Chapter 2

The coroner had a hard time believing that he was looking at the remains of a woman as he poured the contents of the bucket, into which Gail had collected the bits and pieces left of Elena, onto the table at the morgue.

The two large silicone implants wobbled a bit as they landed on the hard stainless steel surface. He lifted the plastic frame with his tweezers and wondered “What the hell is this?” Just hours before it had held Elena’s nose. He decided to discard the frame and the silicone implants, dropping them into the trash can. He regretted it immediately; he bent down to pick up the implants and then rinsed them before placing them in a sterile bowl. I’ll ring the clinic, he thought; they’ll pay me nicely for these.

He didn’t want to seem incompetent but he couldn’t for the life of him understand what had happened to the poor bastard now reduced to a puddle of goo with only a few bones sticking out of it; he decided to write “Death by natural causes” on the report before scooping the few pieces of bone and flesh from the table, shoving them into the bowl of the guard dog named Charlie. “Dig in, pal. That’s a good boy,” he said as the dog came to eat its peculiar lunch. No one would ever know that he couldn’t specify the cause of death, he thought, as he patted the old dog gnawing on the femur.


The days go by, and I have not seen her again. The beast is unusually quiet, sated by the dinner he was served. Every night my evening jog goes through the cemetery as I hope to find her there, but she never is. At times I think I’ve imagined it all, but as I pass the gravestone with the rose still on it I know it really happened. I pass the slot we purchased for Elena, and spit on it. Why the fuck we needed to get her a slot at the graveyard is beyond me. Her remains would have fit into a cup, for fuck’s sake. Besides, I happen to know that she will not be buried here nor anywhere else, the coroner being an old friend of mine. Oh, good old Charlie boy has had his share of bones during the years… before Taylor managed to perfect the room, that is.

Who was she? That question drives me insane. Anastasia. The name that haunts my dreams at night and obsesses my mind during the day.

I’ve tried to find out about her, I’ve used all the resources known to man. I even asked Gail, as I thought maybe she knew her, but she couldn’t tell me any details. The only recollection she had was an old tale of a cursed woman by that name, but it couldn’t be her, or could it?

The only real reminder of her is the note I found blowing in the wind that day. I swear I can still smell her scent on it. Obsessed much? Sniffing pieces of paper and running through cemeteries. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Once again I run back to my tower, my feet hitting the pavement at a quickening pace, as I try to outrun the sound of her voice ringing in my ears: Until another full moon… 25 days, 2 hours, and a few minutes left, and for the first time since the beast took me I’m actually desperate for the full moon to return.

As I return to my tower, I find the room open. Anger boils in my veins; that door should never be left open. I push aside the cobwebs and peek inside. Taylor is cursing like a sailor on crack trying to fasten the new restraints he bought.

That fucker still can’t understand how the beast got free. I’ve tried to tell him thousands of times that Anastasia let us free, but he refuses to believe it. The jerk has been staring at the security videos for hours; the door to the room stays shut, the bolt locked, the wax seal unbroken. He just doesn’t get it… He is so anal retentive that he can’t think outside the box for a second. I don’t fucking care how she got in there, I just want find out who she is.

Grace was devastated when she heard of Elena’s demise. How that old witch ever managed to stay friends with Grace is beyond me. We arranged a wake for her, without a casket of course, but no one showed up. I swear I felt Anastasia there, but I never saw her. I just saw one red rose by Elena’s picture – even though no one had been there to leave it. I went to pick it up, but as soon as I touched it, it dissipated into thin air. In that moment I knew she had been there; I could feel it in my bones, even the beast was showing signs of life by the possibility of seeing her.

I watch Grace walking past the rows of caskets at the funeral home, her perfectly manicured fingers sliding over the lids, opening casket after casket, feeling the linings inside. A stunning black casket catches her attention. She opens it, the inside lined with black silk. She waves for the woman by the counter to come over. “I want this one, it’s for my husband” Grace says, and the woman looks at her with sympathy, the well-rehearsed fake sorrow in her eyes as she offers Grace her condolences. Grace frowns as she says “Thank you, but my husband is alive and well. I just want this casket for him, as I’m sure he will love it.”

