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Shit.

The Lysanthimum.

“They made a paste?” My lips tingled, and my tongue felt too thick for my mouth.

Shit shit shit shit.

Without another word, I wiped my forehead with my sleeve to remove as much of the paste as I could, whipped Grace off her feet and carried her, kicking and screaming, stumbling for the nearby creek.

When I reached it, the waves looked like thick, coiling serpents and I almost stopped, but I shook my head, closed my eyes, and plowed forward, plunging us both into the cold water—it was shocking.

But the shock helped.

I let Grace go enough to steady herself on the creek bed, and I ducked my face under, scrubbing at the skin of my forehead and back of my hand, then grabbed her robes as she flailed and tried to crawl for the bank.

“I’ve got you. Just breathe. I’ve got you—I’m going to wash you. We have to get all this shit off, Grace. It’s making you hallucinate.”

But when I’d cleaned off her face and throat and hands, she was still flailing—though more weakly now.

It wasn’t until I lifted her robes and found the handprints and smears all over her body that I wanted to roar.

It took short moments to wash all that blasted paste off, and by the end, Grace lay in the shadows on her back, her hands shaking, barely batting at my shoulders. But she’d stopped screaming.

When I was certain there was no more of that shit left on her, I covered her body with the sopping wet robe—I wouldn’t leave her naked, not with the Cruors out in the night—then braced myself over her, taking her chin in my hand and turning her head to make her look me in the eye.

“Grace… Grace! Breathe. The more you breathe, the faster it will pass out of your system. It’s me, Voski. I’m here. I’ve got you. I won you, beautiful. You’re safe. I promise. You’re safe.”

I don’t know how long we lay there. Don’t know how many minutes it was before she blinked and her eyes started to focus.

But at some point, she locked in. She stopped babbling. And her feeble struggles turned to gripping my wet leathers.

And then her eyes welled.

“Voski?”

Oh, thank you, God. I nodded and stroked her face over and over. “It’s me. It’s me.”

Her forehead lined, then her face crumpled, and she threw her arms around me.

With a whispered prayer, I lifted her up and carried her out of the water, to the base of a tree on the other side of the creek and sat down with her curled into my lap and just held her.

I have you. I have you. You’re safe. We’re safe. I’m here… I have you. And I’m never letting you go.

It took minutes to remember she couldn’t hear me—and I wasn’t hearing her. So, I started speaking. Whispering. Kissing her cheek, stroking her hair, and repeating the words over and over in a murmur. Praying I sounded soothing, rather than the frantic fear I felt. And rage. Because as she began to babble about what she remembered, begging me to believe that she hadn’t let anyone touch her, that she’d been confused and blind and her body was handled without her permission, I just held her and shook my head.

“I love you, Grace. I’m here. None of this is your fault. It’s mine. I brought us here, and I got it wrong. I’m sorry. I got it so wrong. We should have left. I should have taken you. I should have asked—begged for help. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

I don’t know if she fainted, or was just so exhausted by the drugging that she collapsed into sleep. But at some point her head lolled on my shoulder and I was left sitting there, gripping her to me, trembling.

Breckon’s body still sprawled on the other side of the creek. I wanted to put her down and go destroy what was left of him. Cut his throat open and shit in it. I wanted to return to the circle and grasp the power and murder every last one of them.

And I pleaded for mercy. Because it was all so dark. And it was inside me.

Hate.

Rage.

Vengeance.