Page 11 of Lost Girl

I can’t help but smile at his admission, slapping my palms against the varnished wood. Mama would be proud of him for coming so far. “That’s all I needed to know. Tell Aiyana I’ll help her daughter, but a single shred of resistance and I’m out. We have enough resistance building under our own roof for me to expel more energy on another hormonal female who doesn’t want to listen.”

Dad chuckles as I’m turning for the sink to begin sorting my mess. “I’ll let her know, my son.”

?Bad Dream - Ruelle?

The chilling shrill of a scream jolts me awake.

I’m gasping, breathing in heaps of air, my mind racing a mile per minute. But it’s not until I note the erratic tempo of my breaths that I realize that horrorized sound came fromme.

A quick scan of my surroundings—one now bathed in powder blues and pale pinks from dawn—reminds me of where I am, of how I even got here.

Peter.

The portal.

Tinksley.

Hook.

Each piece of the puzzle adds to the tears now burning like acid behind my eyes. The last thing I fully remember is…

Another gasp.

Armand.

I reach up to feel the spot where he dug his fangs in deep, where he nearly drained me of my blood until I passed out, but the tips of my fingers just barely graze it. There’s shackles locked around my wrists, thick chains attached to them, keeping me bound to the stoned wall at my back. They clank and clatter as I try moving about, and that’s when I’m hit with another bout of recognition.

Of self-awareness really.

I’m not just chained to this wall. No. I’m naked, too. My panties remain in place, but the dress I’d let slip away whilst trying to work my charms on Armand is gone, nowhere to be found. My shoes, too.

I shiver, my nipples puckering anew, and not in a pleasurable fashion, either. First instinct is to get onto my feet. Too bad I can’t, right? Because another set of shackles restrain my legs. Panic sweeps me from head to toe, claiming every molecule of my being and all sense of rationale.

I have to get out of here.

I have to get out of here!

I yank on my restraints, desperate, hopeful that, somehow, I’ll break free. But these damned chains don’t budge.

“Why me?” I whisper into the darkness, unable to hold back my emotions any longer.

The most prominent? Fear.

Second most to that? This undeniable sense of anger.

These monsters have immobilized me in every which way possible, have left me down here to rot for sins I didn’t commit. Peter already paid the price and yet, here I am, paying off the interest.

And for what? He’s dead. Isn’t that payment enough?

The thought elicits a strangled sob, opening the floodgates of sheer terror and despair.

I just want to go home.

Tears stream down my cheek as my entire body begins rocking back and forth, over and over again, harder and faster with every grain of sand slipping through the hourglass that is my life. It’s a feeble attempt at breaking free from my restraints, obviously, I know better than to think it’ll work, but I have to do something.

“Help! Somebody help me, please!” I screech, pulling on my bindings like a madwoman.

I’m exhausted within minutes and yet still, I keep at it, yanking and yelling in a suddenly manic state. My throat hurts from the force of my screams, stomach roiling around the distress that’s buried itself deep within my core.

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