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My steps grew heavy as I approached the cottage, the voice inside my head nothing but echoing laughter that wouldn’t stop. I hated that voice and had tried so many times to silence it, with no fucking luck.
Movement caught my eye just to the left-hand side of the cottage, where a little stone footpath led down towards the boathouse. The trees rustled, but it could have been the wind. Still, I narrowed my eyes towards the darkness, searching for a pair of tall, spindly antlers. There was nothing but shadows, as far as I could tell.
The smart thing to do was to leave it be and forget the skinwalker I’d encountered in those trees. He hadn’t spoken, but there was no doubt in my mind that he’d been intelligent, and it was because of him that I now knew Cyn and Cilas’ little secret. I still needed to find them and demand answers, but they’d been suspiciously absent when I got back to the house.
Ignoring the urge to go into the trees in search of Creature, I took a deep breath in and approached the front door of the cottage. The door was unlocked, so I let myself in. A gust of dusty air blew my hair back as I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. It was dark, save for the patches of the setting sun peeking in through the windows, casting ominous shadows along the walls.
It was the same as I remembered—just an outdated cottage, with old wooden flooring, dusty couches, a bearskin rug, and animal busts hanging on the walls. Henry, the old groundskeeper, had been an avid hunter, and had even taken my dad out with him a few times to track some hogs. Their taxidermied beady black eyes watched me as I crept through the living room.
The last time I’d seen the inside of this cottage, I was eighteen years old, sneaking into Peter’s room, while Henry was passed out in front of the TV with a beer in his hand. I’d done it a million times, and I was pretty sure Henry had never suspected a thing was going on between his twenty-something son and his employer’s teenage daughter.
I took my time exploring the cottage, noting the crumbling ceiling, the torn wallpaper, and an odd stain on the floor that looked suspiciously like blood. I thought back to what Kaz had confessed last night and shivered at the mental image. Had he been telling the truth? For ten years, I had been under the impression that Peter shot himself like a fucking coward instead of facing what he’d done to my family. That was the story every news outlet in the country went with, and that was what the detectives had told me.
Did they all lie to me? Why? What was the harm in telling me exactly how it’d happened? If it was to spare me the gory details, then they were all idiots. I’d always thought that he’d gotten away too cleanly for my liking, and if he hadn’t killed himself, I would have returned to finish the job for him.
Standing in the long hallway at the back of the cottage, I stared at the closed door to his bedroom. How many times had I crossed that threshold, giggling and starry-eyed, having absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into?
Regret was so fucking heavy in my chest as I pushed open the bedroom door, letting wave after wave of memories wash over me. That last night was burned into my brain like a fucking brand…
* * *
I stumbled to a stop,catching myself on the doorframe of Peter’s bedroom, giggling as I covered my mouth with my hand. Henry was asleep on the couch, but I was shocked he hadn’t woken up at the sound of my clumsy footsteps as I clicked through the house on my sky-high heels.
Prom night was everything I’d hoped it would be and more, and even better was that I got to spend it in a dress I’d saved up for for months, working at the local bookshop in town. It was long, white, and gauzy, and it swished around my ankles, reminding me of a bridal gown. My long pale hair was in loose curls around my shoulders, and I’d fixed my meticulously painted on makeup in the backseat of the car before I was dropped off—that way, my boyfriend could see the full effect.
I was bummed out that he couldn’t go to prom on my arm, but people in town would most definitely frown at a thirty-year-old man escorting around a high school senior. Except I was eighteen, so I didn’t see what the big fucking deal was. I was old enough to make decisions for myself, and if I wanted to be with Peter, then I would and they’d all just have to accept that. He always told me how mature I was for my age, and he was right—I was an old soul, even according to my mom.
I knocked on Peter’s bedroom door, still giggling, and it swung open before the second knock, surprising me enough that I stumbled backwards on heels that I wasn't used to wearing. I thought I was going to crash into the wall, but Peter caught my wrist just in time, hauling me forward.
“Get the fuck in here…” he hissed at me, yanking on my wrist so hard that I stumbled forward into his dark room that smelled like weed. “Fucking shit, Iris. You’re gonna wake up the old man.”
