by Lizzy Ford
Chapter Five
Dawn came slowly, followed by the brilliant blue sky of morning. She shifted from her seat in the cave to stand at the edge of the cave, furious at him for leaving her in a small cave on a sheer cliff overlooking the sea. She hadn't slept all night, afraid of what other secrets the night held.
She looked down. The churning sea below was littered with jagged rocks that looked small from her perch a hundred feet above them. Not only could she not escape, but she could just as well starve to death if he decided never to return.
She braided her hair to keep the stiff sea breeze from tossing curls in her face and squinted upward again. She was closer to the top than to the waves, but the cliff had too few hand and footholds for her to try to climb. She perched on a boulder near the entrance, wondering how many nights of Sasha-type treatment she’d take before tossing herself off the cliff.
Bored, restless, fearful, she retreated to the back of the cave, searching it again for any sort of door or anything that might aid her escape. There was nothing. Nothing she could use to escape.
Which was why he chose this spot, and she couldn’t help shivering at the thought that this place was too perfect for this to be the first time he’d imprisoned someone here.
"What’re you doing?"
She jumped but replied without turning, "Looking for a way to escape."
"One way out."
She steeled herself and turned, expecting to find a monster.
He looked human. He was taller than average, over six and a half feet, built like a rock with wide shoulders and tapered abdomen and hips beneath a jumpsuit similar to those worn by the prisoners. Its snugness drew her eyes to his crotch and lean thighs. His hair was dark, his eyes liquid silver, his complexion olive and unshaven.
He tossed fish tied together on a rope into the center of the cave, ignoring her inspection.
"I can’t eat them raw," she objected.
"Then you don’t eat."
He walked to the edge of the cave and dived out.
She followed, startled, only to see a massive black bird the size of a pterodactyl coasting along the tops of the waves. She shook her head, convinced she was going crazy. Her eyes fell to the fish, and her nose wrinkled.
Rope. She knelt beside the fish and unwrapped them with a grimace, cheered to find the section of rope nearly five feet long. She tossed the fish back to the ocean and coiled the rope, hiding it beneath several small rocks in the back of the cave. She napped, paced, and stared up at the ceiling. The sun crossed the sky, and an hour before it would set, he returned.
With more fish. She sat up and crossed her legs, eyeing the rope. He walked out again, and she tossed the fish and hid the rope, straightening just as he reappeared.
His eyes flashed silver as he glanced at her. He sat on a boulder near the entrance, as if he were the bouncer trying to prevent someone like her from exiting.
"C’mere, little girl," he growled.
"I hate that!"
"It’s how this works."
"How what works?" she asked.
"I feed you, you feed me."
"Can’t you eat a cow or a rabbit or something?"
"You taste better."
She didn’t know what to think. She needed more rope to reach the top of the cliff, yet being dinner for any creature wasn’t the way she’d like to go. And what if he attacked her as Sasha did, and she had no Lankha to heal her? She’d bleed out in this cave.
"I’ve claimed you as my blood slave," he said, as if reading her mind. "You’re worth more to me alive."
"In that case, then, if you ever hurt me, I’ll throw myself to the ocean!"
"Whatever."
She wasn’t ready yet to prove it to him, not before she at least tried to escape. He gave her a look that warned her he’d get her if she didn’t come to him. She rose, angry, and knelt beside him.
He gripped her neck in one large, roughened hand, tilting her head. She squeezed her eyes closed, heart quickening and her breathing fast and shallow. She gripped his wrist hard, wondering why he insisted on tormenting her by taking his time. At long last, she felt the warmth of his breath on her neck. He bit, and she stifled a cry. The pinch was less today, and the pain gone instantly, replaced by heat and warmth. He didn’t drink long, and when he was finished he touched his thumb to the wound, cauterizing it again.
Only when he released her did she sit back on her heels and open her eyes. He was gone again. The blood loss and lack of food made her dizzy. She reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the three water cubes and the remaining sugary cube. She popped one water cube but replaced the sugary cube with some hesitation. If he brought her more fish tomorrow morning, she’d have rope enough to reach the cliff edge ten feet above. She’d need her strength for what she planned.
She lay down on her back to watch the sun set and didn’t move until he returned early the next morning to toss stinky fish beside her. She rolled to face him, squinting in the grainy dawn. His silver eyes flashed from the darkness at the back of the cave, alarming her.
"You slaughter a party of Girl Scouts last night?" she asked, unnerved.
