Page 226 of Coal Hearts

Gone was our pantomime.

Our script in cinders all over the floor.

“I told myself those thoughts were wrong. I pretended that the moment I noticed you, something didn’t crack inside me.” He laughed under his breath. “I lied.”

His eyes never released mine as he placed the item Victor had given him on the table beside us. His gaze no longer shimmered with righteous silver but turned a flat sterling of corruption.

Rocking back on his heels, he tested the hooks holding my golden collar and cuffs before nudging my ankles with his bare toes, ensuring the buckles he’d bound me with held.

Only once he was satisfied I was well and truly at his mercy did he drop the final pretence and give in. With steady hands, he grabbed the neckline of my negligée, then sliced it with his knife. Fisting the shredded lace, he yanked.

Hard.

The rip of it tearing in half matched the ripping in my heart.

Fresh tears stung.

Zebras brayed.

Wolves barked.

Every inch of me trembled as Henri shoved aside the scraps of my ruined lingerie, baring my nakedness to a thousand dead eyes, one slave, and a monstrous ringleader.

But none of them mattered as Henri dropped his stare to my breasts and devoured me by sight alone.

“Fuck, you’re stunning.” He palmed me, fisting delicate flesh ever so cruelly. “Ripe and young, pure and brave.”

Tears welled hotter, wetter.

I didn’t let them fall.

Not for him.

Not for death whispering in my ears or terror fisting my crazy-winged heart.

“You’ll sob for me before the night is through,” Henri breathed as he pressed the tip of his knife against my neck. “You’ll bleed for me every night. And fuck, that turns me on.”

“Die now...before it’s too late,” a swan crooned.

“Choose to drift away where he can’t hurt you,” a sparrow chirped.

“Use the pipette dropper I gave you, mon ami,” Victor said as he settled back into his peacock chair for the show. “Count each droplet you draw from her. One hundred and two, don’t forget. That’s about five millilitres, give or take.”

Five mil?

Practically nothing.

Barely anything.

Yet...it’s everything.

My blood.

My lifeforce.

Mine.

Not his.