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He doesn't move. If anything, his shoulders get stiffer, and his fingers clench against the floor. The maddening screech of claws against marble ends.
I take that as an encouraging sign. I take a few more slow, deliberate steps forward, talking the entire time. "It's just waffles today, but you like those, right? I got home late last night so there wasn't a lot of time to do anything elaborate. If you like, though, I can make you something better tonight to bring in tomorrow. You just have to tell me what you prefer." I keep my voice soft and even, speaking slowly as I take even slower steps forward. "Did you eat breakfast or were you waiting for me to arrive?"
I'm practically at his side at this point, and he hasn't moved. Encouraging. Whatever is bothering him, he doesn't want to hurt me. That's a good sign. A great sign, actually. I'm so relieved that it makes me want to rush forward, but I continue taking mincing, small steps as I shuffle my way toward him, my actions deliberate. A sudden movement might be his death or mine, and I'm acutely aware of that.
I go to stand in front of Victor, and study him with confusion. His gaze is downcast, his big body trembling slightly. His mouth is covered in froth, strings of drool hanging from his mouth. His muscles are hunched, as if he's…bracing himself? Is he fighting something in his head? I don't get it—all I know is that something is wrong. "Victor," I breathe. "I'm here."
He looks up at me, and our eyes meet.
Victor's eyes are completely flooded with red.
11
BEE
I gasp at the sight of his eyes.
They're blood red, the sclera a dark and angry scarlet. Back when I first started this job, I'd been told that Victor's eyes—Crulden's eyes—would flood with red when he went berserk. I'd almost forgotten about that tidbit, because he's been more or less calm around me. Moody, yes, but never violent. He looks terrifying like this, his eyes full of danger and madness. I fight back the surge of terror I feel because he doesn't look like Victor in this moment. He looks like the monster they want him to be.
And I know that's simply not true. He wants to be better. He doesn't want to attack…because we have a deal. He's going to play along with all of this…and I'm going to kiss him. I know Victor well enough at this point to know that he wants that kiss. He hasn't said as much, but it's been obvious in the way he watches me, in the way he obsesses over my scent, over when Riffin touches me.
He wanted that kiss more than escaping.
Which is why this sudden madness doesn't make sense. What—or who—is pushing him toward berserking? Towards losing the control he's been so careful to keep for this last while, all for the promise of a kiss from someone like me? "Victor," I say softly as those blood-filled eyes lock onto me. "Am I in danger right now, being in here with you?"
He pants, hard. But that's all he does. His fingers dig into the floor again, desperately clawing at the tile.
"I'm going to take that as a no." I pitch my voice low, as if we're sharing secrets. "But you need to talk to me if you can, Victor. Let me help you."
Victor's nostrils flare and his tail lashes. His entire posture is one of danger and I worry that the guards are going to get trigger happy and make matters worse.
So I decide to be a little daring. "Let me help you," I say again, and lift my hands slowly towards his face. His eyes are wild and his mouth slack. A string of drool hangs from one terrifying-looking tusk, but he doesn't look fearsome to me. My heart is squeezing with sympathy instead, because I want to help him. He's obviously distressed. "I'm not leaving you. I'm going to stay at your side and we're going to figure this out, because we're friends." I lift my hands toward his cheeks and move to cup them. "And because we have a deal—"
The moment my skin comes in contact with his, a rush of painful, snapping electricity crashes through me. I cry out as a torrent of pain flares from his body into mine. It feels as if a brick wall slams into me as I go crashing backward.
"Get her out of there," someone shouts. "Light him up!"
Oh no. No, no that's not what I wanted at all. Dizzy, I try to sit up. Everything in my body feels as if it's been pounded to dust. There's a smell of something singed, which I suspect is me. My ears are ringing and the shouts of the guards sound very far away. Rough hands grab my arms, hauling me upright. My head feels like it's full of slush as I get to my feet, but my legs don't feel strong enough to hold me. What—