"Brave little mortal," came the growl. "Don’t know the size of the storm about to hit you, do you."
She hated how he spoke to her, like he knew exactly what to say to terrify her. She was normally good at covering emotions she didn’t want to display, but he read them all and threw them back in her face.
"What’s it to you?" she groused.
"Need a mortal blood monkey. You owe me. Easy blood."
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. She’d like to think she was saving poor souls every day she spent with him donating her blood, but she couldn’t help thinking she really wouldn’t care what he did to get blood if she was gone.
"I owe you?" she echoed. "Who wrestled the crazy guy in a robe for the key? You wouldn’t be free if not for me."
"You’d be in a thousand pieces if not for me."
"Like being a mortal blood monkey is soooooooo far above lunchmeat!"
"You’re alive, you’re fed, and you’re free," he pointed out.
"I am deep in your debt, my most gracious lord and master."
"Fuck you."
She skulked and imagined him doing the same in the back of the cave. He rustled around, and she wondered what he was doing so close to her precious rope. She feared asking him, not wanting to tip him off that she was plotting.
"And I’m not free," she added under her breath.
He stalked past her, his anger palpable. He dived off the ledge, and she scampered forward. The pterodactyl dropped and caught itself, coasting in the sea breeze.
She watched him until he disappeared, then freed the fish. She tied the lengths of rope together and hunted for and found the perfect boulder in the cave: a loose, rounded rock the size of both her fists that was light enough for her to throw. Tying her chosen anchor to one end of the rope, she sat to eat her sugary cube, checked again for the monster, and leaned out of the cave.
The cliff edge was around ten feet from the cave. She looked down, stomach unsettled by the distance. This was worse than ledge walking in the hotel; there was no balcony to catch her!
She swung the boulder up, ducking as it slapped the side of the cliff just short of the ledge and fell back to her. She tried again, releasing more rope this time. It clattered along the top of the cliff and fell. She continued to throw it until it stuck. She pulled hard on the rope, feeling some give, then tautness as the anchor lodged itself between unmovable objects.
Sweating already from the effort, she braided her hair to keep it out of her face and then leaned her full weight on the rope. It held. With another look down, she found her first foothold along the side of the cave and began to climb.
The ten feet to the top felt like it took hours, though the sun had barely risen when she finished. By the time she clawed her way over the edge, she was soaked with sweat and panting, her muscles burning from effort.
She rested on her back for a short time before forcing herself up to sit up and look around.
Wherever she was, it was beautiful. Cliffs stretched as far as she could see in either direction with uneven stone and shale between her and the rest of the island. Some sort of goats watched her from the distance. Far, far, away, beyond the stone and shale, she thought she saw a swatch of green.
She might not be on her street or even in her neighborhood or city, but it certainly looked like she was back in her world. She trotted away from the cliff, slowing when she felt far enough from the edge. She walked through shallow stone valleys and hopped across boulders and shale toward the sun, casting frequent looks over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being stalked by a shape-changing demon with an attitude.
She found a narrow, rocky road and hopped from rock to road, surprised to see an older man leading a donkey pulling a cart ahead of her. There were small white houses here, one with a dog that barked as she passed. Fences that looked like nothing more than stacks of rock shingles edged each property. She followed the man at a distance, slowly confirming she was somewhere on her planet. She didn’t know where exactly, but by the man’s pale skin, she guessed Europe, maybe one of the Slavic countries.
The road rose, and she stopped at its peak to stare at the small village edging a wide bay below. The word "HOSTEL" was emblazoned across the side of what looked like a large red barn in the center of the village. There were several small vehicles, several more men with donkeys, and a slew of boats departing the harbor for the morning catch.
The old man was waiting for her on the other side of the peak. He spoke a smattering of words she didn’t understand.
"English?" she asked hopefully.
"Aye," he said with a chuckle. "Bit early fo’ the tours to be comin’ up this way."
"I wasn’t on a tour. Could you tell me where I am?"
He looked her over, eyes lingering on her neck. She covered the bite marks self-consciously.
"Ye drinkin’?"
"Um, yeah," she said slowly. "I had all my…things stolen."
He gasped and crossed himself.
"Mother Mary," he murmured. "This is the second time in a year some thug’s attacked a tourist. The world is going to shite."
"It is," she agreed. "Listen, I need a phone. I have to call my sister and tell her to send money so I can get home."
