by Katie May
I can feel my fingers form a fist as I pull my arm back and punch him as hard as I can across the face. Pain reverberates through my hand as a tiny whimper escapes me.
“What the…?”
Before Lucas can finish his surprised question, I lift my knee to his stomach. He curls in on himself, and I watch as the horror in his eyes slowly, gradually, turns into understanding.
“Who’s doing this to you?” he demands, and I can’t help but note the blood snaking across his plush red lips from my fist.
I try to shake my head, try to tell him that I don’t know, but I’m already moving. Moving. Moving.
Lucas lunges forward and wraps both of his arms around my chest, restraining me. My body kicks and buckles, attempting desperately to get away, while my mind screams at me to stop fighting. To remain in his arms.
More and more tears drip down my cheeks, landing on my mouth.
I can feel my head rear back, headbutting Lucas, followed immediately by his bark of pain. I pray that I didn’t break his nose.
I spin towards him as he doubles over, holding his face with both hands as more blood drips onto his still bare chest. Before he can make another move for me, I pull my leg back and kick him as hard as I can in the nuts.
“Don’t come find her.” It’s me speaking, but they aren't my words. The cadence is all wrong. Too dark. Too angry. Too malevolent.
Lucas spits out blood as he once more attempts to amble to his feet. “I will find you, and I will fucking kill you. Do you hear me? There is nowhere you can hide.”
The person controlling me uses my mouth to break into laughter, the cruel, cold sound grating on my nerves.
“I’d like to see you try, Lucas Scott.” Once more, my knee snaps up, knocking Lucas in the face. He falls to the ground, unconscious.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I’m shaking as my body mechanically turns back towards the doorway, stepping outside and into the bitter cold. With no sunlight to warm the normally tepid air, it’s freezing, goosebumps exploding on my arms. A bitter wind blows my hair around my face as my feet move over gravel and pebbles towards a tiny car waiting in my driveway.
I try to see the driver, try to see if I recognize anyone, but the windows are tinted.
The trunk of the car pops open, and it’s inside there I go.
Please no, I beg silently in my mind, but I can’t get the words past my lips. They’re simply trapped inside. Caged and pacing, like a restless prisoner.
I crawl into the trunk, my entire head twisting without my consent so I can’t see who comes and closes it.
I send out a plea into the universe, to anyone who could possibly hear me, but I don’t expect to receive an answer in return.
Bad girls like me? We never do.
...
I don’t know how long we drive, but it’s enough time for me to moderately regain control of my flaccid body. The process is slow-going. First, my toes begin to wiggle, followed by my ankles. And then, my fingers flutter like I’m doing jazz hands.
All too soon, I can feel the car pull to a stop, and I’m jerked forward, rolling once before my head hits the backseats of the car.
With my ear pressed against the seats, I can hear soft, murmured voices, but I can’t make out if they’re male or female. Young or old. They sound almost distorted, as if they’re using magic to disguise the sound.
My back faces the opening of the trunk, so I hear rather than see as it’s pulled open. I shiver as another gust of frigid air races over me, but that is nothing compared to the tremors that take over my body when I’m pulled against a strong chest.
I will my neck to move, if only so I can see who holds me captive, but my stubborn body remains weak and compliant.
I hear the distinct sound of leaves and twigs crackling beneath heavy boots. A forest, perhaps? That noise transitions into a loud thumping sound. Maybe wooden floorboards? Brick? Asphalt?
After what feels like an eternity, I’m roughly dropped onto a cold, smooth surface. My legs are spread towards each corner, as are my arms, until I’m lying spread-eagle on the table.
No, not a table.
A fucking altar.
It’s only then that I regain control of my body. It’s fast and sudden, but for the first time since this horror show began, I’m able to thrash wildly, attempting to escape the ropes holding me hostage.
“Let me go!” I scream, my voice raspy from crying.
