Page 117 of Tainted Souls
I try to speak, but a wet cough is all that comes out, flecks of blood spattering my lips.
With agonizing slowness, he withdraws his hand from my chest.
The pain as his fingers slide free is almost worse than when they went in. Blood pours from the wound, soaking my shirt and dripping onto the stone floor. My legs give way beneath me, and I crumple, one hand clutching the ragged hole he left behind.
He drops to a crouch in front of me, leveling himself to my height. “You will heal,” he says, wiping his bloodied hand on a handkerchief, meticulous in cleaning each finger. “But without proper nourishment, it will be agonizingly slow.”
His now-cleaned hand reaches out, and I flinch. His fingers hover in the air for a heartbeat, still, before he bends to pick up the empty glass beside me. He rises and turns to leave then, closing the door with a heavy thud, the lock clicking into place with dreadful finality.
CHAPTER 24
MINUTES STRETCH INTO HOURSas I drift between feeble consciousness and a hazy drowse. The pain ebbs and flows, sometimes a dull throb that allows brief moments of rest, other times, raking enough to convulse me fully awake.
In the darkness, I can’t tell how much time passes. The wound in my chest gradually knits itself closed, leaving a tender, puckered scar that pulls with every breath. My throat burns with thirst, my stomach a hollow cavern.
The small amount of food and blood Saul brought barely made a dent in my hunger, but they probably ensured my survival.
The cell door’s ancient hinges announce his arrival before I even see him. My eyes struggle to adjust as Ace emerges again, carrying a simple wooden chair in one hand and a tiny vial of fresh blood in the other.
The sight of it makes my parched throat contract painfully.
He sets the chair down facing me, its legs scraping the stone with a sound painfully loud to my sensitive ears. Then he sits, one leg crossing over the other with casual elegance that seems obscene in this filthy cell.
The vial dangles between his fingers, catching what little light filters through the doorway. Its contents slosh with each turn, as if daring me to react. A hungry sound escapes me before I can trap it.
I lick my cracked lips, hating how transparent my need must be, yet daring him with my gaze. “Are you going to do away with me?”
His shoulders lift in a languid shrug, his lips twitching into a faint, unconcerned smile. “That depends entirely on what you tell me in the next few minutes.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I want to understand something.”
My weight bears down on my hands as I push myself up, wincing at the tug of my newly healed wound. “What?” I lift my chin, refusing to show fear despite the tremor in my hands.
These types of interrogations all fare the same. He’s going to torture me for answers, not stopping until he’s got the ones he seeks.
“When you killed Hanae, what did you feel?”
“I…” My voice falters.
The truth feels dangerous, but lying seems pointless.
“Power,” I answer. “For a moment, I felt powerful.”
He nods slightly, as if I’ve confirmed something. “And after?”
“Sick,” I admit, the word barely audible. “Guilty. Horrified.”
“You regret it?”
A flicker of anger cuts through my fear. “Of course I regret it.”
“Do you?” His eyes bore into mine, searching for deception. “Or do you simply regret being caught? Being punished?”
The accusation stings because there’s truth in it. I wanted freedom badly enough to kill for it. I just hadn’t expected to feel the weight of that choice so heavily.
“Both,” I whisper honestly.
Ace straightens and regards me with an unreadable expression,his gaze fixed so intently it feels like he’s stripping my thoughts bare. “Tell me about the pendant.”
The abrupt change in topic leaves me momentarily confused.
