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“What’s wrong with Ily, my sweetling?” Victor asked Peter. “She seemed right as rain when we came in.”
“Eh, she doesn’t do well with death, Sir V.” Peter kept his head down. “S-She senses them, you see.”
“Senses them?” Victor reared back. “My, my. A little empath as well as a gemmologist. Whatever shall we uncover next?” Ducking to his haunches, he grabbed Ily’s chin and forced her to look at him.
It took every-fucking-part of me not to club him around the head with my whiskey glass.
“Do you need a drink too, my pet? Take the edge off whatever you can feel?” He ran his thumb over her cheek. “You know, I actually understand what you’re feeling. There’s a certain kind of energy in this room. I sense it too.”
Letting her go, he rose back to his full height and clinked his glass to mine. “It’s probably from all the screaming.”
My throat latched tight. “Screaming?”
“Yes, from the game.”
“The game…being the animals you shot?”
“No.” He grinned. “The one that will set you free.”
I forced myself to stay in control. “Ah, yes. What did you call it again? Ruby Tears?”
“That’s the one.”
“And how…” I fought the urge to wipe my mouth from despicable things. “How does one play this game?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” Beckoning me forward with a flick of his wrist, he guided me toward a hare on a plinth, perfectly preserved and looking as if it’d been plugged into an electrical socket with its wired expression and twitchy ears.
“Look.” He pointed at the dead creature.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to see.” I peered closer, catching a whiff of taxidermy chemicals.
“At the eyes, Henri.”
Peering closer, I glowered at the dead lagomorph and promptly tripped backward. A ruby gemstone had been glued to the corner of the hare’s eye—mimicking a teardrop.
A tear made of blood.
Pure horror crawled up my spine as I glanced at Ily on the carpet.
She moaned under her breath.
With effort, she raised her chin and locked her gold hazel gaze on mine. Crystal tears welled but didn’t spill. Her fingernails scratched her forearm, slowly at first but getting quicker and quicker until Peter reached across and pressed her hand flat.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I would die here tonight.
I would die because I would never, could never—
“I see that you get my drift but allow me to inform you of the rules.” Victor snaked his arm around my shoulders again, tugging me toward the table full of barbarity. “The game is called Ruby Tears because that is what we collect. On the floor. In vials. On our hands and tongues and cocks. Because you are new and no doubt have shit endurance, you will be tasked in drawing as many droplets as we have mammals.”
Turning to Peter, he asked kindly, “How many mammals are in this room, Peter?”
With a barely-audible whisper, Peter replied, “One hundred and two, Sir V.”
“One hundred and two, that’s right.” Pushing my glass to my mouth, he waited until I took a healthy swallow before adding, “You confessed tears turn you on, so this game is right up your alley. Instead of capturing rain from her eyes, you will make her entire body cry. You will draw one hundred and two droplets of blood from your jewel. You may use whatever implement you would like. Bleed her slowly. Bleed her quickly. Bleed her from one wound or many. But bleed her you will and as each droplet falls, your chains will crumble. You will come face to face with who you truly are. A hunter. A predator. A killer through and through.”
“I’m not—” I coughed and cleared my throat from fiery whiskey. “I’m not going to kill her. Why the fuck would I kill something I want to play with?”
