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)
Terror, the sort that blocks out everything else in your mind, consumes me. And for the first time in a while, I want to die. I want to die right now before he goes any farther.
He pulls away my tattered denim and plucks the edge of my panties. The scissors go shick. On the other side, shick.
“It’s a shame I can’t add this beautiful skin to my collection.” He gestures toward the walls. That’s when I realize they aren’t covered in leather. It’s human skin. Dozens of sheets of human skin.
Sitting back on his knees, he stares down at my naked form. “So very pretty. But I can make you even more so.” He opens the scissors and runs the blade across the top of each of my breasts. I gasp, but I can’t speak, can’t scream. There’s nothing I can do to stop the pain or the blood that oozes from me. “A masterpiece already and we’ve only just gotten started.” He reaches for his belt.
I try to close my eyes. I want to close my eyes. To dissociate. To be anywhere but here. I can’t.
“Shall we begin?” He comes down over me, his hands spreading my legs.
The bed shakes.
His forehead wrinkles.
No, not the bed, the entire house shakes, one of his disgusting jars breaking on the floor. He sits up. “What the—”
Then his head turns all the way around, the bones snapping.
Valen roars, his hands at Whitbine’s temples as he spins it again, then again, Whitbine’s neck turning to a grisly mush as Valen treats it like the lid of a soda bottle. Whitbine lets out a gurgled yell that’s quickly subsumed by the ripping of flesh and tendon.
With a slight yank, Valen pulls his head clean off and smashes it onto the floor. He brings his boot down on it again and again, uncaged fury turning him into a blur of movement.
I breathe in and let out a scream so raw and horrible that Valen finally stops grinding Whitbine into the floor.
Without a word, he strips his jacket off and drapes it over me, then scoops me from the bed.
Crying, I cling to him and close my eyes. I can’t look anymore. I can’t be here. I don’t want to be here.
“Please,” I yell, hysterical. “Please make me sleep! Please!” I scream.
He lifts me to his mouth and kisses me. I catch the slightest taste of his blood, and then I’m gone.
25
Recovered Journal of Dr. Georgia Clark
June 23, Year 1, Emergence Era
Our bubble is already bursting. DC is fracturing. Our discoveries could be destroyed any day now—either by the Saints or the vampires. They both think we’re the enemy when all we’re trying to do is keep humanity alive. Sometimes when I can’t sleep for fear of dreams of Candice, or Gregor, or even Juno, I wonder if any of this is worth it. Did I keep hope alive just so I could watch it die a slow death?
“—searching his house. Holy fuck, Valen. Did you see his place?” David’s voice floats to me.
“I saw enough. Get over there and plant this before anyone realizes he’s missing. Put it somewhere only slightly hidden. We have no idea who Gregor will send to look for him.”
“Got it.”
“Your wing?” Valen asks. “He silvered you?”
“Yeah. He smashed it pretty damn good, then pinned me with silver. He came prepared. Took me the fuck out, but only because he got the drop on me.”
“He used a distraction. One you should’ve figured out right away. A smart move on his part, but you must be smarter.” Valen’s voice turns to coarse sandpaper. “He’ll never make any moves—smart or otherwise—again.”
“Yeah, I saw that too. Well done. And you’re right. I fell for it. I should’ve seen through it, and I was on my back foot.” David’s voice fades. “I’ll leave this in his place like you said. Back in an hour or so.”
I don’t want to hear them. I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to be conscious at all.
“You’re in my room. You’re safe.” Valen’s voice, softer now. Closer.
“Stop saying that. It’s a lie.” I keep my eyes clenched shut and curl up in a protective ball.
“He’s dead. He’s not coming back.”
I get a flash of an image—Whitbine’s head turned completely around, then the bloody stump of his neck. My stomach lurches. I lean over the side of the bed and vomit. Then I do it again. And again until nothing but yellow bile comes out.
“It’s all right.” Valen hands me a cool, damp washcloth, then kneels and starts cleaning the mess.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, then hate myself for apologizing to him. I wipe my mouth and nose, getting rid of the sick as best I can.
“Rest. I’ve cleaned up far worse than this.” He glances over his shoulder at the hallway.