Page 15 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

She grips his hand back, tight, digging her nails in, and abruptly, the leash slackens.

Like whoever was testing abruptly let go.

Ambra doubles over, a keening noise ripped away from her throat, and she shakes. Her hands shake, her face shakes, her breath shakes.

Gurlien inhales, like it had been choking him too, before he jolts up to standing, jerkily walking to the kitchen.

Ambra just squeezes her eyes shut, trying to stop herlungs from aching. Her throat hurts, like the leash had cut into it.

Dimly, she hears Gurlien run the faucet, before his footsteps approach again.

“Here,” he says, abrupt, shoving a wet towel into her view.

“Why?” She croaks out, attempting to straighten, but she lists to the side, unable to control even the most basic of motions of the body. “I’m…”

“Ugh,” Gurlien mutters, sitting back down, propping her up. She leans forward, her head thumping against his shoulder, and even that motion hurts. “Here,” he says, holding the wet towel against the broken skin on her neck, and she only manages a twitch in surprise at the touch. “It drew blood.”

“It does that,” she mumbles out, and she can’t even control the body enough to speak clearly, so she clears her throat.

Which is, of course, awful.

“Well, that’s vicious,” he mutters, gently dabbing at the skin. “What medical care do they give you?”

She exhales through her nose, still keeping her head down. “I can heal myself.”

“Right,” he replies unsteadily, still cleaning up the black blood, and her stomach turns.

Straightening again, even though her head swims and her vision almost whites out, she snatches the wet paper towel from him, scrubbing at the abraded skin.

“It draws blood, it fucking hurts, and I can’t fucking control this body,” she snaps, and her voice is still raw, like sandpaper had been rubbed against her vocal cords.

He pulls back, and there’s a calculation behind his eyes, one she can’t parse.

“Which one?” Gurlien asks, and his face is pale. “Could you tell which one it was?”

She shakes her head, which is blindingly painful for a few seconds.

“Useful,” Gurlien snips, but he pushes himself up to standing again, joining her in the kitchen, where she dunks the towel under the water again. “Any hints, though?”

Ambra exhales, leaning against the counter, letting her mind race. “It wasn’t Boltiex.”

“Good to know,” Gurlien nods, and he’s hardly alone in that.

“He wouldn’t play with the pain, he would just…” she mimes jerking on the leash. “Nalissa and Johnsin might.”

Gurlien faces her, drawing her gaze up at him in some unknown instinct. “So, a person who knows your nerves or a person who likes pain?”

He learns quickly.

“Johnsin had the best control over my body,” she says, and the words hurt. “He could make me do anything with just a thought.”

“So this wasn’t him?” Gurlien asks. “He wouldn’t need to tease you like that.”

She shakes her head again, it’s not the correct assumption. “He just might, just for the pain. Nalissa…” she trails off, trying to force her mind to think. “Nalissa might test, so she’s not surprised by the results, and the pain wouldn’t matter to her.”

Gurlien’s silent, for a minute, just watching her, and the surveillance is almost overwhelming, wholly different from the focus of scientists she usually endured.

“Let me call in Maison,” he murmurs finally, and she flinches. “He’s had connections with other demons, he could figure out how to fix this.”

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