Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Sit.” He leads me to the couch and settles in beside me, his leg against mine, his hands far too familiar with touching me.
I have no resistance. His blood has made sure of it. I’m a puppet again, simply serving a different master.
“I’d like to try something new,” he pushes my hair from my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” Valen growls.
“What the high lord has commanded,” Whitbine simpers. “As you’ve stated many times, my previous methods weren’t thorough enough.”
Without warning, Whitbine bares his fangs and strikes at my neck.
I scream.
He never makes contact.
Valen is standing over us, his hand around Whitbine’s jaw. Seething rage, the sort that lives in the heart of me, is writ large on his pale face. He jerks his arm to the side, and Whitbine lets out a yowl as half of his jaw folds inward. A complicated fracture dealt with nothing more than a twitch of Valen’s hand.
Valen lifts him, holding Whitbine as he screams, blood pouring from his mouth. “I told you never to take from her.”
Whitbine blubbers something, his voice gurgling and unintelligible. Eyes wide, he grabs onto Valen’s arm, but he isn’t strong enough to free himself.
“She is mine. All of her. Or perhaps I didn’t make myself clear?” Valen squeezes again, the other side of Whitbine’s jaw caving in, his entire mouth a mush of blood and protruding bone.
His screams send chills through my body, my skin crawling as I watch, unable to look away. The smallest sense of satisfaction twines with the horror, and I’m once again reminded that some part of me is becoming monstrous. When I silently gloated over Melody’s impending death—I didn’t know it was her, but I knew a creature was going to suffer, to die. And I delighted in it the same way I delight now at Whitbine’s torture. I am not the same person I used to be. No longer Doctor Georgia Clark, do no harm, help everyone no matter their situation. I’m something else, something that survives in the deep, deep dark.
A malevolent look of enjoyment on his face, Valen digs his fingers into the wounds, crushing Whitbine’s tongue into pulp. “Leave now or I will chain you outside to meet the day. It’s your choice.” Valen shoves him backwards, Whitbine tripping and almost falling into the green fire.
He holds his mangled face, a scream bubbling in his throat as he stares at Valen. Then, with supernatural speed, he tears from the room, his form disappearing as I sag against the couch.
Valen flicks the blood from his fingers, the fireplace sizzling as the droplets hit.
He’s given me a reprieve.
“Don’t look at me like that, little rabbit.” His tone turns snide again. “That wasn’t for you.” He turns his back to me, his gaze on the fire. “Whitbine has tried my patience for centuries. This was a lesson. Nothing more.”
I have nothing to say. I can’t thank him, can never thank him. And Whitbine will be back. But at least for today, for this moment, I was spared.
As I rise, something shiny on Valen’s back catches my eye. He’s dressed in his usual black, but his shirt is wet. Somehow, without even thinking about it, I know it’s blood.
“Is it your blood or someone else’s?” I ask quietly.
He looks at me over his shoulder. “Worried for me?”
“Glad to be rid of you.” The words come out unbidden, as if compelled. But they weren’t. Whitbine is long gone.
His black eyebrows rise, then he turns away from me, hiding whatever thoughts might be playing across his face.
“Do you …” I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe to recover some shard of the old me, whatever I can find that’s left. Or perhaps it’s simply to get a better idea of how to hurt them, maybe kill them. “Do you need medical attention?” I ask.
“No,” he says flatly, his back still to me. “I need to be left alone. You’re free to return to your room. Continue plotting suicide, writing sad poetry, or whatever it is you do in there.”
“I plot your death.” I glare at his back.
“Let’s hope you come up with a decent plan soon.” He sighs. “Run along now, little rabbit.”
I don’t ask any more questions, not when I can be free of this damnable room. Still, I hesitate at the door, my gaze returning to the blood on his shirt. If I could get closer, could examine his blood … But he doesn’t deserve my help. I know that, and I feel painfully foolish for even offering it in the first place. But it’s part of me, just like the darkness is now part of me.
“I can look at—”
“Just go.” He doesn’t command, doesn’t yell. If anything, he sounds … exhausted.
I turn and leave, my steps quick as I escape Whitbine and the green flame room. No more questions, no more Whitbine, at least for today. I bask in the lightness of it and try to forget the sag of Valen’s shoulders, the weariness in his tone. He isn’t my concern and never will be. I have to remember that; my instincts to help be damned.