Page 69 of Incoronate
But underneath all the relief and worry and noise they were making with their fear, another rhythm pressed against the edges of my awareness. A heartbeat.
Steady. Insistent.Notmine.
The Son of Perdition’s heartbeat.
It pulsed somewhere out there in the dark. Closer than before. So much closer. I could feel him like a beacon, pulling at something deep in my chest that had nothing to do with the two men standing over me. His presence droned at the edges of my awareness like a frequency only I could hear.
I noted it. Filed it away. Then buried it somewhere they couldn’t reach through our connections.
“Are you okay?” Trace’s voice was rough. Scraped completely raw. His thumb brushed across the inside of my wrist, away from the cuts that the handcuffs had carved into my skin.
I nodded again.
Dominic’s hand moved from my face to my hair, pushing more of the matted strands away from my forehead. “You need blood. You’ve lost too much.”
I shook my head.
“Angel—”
“Bathroom.” The word came out flat. Empty. My first words since coming back, and they sounded foreign to me. Detached. Like they belonged to someone else entirely. “I need to use the bathroom.”
They exchanged a look. I could feel their hesitation bleeding through the bonds. The nervous energy that hadn’t quite fully dissipated. But underneath it was something else. The belief that the worst had passed. That I was back. That everything was going to be okay now.
They were right about that.
Dominic reached into his pocket and produced a small silver key. He leaned over me again, his movements careful and deliberate as he unlocked the first cuff. The metal fell away with a soft click. Then the second. The chains followed, sliding free with a whisper of sound.
I sat up slowly. Methodically. My hands moved to my wrists, fingers ghosting over the torn skin where the restraints had cut deep. The wounds were still wet with blood, edges swollen and angry. They should have hurt more than they did.
I should have winced. Should have reacted, but I didn’t.
I just stared at them for a moment, taking inventory of the damage with the same detached interest I might have given a stranger’s injury, before sliding off the bed. My legs held beneath me. Stronger than they had any right to be after what I’d just been through.
I crossed the room without looking back. Without checking to see if they were watching. I already knew they were.
The bathroom door closed behind me with a quiet snick.
I turned on the water immediately. Let it run cold and loud, filling the small space with white noise that would mask whatever came next. My hands moved on autopilot, pulling my hair up into a knot at the back of my head. Securing it.
Then I turned to survey the room.
The wooden storage cart sat tucked in the corner, half-hidden behind the towel rack. Three legs. Thin but sturdy enough. The kind of thing you’d never notice unless you were looking for it.
I carefully removed the bath products from it and then placed it down upside down in front of me. Pressing my bare foot against the first leg, I applied pressure until the wood splintered with a muffled crack.
The water was still running.
I snapped off the second leg the same way. Quick. Efficient. Then I tucked both pieces of wood into the waistband of my shorts at the small of my back, adjusting them until they sat flat against my spine.
They don’t understand. The thought arrived clean. Calm. Matter-of-fact.They’ll only get in my way.
Something stirred beneath the surface then. A flicker of resistance. Horror, maybe. Or recognition. It clawed its way up through the numbness as if to remind me of something.
I pushed it down. Drowned it in the same emptiness that had swallowed everything else.
It’s the only way.
I turned off the water. The sudden silence felt louder than the rushing had been. I adjusted the stakes one more time, making sure they wouldn’t slip, then glanced up at my reflection. It felt like a stranger was staring back at me. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Empty and pitiless.
