Page 160 of Blood & Betrayals

Another snapped twig comes from behind me, this one louder and closer. I spin around, but there is only darkness.

“You’re next. You’re next. You’re next.” The voice pauses. “You’re next, little fae.”

I gasp, stumbling back. My foot gets caught on a root, and I fall back. There is no ground beneath me, and I keep falling. Falling. Falling.

I land hard in a classroom. Lucia sits there on the desk, posed as she was before, her lifeless face staring at me maliciously.

Slowly, her head straightens, black blood leaking from her empty eye sockets. She groans, trying to talk, but her lips are stitched shut. She slowly lifts her bloody hand and starts to pull at the stitches, tearing them out. The blood trickles down herchin, and I can do nothing but stare, my body frozen. I watch in horror as her jaw hangs limp, and then she lets out the most blood-curdling scream I’ve ever heard.

Behind her, a bony hand appears on the desk, and then another, the nails pressing into the wood until it splinters. The light dims behind her, and Lucia starts to laugh. The sound is maniacal and horrible, her jaw still limp. Blood seeps from her eyes, her mouth, her nose, and her ears, but all she does is laugh.

The room goes pitch black, and all I can see is a pair of bright red eyes just behind where Lucia was.

“You’re next,” the voice snarls.

I lurch awake, my heart slamming against my ribcage. The image of her is still there, that voice still ringing in my ears. I look at Connor sleeping peacefully next to me, and I exhale, closing my eyes and trying to ground myself in this reality. It was just a nightmare. I rub my hand over my face and climb out of bed to grab a bottle of water from the kitchen.

The wounds tingle and throb a little, but I can definitely feel an improvement from yesterday. After he fed me last night, Connor lovingly tended to my injuries while offering to get Luke approximately a million times. Each time, I stubbornly stated that I was fine and reminded him that the headmaster had said these couldn’t be healed magically, anyway. The pain was grounding me, and it lessened the guilt enough that I was able to function.

“You’re next, little fae.”

A warning from my gut? Fear playing tricks on my mind?

I grab my phone, intending to clean it, trying to keep my hands busy and my mind distracted. But it lights up the moment I touch it, showing me my messages, and of course, there is one there from 1015.

The tone is accusatory like I am to blame for what happened. No doubt he knows what has happened. He probably caused it. Right?

I reply somewhat unfairly, but I don’t care. I’ll say anything to get the fucker to leave me alone at this point.

I feel my rage boil beneath my skin.

He starts to type, and then the bubbles disappear. The bubbles bounce again, then disappear. This happens a couple more times before they stop altogether. I delete the conversation and block his account for good measure. Locking my phone, I chuck it down on the couch before returning to bed. I climb in beside Connor, my thoughts in turmoil and my emotions out of control. As if he’s aware of it, he turns toward me and pulls me against his chest, wrapping his entire body around me. His hold is suffocating, but I bury my face against his chest and wiggle until I am nearly beneath him.

I consider drawing the rune to ward against nightmares, but something stops me. Not only do I feel like I deserve to experience these nightmares, but something inside me whispers these dreams are important, and they may hold some vital information I need.

This time, when I drift off, I embrace the fear.

I wake early, still tucked tightly against Connor. He is dead to the world, which is the only reason he doesn’t wake when I disentangle myself and climb out of bed. I leave a note instead of waking him to tell him I’m just going to the gym. The tortured terror I saw in his eyes every time he thought about me lying dead somewhere was devastating, and I never want to see it again.

C,

Gone to the gym. Will bring back breakfast.

-S

Carefully, I pull on shorts, a sports bra, and my black cropped hoodie, trying to avoid the bandages as much as possible. My run to the gym is a little slower than usual, but I am ready to face stupid Max head-on. When I arrive, he is engrossed in his own workout. His eyes glow a faint green, no doubt the berserker fuelling him. I take a steadying breath before walking over to him. I must look like a cross between a mummy and a professional fighter, thanks to the cuts and bruises covering my body.

It takes a long moment before Max notices me. “What happened to you?” he asks, pausing his workout.

“I don’t want to be a damsel,” I reply, lifting my chin and trying to appear confident.

Max drops the heavy weight he is holding and quirks a brow. “Yeah? What do you want to be?”

“A threat,” I reply.

A slow smile tugs at Max’s lips, and he nods. “Good. Let’s get started then.”

I turn without any further comment and go straight to the sparring room. I walk to the wall, grab a random pair of boxing gloves, and pull them on.

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