Page 93 of The Doll and The Domination

Dessin follows my sight, glances at Warrose and Skylenna only once. It’s the silent communication between soldiers, the kind of unspoken language right before battle.

“Wait…” But the three of them break out into a confident power walk.

Niles is suddenly behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me flush to his strong body, and resting his chin on my shoulder.

“Niles,” I say in alarm, watching Dessin, Warrose, and Skylenna race up the stairs of the stadium. The terrorizing group of six anticipating a fight with great pleasure.

“I’m not letting you go until they make them suffer,” Niles replies.

I relax against him, sobbing at how wonderful his embrace feels. His special aroma of oak, sunshine, and soap. He holds me so tightly, matching the pace of his breath with mine. There is nothing in the world like a Niles hug. No prophecy could have ever predicted it.

I didn’t realize until now that Ruth had left, racing around the stadium to find the supplies Dessin requested.

“I’m going to take care of you,” Niles promises.

I close my eyes at his sweet voice, sniffling as I hear chaos break out in the sixth row of seats. I’m still unsure if they see me as one of their own or if they just care about the safety of my baby. Either way, I’m angry, grateful, confused, timid, and terrified of getting close.

My life has been a long road of being alone. Of pretending to be someone I’m not. Of hiding out after I faked my death. I was not hugged often.

Sentinels watch from their posts as Warrose and Dessin drag bodies down from the seats, dropping them at my feet. Groans and wheezing. Blood. Disheveled hair.

“Is this the one that led the attack?” Skylenna asks, showing me the scrawny man’s face and yellow beard.

I nod.

“What would make you feel better, Marilynn? Should I remove his nails, too? Or is that too merciful? Perhaps his teeth. Or maybe leave him to walk around without a scalp.” Dessin is calm, yet something under his surface absolutely terrifies me.

I open my mouth to speak.

“Let me do it,” Niles says sternly, letting me go to stand in Ruth’s care.

“Niles,” Skylenna warns.

But Niles detaches a sharp metal rod from beneath the stage, walking to my attacker with a callous, disconnected look in his eyes. Dessin watches him, lifting his chin as his stare quickly darts from me to Niles. He nods, holding the grunting man down while Niles uses the shiv to saw off the man’s scalp.

Ruth hisses, shielding her eyes from the gory mess.

But I watch. Listen to the guttural screams of a grown (or half-grown) man. I follow the gushing of crimson liquid streaming over the front of his pinched face. Stinging his eyes. Splattering across Niles’s bare chest.

The madness implodes around me. Warrose and Skylenna harm the others. Making a point to avenge the way I was harmed. Ripping off their nails, bashing their heads to the floor. And Dessin watches Niles as he rips off the last piece of the scrawny man’s scalp. Something of concealed admiration glinting in his close-set brown eyes.

“You’ll die of hepatitis from this rusted metal before you can ever lay a hand on a member of my family again. I hope you suffer,” Niles grits, spitting in the man’s face before rising to his full height.

Dessin drops the man to the floor, narrowing his eyes on Niles.

“Niles,” Dessin says in a husky voice.

Niles wipes the blood from his face with a quivering hand, sliding his weary stare toward Dessin.

“You’ve met your monster.” Dessin puts a hand on his shoulder. “And that monster protected your family. Do not reprimand it for that.”

It’s as if he could see the war flashing through Niles’s mind. The self-deprecating thoughts for maiming another man.

Niles gives him a tight nod and turns to me. “We need to get her cleaned up.”

Ruth is already dipping my fingers in bowls of ice water, assembling bandages on the stage beside me.

“It’ll take about ten days for the nail beds to heal. And four to six months before the nails grow back,” Dessin tells me, to which I shrug against the well of pain. My fingers might as well have been cut off.

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