"Come, come with me," he said, resolution on his face. "Not all us here are thugs."
He led her back the way she’d come and to a small house with a couple dozen fluffy sheep in a pen in back. She paused on the sagging porch until he beckoned her in. The house was cozy and simple, with creaky wooden floors covered in rugs, a pot-bellied stove still warm, and worn furniture.
"Toilets are there," he said, pointing.
She grimaced, expecting an outhouse, and was pleasantly surprised at the cozy but modern bathroom. She looked first in the mirror and froze. Aside from the scarring, a maroon tattoo seemed to wind all the way around her neck. She turned slowly and craned her head to confirm the design covered every inch of her exposed neck.
"Son of a bitch!"
Rhyn.
He’d not just claimed her in deed but had the nerve to brand her like chattel as well! She’d never in her life wanted a tattoo, but to have some blood-sucking, shape changing, ill-tempered, inhuman beast’s name on her neck was infuriating! She tried to scrub it off with no success.
When she emerged, she saw tea and cookies on the small table tucked into a corner of the living room. She joined him, hesitating before gulping down most of the cookies.
"Here ye go," the old man said, handing her a cell phone. "Yer American?"
"Yeah."
"Dial oh-one-one then the number." He eased into the chair across from her and poured them both tea as she dialed.
"Hello?"
"Hey sis!" Katie exclaimed, never as happy as that moment to hear Hannah’s voice.
"Oh, god, Katherine! Where are you? What happened? Gio had the police looking everywhere for you! They said you’d been kidnapped from the--"
"I’m fine, I’m fine. I was…taken. Not sure where I am now, but I’m free and okay," Katie said.
"Are you in the city? We’ll come get you!"
"No, I think I’m in some other country."
There was a pause as Hannah waited for her response, and Katie covered the mouthpiece.
"Where am I?" she asked the old man.
"Innisheer."
"I’m in Innisheer, sis," she relayed. "You know where that is?"
"God, no. How did you get there? Did someone take you or….maybe you forgot?" Hannah asked in a hushed tone.
"Sis, I have no money, no passport, no identification, and I haven’t eaten in a few days. I didn’t forget anything. I even remember Toby, the Masquerade, and some guy snatching me when the lights went down."
"Thank god!" her sister sighed. "Toby’s been staying with us. You really let him eat that many marshmallows?"
"Don’t tell him where I am," Katie said quickly. "I don’t want to worry him. Just say I’ll be back soon."
"I don’t even know where you are. I’m Googling it now."
"Sis, can you send me some money to get back?"
"Yeah, sure," came the distracted response. "Ireland? You’re in Ireland?"
"I don’t know where I am."
"It says it’s an island off the coast of Ireland. I bet it’s nice," Hannah said.
"I really don’t care, Hannah."
"I’ll send you money. It doesn't look like the place you're on has an airport. Can you get to Dublin? I'll book you a flight."
"I'll figure it out," Katie replied. "Thanks, Hannah."
With the old man's help, she caught the last ferry across the channel just before sunset. She stepped off the ferry and stood in a mostly empty parking lot, wondering how the hell to get to civilization from there. There weren’t any cabs or buses like in the city; she didn’t even see a town nearby. Just a road leading to the small parking area and a closed ticket booth for the ferry. The lone two people on her ferry got into a car and left. She stood for a long moment before striking out after them on foot.
The old man, Liam, had fed her and given her a handful of euro coins before putting her on the ferry. Grateful to him, she was likewise anxious to leave the island before the beast returned and flew off the handle.
She scratched at the tattoo winding around her neck, furious with him. She didn’t walk far before someone in a tiny car speaking only Gaelic pulled alongside her and motioned to her. After several failed attempts to communicate, they proceeded in silence to the nearest town, a coastal resort-like town. As if sensing she was some poor tourist, he dropped her off at a youth hostel located above a bar already teeming with people. For an extra few Euros, the hostel manager gave her a clean though worn sleeping bag that matched the clean but worn bunk beds in the women’s section.
The two German women sharing her room ceased talking when she entered and looked her over before one said in halting English, "You’re American."
"That obvious?" Katie returned, tossing the sleeping bag and a small shaving bag filled with basics on one bunk.
"I like your clothes," the other said, gazing at her jumpsuit. "Very fashionable."
At least Hell kept up with the latest styles, she thought darkly.
"Your…" the other woman said, motioning to her neck. "Very nice."