“No can do,” a familiar voice says from somewhere behind me. I twist my head to the side desperately just as he steps from the shadows, like some sort of dark, dangerous god. He holds the voodoo doll I created of myself in his hands.
“Emmett?” I whisper as he moves to stand to the right of the altar, running the backs of his fingers across my cheek and then my neck.
“The one and only.” His lips quirk in the beginnings of a smile as he drops the illusion he must’ve been holding this entire time.
Red eyes, the darkest, bloodiest red eyes I’ve ever seen in my life, peer back at me.
“You’re a…”
“A Blood, yes,” he croons as he runs his hand over the top of my sweaty hair. “And you, my dear friend, are a little witch.” He leans forward until his peppermint breath wafts across my cheek. Why does his breath have to smell so fucking good? Shouldn’t villains have a distinct, rancid smell to them?
His next words send a cold chill racing down my spine.
“And I’m going to drink your blood. After, of course, I have my fun with you.”
Chapter 52
“Emmett, you don’t want to do this,” I beg as he straightens his spine, moving away from the stone altar towards a small table. I see a collection of wicked looking knives, a few syringes, and even a saw or two. He picks up each blade individually, holding them up to the flickering hanging bulb overhead, before setting them back on the table, clicking his tongue.
“I’m afraid I do, pretty girl,” he says casually as he grabs another sharp blade. This one is decorated with runes and gemstones—it must be the one they use for the sacrifice.
And unlike the triplets, he’s not simply going to drink my blood. He’s going to kill me.
As he continues to peruse the weapons before him, I allow my eyes to travel around the room. When I escape this table—and there’s no doubt in my mind that I will—I need a way to get out.
It appears to be a warehouse of some sort. At least, I’m assuming it is. There are distinct, corrugated iron walls on all four sides of me. The ground is mostly hard-packed dirt; it appears as if the floor has rotted away. Graffiti adorns every empty space available.
Aside from the altar and table, the room is barren. There’s not another soul in sight.
If my calculations are correct, we were in the car for about a half hour. So that means that this warehouse isn’t too far from town.
And it also means that Nana can track me.
I hold on to that hope, even as the image of a bloodied Lucas lying sprawled across the ground plays on repeat in my mind. A lump forms in my throat, one that I quickly swallow down. He’s going to be okay. We all will.
“I didn’t know you were a witch at first,” Emmett drawls casually as he saunters back to me. A curved blade rests snugly in his hand as he pulls up a stool. “I was such a fucking idiot. How could I not sense all of this power wafting off of you?” He inhales deeply, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips. “It’s divine.”
Mustering all of my courage, I spit directly in his face. I have the pleasure of seeing shock splay itself across his features before he backhands me. My head whips to the side as blood forms in my mouth, but still, I maintain my smile.
“You crazy fucking bastard. Do you really think you’ll get out of this alive?”
“You’re talking about your grandmother, correct?” Emmett offers me a boy-next-door type of smile, one that displays his dimples, but instead of the lust I once felt, it makes me sick to the stomach.
His words finally
register with me, and I snap my eyes open in horror. “If you hurt her—”
“Don’t worry.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Grandma is alive and well. I can’t say the same about you, however.”
“She’ll come for me,” I reply, feeling the truth of it down to my very bones. “They all will.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs his shoulders. “But that’s assuming Lucas wakes up in time to warn her. That’s assuming that she has all of the ingredients for the tracking spell on hand. That’s assuming that you’re not already dead yet.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss.
“I wish,” he whispers wistfully, running the serrated edge of his blade down my cheek. Only my eyes move to follow it as he rests it on the hollow of my throat. He doesn’t apply enough pressure to break skin, but I can feel the threat lingering in the air. “Honestly, Peony, I might’ve spared you if you’ve just given in to me. I liked you. Truthfully, I liked you. We could’ve had something special together.” He shakes his head sadly before anger darkens his features once more. “But then you had to go and fuck all of those little bastards. Tell me, Peony. Were they worth it? Were they worth your life?”
