Page 44 of Bloody Valentine

“Death would be better than listening to your stupid ass speeches about yourself. You will never be St. Valentine. You’ll die one day knowing you only lived to be in his shadow. No matter how hard you try, the Divine is his, not yours,” I spat, weakly trying to adjust my body inside the pillory.

In the reflection of my blood on the ground, I looked like a broken soldier.

Was there any muscle on my body anymore?

Bread was shoved in my mouth twice a day, but it wasn’t enough. Phoenix would try to sneak me proper food when he could, but even my dear friend refused to look at me.

We’d used to spar so many times, and now I felt he only had to blow in my direction to knock me off my feet.

How long did I have left until my body would refuse to continue?

My father growled.

Another lash cut so deep I cried out in pain. My vowel to not allow him to relish in my pain broke. I was unable to bite my tongue hard enough to refrain from letting him collect my agony. My legs buckled beneath me, and the weight of my body made me pant.

I scrambled, trying to readjust my position, desperate to keep my feet on the ground.

“Perhaps I am looking at this all wrong,” he said, a dangerous air to his tone. “You’d rather the rats continue to pick off your flesh little by little before you submit to me. That much has been made clear. Maybe to ensure a leader does his duty, you can’t simply force his hand by spilling his blood.”

I wanted to vomit.

I did not like his tone.

He was too excited.

The last time he had that particular joy lacing his words, they brought those damn vermin in here to feast on my ankles. Stomping and kicking, I finally managed to kill enough of them—their horrid bodies littered around the area where my feet landed.

Not long after, I couldn’t smell their dead carcasses any longer, and the rest of their friends thought better than to use me as a meal.

“Phoenix!” my father snapped, and my friend walked through the archway.

He didn’t look at me because he couldn’t. I kept my gaze on the ground, my hair falling into my face.

“Yes, my Lord?” Phoenix said.

“Bring me my son.”

Phoenix walked forward, untying my binds and opening the wooden pillory. I had been in that contraption for so long now that being out of it felt foreign.

My back had flesh hanging off it—I could feel the odd movement of the pieces slither and slide across me. Glancing down, I saw other pieces of my dead skin curled up and dried lying on the ground.

Phoenix linked his shoulder under my arm and started to walk to my father, but then the monster held up his hand, and my friend stopped.

“Not him.”

All the strength I had left in me faded away. My legs finally collapsed, unable to be held up any longer.

“No,” I said weakly, leaning forward and bowing at my father’s feet. “Please. Not Hayes. Please. I will do as you wish. Just…Leave my brother alone.”

His smile was crueler than I had ever witnessed, and I knew at that moment that I had sold my soul. I could only pray that it was enough to save my brothers.

“Is that thing the place where you were whipped?”

I blinked, staring down at Vivian in my arms. She waited for the memories to leave, allowing me a moment to collect myselfand set her down on her feet. Her dress acted as a robe, the two sides split open, revealing her beautiful body. I tried to focus on her curves and the swell of her breasts, not letting my past overtake me again.

Vivian walked to the pillory, grimacing when she looked down on the cavern ground to see dried marks of blood. Her small hands trailed over the wood, and she was quiet as she studied the torture device.

“Oh, Maddox…” she said, looking over at me, but I let my head fall. Appearing weak in front of my prey was not…just no. I loathed this feeling, and I despised reliving old wounds. But mostly, I detested that look of pity on her face.

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