My wrist burned where his fingers gripped it, and I knew it was going to leave a bruise—one of many I was sporting these days. Peter had some issues with PTSD ever since getting back from overseas, so I tried not to hold it against him. Sometimes, I just said the wrong thing or moved too quickly, and it triggered something inside of him. I needed to start being more mindful of his triggers, because it wasn’t fair to him. I knew how guilty he felt every time he hit me by accident, or when he couldn’t help but scream and yell. I apologized for my behavior until I was blue in the face, but I still felt like shit for it.
“Take off those damn hooker shoes, would ya?” he grumbled, locking the door behind him. He shoved me towards his bed, and once again, I lost my footing and stumbled. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling you for four hours.”
He was looming over me, tall and broad, with his blue eyes shot through with red veins as if he’d stayed up for hours on end without sleep. His drinking was getting worse, I knew that, but I hadn’t realized it was this bad already. There were dark purple bags under his eyes, and his normally tanned skin was pale and gaunt.
“Pete, you know where I was. I told you like a million times that I was going to prom.” Not that he ever really listened to me when I talked about school or my art or anything I was interested in, outside of sex.
His eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared in rage. “I told you not to go to that damn party, but you went anyway, didn’t you? You little fucking slut, whoring around with your little friends in those skimpy dresses for all your boyfriends to cum in their pants for.” Looking me up and down, his eyes burned with disgust.
Tears were already welling in my eyes. I shook my head frantically. “I told you I had to go, Pete. I’m on the committee, I had to be there. And Mags won prom queen this year, isn’t that great?” I crawled backwards in the bed, my heart racing as I fought the urge to vomit the four cups of spiked punch all over the place. I softened my voice as much as I could. “Baby, I wore this dress for you… I wanted you to see me like this. Like a woman…”
“Yeah you look like a fucking woman,” he spat as he reached for me, crawling up and over me until his knees pinned my arms to the mattress. “You probably let all those boys take turns fucking you, right?” My breathing turned ragged as his fingers gripped the front of my throat, squeezing just enough to be a very real threat. “You want me to show you what a real man feels like, sweetheart? I’ll fuck this tight little ass until you bleed, whore.”
“Peter, stop! You don’t know what you’re saying—” The words were almost all the way out, but before I could beg some more, his fist came down on my face.
My head whipped to the side, and I saw stars, my vision blurring as bile crept up my throat. I tried to wiggle free, but he was so much heavier and stronger than I was, and he held me down easily. My arms were already going numb beneath his knees, so scratching at him wouldn’t do a damn thing.
He grabbed my chin, squeezing his fingers tight enough to bruise my face, forcing me to look into his eyes as he leaned down close. I could smell the liquor on his hot breath. “Don’t you ever tell me what to do, bitch. I’ve put up with your bratty ass for too damn long, and this is what I get? I fuck you like a queen, girl. I deserve some fucking respect!”
I nodded my head again frantically. “I’ll do whatever you want baby, I swear it. Just let go, and it’ll be okay. We can forget all of this.” I was just trying to appease him enough to let me go, because the moment I was free, I was getting out of here and going straight to Dad. He’d know what to do. He was friends with a cop in town, and they’d deal with Peter.
Before I knew what was happening, Peter’s mouth was slamming into mine in a violent, painful kiss. His teeth knocked against mine with an audible clack. His breath tasted the way it smelled, and another bout of nausea rolled through me.
When his lips tore away from mine, I tried to scream, but it was cut off by his hand covering my mouth as he fumbled with his belt. “I said shut the fuck up…” His words were slurred through his gritted teeth. “I’m gonna fuck you raw before I wring this pretty neck. Yer gonna think twice before fuckin’ around on me.” The promises were in his eyes as well as his words. I knew without a doubt that Peter was going to kill me tonight.
Panic ruled my every thought as I did the only thing I could think of and slammed my knee upwards, connecting as hard as I could with his balls. He let out a curse, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he recoiled. I used his surprise to shove him off of me, and being the drunken mess that he was, he rolled right off the bed, thumping loudly to the floor.