Katie snatched the shaving bag and a towel, stalking to the bathroom. She bathed in the unisex shower room, grateful for the lukewarm water and the chance to scrub herself down and assess the damage. Her arms and legs were only faintly scarred despite the glass shards from the rocket attacks and the damage done by Sasha. She marveled again at Lankha's healing skill.
Her first shower in days made her want to stay in the hot water forever, until one of the men staying at the hostel entered the bathroom. Self-conscious, she turned off the water and wrapped herself in a towel before crossing to the
sinks lining one wall with bright mirrors hanging above them.
Her eyes were drawn to the Rhyn tattoo snaking around her neck like a collar. The name was black against a band the color of red wine, both intricate and bold, with odd characters etched into the edges of the band. The geometric shapes changed as they circled her neck rather than stuck to a pattern; she assumed it was some kind of writing.
She wore a collar like a dog with her master’s name on it. There was no other explanation. She’d never wear anything but turtlenecks ever again!
"Son of a bitch!" she muttered.
"Awesome tat," a male voice with a distinctly American accent said.
She dropped the hair she’d been holding up and wrapped the towel around her tightly. She met his gaze briefly in the mirror. He looked like any normal nerdy American with big glasses and a scrawny frame. She thought she saw tattoos flash across his exposed chest. She blinked, and they were gone.
After her time in Hell--where most of the monsters looked human--she didn’t trust this one. He shrugged as she ignored his hello smile.
She returned to the room, where the two Germen women still sat and talked while cleaning their camping gear. She dressed quickly to avoid comments on either her collar or her scars and flung herself into her bunk, reminded of her cell with Lankha.
She’d never had an opinion of bunk beds until this moment. She hated them!
"American, you like beer?" one of the Germans asked.
"Yeah."
"We’re going down to the bar. Come with us?"
She hesitated. The Irish rock blaring from the bar below was loud enough, and cigarette smoke already curled in through the window. A shot of whiskey sounded heavenly!
"Yeah, I’ll go."
She joined them at the door with enough loose euro change for a couple of beers and dinner. The women with her spoke in German as they made their way down the narrow wooden stairwell to the packed bar. The music blared louder, the smoke became thicker, and the scent of food intermingled with body odor. They stopped to join a small group at one side of the bar and squeezed their way into a booth meant for four and already holding four. They made room for her and pushed fries at her, which she accepted.
Katie’s gaze took in the crowd. She looked for Rhyn. She looked for Kris. She looked for any face she knew.
She was done with them. All of them. When she got home, she was kicking Toby out, buying a gun, and taking back her life. Her paranoia faded with the first round of beers and disappeared completely by the third. She joined the Germans and other backpackers in an Irish dance as the cigarette smoke thickened and the rock band grew louder.
"Fire!" The shout went unnoticed until the panicked bartender grabbed the mike of the lead rocker.
"Everyone get out!"
Katie stared at him dumbly until the crowd forced her toward the exit. She let the bodies pressed against her shove her into the chilled night and blinked back her blurred gaze until she saw her German friends. Smoke billowed blacker than night above orange-yellow flames that mesmerized her.
The whole top of the building--where the hostel was housed--was on fire. The flames were beautiful and entrancing. She and the Germans stood in silent awe, too drunk to feel the cold.
"Rhyn, is it?"
She blinked and turned at the voice, not recognizing the American nerd until her vision cleared.
"Funny name for a girl."
"Whatever," she said curtly.
"I told my friends about your tat. Mind showing it to them? My friend Ziggy’s a tattoo artist in San Francisco. Thought he’d like yours. It’s kinda unique."
She sighed, her instincts too dulled by beer to warn her. She had nothing better to do, not with her source of alcohol gone and her bed in flames.
"You guys got any whiskey?" she asked, trailing him through the crowd.
He held up a bottle. "I grabbed this when everyone started panicking."
"Vodka? No way."
He lowered the bottle. She didn’t notice how far they’d gone until the blazing bar disappeared around a corner. Only then did her senses register the three men before her, the alley, and the familiar bloodlust in their glowing eyes. This time, there was no mistaking the tattoos on their bodies.
She spun, the action rocking her precarious balance, only to come face-to-face with the American nerd.
"You don’t want to do this," she blurted out. "I taste like shit."
One laughed.
"You should be used to it, or you wouldn’t wear your dead master’s mark," the nerdy guy said.
"Dead? He’s not dead," she replied. "In fact, I’m expecting him any minute."
