Page 174 of Hunting Pretty

But I still couldn’t move.

Not even as he began to peel apart my clothes.

Oh God. I slammed back into my body as Dr. Vale’s face replaced the dark faceless figure from my memories.

No. I didn’t want to remember. No, no, no, no.

I screamed, thrashing in the chair so violently that the rope around my right arm snapped. Yes! I was free.

But I’d thrashed too hard. The chair wobbled on two legs before it tipped over. No!

The side of my head smacked against the rug with a wooden sound and a sudden, sharp jolt of pain flared through my brain.

My vision blinked out for a second, the impact reverberating through my body.

The sound of the collision rang in my ears, a dull thud, followed by an intense ringing that drowned out everything else.

I gasped, my free hand instinctively flying to the side of my head as a deep, throbbing ache bloomed.

The room spun, my stomach churning, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell which way was up.

The polished brown leather of Dr. Vale’s shoes stepped into my vision and then his face as he kneeled beside me. “Relax, Ava. What I’m going to do to you is going to feel like child’s play when I hand you over to them.”

I squeezed my eyes shut against the nausea and the wave of fear trying to choke me. I braced myself.

There was a loud bang and the vicious sound of splintering wood.

My eyes flew open in time to see Dr. Vale being torn from me and thrown against the wall.

With a furious roar, Scáth leaped onto him like a vicious animal, his fists flying. “Touch her anddie.”

Whatever was left of the leash inside of Scáth seemed to have snapped.

Scáth bashed Dr. Vale’s head against the floor, his skull making a loud crack as it connected, his eyes going wide and bug-like, his lips floundering like a dying fish.

The tight band around my chest loosened, and I could finally breathe again, each inhale coming easier, softer, like I was no longer fighting for air.

Scáth was here.

He’d found me.

I was protected.

I was safe.

Dr. Vale held his arms up over his face, but Scáth’s punches were too strong. They punctured through his feeble defenses with every hit.

Scáth just kept hitting, blood splattering all over the worn book spines and the porcelain phrenology head.

A dark, sick pleasure weaved through me at the sight of Scáth beating that sick fucker to death.

It was over.

We’d found Liath’s killer.

She could rest easy now.

But a realization struck me through the dull throbbing of my head.

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