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EVER
“Who will it be, Ever? Robbie or Eric?” Alistair’s voice is ice cold, slicing through the thick, musty air of the underground ritual chamber. I’m shivering, trembling, quaking. My skin is sticky with Stanley’s blood and Charlie’s cum dripping down my inner thighs. I press them together, wishing they would let me cover up, but I can’t because my clothes have been ripped to shreds by Ben. I never thought I’d feel so exposed, so raw. The metallic scent clings to me, a cruel reminder of everything that has happened. How did I get here?
“Ever?” Alistair prompts again, the gleam in his blue eyes sharp as the blade he’s holding out to me.
I can’t kill anyone. My mind’s screaming, but my voice is a hostage, buried deep inside. I glance at Robbie and then Eric, both restrained like animals for slaughter. My stomach twists into knots, and I want to puke, to scream, to run. But my feet are lead, and my voice is gone.
Damien moves, a dark shadow detaching itself from the wall. He has been noticeably absent from... everything and part of me wonders why. His eyes, those stormy grey pools, never leavemine as he takes the knife from Alistair. There’s no hesitation in his motion, no doubt in his grip. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and it scares the hell out of me.
“Ever.” Damien’s presence is intense and brooding, and right now, it’s all focused on me. His black hair seems to absorb the dim light, and his pale skin makes him look like some avenging angel—or maybe that should be the devil—sent to test me.
Damien’s hand, ice-cold and unshakeable, clasps mine. The knife, a sliver of light in this hellish dark, presses into my palm. “Decide,” he whispers, so close his breath is a ghost along my neck.
“Damien, I can’t.” The words tumble out, tripping over the sobs that want to follow. “This isn’t me. Please.”
His light grey eyes search mine. “You have to.”
“Please,” I beg again, shaking like a leaf in a storm. “I can’t have their blood on my hands.”
“Ever,” he insists, his voice low, “choose.”
Damien’s fingers wrap tighter around mine, unforgiving as steel cables. I try to wrench away, but he’s a force of nature, immovable. With his other hand at my back, avoiding the wounds, he guides me forward, closer to Robbie, who is being held by Charlie now while Ben has Eric, their eyes wide with terror.
“Stop,” I choke out. Sweat slicks my skin, and my heart hammers against my ribcage, fighting for release from this nightmare.
I stumble beside him, each step heavy with dread. The dank air of the chamber clings to my skin, thick with the scent of blood, sex and fear. Robbie’s muffled whimpers drill into my brain, a relentless reminder of what’s about to happen.
“Damien, please,” I gasp, trying one last time, even though I know it’s futile. My plea dissolves into the cold silence, unanswered.
We stop in front of Robbie, and I flinch as Damien positions my hand—knife in grip—above Robbie’s exposed neck. Charlie pulls Robbie’s head back, and Damien shoves the blade further into his skin. His hand over mine is paradoxically comforting despite the horror it brings; it promises control in a situation where I have none.
My hand trembles violently, but Damien’s steadies it. He moves my arm, guiding the blade with a precision that belies the chaos of our emotions. A flash of silver followed by a horrifying, wet gurgle as Robbie’s throat blooms open beneath the knife’s edge.
The sound punches the air from my lungs, a guttural cry that echoes off the stone walls. Robbie’s body jerks, his eyes locking onto mine, filled with a mix of fear and pain that will haunt me.
I want to scream, but the words won’t come. They’re trapped inside, just like I am in this moment of madness.
Charlie’s hands clamp down on Robbie’s shoulders, anchoring him to the spot. His hazel eyes are wild with a ferocity I’ve never seen in him before. My gaze is riveted to the horrific scene—Robbie’s body thrashing weakly, his blood a vivid scarlet against the stone floor.
“Watch the life drain from him,” Damien murmurs close to my ear, his grip iron-tight on my hand, still clutching the bloodied knife. I don’t want to look, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Robbie’s gasping mouth, the life fading from his eyes as if someone’s slowly turning off a light.
“Stop!” I scream, but it’s like I’m underwater; everything is muffled, distant. The room spins, and for a moment, I’m not here, not part of this grotesque scene. Then reality crashes back, and I’m drowning in it.
My stomach churns, bile rising up my throat. There is no holding back now. I double over, retching onto the cold floor. The tang of vomit mixes with the metallic scent of blood, andI know I’ll never forget this, never escape the memory of what we’ve done. Damien gathers my sweaty, tangled mess of hair and holds it gently as I unleash the contents of my stomach all over the floor next to Robbie’s dead body.
Through the haze of tears and bile, I see Ben move. He’s quiet, calculated. A cold wind in human form. His hand is steady as he takes Eric by the hair, tilting his head back.
“Please, no—“ Eric’s plea cuts through the thick silence, a last desperate cry. It’s the sound of pure terror, a rabbit caught in a snare.
“Shh,” Ben hushes him like he’s soothing a child, not about to end a life. There’s a swift movement, a wet sound, and then nothing. Eric’s scream is a half-formed thing strangled in his throat. It’s over before it really starts.
I can’t hold back another surge of nausea. My body convulses with dry heaves, with nothing left inside me but horror. The room is deadly silent except for the echo of my gagging.
Around me, the air is heavy, pressing down. We all stand frozen, the weight of our actions sinking into my bones like lead.
The coppery stench of blood mingles with the sour smell of vomit. It’s the scent of death, and it clings to us, an invisible shroud I’ll never shake off.