“I agree mom, he’ll love it for sure” I say, surprising her and wrapping my arm around her shoulders. Her eyes light up as she looks at me. “Christian, I didn’t think you’d come.” I shrug. “She did die at my apartment. I thought it would be polite to show my face at her wake.” There’s no way in hell I’m going to tell her that I was hoping to see Anastasia here. I suspect that I might find her dancing on Elena’s grave.

We arrange for the funeral home to deliver the casket to the Grey castle just outside the city walls. The woman looks at us when we tell her the address, fear creeping into her eyes as she realizes who we are. Yeah bitch, be afraid, be very afraid, I chuckle, thinking of the legends about our family that are being spread around the city.

I decide to drive my mother home, as there is no reason to wait for people who will not show up at the wake. In the car I ask her, “Mom, do you know anything about a woman called Anastasia?” The look on Grace’s face says it all. She knows.

At first her expression is one of shock but then a devious grin spreads over her lips. “She did it? Didn’t she?” she asks. I haven’t told her about Anastasia’s visit, just like I haven’t told her about the beast inside myself. “Did what, mom?” “She killed her. After all these years, she finally got her revenge.” “What do you mean, revenge?” I’m excited to find out anything about her, but I’m slightly baffled as I wasn’t expecting Grace to know anything about her.

Grace starts talking. “It started when we were in school. We were sitting next to each other in science class, Elena and I. She loved to mess with the teachers, just as much as she loved cooking up potions and making up spells. One day we had a substitute teacher; she was standing by the window with her back towards us as we came into the classroom.

“She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, her pale skin in contrast with her dark red dress. A blood-red rose in her hair, dark red lipstick on her perfect lips. Not to mention her breasts; all the boys were drooling looking at her.” That sounds about right, I think, remembering her generous cleavage glowing in the moonlight. “I think Lincoln fell in love with her from the second he laid eyes on her.” I have to stop my mother to ask “Lincoln?” “Elena’s first love, the boy she mooned over at school, dreamt of in her wet dreams. He stared at the substitute teacher all day, ignoring Elena totally. As the day progressed Elena became angrier and angrier with both Lincoln and the substitute teacher, Anastasia. Elena tried her best to catch Lincoln’s attention, but he only had eyes for that beautiful woman standing at the front of the class, writing our homework on the blackboard.

“After the bell rang, Lincoln went out to the garden and picked 13 long stemmed red roses and brought them for Miss Anastasia.

“She had seemed somewhat sad all day, but now her eyes lit up; the joy of getting those beautiful flowers made the whole room brighter. I love red roses, she said, and that gave Elena an idea. That night she made up a spell, a spell that ultimately cost Lincoln his life and Anastasia her roses.

“The spell would turn all roses Anastasia touched into dust if someone else touched them as well. As if that wasn’t enough, Elena made a potion so strong it would have killed an elephant; she drenched the roses in the poison as she was sure Anastasia would be the only one to touch them.

“Well, turns out she was wrong. Lincoln wanted to make Miss Anastasia smile again so the following morning he took a rose from the vase to put into Anastasia’s hair; the thorns pierced his skin allowing the poisonous potion to seep into his blood, killing him at the feet of his beloved substitute teacher and her twelve long stem roses. The thirteenth rose that he was gripping in his hand fell to the ground as his fingers lost their strength and the last breath left his body.

“Anastasia picked up the rose from the floor and put it back in the vase, dragging her fingers over the roses, relishing the soft touch of the petals. The moment she took her hand away the roses shriveled up and a gust of wind blowing from the open window blew them away.

“That day was the last time we ever saw her. The last words she uttered before she left were that she’ll get her revenge on the one who destroyed the only beautiful thing in her life, the roses.” “What about Lincoln?” “What about him?” “Didn’t she say anything about him?” “No, he was just a schoolboy who gave her flowers, just another average Joe drooling after her. By the way, he’s buried at that same cemetery from where you got the slot for Elena. Ironic, huh?”

