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Animal. No, not all sound. I can hear my blood rushing through me, an unsettling reminder that I’m alive when just under this floor, someone isn’t.
Criminal. I can feel saliva pooling in my mouth, the nausea in my stomach rising like a tide.
I’m a monster. Darkness presses on the edges of my vision, and I feel faint.
Breathe, Claire, or else you’re going to have a panic attack right in front of him.
I roll out of bed just as suddenly as I’d flung myself at him and face away, suddenly embarrassed, as I shimmy into my clothes. I can feel his eyes on me, see him pushing himself up to sitting. As much as I usually relish his attention, right now it feels like just another thing trying to grind my ribcage into dust.
“Claire.” His voice is gentle as he calls to me, but I can’t bear to try and decipher what he’s aiming to do with it. Is he trying to comfort me for the murder we just committed or is he feeling guilty about the fact that we just fucked like animals in the blood of our victim? Nothing about what we did was gentle or sensual or loving—it was raw and needy, desperate, and sick.
We’re sick… both of us.
And I need air.
“I’ll go back to the house first.” I say, freeing my hair out from under the neck of my shirt as I face him, fully clothed. It takes every bit of energy I have to sound normal. “I don’t want Rhea to see us together and ask what we’ve been up to.”
He says nothing, but I can feel Remy’s dark eyes appraising me, but I can’t bear to look at him. Without waiting for anything else, I turn and walk out the door, still leaving him there in the bed with one thin, blood-streaked sheet covering the naked lower half of him.
I stumble out of the room, bracing myself with a hand on the wall as soon as I’m out of sight so that I don’t trip over my own feet, which suddenly feel heavy. Everything feels heavy, now.
Our physical relationship had been progressing to that point, but now that we’ve done it, regret fills my stomach, flooding my veins. It isn’t regret for sleeping with him, though. Even though it was chaotic and unhinged, it was also glorious… a heady, erotic, wild high that I never could have anticipated.
But the events preceding it? Killing someone is bad enough, but then doing what we did with his blood still on our hands?
There are no words for that level of depravity.
I’d cast a glance at myself in the mirror before I dressed and wiped my hands of the blood that covered them, but Remy had said it would leave a stain on my soul. In the moment, I hadn’t really considered exactly what he meant, but I can feel it now settling over me: a darkness so thick, so endless that it’s trying to smother me.
As I walk out of the guest house, I think I hear him call out to me again. But whatever it is, his words are lost in the howling wind of another storm brewing. The treetops rustle, and rain begins to fall in fat drops from the night sky overhead. I want to stand in the storm and let it pummel my flesh on the off chance that it can purge me and cleanse my soul. But I have to get cleaned up before anybody finds me and starts asking questions.
Once I’m out of the guest house, I can breathe again, the faintness falling away with each step I take until I’m practically running back to the main house. I cross the distance quickly with my head down and open the front door before thrusting my hands in my pockets, all too aware of the way they itch with the thin layer of blood that has dried over them. I take the steps two at a time and walk as fast as my short legs will allow, holding my breath all the while as I repeat a silent prayer that Rhea is fast asleep. If she finds me, how will I explain this to her? Dimitri or Elaine may know about Remy’s dark dealings, but I’m sure that Rhea hasn’t got a clue what her family really does. If she did, she…
I don’t know what she would have done… what she’d do. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this knowledge, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t kill for revenge.
I have no idea what time it is, but the house is dark and quiet.
Please, please, please be asleep.
I’ve always had my doubts about whether any sort of God can exist while such cruelty is allowed to take place and demons run the world, unchecked. If there is a God, I doubt that he’ll be answering any of my prayers after what I just did.
No, there may not be such a thing as divine justice. Maybe it’s up to those of us down here who have been wronged to tip the scales, to stop the string of violence before it can continue. Maybe there is a need for vigilante justice, angels of vengeance.
Maybe that’s what Remy is.
Whether because my prayers are answered or I have a single stroke of dumb luck, I make it to my room without incident and lock the door behind me before letting out all of the breath that I’ve been holding hostage in my chest. My heart feels like it’s been replaced by a brick of coal, shriveled and dark and not even pounding despite my cascading emotions and the fear of what I’ve done, of who I’ve become.
I carefully avoid catching my reflection in the mirror this time as I hurry to the bathroom and flick the light on for disappointment to flood me.
Shit.
I forgot my bathroom only has a deep soaker tub with elegant taps, the epitome of luxury and relaxation. It’s a place I’m sure you could think of some of your greatest ideas, not a place you’d want to be stuck when you’re questioning your existence because you just stole someone’s last breath. The shower is across the hall and there’s no way I’m taking a bath. It’s apparently a quick jump from prey to predator, but I’m not so far gone to consider bathing in the blood of my enemies.
I need to scrub it out from under my fingernails, to get it all off of me and ensure it disappears down the drain. I set about grabbing some clothes and then pause at the door to see if any noise comes from the hall. Nothing moves outside my door—the only sound I hear is my jagged breath, which still hasn’t evened out. I throw the door open and dart across the empty hall with my heart in my throat.
Rhea is probably fast asleep, but what about Elaine? Or Remy?
I lock the door behind me before even flipping the light on and take a moment to lean against it. I’ve feared the dark for so long, but now I’m afraid of what I’ll see in the mirror when I flip the switch. I’m not sure it could be worse than what I’m seeing in my mind’s eye, which is my fingers curling around the blade that Remy held out for me, Eric’s dark eyes widening in realization and fear, his warm blood gushing over my skin. The older memories of his breath on my neck, his stench permeating the small room that was supposed to be my safe place, his rough hands against my soft skin.
