I vomit into the toilet, the cool sides quickly leeching the heat from my hands, disgusted at the sounds of my own retching.

Moonlight leaks into the massive marble bathing room, providing the only illumination as I am obnoxiously, thoroughly sick.

I'd jolted awake, fear spiking an icicle in my heart at the unfamiliar room. But I knew I was back in the castle. Yet when I hadn't been able to tell the darkness of my chamber from the endless night of the Beneviento property, when the cold sweat coating me felt like blood, I'd hurtled for the bathing room.

I've been here for fifteen minutes now, waiting for the retching to subside, for the lingering tremors to spread apart and fade, like ripples in a pool.

Panting, I brace myself over the bowl, counting each breath.

Only a nightmare. One that had chased me all the way from Donna's estate up in the mountains. Within it, I'd heard that wretched bell again; felt the creature it was attached to chasing me down that crevice of rock in the valley, the bell becoming louder, it's breath just tickling my neck.

I brace myself over the bowl, counting each breath as my stomach gurgles. I'm rewarded with a heavy, gurgling burp.

It's the sudden attack of the dream me here, rather than the contents of the dream itself. I never expected to have another nightmare once I was away from the property. Never expected to have to endure the things I'd seen, unless Donna's mental reach can stretch so far –

Another burp brings up bile at the back of my throat. I spit it into the toilet.

No, no that can't be it. When she said she was done probing my mind, when had finished exacting her revenge on me for shattering Angie, I'd believed her. And the nightmares weren't so bad after that, though they did awaken me, they never drew such a reaction from me. Nausea, yes, but never actual vomiting.

I unfurl my back – hissing at the tightened pain – and flush the toilet before padding to the sink to rinse out my mouth, then wash my face.

Perhaps it was just coincidence; perhaps it was merely an after-effect, as Donna had said. That while the pollen is out of my system, my imagination has seized control, and is now dragging me through the pits and memories for reasons I can't even begin to explain.

The important question is: how long will this go on for?

The fire remains at a steady burn as I creep back into my new bedroom, the golden light sprawling across the mattress. The emerald curtains bordering it are pulled back, a trunk sitting at the foot of the bed. My toes entangle on the bear fur rug sprawled before the fireplace, and I stand there for a moment, rubbing my hands and feet. I'm glad the thing doesn't have a head. Last thing I need is anything snarling at me in the dark.

Unlike the rest of the castle, this room is not only entirely composed of stone, but it's tiny in comparison to my first, spacious suite . . . and dull. But I don't mind. I peer down at the low-lying coffee table bearing a candelabrum and a dinner tray with empty plates that was my dinner. I have a writing desk pushed up against the left wall, a vanity to its left, and bookshelf tucked into the corner on its right.

The one thing I do miss from my previous room, and the one at Donna's house, is the openness. The windows took up an entire wall, allowing a grand view of the outside, of a place beyond the walls of such tortured abodes. A world full of possibilities, but also one that continues to move on despite the death that coats these walls. This room does feel more cramped than cozy, but on the other hand, it feels like mine.

The rooms prior had been so fancy and decorated that I couldn't really make myself at home. It felt as though I were trapped in an expensive dowry cabinet – the risk of breaking one dish equating my head. But here, the room is tucked in a corner at the far end of a hallway, almost hidden within the base of a castle spire. And it feels like my mine. More like a cubbyhole in comparison, but still mine.

I continue to the bed tucked into the right corner, each step heavier, harder. The sheets are now cool and dry, and I slip in, curling in and burrowing deep, wrapping my arms around myself. I peer towards the curved windows carved out from the stone, the glass doing little to keep out the cold. I've contemplated igniting the wax of the chandelier hanging at the center of the vaulted ceiling, but I'd rather sleep in the cold dark than attempt to in the brightened warmth.

I rest my head on the cloud soft pillow, the mattress even better, cradling my body, and the sheets enveloping my like a fur-lined cocoon. Still, I can't help but think of Kathryn being down in the dungeons, probably clinging to any kernel of warmth down there, made worse from the moistened stones and rusted metal –

I shake my head – that old hag had it coming to her. And if Helga isn't even looking for her, then she's probably already dead.

