.”

“You’re my mountain, my Vad. I don’t know how, and I don’t understand why, but somehow, I’m building my castle on you.”

“You’re taking all of my firsts, Mr. Deverell,” she whispered quietly as a confession. His arm tightened. “I will take all your lasts, too, Miss Clemm. Mark my words.”

“I am the grandson of a serial killer. I was raised by him, taught by him. His legacy is mine, his blood is mine. I will never be a good man. But you don’t need a good man, do you? You need a devil to fight your demons because you don’t want to fight them alone. You’re self-sufficient but you don’t want to be. You want that beast on the throne who would take charge for you, the beast who could fuck you raw in a room full of people gone mad and still make you feel safe. Am I wrong?”

“This will last until the day the roses on my grave stop sharing roots with the roses on yours,” he declared. “I will have you even in death, little witch. I am your beast. I am your madness. And you, you’re my afterlife.”

She didn’t have anything to give him but herself, and he seemed to want nothing more. A man with everything material and nothing emotional wanted her nothing material and everything emotional. They were an odd but perfect fit.

He was wearing a crow mask, of all things.

“I wanted to leave you breadcrumbs.”

“The glass could have slit your wrist,” he said gruffly, his jaw clenching. Corvina gave him a little smile through the pain. “Then I would have died in your arms while coming, and what a beautiful death it would’ve been.”

“You’re the mountain I build my castle on, brick by brick,” she whispered to him, her eyes stinging. “You stand, I soar. You crack, I crumble.”

“Yeah. Which raises the question, if the real Jade Prescott is dead, has been dead for two years, who the fuck is that girl?” Corvina didn’t know.

“He’s … you have the same grandfather. He’s your family,” Corvina stuttered. “He’s mine,” the girl shouted suddenly, making Corvina flinch, her green eyes going wild, the wind hard in her short hair. “We both have Deverell blood in us. That makes us strong. He’s the devil of this castle and I’m the devil’s breath. Together, we would be a force to be reckoned with. We could leave behind a legacy for our children.” Vomit rose up to the back of her mouth, and Corvina swallowed it down. This girl, whoever she was, was truly, deeply sick.