Page 12 of A Study of Blood and Ichor

The demon hummed as it let out a long breath. “Would you like me to worship the ground at your feet, witch? Are you ready to be tempted with the promise of all that I could offer you?”

I froze, unable to find the words to object.

Vain smirked and said, “You are a curious thing, aren’t you? It’s going to be a delight when I finally have my way with you.”

The Hull suddenly felt constricting like even the air itself was suffocating me. This had been a mistake. I had pushed too far with Vain, and what had started as nothing more than a curious experiment, now felt all too real.

I twisted my wrist and relieved the tension on the chains holding Vain. I heard them slink and rattle along the stones as the demon moved slowly to a standing position, but I had already turned and practically ran toward the exit.

“You can’t run from me, mellilla,” Vain called out. “I’ve only just begun to have my fun.”

The demon’s laughter trailed behind me even after the heavy doors slammed shut, a haunting echo I couldn’t shake.

FIVE

Ava

My days shifted to a new routine. Mornings were filled with attending lectures or combing through my ever-growing collection of texts on possessions, and it was hard to keep a clear mind when I was barely able to hold down a shred of breakfast. I would return to the Hull in the afternoons, always steeling my nerves before facing off with Vain.

I made sure to go into each session with my mind heavily shielded, determined not to allow my control to slip, which I found to be a difficult task to manage around Vain. The demon was a shameless flirt, and its persistent advances became increasingly promiscuous over time. Our interactions were all the more aggravating due to the fact that Vain refused to cooperate with me, its responses to my interrogations ranging from severely uninterested, to vague enough to be exasperating.

The demon knew what it was doing; giving me just enough information to remain useful, but never providing the answers Lena was after, and I ended up leaving every session either drained of my magic or nursing a horrendous migraine. I was getting nowhere and running out of time.

On the rare days when I entered the Hull and found Rory in control, it was a small relief. He maintained a usually sullen and withdrawn demeanor and was never in control for long after I arrived. Sometimes, there were days he’d go without speaking to me, and even when he did, they were mostly clipped one-word responses. Still, I held desperately onto those small glimpses I caught of him, as if they were a lifeline.

Rory was wary. Distrusting. He reminded me of a skittish thing. It was in the way he flinched whenever the fire from the braziers would pop loudly. How he liked to tap out a nervous beat on his forearms. The quiet way he assessed me, pretending to be disinterested until his glare found my eyes and then quickly darted away.

Did he even want to be saved? A part of me had to wonder given his manner of detachment. How could I reach him when he’d sheltered himself behind the emotional walls he put in place between us? The way he chose to guard himself was so eerily familiar, and that only made me empathize with him more. Because I knew that any person who’d built their walls up so high and fortified them to that degree had something to protect.

I had no intention of bringing Rory’s walls down. I only wished he would let me in, even if it was merely a fraction of an inch. At one point, I thought he might. I could sense the hesitancy in his eyes, the internal struggle whether or not to reach out toward the hand I’d left for him. But as the weeks wore on, the more I observed Rory pull further and further into himself, leaving more space for Vain to overtake him.

“Have you been eating?” I asked him one day, even though the answer was evident by the food pushed around the plate that he’d barely touched.

Rory didn’t spare me a glance. With eyes trained to the floor, he sat with his arms set across his knees, his expression distant, bordering on annoyed.

“You’re still set on ignoring me, then?”

No answer. If he would just look at me. If he’d at least say something…anything.

“Are you okay?”

That made him snap. His seething gaze flew to mine. “Do I look like I’m okay? I’m being held against my will by a coven of witches, locked in a torture chamber in your dank, dark basement that I’m most likely going to die in. So, I’m painfully aware of how fucking not okay I am. Thanks so much for checking in.” His shoulders sank before he dipped his head to the floor again.

My mouth fell open, then shut quickly.

“You’re not going to die,” I told him.

Again, no response. I sighed and lowered myself to the ground to sit cross-legged in front of him.

“Please, talk to me, Rory.” Help me understand.

His head tilted up a fraction, his gray eyes meeting mine through the fall of his dark hair. “Don’t do this,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Act like you care.”

“It’s my job to care.”

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