I had tried to find the housekeeper after my sparring with Cassandra – of which I have no idea how she's going to convince Bela to let her train with me. That may be one family meeting I want to be out of the castle for. But after searching for the better part of an hour, I simply gave up and went to my room to enjoy some lunch.

I hadn't heard from Bela all day – no note, nothing. Hell she barely acknowledged my existence when she was walking with that swaggering jackass. She looked at me like I was no better than . . . than her servant.

Maybe that's all I ever was to her – maybe she just needed someone to talk to. Someone to warm her bed.

I growl and pull the sheets over my head, watching the golden light halo the silver coloring. Bianca and Gretta gave me a better welcoming – shit, Cassandra gave me a better welcoming.

The middle daughter said she'd give me some better answers as to what the hell happened to her and her sisters, and maybe that's why I agreed to train with her in the first place, but I was stupid in neglecting to ask how she would distribute such information. Knowing her, she might not give anything if I keep handing her ass to her.

But . . . that might be a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

Tugging the blankets back down, I will over and rest my head in between my pillows. Gods, at this rate, I'm never going to get to sleep anymore. Looking at the clock on the fireplace mantel, it's almost three in the morning.

I can't go and wake up Bianca at this hour, not after our meet up yesterday evening. After sparring with Cassandra, spending lunch in my new room and rearranging some things to make it feel more like my own, I'd grown bored, but my body was too active to read or take a nap. I'd stopped by the kitchen again to inform Bianca I'd be training, and that she was free to join me.

I didn't think she'd actually come, but I was grateful for her company.

She didn't so much as participate than watched me – asking me certain questions about certain situations and how to move the odds into her favor. Her face grew grave when asking some more specific things, but I respectfully ignored it and demonstrated. When I'd finally worked myself into exhaustion, we agreed to meet back up at my new room – Bianca bringing some leftovers from the dinner that Lady Dimitrescu warned not to be disturbed from.

Gretta and a couple other maids took to handling dessert and wine – if only to see the handsome suitor that had been lured here.

Meanwhile, Bianca and I just lazed around the room, the former picking up a few of my things and motherly scolding me on where it should properly be. We talked about our favorite books and Bianca shared some gossip about some of the other maids – of which I despise myself for being even remotely interested in. Later I ordered a dessert tray be delivered to my room, and we gorged ourselves on candy and chocolate cake.

I'd never seen Bianca so . . . ravishing. It's an expected pity that she didn't get to eat much of the good food that had been prepared in the kitchen, let alone some of the desserts that I'd seen be passed through the door.

I'd nearly laughed when her mouth was outlined in chocolate frosting – and had to resist the urge to lean in and lick bits from the corner of her full mouth. While she was explaining her personal peeve with one of the other maids, whose name escapes me, I tuned out of certain parts at the thought of just ravishing her on the bear rug kept manifesting in my mind.

I don't why I feel so starved for it – let alone wanting it even from one of my . . . friends, I suppose. Maybe that's all I want from Bela after all; but somewhere in my mind, in my heart, I don't want that to be the case.

Or maybe my heart's just being tugged at because Bela is the only person I've ever allowed to see me so, vulnerable. Nothing had ever become with Elena, and I didn't expect it to. I was – and still am – determined to keep Lacy alive that she became more like a guardian for Lacy; a priority for Lacy without any consideration for myself. Not that she showed any signs anyway, at least ones that I tried to see.

She saw who I was – what I held and what I carried, and she didn't blink. She wasn't afraid.

It was nice too, I realize, to have someone who didn't judge me for what was spread like wildfire; to have someone who saw me and my scars and my differences, and just not give a damn.

Bianca ended up leaving within the next hour, needing to get to her bed or run the risk of one of the other maids stealing her things. Having experienced that myself, I agreed, and she spared a hug goodbye before leaving my room. I could tell she didn't want to leave, but I didn't have the heart – or the mental control – to encourage her to stay. I don't need Helga – or the Dimitrescus – punishing her for my negligence.