I smile cruelly at him as his blade presses even further against my neck, finally nicking the skin.
“Just their cocks alone were worth it,” I say breezily, and his face contorts in unbridled rage. Emmett’s a bomb ready to explode with only the slightest provocation, but maybe, just maybe, the impending blast will somehow set me free.
It’s either that or die tied to an altar.
He drags the knife from my neck to my arm, carving a clean slice directly over my scars. I release a gasp of pain as blood begins to flow freely to the floor. It won’t kill me, not yet, but it hurts like a fucking bitch.
“They’re little pricks,” he whispers desperately, his face inches from mine. “You can do so much better, Peony. You did do so much better. With me.”
I laugh until tears prick my eyes, even as he begins to growl threateningly. When I finally get myself under control, I hiss, “With you? With a murderous fucking asshole who has me tied up and is cutting me?”
“I only do it to stay alive!” Emmett bellows. “You know that we need blood to survive.”
“You don’t have to kill anyone,” I press. “The triplets don’t.” They never confirmed it, but I assume they take the blood from Nana. I’ve never seen scars on her, though, so it makes me think that they use small needles to draw her blood directly from her veins. The only reason their eyes aren’t red now is because they’re not using dark magic, unlike Emmett. Unlike those other Bloods who attempted to kidnap me.
Emmett’s laugh reminds me vaguely of a sword covered in frost. It’s as icy and as deadly, the noise immediately instilling fear inside of me.
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Emmett whispers, leaning forward to lick a pathway up my cheek. I attempt to turn my head away, but his other hand—the one holding the knife—grips my chin tightly. “Don’t fucking look away from me.”
“Fuck you,” I snap.
“I’ll admit,” Emmett continues, ignoring my outburst. To my immense relief, he releases my chin and steps away from me. “There’s something addicting about the power drinking blood gives you. And when you drain a witch completely?” He makes a low groan, eyes rolling into the back of his head. “It’s pure bliss.”
“You’re insane,” I whisper, and I realize it’s the wrong thing to say when he lurches towards me, once more sitting on that squeaky stool.
“It’s an addiction,” he protests vehemently. “I thought you, of all people, would understand.” He nods pointedly towards the numerous scars on my wrist.
“It’s not the fucking same, and you know it.”
“Pot meet kettle,” he dismisses.
“You need help, Emmett. A lot of fucking help. You need—” My words cut off as he brings the knife back to my body and cuts from my collarbone to my elbow. A scream wrenches from my throat as I throw my head back, agony pulsating through my veins.
“What was that?” Emmett cups his ear with the hand holding the bloody knife. “I couldn’t hear you. Insane, you say?”
“Fuck you!” I wheeze through my tears. I can see the violence in his eyes, teetering on the brink of absolute destruction, like an earthquake that destroys entire cities in a span of seconds.
“I’m. Not. Insane!” he roars as he brings his knife back down, this time to the sliver of thigh visible where Lucas’s shirt ends.
It suddenly occurs to me all of the things he could do to my body. I’m tied up. Alone. Practically naked.
The fear I felt previously is nothing compared to the fear running rampant inside of me now.
“Look how pretty you bleed for me,” Emmett murmurs as he runs his hand through the blood on my thighs. He inches it higher, higher, higher…
“Emmett, enough,” a gruff voice commands. Emmett freezes, his hand only a few inches away from my pussy, and releases a low growl.
“You said—”
“I didn’t say you could touch the sacrifice,” the newcomer snaps. “Step. Away.”
Emmett’s eyes scream disobedience, but he reluctantly takes a step backwards, bringing the knife to his lips and licking my blood from the blade. His eyes remain on me the entire time, a promise in his gaze.
“We need to do the ceremony before people come looking for her,” the obvious leader snaps. Out of my peripheral vision, I can see around six people step around the altar, each wearing a dark robe and hood.
Only one man doesn’t have his hood pulled up as he steps directly in front of me, all sharp edges and tawny muscles.
