Chapter 92: 92. FUN AND GAMES
Arianna
My heart hammered against my ribs as the hard body pressed closer, a gloved hand covering my mouth, stifling the scream that threatened to tear through my throat.
A low, muffled voice whispered against my ear, its tone both menacing and strangely familiar.
“Don’t fret. The fun is just getting started,” the words sent an inexplicable shiver down my spine that was not from fear.
It was like a warm caress from the Devil himself. I knew that voice, the timbre that had haunted my daily life and invaded my thoughts.
As much as it was meant to terrify me, it only ignited another part in me. My body sagged against my captor, a strange sense of resignation washing over me.
I glanced to the side, my eyes drawn to the corner of the black hood, where a mask peeked out from the shadows, its familiar, twisted joker grin staring back at me.
Golden eyes, glistening with dark satisfaction, met mine, and I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the core, that I had walked straight into his trap.
He pulled back his hand from my mouth to allow me to speak.
“What’s going on? Did you plan this? To scare me?” I burst out, anger mixing with a strange, unfamiliar spark of excitement that I didn’t understand,“It’s not funny,” I breathed, my breath coming out heavy and labored.
My words were a mere whisper of defiance as the blade at my neck pressed harder, a warning.
My throat arched, exposing the vulnerable skin, and fear, raw and sharp, pierced through the strange thrill I had felt moments before.
His dark chuckle vibrated against my skin. It was unnerving that he was enjoying this too much.
“Not a sound, little rabbit,” he purred, the sound doing strange things to my body.
He dragged me closer to the priest who suddenly looked nervous and on the verge of running away if not for fear of the man beside me. He still kept that stupid smile on his face that looked so weird on him.
The fear was making my mind race with horrible scenarios. Would he defile me right here, on the altar, while the priest watched? Would he make the priest join us? And the worst of all, would he use me and then kill me, spilling my blood on holy ground as a twisted sacrifice?
My inner monologue must have been written all over my face, for my stalker let out another dark chuckle.
“Relax, darling. This is your darkest fantasy. Is it not?” The question, dripping with suggestive menace, sent a jolt of something almost akin to pleasure through me.
Looking around at the situation, a chilling realization washed over me like ice water.
The scene, the setting, the very way it was unfolding…it was eerily familiar. It felt like I was living in the pages of one of his stories.
The one where the male lead dragged his captive to a church.
In the book, it was empty. In real life, there was a priest. Then I remembered how the male lead ends up proposing to the female protagonist then fucks her on the altar.
He used candles to melt wax on her skin as a form of pain relief but here, I have the knife on my throat.
What is he planning to do here, with the story? Will he propose?
The thought, so absurd and twisted, sent a wave of dizziness through me.