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Rubbing a trembling hand over my forehead, I allowed Vespyr to hook her arm in mine and lift me to my feet. “What happened?” I asked, a woozy sensation claiming my balance.
“I don’t know. You were standing next to me and the boy earlier. Then I looked over, and you were gone. I heard you screaming.” She handed me Jericho’s blade, which still carried the blood from the demon dog I’d killed. “You dropped this.”
The boy waited in the hallway, holding up the lantern, and with Vespyr’s help, I hobbled along with them, as the three of us hurried down the staircase and out the front door.
Once again, we found ourselves in the corridor. I turned to see 519 on the door and shook my head. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
57
JERICHO
“There’s another door up ahead,” I said over my shoulder.
“How lovely.” With his sword resting at his shoulder, Vaszhago trailed behind in a bored and casual stroll. We’d walked for what seemed like an hour, through nothing but a long dark stretch of gray concrete, not finding another door until then.
Pushing through it, I found myself staring up at the house Farryn lived in as a child. A simple, white two-story, with a dilapidated brown fence around its perimeter. “Her old home.”
“Quaint.”
We strode up to the door, and I stepped inside, scanning the interior. Drops of water from the ceiling drew my attention to where a wet spot, the size of a carriage wheel, created a bow in the plaster. I took the stairs to the upper level, and at the bathroom door, opened it enough to see the tub faucet running and water spilled all over the tiles. Water splashed around my boots as I crossed the room and turned the knobs off, noticing the full, but vacant, tub.
Frowning, Vaszhago stood at the door. “I’ll check the lower level.”
“I’ll take the bedrooms.”
When he walked off, I exited the bathroom and made my way down to the room at the end of the hallway, one I’d grown intimately familiar with. Farryn’s old room. When I arrived at the door, I could hear quiet moans bleeding through the panels.
Goaded by the same fury as before, when I saw my father fucking Lustina, I slammed through the door and found Farryn alone. Young. Perhaps seventeen, or eighteen. She wore the uniform she had always worn to school–cropped skirt and white button-down shirt. The hem of her skirt had been hiked high enough that I could see she wasn’t wearing panties, and wedged between her thighs was a pillow, over which she rocked back and forth. Her soft moans sent a chill over my skin, and I snapped my gaze away, backing myself out of her room.
“Wait,” she said, and I paused, my hand still on the knob. I couldn’t deny the way my palms burned with the urge to touch her.
My Farryn.
“You don’t want to watch me?”
“You are young.”
“You always watched me. Why do you think I would touch myself? I knew you were there. Watching me. Wanting me.”
Gods, had she known what vile thing I’d wanted from her back then, it would’ve terrified her. Not because she was young, but because she was mine and I was impatient to have her. I’d waited centuries for her, and yet, the years of waiting for her to reach what humans would’ve considered an acceptable age to be taken that way had felt like an eternity to me.
From her Nightstand, she lifted a sketch that bore a likeness to me. “I stole this from my father’s office. Do you want to know what I thought about when I shoved that pillow between my thighs?” She pressed the drawing to her chest, where a few of her buttons were unclasped. “I thought of you. Pinning me face down in my bed. Tearing my panties away. Fucking me until I couldn’t remember my own name.” Sucking a lip between her teeth, she peered at me through those wily, flirtatious eyes that made me want to throw her down and feast.
My muscles burned with the urge to carry out those very steps. I lifted my hands, which trembled with the intense restraint pulsing through me. Black covered my fingertips, crawling down my hands toward my wrists.
She took my hand and wrapped her lips around one of my blackened fingers, working it in and out of her mouth.
“Farryn …” My voice held a pathetic warning as I pulled my hand away. A black haze moved in on the fringes of my view. The more she talked, the more I risked snapping.
“Will you fuck me, Jericho? So I’ll know what you feel like inside of me?” Hand at her thigh, she lifted her skirt. Higher. Higher.
“Lower level is clear,” Vaszhago said, the sound of his steps telling me he was trudging back up the staircase.
My gaze remained locked on those thighs. Those familiar thighs I’d felt shaking around me, as she clung to me during climax. Every cell in my body quaked, my muscles begging me to throw her onto the bed.
“Whoa. ‘The fuck is going on?” A hard whack to my arm broke me out of the trance I’d fallen into, and when I turned around to swat Vaszhago for laying a hand on me, something beyond him caught my attention. A bony creature with decayed skin, red eyes, and long limbs.
Mortunath.
