Page 69 of Monstrous Travels as Wicked as Sin

“I’m going to name every supernatural being I can think of, and you make a noise when I get to the right one, okay?”

Althea sat back in astonishment, less bewildered perhaps by the supernatural nature of the event than by her companion’s unexpected skills, which made that ever-burning flame in her heart flare a little brighter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

OF TEETH AND TOENAILS

Percy turned the needle-nose pliers over in his hand, glanced (with his most malevolent smile) in Joe’s direction, then threw them down and took up a larger pair, contemplating them in the most obtrusive manner possible.

A tooth extraction hurts. It’s not only the pain of having bone ripped from flesh and nerve, but the psychological horror of it all. If you do it just right, the victim can hear the thing crack, and they know there’s no going back then. They wonder how many more you’ll pull. They wonder about infection. They wonder if they’ll ever eat solids again. And it’s invasive. You’re inside their body. They can’t see what you’re doing—they’re trapped in their mind with the imagery and the agony.

But the fact was, he’d only take one. One from the back. And they could get Joe a nice white replacement. They’d go see the best Harley Street doctor and have it fixed by the same time tomorrow.

Percy turned to his victim—his fiancé—and his eyes fell on Joe’s beautiful lips. On Joe’s beautiful smile. And he thought of Joe remembering him plucking a tooth from his mouth every time he ate for the rest of his life.

He threw the pliers down.

Back to the needle-nose pliers.

He could pull a toenail off. He wouldn’t even have to look at Joe’s face when he did it. And Joe would barely see the damage. He could simply put some socks on afterwards. Percy would buy him a nice pair. Cashmere. The nail would grow back within six months to a year. But today, at the very peak of suffering, he’d tell the beast the lot were coming off…

Percy dropped to the floor and unlaced Joe’s leather shoe. The feel of Joe’s heel in the palm of his hand as he slid the shoe off tapped at his resolve, but he stayed firm this time. He looped a fingertip over the elastic of Joe’s sock and pulled it downwards, trying to disregard every precious hair, trying not to think about the graceful curves and dips of Joe’s ankle, where Percy had pressed his lips so many times. Trying not to think about the length of his beautiful foot, as exquisite as any Michelangelo. Trying not to think about his toes.

Percy grabbed hold of the other shoe, then repeated the process.

Those toes.

Those toes drenched in sunlight, hot Sicilian sand clinging to them. Those toes poking up out of a steaming bath. Resting against his chest.

He took the pliers up, and he felt the creature’s gaze on him. There wasn’t the slightest flinch or attempt to pull the limb from his strong fingers. It was almost as though it was willing him to do it.

We’ll see how long that lasts.

Percy clenched Joe’s calf beneath his arm, brought the pliers to Joe’s big toe, opened them millimetres wide, touched the steel against Joe’s skin, and in his most gruff and threatening voice, said, “Leave him, or you’ll regret it.”

“He’ll heal. Probably.”

“I mean it. This hurts more than you can imagine. The intensity of pain, once I start, cannot be overestimated. If I were you, I’d definitely?—”

“Are you going to do it or not?”

“Fuck!” The pliers went flying across the room, where the sharp tip stuck in a crumbling wall. Percy stalked over to the bed, lit a cigarette, and began another furious pace of the small enclosure.

Weak.

Too weak to be of any use, and not at all the man Joe needed. A disaster since the day they met. Never strong enough, never kind enough, never once what Joe needed. And now was he going to let this thing have Joe’s body?

‘Take my head or something…’

“Leo!” he shouted. He stalked to the hall, slamming the door behind him. “Leo, up here now!”

Two stairs at a time, the quick footsteps pounded up to him. “You won’t believe what we got, Percy. You’re going to be so impressed. Cleo never did any of that stuff to Althea.”

Althea, one step behind him, nodded, adding breathlessly, “She’s been trapped in this skull by a witch called Molly Tulloch, born fifteen-eighty-six. It’s her skull, from when she was burned and beheaded in sixteen-sixteen, accused of witchcraft.”

Leo shot her an excited smile and took over. “Molly did some kind of body swap with Cleo at the Witch’s Head Inn. She’s been in Cleo’s body for years. She killed all those girls—Cleo didn’t even know that happened.”

“That’s right!” Althea jumped in. “Because Molly Tulloch is the former owner of Barmiston Hall!”

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