Page 71 of Her Creation

As she finished the final tasks with her father’s body, she became acutely aware of how careful she needed to be with her language. Every word mattered when he obeyed her commands so literally.

She was now shaking with fatigue and exhaustion. She had struggled all day with doing everything herself—moving heavy buckets of chemicals from the dark tunnel, trying to move his body. She realized she would not be able to move him back into the chamber on her own. Innominatus had fought himself all day, his body going rigid when he would begin to help her, then would remember her instruction and freeze.

“Help me,” she finally said in defeat. She needed his help. His comfort. His presence. Him. Her last thread of exhausted grief threatened to wrap around her throat and suffocate her. She needed to get away from her father’s lifeless body as fast as possible.

Something cracked uncomfortably in her heart as he moved instantly, crossing to her without hesitation. Later, after they had placed her father back in the cold chamber, she climbed the stairs, desperate to escape the suffocating grief of the laboratory and collapse on the sofa of the great room, needing to look at anything other than death.

Halfway up, she realized Innominatus stood below, at the base of the stairs, watching her. She opened her mouth to tell him to come upstairs. To sit with her away from the dark and decay of the basement, but she knew she was too vulnerable and weak. She wouldn’t be able to keep herself from him if he were to come up to the main floor, far away from the basement, where it was too easy to forget why she could never choose him again.

“I’ll be back,” she said, voice thin. “You don’t have to stay like that, waiting for me. You’re free to do as you wish, as long as you remain in the laboratory.” The words came slowly, dragged from her by exhaustion. Her hands and legs shook as she struggled to force them to climb the steps, the wisps of hair in front of her eyes trembling as she moved.

Despite her words, when she reached the top of the stairs, she looked down to see him waiting at the bottom, as though he were ready to catch her if she fell.

Chapter 20

March,1803 Log entry

Recounting events 1773–1795 Location: Unknown

During the night, Innominatus had tried to sit still as he waited for her to arrive again. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t. Staying away from her and watching her leave became more painful every time she left, and it was growing unbearable. He tried to remain patient, but it hurt. Every time her eyes left his, it stung like a punishment. Did she not understand how hard it was for him to remain in the laboratory when he knew she was only boards and stone away?

It had begun to wear on him, the knife twisting slowly, as he realized that she might not ever let herself love him, because of what he was…what she had made him to be.

Innominatus was a patient man, and he would continue to be patient for her. He just had to give her a little more time with him, and she would stop fighting their connection, he knew it.

She liked it when he obeyed her, and he wanted to please her, to show her that he was not a problem. That, though he would never be worthy of her, there would never be another soul that adored her more than he did.

But he was bored, painfully so.

Over the last several weeks he’d managed to read every journal, notebook, and letter in the laboratory—he didn’t care for the medical books, but he read them too in the hopes of keeping his dark, obsessive mind from going where it shouldn’t. He liked her notes the most. He read them repeatedly, over and over, every time absorbing the smell of them, trying to weed out the lingering scent of sandalwood and rose that she sometimes smelled like. The thought of her holding the same book and looking at the same pages gave him a sad thrill. Some of the leather corners had begun to wear from how much he had read them, over and over, taking in Victoria’s words and feminine, curled handwriting. Sometimes, when he was especially lonely, he would pretend as if she were there talking to him, saying the words as he read them.

He’d run out of things to do between the few too-short times when he got to see her.

Victoria’s appearance at the bottom of the stairs with a plate of food three times a day was the only thing that gave him any excitement or hope. It certainly wasn’t the food, which was typically cold and sloppily thrown together like an afterthought—lately she’d stopped bringing breakfast or lunch. He hated feeling like she was forgetting about him, but it made the excitement all that much greater when he heard the door creak open at dinnertime when he got to see her again. She was like a star shining brightly in the night’s sky, a beacon of holy hope reminding him that he had been given a second chance at life…by her.

“You’ve rearranged everything—the tables? Those are hundreds of pounds,” Victoria guffawed.

“You said I could do anything as long as I remained in the lab?” He watched the muscles of her face, dissecting them to see if she was pleased or angry.

“You—you moved my tools?” she asked.

His ears clung to her words, examining every irritated syllable, not fully understanding why she was displeased. He would do anything to please her, anything. All she had to do was let him.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat, hating how desperate it sounded, but he had become a mess. Someone he didn’t recognize, in the aching, desperate pursuit of her returned affection. “It will be easier for you.” She didn’t look pleased. His adrenaline spiked. Had he disappointed her?

“How are they arranged?” she asked with a soft smile that instantly calmed him.

Quickly, he moved around to the table to show her, barely able to stop looking at her beautiful brown eyes long enough to focus on the table. How could she stand to fight this…this perfect bond that linked and pulled them together? He was dying, trying to fight it off and failing miserably.

“This table is for your tools only; this one is for your patient.” He pointed to the tables he had arranged near one another. “I’ve laid them out by watching which tools you reach for the most and replicating your movements for the greatest precision. The ones you are most comfortable with or use the most are closest to your reach, de-escalating in rank of importance and use. In your notes, you mention favoritism to several. Those are at the top.”

His ears strained to hear her breath. Faster by a fraction than a few minutes ago. It sounded like a seductive symphony against the daunting silence of the dark laboratory. He’d be thinking about the sound for the rest of the night and into tomorrow, where his imagination would take over and he would hear her panting, crying out for him. And he would pretend he were there, answering her pleas as he took his time, worshipping her body.

“What about these?” she asked as she moved to the area where the lancets and bistoury laid in perfect symmetry.

A chill ran over his body. He was hard at just the thought of being allowed to touch her body. He adjusted his trousers, wishing he had put his shirt on to cover his suddenly pounding, aching cock.

“I’ve laid these out by threat assessment,” he stated as he moved behind a stack of books. Something in his chest fluttered lightly when she laughed at his words. Despite his best efforts, his eyes flicked closed as he savored the sound for a second before opening them again. “The sharpest, most dangerous blades are closest to where I always stand and watch. The probing tools are farthest away, and the suturing tools are in the center. I based it on which tools can heal and which can kill.”