Page 11 of The Vipers and Their Vendetta

Suddenly, it all comes to a halt. The chanting ends, and I think it’s over.

Is that it? Is that all they needed from me? To have me stand here in my underwear while they chant at me? Hope pricks at my terror, making me think I might get out of this alive.

Roman walks to the table and picks up one of the bowls he’d been pounding a variety of ingredients into before Malachi joined us.

Walking toward me, he dips his finger into the bowl and reaches forward, swiping across my collarbone. I gasp in dismay at his touch, but then he pulls back, and I glance down to see what looks like blood smeared across my chest. He repeats the motion, two fingers dipping back into the bowl to swipe the deep red mixture down in a line from my collarbone to deep within my cleavage.

He stops again, examines me critically, and goes back to his work. There is nothing sexual in his touch or the way he looks at me, and despite this being incredibly strange and scary, I at least take comfort from that.

He repeats what he’s doing, this time down both arms, then smears the thick liquid in a circle around my belly button. Finally, he draws two wavy lines horizontally across each thigh.

“This next bit will hurt, but we aren’t doing it to be cruel. We need this from you.”

My pulse races. I’m already hurt. I don’t need or want any more pain.

Roman walks over to sturdy shelving fixed to the wall at the far side of the room and takes down an ornate silver bowl. Turning back to me, he crosses the room and takes hold of my arm near the cut.

“Wait,” I say, trying to yank my arm back again. “What are you doing?”

Roman passes the bowl to Malachi, who holds it beneath my arm.

“Please, don’t,” I try again.

But Roman uses both hands to pry my wound apart. White-hot agony rips up my arm, and a scream barrels up my throat and peals from between my lips.

He quickly presses it closed again, squeezing hard, and I realize he’s trying to get some blood out of the wound. The bleeding had slowed as they’ve been carrying out their strange ceremony. The squeezing is painful but nowhere near as unbearable now. Blood drips into the small silver container, my vision blurring through my tears. When he has enough, I pray he’ll stop, and the pain will end.

Malachi watches my blood drip into the bowl, then he glances over at Roman and nods once. Roman lets go of mywound. I sway on my feet, sweat breaking out across my upper lip and forehead.

Malachi takes the knife and holds it up above his head. He utters words I don’t understand. He brings the blade to his face and pulls up his mask. It gives me a view of a sharp, masculine jaw and harsh mouth. He brings the blade to his mouth and kisses it once, reverentially, before letting the mask fall back into place.

Fast as a snake striking, he reaches for me, grabbing my throat. I scream in panic, but Roman slams a hand over my mouth, silencing my terror.

Malachi twists my head to one side, releases my throat, and takes a strand of my hair before cutting it with the knife. He lets the thick waves fall into the bowl along with my blood.

He steps back, and his fingers leave my throat. I suck in air, trembling and almost choking on my fear.

Who the fuck are these men?

Malachi drops to his knees in front of me. He pulls my panties to one side, and I moan in dismay. He puts them back in place with a huff of annoyance.

“Women and their addiction to shaving,” he mutters. “What’s wrong with a full bush?”

What the hell?

He grabs my panties again and pulls them down from the top instead. This time, he chuckles as he takes hold of a patch of curls on my landing strip and slices the knife through those as well before dropping them into the bowl. Then he stands, picks up the bowl, and hands it to Roman.

Roman spits into the bowl, and my stomach recoils in revulsion. Malachi takes the bowl and does the same. Roman grabs a small dark green bottle from the shelf and pours green liquid into the vile mix.

This is some sort of dark magic they’re practicing, and while I don’t believe in any of that, it doesn’t make it any less creepy.

They start walking around me again, once more chanting strange things.

I feel myself falling into an almost dreamlike state as they walk around me, their voices strangely soporific despite the horrifying circumstances. The chanting goes on and on, and the air around us grows heated.

Finally, they both come to a halt in front of me, and the chanting stops. Roman takes a different bowl from the shelf, cradling it in the crook of one arm, and carries it toward me. He digs into the bowl and pulls out what looks like confetti, but is actually dried, crushed leaves, sprinkling it all over me.

“We thank you for your contribution,” he says. “Now we ask that you are washed of all energy from this place and time.” He sprinkles more of the crushed leaves over me.

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