“Are you a foe, Mrs. Cecilia Delacroix?”
I speak against his lips. “Come with me, Darian.”
He slams his mouth to mine, kissing and nibbling, feasting on me like I’m the sun in his galaxy, and then he breaks the kiss, tearing his mouth away like it hurts him. “Where?”
Away from here. Away from this cellar. Away from the ghost of my father’s legacy.
“Anywhere. I’ll go anywhere with you.”
Questions flicker in his eyes, but then he nods, entwines our fingers, and walks ahead, leading me out of the room.
Look at me, Darian. Don’t look at the cell.
I’m here.Your nightmares aren’t real.
He turns and walks backward to the exit. The torch burns lower then, and the fading light flickers across his face.
My skin tingles where our fingers connect, and I trap my lip between my teeth as he reaches for my other hand. But good things never last, not in our godless world, yet for a brief moment, as Darian’s coarse, warm palm glides over mine, I let myself believe in the burning devotion in my husband’s eyes.
Perhaps we could burn bright in a dark world. Maybe I could be the flame to his darkness and spark of hope in his nightmares. Maybe I can be the reason he finds his way back from the night.
I’m torn from my thoughts when the door slams open with a loud bang to reveal a large, burly man dressed in black, with his face covered in a hawk mask and a crossbow in his hand. He barges into the room and aims the weapon directly at Darian’s back, then fires a shot just as I let out a scream.
Darian collapses to his knees, a pained groan filling the room while the bow protrudes between his shoulder blades. The intruder quickly moves around him to reach me.
Panic floods my body, and I run in the opposite direction, but he’s quicker and catches me by the hair. Terror claws at my clammy skin as I fight with everything I have to escape his stronggrip, but it feels like fighting a brick wall. I know I don’t stand a chance, yet I refuse to let him take me.
More masked men in black enter the room, quietly and methodically, as though this attack has been planned for some time. They haul Darian away, who barely struggles, while I cry and beg and squirm in my assailant’s hold like a worm on a hook.
Once the men disappear down the hall with Darian in tow, Lauren enters the room, having changed into a black top and a leather skirt.
As she nears, I spit in her direction. “You fucking planned this.”
I should have seen this coming a mile away. She warned me the Antichrist would be there tonight, and she told me they would come for us sooner or later, but I didn’t take her seriously.
“You should show me gratitude,” she says, grabbing my chin and inspecting my face while I pant hard through my nose, struggling against the constricting arms around me. “I could have left you here, imprisoned, but I’m a better friend than that, and you deserve more.”
I jut my chin, trying to free myself of the sharp grip her nails have on my chin.
If my arms weren’t trapped by the behemoth of a man behind me, I would punch her in the face. “Darian’s hurt,” I point out, and she raises a brow, a smirk playing on her lips, as if she finds my worry amusing. “He needs hospital treatment.”
“He’s an Elder, Cecilia, a disgusting pig, but you can’t see that because you’ve been compromised and forgotten what we’re fighting for.” She inspects her nails and then lifts her gaze. “You opened your legs to that monster and disrespected everything we’ve fought for. All the people who’ve died fighting the Exodus. Why? So you could be that pig’s whore?”
How dare she speak to me like that? She knowsnothing.A blast of fury heats my cheeks. I spit at her again. At least it gives me a smidgeon of satisfaction to see her eyes flare with anger right before she backhands me so hard, the sharp sound bounces off the cellar walls.
Breathing harshly, I try to control the maelstrom of emotions pressing on my sternum—an agonizing mixture of fear, rage, and betrayal. They’ll kill Darian or use him for leverage against the Exodus.
“I know you’re not in the right frame of mind,” she says with a heavy breath. “So I’ll forgive you this time.”
She turns over her shoulder, calling out for someone, then smirks at me as another man enters, carrying a cloth and a brown bottle of liquid.
As he hands it to Lauren, my eyes widen. “Chloroform?”
She shrugs and pours some onto the cloth. “We can’t risk you screaming the place down. It’s better this way.”
“No, no, no,” I cry, struggling in the man’s firm grip. “Please don’t do this.”
“We’re not going to hurt you,” she replies, reaching for me.