"No one leaves his mate in a place like this. Penniless? Alone? Obviously too long under his keep to know what to do with herself in the real world?"
Mate?
"He’s bigger than you," she warned.
"Bigger than this, bitch?" the American nerd demanded, shoving her against a building and riding his erection against her backside.
"I’ve seen popsicles bigger than you, jackass!" she snapped.
He pulled her away from the wall and backhanded her hard enough for her to feel nauseous. She was too drunk to feel the landing. He licked his hand, where blood from her lip remained.
"Sweet," he whispered, closing his eyes to savor her. "The Ancients always choose the sweetest blood monkeys."
"You can lie there still like you did for your master while we do our thing, or we can tie you and beat you into submission and then do our thing. Either way, we do our thing," another reasoned, kneeling near her.
"Let me think," she said, and rolled her eyes. "Why don’t you walk away now before a certain Ancient tears you into pieces."
"Nice try, sweetheart. We’ve seen your type before. You won’t last the night anywhere you go. He made his mark; it draws us to you."
She frowned, wondering when someone would explain the rules of this game to her. Wobbling, she rose, familiar coldness replacing the alcoholic warmth inside her.
"Sweet, little, defenseless, bet you're wet and taste just as sweet," the man who’d tasted her said. His eyes glowed more unnaturally than the others, the taste of her addling his senses. He looked like the rabid dog she’d expected Rhyn to be.
"Chill, Dean. First we all drink, then you can fuck her up," another warned.
"Appreciate the chivalry," Katie retorted.
If ever you were going to appear, Rhyn, now's the time!
Dean backhanded her again, following her to the ground. He pounced, tearing at the jumper. Her head spun. She batted at him with clumsy arms, at last landing a punch in the neck, as the creatures in Hell had taught her. He gagged. She tried to shove him off, but he snagged her hips and dragged her down, pinning her hands over her head.
She squirmed. His knife cut through her jumper, slicing into her skin.
"Dean, fuck, chill man! She’s gotta last the night! We’re all famished!"
She cried out, and the other three pried him off. She scrambled up, watching them wrestle Dean until he shook them off. She looked down at her newest cut. It wasn’t deep but it stung. At their silence, her gaze returned to them.
She saw their expressions change as they got a whiff of her blood. Whatever control they hoped to maintain slipped.
"I’m warning you," she said again, backing away. "If you…"
She heard the beastly snarl and caught the blurred mass of darkness, punctuated only by two flashes of silver, as Rhyn flew by her. A new terror filled her. As if the four fledgling vampires weren’t enough…She turned and ran. One of them snagged her, but his attention shifted at the strangled cry and sound of snapping bones. Dean’s head sailed over them. She stared in horror and launched forward. The vampire holding on to her didn’t fight her but joined her, running with her from the possessed shapeshifter. She followed him, praying he knew the town better than her, until they ran into a dead end.
Rhyn shoved her into the side of the building with a massive paw, holding her t
here for a split second as a warning before he launched himself at the vampire. She heard the kid scream and hunched her shoulders, nearly vomiting at the sounds of his body being torn apart. When there was silence, she felt the beast approach her, its bloodied fangs at the same level as her head.
"Is it too late to say sorry?" she managed.
He growled low, and she jumped, squeezing her eyes closed. Swallowing hard, she tilted her head to one side in a display she hoped he took to be an apology. There was a long pause before she sensed him change forms behind her. He gripped her throat roughly and pulled her against his body. Her body shook, but she didn’t dare fight him, not when he was so pissed.
There was no pain this time when he bit her, only numbness. She almost cried in relief. He didn’t hurt her, even when she had obviously infuriated him. He drank longer than he had before and withdrew at last with a satisfied growl.
"Can’t take you anywhere without you beheading folks," she whispered.
"That I let them die fast is not something I’ll do for you if you betray me again."
"I’d rather die than be stuck in a cave."
"You think I can’t replace you with a willing nymph who knows her place?" he demanded.
By the stillness of the body at her back, he was deciding her fate. She waited, her breathing growing shallower and faster.
"Now you have nothing to say," he snarled. "You taste like cheap whiskey."
His words were accompanied by a push. He walked away. She gasped in air, heart soaring. She’d escaped death again, but how many lives did she have? Near hyperventilating, she bent over and drew in deep breaths until moonlight revealed the dismembered hand near her feet.
