Page 35 of Shadows in Bloom

“Sal—” I’m cut off by his hand slapping my cheek.

For a split second, he stares down at me, eyes filled with a burning, wild rage. He blinks, and that face I know all too well is replaced with a pained expression.

I realise there’s something inherently wrong with Salem, psychologically, mentally, emotionally. His moods shift without warning as though there’s another, living, breathing entity inside him. A monster that wears his face, but instead of wanting to protect me, it wants to burn me alive and dance in the flames as it consumes my flesh and bones.

He comes closer, rubbing my inflamed cheek with the palm of his hand. “I’m so sorry, love, I don’t know what just came over me.” He brushes my hair off my brow and presses a lingering kiss to my forehead. He eyes the cuffs again. “You know you can’t escape,” he clicks his tongue, his voice cool and emotionless now. “You’ve hurt yourself. Now, let me feed you, then I’ll tend to your wounds.”

“I’m not hungry,” I whisper.

A smile stretches across his full lips, and his dark eyes alight with humour. “Of course you are. It’s been two days. We always feast on day two.”

“Is Diablo joining us?” I ask, hoping to distract him from what he calls a “feast.” Along with being certifiably insane, Salem and his brothers are cannibals—and hiding beneath that cloche, is human meat. My stomach knots at the thought.

Salem’s brow creases when he squeezes his eyes shut. “What do you want with Diablo?” he asks, suspicion in his tone. “My brother doesn’t want you.”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “I just—I thought he might be here, like last time.” I don’t add the part where last time included Diablo helping Salem kidnap me. Afterwards, they shoved me into a coffin before they slid it into a hearse and drove me here to Salem’s house.

The house he calls my home, and says he bought for me. The house where every room is filled with every single thing I’ve ever looked at longingly, or mentioned in passing that I like. It further proves his stalking knows no bounds.

Salem stands and paces the bedroom, scrubbing his hands over his face and rubbing the back of his neck. “Why are you asking about Diablo? What do you want with him? Do you want to fuck him, is that what you want? He doesn’t want you.”

Shaking my head vigorously, I say, “No, no, no. I don’t want him at all. I was just ask?—”

My next breath is cut off when he straddles my chest and wraps his hands around my throat. “YOU ARE MINE!” he shouts, pupils blown wide. As he squeezes harder, I gasp for air, tugging at the chains as I try to free myself. “MINE!” Salem shouts. “Don’t talk about my brother!” He shakes his head, his left eye twitches, and his hands clench as he mutters under his breath, “Not my brother, not my brother, not my brother.”

“Sorry,” I say quickly, “I’m sorry, Salem, I’m sorry.” I inwardly curse myself for mentioning Diablo.

When he releases a hand from my throat to reach over to the bedside table, I suck in a much-needed breath and blink back tears as he tugs open the drawer and rummages around.

His hand comes back and when I see what’s in it, I freeze, then tremble beneath him.

“No, no, no,” I scream and thrash, beg him to stop as fear reaches into the marrow of my bones. Panic courses through my veins and into the chambers of my heart.

With a sadistic smile and a light in his dark eyes, Salem flicks the homemade lighter that doubles as a small, makeshift branding iron. A flame appears, flickering orange fire as it heats up the crudely formed steel that spells out his name.

His eyes don’t leave the lighter until he releases his finger, and the flame disappears. Salem brings the lighter down, branding the hot steel into my chest and marking me with his name.

I let out a scream of pain. Tears well in my eyes as my flesh sizzles. Salem repeats the process three more times until I’m a sobbing, shaking mess, pleading with him to stop.

After placing the lighter on the bedside table, Salem rushes to the bathroom and returns with antiseptic solution and a warm washcloth. He cleans me with tenderness. The tears in his eyes serve to remind me how insanely unhinged he truly is.

Once he’s covered my raw, burning wounds, he leans down and presses a kiss to the gauze. “So beautiful,” he whispers as he holds up a syringe. “My little firebird,” is the last thing I hear before I slip into darkness.

CHAPTER 6

SALEM

Justice Bane is the fire in my veins. He ignites a burning desire within me that destroys sanity and reason. Capturing him is like capturing the sun in the palms of my own, bare hands. He is the brightest, most magnificent part of my world. He’s a beacon of light while I live and breathe in darkness and depravity. His screams feed the savage beast that burns hot beneath my flesh.

As I stand in front of his cell, I watch him sleep while I think about the torture I will inflict upon my little firebird the moment he wakes.

My phone rings, distracting me from thoughts of Justice, bound, broken, and at my mercy. Reluctantly, I step back from looping the chains around the cell door and answer the call.

“Where are you?” It’s August Kensington, the man I pay to watch Justice when I’m unable to.

“The asylum. What’s up?” I ask. I wrap my hand around the steel bar of the cell and watch Justice snore softly, the sedatives still working their magic and allowing my little firebird a short respite from the impending torture.

“Someone filed a missing person’s report for Justice,” he says, concern laces his tone.

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