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Chapter 1
How fitting is it that the old Ellen Winthorp meets her grisly end in a madman’s lair, surrounded by scarlet? In a mocking array, the color paints the walls, accents, and every bit of furnishing. Red is all I see—like fire, consuming the remnants of my soul.
Curled on the floor, clutching my hand to my chest, I choke back a scream as the weight of my injury registers throughout my body.Fire, pinching, aching, throbbing…But, of all the emotions to feel…relief shouldn’t be one of them.
“Ellen?”
A calloused palm grazes my cheek, jarring me from my thoughts. I blink, surprised to find my eyes are overflowing. The moisture blurs my vision, obscuring the figure crouched before me. Vanya.
“Let me see it,” he commands. “Give me your hand!”
I can’t silence a groan when he pries my arm from my side. Even the slightest touch triggers an avalanche of throbbing pain. Instinct warns me not to look down at the source: my left hand. Snippets of memory sneak into my thoughts anyway like a mocking slideshow. Blood. Bone. A sawing blade…
What the hell have I done?
“Jesus Christ!” Vanya recoils from me, his face pale. “Don’t move!” He scrambles to his feet and returns a moment later, juggling an armful of supplies. Standing over me, he bites his lip, eyeing the puddle of blood spreading across the carpet. “Mischa… He didn’t—”
“No.” I shake my head. I’m not trying to spare Mischa further judgment, either. I need to hear it said out loud. “I… I did it to myself.”
“Why? What the hell were you thinking?” He grits his teeth, but a relieved sigh robs his voice of any true anger. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I need to stop the bleeding.”
He sinks to his knees and presses a wad of cloth against my hand. I’m only vaguely aware of what he’s really doing: staunching the bleeding from the grotesque stump where my ring finger used to reside.
A strangled laugh rips from me before I can help it. What a shame that Robert never gave me a ring—severing all ties to him would be a lot less dramatic in that case.
“Stay with me,” Vanya warns, his voice gruff with concern. After a few seconds of pressure, he withdraws the bloodied cloth and wets it with liquid from a brown bottle. “I’ll have to stitch it shut or it will continue to bleed. This will hurt like a son of a bitch.”
I wince as he reapplies the cloth, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the chaos raging in my psyche. Twenty-three years of my soul have been sliced away without a second thought, and I don’t know who’s left behind—or what she wants.
Pain?
Torment?
Or, dare I even think…Mischa?
“Keep this covered,” Vanya warns.
I glance down and find that he’s wrapped my entire hand in gauze. Regardless, scarlet seeps through in vain.
“Damn it!” He fumbles to grab a small vial from his scattered supplies. “Here, hold on—” After priming a needle with the clear liquid from the vial, he injects it into my arm. The brief sting barely registers as a wave of dizziness washes over me, smothering the pain. “Now, stay here.” Almost in afterthought, he mutters, “I need to find Mischa.”
With that, he gathers his supplies and leaves.
Despite his warning, vanity wins out over exhaustion. I need to see…
Biting back a cry, I stand, holding my left arm awkwardly at my side. My knees feel like jelly and the room spins as I stagger to find my balance. In the end, I have to cling to the wall and make my way step by step into the bathroom. There, in the mirror, I find a stranger.
Her blue eyes are familiar. Briar? Ellen? Marnie? But no. Her cold, empty expression is the handiwork of only one creature. Mischa. He’s claimed this new, untouched part of me. He’s even given her a name.
Little Rose.
* * *
He doesn’t let me sleep. The moment I drag my battered body to the mattress and attempt to lower my head, the door flies open and my tormentor invades. I open my eyes to track his predatory advance across the room. He’s dressed in black now, a color-choice which just so happens to disguise any blood.
But at least he’s whole. Both of his hands are intact, gesturing sharply as he speaks to someone behind him.
“…I went to him,” he growls. “The asshole wouldn’t dare attack me directly—”