“No,” I whisper as I begin to sob. Betrayal like I never felt before embeds itself in my heart. Everything hurts as I stare at the man I trusted, even when I was pissed at him for lying to me. The pain is painted on my heart like a tattoo I can never remove. It’s a colorful mural, etched across the surface forever.
Gabriel meets my stare with a bland look of his own before nodding towards one of the other Bloods.
“The dagger,” he instructs, holding his hand out. A small cloaked figure, more than likely a female, places the ornamented blade I noted earlier in his hand.
“I’m sorry,” Gabriel whispers as I cry. I want to beg him to stop, to spare me. My pain is as thick and as cloying as the shadows currently pressing in on all sides of me.
This is it. My death. It’s funny how everything can fall into perspective when you’re staring death in the eye. And my Grim Reaper just happens to have a pretty face that belies all of his secrets and cruelty.
I think of my mother just then, and I realize that I can never forgive her for what she did to me. I don’t even want to. If I have to give up my magic in order to be free of her, then so be it.
I want to apologize to Nana, to tell her I love her and that she’s the only family I have left. I have no idea if Polo and Christian are behind this as well, but if they aren’t, if they’re truly not aware of their brother’s actions, then I’ll say sorry to them as well. My actions were those of a petty teenager. They lied to me, sure, but there’s no reason for me to hold on to all of this anger and hurt.
I think of Mariabella. How in a span of weeks, she became the best friend a girl could ask for. I hope that once I’m dead, she’ll find the courage to be her true self. Because Mariabella? She’s perfect just the way she is. The world needs to know her. If her parents can’t accept that, then they can fuck off.
And finally, I allow my mind to drift to the Devils. I came into town hating them, but somewhere along the way, that hate became warped and twisted. I can’t name precisely when it happened, only that it did. Instead of anger or even fear, I feel nothing but love. I honestly don’t know if I’m in love with all four of them, one of them, or none of them. But I want to give a relationship a try. I imagine it’ll be unconventional and sinful, but I shouldn’t have expected anything else from the four Devils who stole my heart.
I squeeze my
eyelids shut, unwilling to see the blade pierce my heart, when I hear a scream. Immediately, my eyes snap open to see Gabriel wrenching the dagger from the chest of the Blood he just killed.
He rushes for my tied wrists at the same time three more Bloods descend on him. He has just enough time to cut away one of the ropes restraining me before he’s brought to the ground.
I use my now free hand to quickly untie my other wrist before moving to my ankles. My movements are jerky and frantic, and I keep glancing in both directions to ensure the Bloods are occupied.
Gabriel must’ve lost the knife in the scuffle, for he’s now sitting on one of the men’s stomach and pounding into his face. He looks savage and feral, his eyes emanating an almost incandescent rage.
When a second Blood runs at him, Gabriel stealthily spins around and flips him onto his back. The hood falls away, and I’m able to see one of the men who attempted to kidnap me a few days earlier.
I finally free myself from the last restraint and stagger unsteadily, almost drunkenly, to my feet.
A Blood lunges at me, red eyes glimmering in the dim lighting, and I throw my hands out, blasting him with a wave of my power. It’s weak, barely an ember after being contained for so long, but it still propels him across the room, where he careens off the wall and lands in a heap on the floor, his body still.
Another Blood advances, this one female, and I can hear her chanting under her breath. I don’t recognize the spell, but I can sense the darkness wafting off of her in waves. It shrouds my skin in oil. Before she can finish her spell, I use one hand to call on my fire power and the other to shake the earth under her feet. She stumbles, a pained cry escaping her mouth, as I shove the fireball into her face. Her skin blisters and cracks as she screams into the night, but I don’t relent. Only when she’s face down on the ground do I step away from her fallen body. My magic reserves are rapidly depleting, and I know I’m not going to be able to last long without a weapon. Without something. Still, even when my power drops to its lowest, it still rivals the potency of the Bloods’, despite the fact that they’re using dark magic.