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“Stop.” I kept my eyes squeezed tight against devil delusions and horrible hallucinations. “Stop touching me.”
“Please, Ily. It’s me—”
“Let me go.” My voice rose. “Let me go!”
“You know I can’t do that.” Tripping sideways, he looked at Peter. His tone switched from begging to bellowing. “What the fuck did you do to her?!”
Peter shrank away. He didn’t reply.
“Answer me!” Henri barked. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing is wrong with her.” Victor chuckled. “True fear can appear in a multitude of forms. She’s just catatonic, Henri. That’s all.”
“If that’s true, then snap out of it!” Henri tapped my cheek. “Come on.”
His fingers were daggers.
His chastisement vinegar and bleach on every open wound in my mind.
“I told you to let go of me!” I pushed him.
He swayed backward.
I dared make eye contact with him, and what stared back was a man stripped to his primal, feral core. “Ily…” His gaze welled with horror. “T-Tu as promis.” (Y-You promised.)
Promised.
I promised.
What did I promise?
“Strap her on the cross, Henri,” Victor commanded. “I’ve had enough of this. Give her something to truly fear.”
“Give me a minute—”
“No, you’ve had minutes. You’ve had fucking days. Time to bleed her, so I know you’re truly one of us.”
A tsunami of blood crashed over me. Metallic rust oozed down my throat. My skin sliced open, raining blood, rivering blood.
No—
It coated Henri’s hands.
His arms.
His body.
And his lips.
And when he smiled in my insanity, my mind reached the end of its limit.
Grabbing me again, Henri lifted me upright until my toes barely skimmed the carpet.
I completely lost myself.
“No,” I screamed.
“Leave me alone.” I kicked.