I toss and turn for another hour before concluding that sleep is hopeless at this point. But I still have a few hours to spare, to gain, before I'm bound for the woods at dawn.

I still can't get the idea of Bela and that suitor out of my mind – my rage a roiling wave, cresting against my heart. Wondering if she would moan for him the way she moaned for me.

Gods, what the hell am I thinking?!

But then image changes: Bela biting at the collar of my leather jacket, stifling a moan of pleasure as I slide my fingers into her moistened sex. It shifts, and then Bela has vulpine grin on her crimson lips as I writhe beneath her, her fingers, her tongue tasting and curling and flicking and sucking.

I snap from my trance when I realize I'm grinding my hips into my pillow – and a noticeable wetness is tickled by the cold. Sliding my fingers beneath the band of my underwear, I quietly gasp. My finger traces over the apex of my thighs, and it's like my hips instantly move in the best way to get that friction against it.

I roll onto my back, now circling my middle finger over that little unable, pinching just enough to make my hips twitch, and a wave of pleasure courses through my body like liquid fire. I tease the nerves a little more, my hips now rocking in a rhythm that I never knew I could attune to.

But it's not enough. I prop myself up on my elbows, peering at the few spar pillows leaning against the wall.

For my own sanity, I pull the curtains around the bed closed before positioning myself atop one of the firmer pillows. My cheeks feel so warm with embarrassment – I've never done anything like this before. But my fingers aren't enough – I need more.

I close my eyes and focus on the feeling; on how hard I need to grind to really elicit the pleasure that has me moaning. I cover my mouth as I find it quick, and it feels good.

It doesn't take long for my mind to conjure something for me – but it seems even my consciousness cannot decide. Not as both Bela and Bianca's faces swirl and shift.

I brace a hand against the wall as my hips begin to move faster, the firmness of the pillow pressing into my clit in a way that makes me bite my lip – similar to my pinching fingers.

My hands are instantly at digging under my nightgown and latching onto my breasts, kneading and gripping and pinching at my nipples – my body entering that foreign yet familiar rhythm.

I imagine it's Bela's face between my thighs, her tongue burying into my core – lapping and suckling and tickling. My hands become Bianca's hands, gently kneading my breasts like she kneaded that dough.

Release begins to crest towards me in a shimmering wave as I imagine both women working in harmony to try and get me to come. Riding Bianca's face, glossing her lips and chin with me, Bela working on my chest and adding two additional fingers to tease the front of my entrance.

My hips begin to move faster – some innate womanly part of me grinning at the pleasure that heats my body like a coal to an ember. The friction has me clenching and twitching, the pillow now crumpled and squished.

I slip two fingers into my mouth, imagining Bela degrading me while I ride Bianca's face to my climax.

The imaginary words – and my own selfish power trip – has my climax crashing into me like a foaming wave on rocks. My body seizes and twitches, my hands gripping the end of the pillow with white knuckles, imagining myself grinding harder onto Bianca's tongue. One hand seizes my breast, pinching my nipple just at that threshold of pleasure and pain, causing me to twitch and grind again into the pillow.

Slowly, the image fades from my mind as I collapse onto the bed, my head hitting the other pillow. I can barely keep my eyes open, my core twitching gleaming as the last dregs of my orgasm fade away.

What the fuck did I just do?

With ragged breaths, I turn over and tuck my feet beneath the blankets, the rest of my body pulsing with heat. I know I have such a stupid smile on my lips, because when I finally begin to drift into the world of oblivion, my cheeks hurt as I begin to relax my mouth.

I lick the corners of my lips, wishing I could taste either woman, but for now, I have my fantasy, and the privacy of my new – and rather secluded – room.

I turn over on my side, facing the wall and the single rounded window peering out into forest of the Dimitrescu castle. Within minutes, I'm claimed by sleep, and I don't have another nightmare.