She darted after him, cold on the inside yet still buzzing from whiskey. He walked through the town to a large bed and breakfast near its edge. She didn’t look up as they walked through a comfortable living room with several guests talking loudly about the fire. They grew silent as Rhyn entered and stared her down as well.
She followed him up a set of regal stairs to the second floor, where multiple rooms lined a hallway. He disappeared into one without turning on the light. She trailed, groping around the wall nearest the door until she found a light switch.
There were two beds in the room and a single bathroom off to one side along with a small living area. He said nothing, and she sensed his simmering anger. She sat on a trunk at the end of one bed. He flung off clothing soaked with blood, stripping with his back to her without one concern about her watching.
He was muscled like the panther-beast he turned into. She felt both awed and terrified watching his rippling, shapely muscles move beneath the olive skin. His shoulders and upper arms bulged while his long torso was lean and chiseled. He changed mechanically, as if accustomed to removing bloody clothing several times a day. He tugged on loose judo pants and flung himself on his back on the bed nearest the door.
"You’re acting like you’re normal," she objected, tears rising. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You run around turning into animals and tearing off people’s heads and then just…a bed and breakfast? Come on! Now you’ll just lay there and go to sleep? Is this where you hung out while I was in that cave?"
He pulled a pillow across his face, ignoring her. She stood and glared at him, wanting to cry, scream, and sleep all at once. Instead, she marched to the bathroom and took the hottest shower she could tolerate to try and take off the alcoholic edge. Her shot nerves calmed until she rubbed a towel against the misty mirror and saw the tattoo again.
Rhyn.
Fury at her situation rose hard and fast. She suppressed it with deep breaths. She’d been to Hell and back; Ireland with a moody predator was far better than that. She put on the jumpsuit she hated and emerged, expecting her first night of good sleep in a week.
Her nose wrinkled at a familiar scent, and she looked first at the plate full of raw fish on the table and then at the silver-eyed predator with his roped forearms displayed across his wide, bare chest. His look was calculating and judging.
"That’s it!"
She crossed to the table and lifted one from the plate, flinging it at him.
"You miserable son of a bitch! You all deserve to be in Hell! Damn you, Toby for ruining my life, and Gabriel and Ully and Andre…"
With each name, she flung a fish at him. He was unaffected, batting the dead creatures away like flies.
"…and you, Rhyn, who should owe me something for freeing you from the depths of Hell! Fuck you all! I swear to God, I’ve had it with all this shit. One week ago, I had a shitty life alone but I was normal. Normal! I know you don’t know what the fuck that is, but it means no immortal monsters sucking my blood and tearing up my body, no tattoos, no four-hundred-thousand-year-old angels in the bodies of five-year-olds, no buildings exploding when I get near them, no trip to Hell. And no raw fish!"
He stared at her, and she flung the plate at him, furious at his lack of reaction. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Monsters couldn’t care!
Tears stung her eyes. "Kris was right. I need to help him save the world from jackasses like you."
His eyes flared then narrowed. He moved toward her slowly, body tense.
"Oh, now you give a damn!" she snapped, backing away. "It’s personal, isn’t it? Like it’s been for me for the past fucking week! Kris, Kris, Kris!"
With each mention of his name, Rhyn’s eyes flared hotter. A low growl started deep in his chest, a warning that penetrated her rampage. She stepped back and whirled, darting toward the door. He snatched her around the waist and lifted her.
"Damn you, Rhyn!"
He flung her on the bed, and she launched up, meeting a wall of pure male. His solid, warm body atop hers immobilized her and he pinned her wrists to the bed, silver eyes blazing and elongated fangs resting on his full lower lip. She strained, unable to move but no longer caring if he did kill her.
"Fuck you, Rhyn," she said again, his silver eyes blurry through her tears. "I want my life back!"
"This. Is. Your. Life." His words were controlled with effort, his body so tense, she thought he’d snap any second. "You. Are. Mine."
"No!"
"You. Are. Mine."
She began to cry, no longer able to deny what she knew deep down: she’d never get her life back. Even without some sadistic creature’s name around her neck, things would never be the same.
"There’s nowhere you go where I cannot follow,” he added. “Kris’s pets can go anywhere but Hell. I can find you even there, and I will. I claimed you. You. Are. Mine. Forever."
She sobbed, her emotions from the week’s events breaking free. He released her without another word, and she curled onto her side, weeping not only for the bizarre world she’d entered but from the realization she’d never, ever, ever return to hers.