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)
Bending down, I inspect his shelves. Shoes. Mostly black. No surprise there.
After his closet, I go through his bathroom. Again, nothing interesting. Not even a razor I could use as a weapon. When I’ve inspected every single inch of his rooms, I think about sitting on his bed for a moment. Then I realize what a bad idea that is and return to his doors. Backing out, I try to put it ajar in the same way it was when I found it.
“What are you doing here?”
I stifle a scream as I turn and find Gorsky in the hall behind me.
“Leaving,” I say, but I don’t move down the hall. I don’t want to get near him.
“Trying to get in Master’s good graces?” he asks as he moves closer. “You think you can trick him? Maybe seduce him?”
“I said I’m leaving.” I step to the side, keeping to the wall.
“Were you the belle of the ball?” He asks it conversationally, but his eyes are manic. His hair is on end, and in a few places, his skull is bare as if he’s been tearing away locks. “Did you dance with the prince, lose your glass slipper?” His odor hits me, the smell of filth and rot.
“I just want to leave.” I slide along the wall, keeping as far away from him as I can. “That’s all.”
“Melody didn’t come back.” He blocks the doorway, his hands on his hips, eyes flashing. “It’s your fault, isn’t it?”
“No.” I stop and meet his gaze. “I didn’t—”
“Shut your mouth.” He grins. “I know it was your fault. Ever since you came here, everything’s been wrong. So fucking wrong. I don’t even see Master. Not anymore.”
“Because he’s out killing us all!” I snap.
He shakes his head, what remains of his black hair longer now, and greasy. “He watches you. Always making sure you’re all right. I see him in your room.”
“You’re insane. He’s never in my room.”
“Liar!” He gnashes his teeth. “You think you can tempt him? He’s mine!” He raises something in his hand. Long and wooden, the end splintered. A broken chair leg, perhaps.
I hold up a defensive hand. “Gorsky, don’t.”
“You won’t take him from me. He’s going to give me immortality. Me! Not you.”
“I don’t want immortality! I just want out!” I take a step back.
He follows. “I’ll give you a way out.”
“Don’t!” I throw up both hands as he swings.
Pain explodes through my arm as he makes contact. I scream and fall back, landing on my ass.
“Mine!” he screams and brings the club down again, this time narrowly missing my head. Something in my shoulder cracks and I try to scoot away from him, my legs kicking against the rug as he swings again, this time catching me in the cheek.
My vision goes black for a second, and when I look up, I see him swinging again. I try to cover my head, but I can’t protect myself, not when he won’t stop swinging. I scream as he hits me furiously over and over.
“Please!” I cry, but he doesn’t stop.
I keep trying to push back, to crawl away from him. Blood runs down my face, my arms ruined, his blows landing on my head and splitting my scalp.
He rears back, and for a moment I think he’s going to leave me. Then he brings his foot down hard on my chest. I gasp, all the air knocked out of me, and something snaps. He brings his foot down again. I can’t breathe. At least one lung has collapsed. Blood runs into my eyes as I stare up at him, his face a mask of fury as he raises the club again.
I can’t beg for my life, can’t say anything, can’t do anything. Just watch as he swings at my head.
Then he’s gone, a pink mist fogging through the air. Or perhaps it’s the blood in my eyes. I still can’t draw in a breath, and a strange claustrophobic feeling sets in.
“No.” Valen is hovering over me, his face haggard and bloody. He tears his wrist open and presses it to my mouth. “Drink!” he yells.
I can’t. I look at him, at the seething blue of his eyes. The anger in them. The sort of raw emotion I thought he was incapable of. And stronger than anything else—fear. He’s afraid.
Panic grips me, but I can’t do anything. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get air. His blood pools in my mouth, going nowhere, doing nothing.
“Georgia! What do I do? What—” he smears his blood across my face. “Breathe!” He presses his hand to my chest. “Breathe!”
I spasm, my lungs trying to work but failing. They must be punctured, deflated and incapable of holding air. They can’t expand. No oxygen. I’m dying. I close my eyes.
“Georgia!” Valen howls, the sound fading. A low-pitched wail, or perhaps its wind rushing in my ears. Then I hear nothing. It hurts. See nothing. I can’t breathe. It hurts. I stop trying. It hurts. Darker and darker. It hurts.