I dropped off Grace by the front gate, watched her walk up to the castle along the torch lit path. All the windows are dark, and one could guess there was no one home, but the flickering light in the north tower confirms what I already know, dad is at home; no surprise there, I chuckle. Grace opens the front door and a pack of bats take off from beneath the rooftops. Yeah, you better fly, bitches… The lady of the castle is at home.


Now it’s nearly full moon again, my heart flutters at the thought of seeing her once more. One fucking day left. I swear I’ve dreamt about her every night, and each night the dreams have become increasingly primal. The beast inside me roars as I feast on her delicious body, she feasts on mine as well, and every night we are fucking each other into oblivion.

The familiar flashbacks have returned, reminding me that the beast is not far away, he’s just beneath the surface, waiting for the full moon so he can raise his ugly head from his sated slumber.

I walk through the room, trying the restraints and chains, just like every month. Only this time I’m not feeling it, I’m not afraid of the beast coming. I cannot wait for it. The walls are now dark red, the same shade of the blood she drank from the champagne glass at our impromptu picnic on the floor.

I’ve even got roses, dozens of dark red roses now scattered around the room. Taylor and Gail are exchanging meaningful looks; I’m sure they think I’ve finally lost it for good. Well fuck them. The beast stirs along with my cock as I suddenly feel her presence.

“Hello, Christian,” her voice wraps around me like silk, making the hair on my neck stand on edge. “Anastasia,” I whisper, a bit confused as it’s not yet full moon. Taylor exits the room, leaving us in the now red room all alone. I bet that the fucker is sitting by his security monitor jerking off while watching Anastasia in that dress which shows off her best sides. She doesn’t have any bad sides, you idiot; she’s fucking perfect.

“You’re early,” I say, walking around her, stalking her like a predator stalks his prey. “I changed my mind, decided I wanted to meet you first… big boy second,” she says, standing there, looking at me, her chest rising in a steady pace, her perky nipples straining against the fabric of her dress. “You changed the colors,” she remarks and I nod. “I like the roses,” she murmurs, with a distant sadness in her voice. “I know.” “Your mother told you. I knew she would.” I walk around her closing in until I smell her scent as I stand behind her, looking over her shoulder into the cleavage of her dress. “You dreamt of me, Christian,” she states; it’s not a question. My cock twitches at her words, the endless ways I’ve fucked her during every night of the last month returning to my mind with vengeance.

She goes over to the wall where the gags and blindfolds hang, her ass swaying, teasing me, taunting me with each step. She runs her hands over the different implements, leaving them swinging after her touch. She finally grabs a blindfold, bringing it to me. “Use this,” she orders, turning around, her round bottom in front of me just waiting for me to grab it. I take the blindfold and wrap my hands around the ends. I take a step forward and I see the goose bumps rising on her skin. I place the black fabric over her eyes, tying the blindfold securely behind her head. The beast inside me is awake, enjoying her delicious skin with every lick and nibble. She gasps as I bite her, sucking hard on that sweet soft skin beneath her ear. When I remove my lips from her skin I see the dark red mark I’ve left and I feel good. I’ve marked her, she is mine. My cock is on full alert as she just stands before me, her breathing deep, her eyes blindfolded. She’s almost at my mercy, I realize, and go to grab one of the leather handcuffs from the wall.

She doesn’t say anything, but I know she wants it just as much as I do. I look at her standing there, in the middle of the dark red room, her eyes closed, and her breathing heavy. I kneel on the dusty hardwood floor by her feet; I run my hands up her legs and smell her arousal. Fuck me. I hear her voice, even though she didn’t say anything. Tie me up and fuck me, big boy. She’s in my head, the thought of it enough to drive me totally insane. I grab her dress, and tear it off her body, throwing the rags onto the floor, hitting a rat that runs away with it. She bites her lip, and I realize she’s bitten it so hard it bleeds. I watch that dark pearl of blood appear on her lips and lean over to lick it away. The beast growls with pleasure as the blood registers on my tongue.

