Page 31 of The Wraith & Her Killer

He tries to wrap his arm around my waist, but I rush ahead of him. I don’t want any part of him near me. Unfortunately I’m not fast enough because the next thing I know, I’m being roughly thrown over his shoulder and carried away.

“Nice try in there,” Boris mocks, his hands squeezing my thighs too hard. “But your father is well aware that you are psychologically unwell, and every word that may come from your mouth is nothing but some psychobabble bullshit.”

I’m tossed down onto my bed after fighting him the whole way, clawing at him and hitting him wherever I could reach. When he kneels over my body and gets too close for me to back away, I renew my efforts. While he’s busy trying to restrain my legs, my hands get ahold of his face and I dig my nails in. He lets out a groan but before he can stop me, I jab my thumb into his eye socket and push.

His eye fuckingpopswith a sickeningsquishand the matter oozes out and runs down my wrist.

He howls so loud that guards come flooding into the room, their guns trained on me.

My small victory is short-lived when Boris hits me so hard I feel something crack in my cheek and I almost lose consciousness.

He looks like he’s ready to kill me, and God I hope he does sooner than later.

But instead he works to quickly bind my wrists and fuckingshackles my ankle to a chain that’s bolted into the ground. All the while his empty eye socket drips blood everywhere.

He finally pushes to stand and I’m too delirious and dazed to try and make out his hazy form where he lingers over my body.

The guards ask him if he’s alright and it’s almost funny to me.Almost.

A quiet laugh bubbles up and escapes the confines of my chest when Adris’ words come back to me. “Bested by a wraith.”

I repeat the words before blackness creeps into my vision. I think I hear something along the lines of, “Crazy bitch,” and “See you in three weeks,” before I’m swallowed whole by the endless oblivion.

14

THREE WEEKS LATER

It’s my death day.

Father calls it my wedding, but let’s not kid ourselves.

I’d rather die than tie myself to a monster like Boris. So that’s what I intend to do.

My stepmother—of all people—finished applying the last touches of my makeup and now she’s uselessly fluffing the train of my wedding dress. I’m sure Father sent her because he knows she doesn’t have a soft bone in her body for me and would make sure my ass makes it down the aisle come hell or high water.

I feel nothing as I look at myself in the mirror. Dark, hollow eyes stare back at me. My fading peach curls have been artfully contained in an elegant bun that hurts my fucking scalp and my makeup is unfortunately flawless. The dress… This fucking dress is tragically beautiful for such an ominous day.

It’s a fitting lace gown with long sleeves and a backless detail. The neckline was purposefully designed to cover the mark over my heart. Unfortunately it’s a perfect fit, despite refusing to eat a full meal for three weeks.

I couldn’t.

Not when I had been reduced to nothing more than an empty vessel,doomed to roam the confines of this gilded prison until my dying breath. Not when my heart ached and my soul cried for the man who was larger than this life could’ve ever allowed, and terrified even death himself.

Adris,who lived without fear, because a man at the top of the food chain never had to look down.

I searched for him in my dreams, but was greeted by only nightmares that foretold of my impending doom that is marrying hisfucking father.

Adris was certainly no saint—nothing short of a fucking nightmare, actually—but he wasmynightmare and I would have sold every last shred of my shattered soul to have eternity with him instead.

My stepmother looks at her diamond-encrusted watch and glances at me. “It’s time, Odessa.”

She ushers me to the door, and we’re greeted by a security guard standing just beyond the threshold. My head remains bowed in grief of what I’m about to endure, but I note that he’s wearing a formal suit as opposed to the typical security uniform. A bouquet is thrust into my vision and it surprises me.

“For the bride.”

There’s a gritty rasp to his tone, but something painfully familiar about the sound. I push the notion away and just stand there, blankly staring at the bouquet, wondering if it’s some kind of cosmic joke.

All the flowers are dried and dead.

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