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Chapter 38 - Chapter 38 : The Quiet Before the Cut

The storm outside Vale Manor hadn't broken yet, but the air inside felt like thunder's breath.

Elma moved through dim corridors like a ghost. Most of the donors had left hours ago, taking their laughter and gossip with them. The servants kept their heads down. No one wanted to cross Nitron tonight—not when his shadow had swallowed half the house after that banquet.

Her leash pulsed faintly, warm against her collarbone. Not a punishment. Not a warning. Just a reminder: she wasn't moving through these halls free.

But she didn't turn toward her chambers. She knew exactly where she was going.

The west wing was silent as a crypt. She slipped past the gallery, boots soft on thick rugs, until she reached a door painted in shadow. The lock clicked once under her fingers.

Inside, Calista sat in a low armchair, backlit by candlelight. Her gown was gone; she'd stripped to a silk robe, hair loose around her shoulders. She didn't look like the wife of a monster. She looked like the monster herself, exhausted but undefeated.

"You shouldn't be here." Her voice was calm, but her eyes betrayed her. Tired. Fierce. Hungry.

Elma leaned against the doorframe, smirking through bruised lips. "And yet here I am."

Calista exhaled, a sharp laugh that wasn't really humor. "He'll kill us both if he finds out."

"He already wants to," Elma said, stepping inside. "Might as well make it worth the risk."

Calista watched her cross the room, every step an act of defiance against the leash humming between them. Even without touching, Elma's presence burned. The air grew heavier, thick with the kind of tension neither of them could afford.

"I saw him watching you tonight," Calista murmured. "During your little performance."

"Good," Elma said softly. "Let him choke on it."

Calista's lips twitched. She rose from the chair, robe whispering against her skin. "You enjoy taunting him too much."

"I enjoy surviving," Elma corrected. "And surviving looks better when he doesn't know if I'm bleeding for him… or for you."

That got her a laugh, low and dangerous. Calista closed the space between them until their breaths tangled.

"Do you bleed for me, Elma?"

The leash flared at the question, searing her collarbone. Elma hissed, but she didn't pull back. "You know the answer."

Calista's fingers ghosted over Elma's cheek, so gentle it was an insult to everything this house had turned them into. "Then let me see."

Elma's back hit the edge of Calista's desk. Books and scrolls shifted as Calista pushed her down, lips crashing against hers with a hunger sharpened by months of restraint. Elma gasped into the kiss, and the leash punished her instantly—pain rippling down her spine like molten glass.

She didn't care.

Calista deepened the kiss, one hand fisting in Elma's hair, the other tracing bruises along her ribs with something like reverence. Elma arched into her touch, moaning softly into her mouth. The pain only made it sweeter.

"Quiet," Calista breathed against her ear. "The walls have ears."

"Then let them listen," Elma whispered back, and pulled Calista closer.

It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, almost savage, but threaded with tenderness neither of them would admit out loud. Calista straddled Elma's lap, grinding slowly against her thigh, the silk robe slipping off her shoulder. Elma's hands roamed under the robe, fingers tracing every scar, every curve, committing them to memory like a prayer.

When Calista gasped, Elma swallowed the sound with another kiss. "You taste like wine," she murmured against her lips.

"And you taste like danger," Calista whispered back, biting her lower lip until she moaned again.

The leash screamed now, heat coiling tighter with every second they defied it, but neither stopped.

Calista shifted lower, lips trailing along Elma's throat, teeth grazing the pulse there. Her hand slid between Elma's thighs, slow, teasing, making her shiver.

"Calista," Elma breathed, voice cracking.

"Say it again," Calista ordered softly, fingers tracing patterns that made Elma's hips buck.

"Calista…" Elma moaned, louder this time.

"Good girl," Calista purred, and slid two fingers inside her.

Elma bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, but the sound that escaped was still loud, raw, needy.

"Shhh," Calista hushed, lips kissing her jaw. "We'll both pay for this later."

"Worth it," Elma gasped, hands gripping Calista's hips as she rocked against her.

It was fast, brutal, and unbearably intimate. When Elma finally came, she clutched Calista so hard the robe tore at the seam. The leash burned bright white-hot, making her vision swim, but the pain felt like proof they were still alive.

Calista held her through it, kissing her softly now, brushing sweaty strands of hair from her face. "Breathe, love," she murmured, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Elma's chest heaved. "I hate that you call me that."

"You don't hate it."

Elma smirked. "Maybe not."

Calista kissed her again, softer this time, almost tender. "We're running out of time," she whispered. "He's circling us. Every donor you turn only makes him watch closer."

"Let him watch," Elma rasped. "We'll blind him when the time comes."

Calista cupped her face, eyes glinting with something between fear and devotion. "If he kills you…"

"He won't."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

Elma smirked, leaning into her touch. "Then I'll make threats instead."

They stayed like that for a while—breathing each other in, the leash's punishment finally ebbing. Calista rested her forehead against Elma's, whispering, "We'll make it out of this house alive. Both of us."

"Alive," Elma echoed. "And free."

"Free," Calista repeated, like a vow.

[Flag: Rebellion Intimacy]

Suspicion +12%

Rumor Meter: 86%

Warning: House Vale security tightening.

By the time Elma slipped out of Calista's chambers, the manor was asleep again. But the air felt heavier. The leash pulsed once, as if mocking her.

Nitron was awake. Watching. Waiting.

And Elma couldn't stop smiling.

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