I grab her hair, as I kiss her roughly, our tongues entwining in a bloody, wet kiss. Her body cool and hot at the same time, writhing within my grip as I drag her to the four poster bed I’ve recently purchased. “Hands up,” I command and she obeys, that luscious lip again caught by her teeth. I fasten the handcuffs to the edge of the bed, and then I cuff her hands. I stand up and enjoy watching her fight her arousal in the middle of the bed. My eyes gaze over her, from the end of her nose, over her beautiful lips, down her neck to her perfect breasts, before moving down over her legs covered with stockings. The rat runs across the room and my eyes shoot up from Anastasia’s body. I catch a nail from the table and throw it, piercing the rat to the floor, silencing it for good. The roses by the rat catch my attention and give me an idea.

I pick up a few roses and tear their petals away, and throw them into the air; I enjoy watching them land over her body. Her breathing quickens as goose bumps rise on her skin. I catch a few roses in my hand and start stroking her with them, the petals barely touching her skin, but nevertheless leaving burning desire in their wake.

The sudden flash blinds me. Fuck! It’s not full moon yet, but I feel the beast wake up inside me. I tilt my neck, and roll my shoulders, awaiting the fur to grow, but it doesn’t. It’s not taking over, I realize; it’s just awake and watching. Watching Anastasia writhing on the bed, her wet folds glistening by the dim lights in the room, the red rose petals scattered over her pearl white skin, the lines made by the thorns of the roses decorating her torso.

I bend down and eat her; I feast on her delicious pussy as a starved man at a buffet. Fuck me. Her voice is in my head again and the beast roars. I tear away my clothes and dive into her, impaling her with my stone hard cock. I cover her mouth with mine, I absorb her cries as I fuck her hard and fast. Just like she wants it, her voice in my head, pushing me further and further over to oblivion. The flashes start again, the beast awaiting his turn to feast on her body, fuck, I’m not giving her to him. I scream so hard, it’s probably heard at the Grey castle as the orgasm rips through my body and I fill her with my semen, her body beneath me pulsating her own release. Fuck me, I think before my eyes turn into my head and I lose consciousness.

“Grey” I hear a voice say. “Grey, are you alright?” I can’t see anything and I realize I’m blindfolded. Someone tugs on the blindfold lifting it off my eyes. I slowly open them, trying to take in my surroundings; I’m lying on the bed, handcuffed and naked, my beat manhood lying limply on the left as side rose petals are scattered over my body and scratches cover my chest.

What. The. Fuck. Happened.

Ouch, I could have sworn that my cock just shrunk at the mention of the word fuck. Now I’m seriously losing it, right?

I realize it’s Taylor who is standing by the bed. “Did she leave?” I ask, my voice raspy and weak. “I don’t know, Grey… There’s no proof she was here, only that we saw her with our own eyes.” “Huh…” I can’t quite wrap my head around it, and my arms are killing me, the handcuffs biting into my wrists “Open the cuffs T; let me free.” He looks at me with a strange expression, but he doesn’t say anything as he grabs the keys and opens the cuffs. “What?” I snap at him, that stupid stare pissing me off. “Nothing, Grey.”

I take a shower and as I’m drying my body I look at myself in the mirror and see two dark love bites decorating my neck, just below my ear. In the same place I bit her, I think, as I continue to wipe off the last drops of water. I place my hand on the bites, and feel the slight bruising. I sigh, angry because I can’t remember her doing them to me.

I grab my sweatpants and t-shirt, put on my running shoes and shout to Taylor on my way out, “I’m going to run” but the stupid bastard just stares at me. Would you pick up your chin, you stupid idiot?

My feet take me down the familiar way towards the cemetery, the place calling me like a siren calls a sailor. A pack of bats flies over my head; I feel their stare on my skin. I wave them off; go ahead, report my dad of my whereabouts, see if I care.

As I reach the cemetery I slow down and walk to the gravestone where we met. The whole stone is covered with roses. I can barely see what’s written on it. I push some roses aside, expecting them to shrivel up and break, but they don’t. In between the roses I finally read the text on the stone:

Here lies

Anastasia Rose

1815-1837

And her beloved Big Boy.

I read the text again and again in the moonlight. It can’t be her, can it? It could. I sigh heavily and turn my gaze towards the sky, hoping for a note from her to be blowing in the wind. There’s nothing, just the full moon on the sky shining its pale light over me, as I’m kneeling by her gravestone.


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