Page 75 of Deviant Illusions

“KANE!”

Warm liquid drips down the back of my arm and the momentum of whatever has hit me makes me stumble. Delilah continues pulling and she grips the side of my shirt as I look down into the water. There’s nothing to stop me falling. I let go of her hand, so I don’t drag her with me.

But the fucking idiot doesn’t allow me to. She pushes her entire weight behind her shoulder to ram her body into my side, knocking me away from the edge. I fall backwards as she screams louder, wavering on the crumbling edge. Every movement brings pain with it. I try to grab her hand but she’s attempting to keep her balance and her fingers brush mine. Just out of fucking reach.

There’s something sticking out of the back of my bicep, and it lodges deeper as I hit the ground. Swinging my leg out, I hit Delilah’s shins. But I can’t catch her as she falls backwards, away from death, and slams into the stone surface with a crack. My vision blurs due to the pain and sweat coats my back as I roll on my side to alleviate the pressure of whatever the fuck is burrowing deeper into my muscle.

Delilah slowly turns to face me, wheezing through her cough. Alive. She stretches her hand out, gripping the hem of my t-shirt as her body shakes. I can’t move with everything burning. My lungs, my arm, my fucking head. It’s like being stuck in prison again—as much as I can see the sky, feel the wind, it’s all under somebody else’s control.

The bottom of my arm tingles despite the dead weight as I drag it to sit on the ground in front of me. A wooden stick is lodged into the back of my bicep and the fletching of the arrow is sharp too. It cuts my fingers as I attempt to snap the shaft to stop the arrowhead from being weighed down.

“Don’t,” Delilah croaks. “You’ll lose too much blood.”

Who the fuck has arrows on fucking hand?

I know her family would hunt regularly when we were kids. Not fucking people though. I’m going to fucking torture her grandfather as soon as I can breathe normally. Yet it’s not the old man standing at the door we ran through. No, it’s Anna, frozen to the spot, her eyes fixed straight ahead without any emotion. She was always quiet, but she was never blank like sheis now. She’d wait until Delilah’s parents weren’t within earshot and tell us stupid jokes or ghost stories.

Now she’s the fucking monster. She just fucking shot me. Her arms are limp by her sides and the bow lies at her feet. Helene’s fucking hand is on her shoulder and my long-fucking-lost grandmother scoffs. “Silly boy. You have one minute before I release the dogs.” She turns and fucks off, taking her archer with her.

My pretty girl stares at me with tears in her eyes. I can’t fix it. Chains rattle, the sound echoing off the walled courtyard, making it louder and hiding the original source. Dread freezes my blood as the rattling is broken up by a chorus of barks.

The crazy old bitch isn’t lying.

“Up,” I urge Delilah, rolling on to my knees. My head is heavier, and my palms scrape against the sandy rock.

The barking gets louder as we drag ourselves up to stand. Delilah, my beautiful Delilah, is breathless and exhausted, but she wraps both of her hands around the arrow sticking out of my arm, applying pressure to the site of the wound. She softly kisses the side of my arm.

Loud clattering comes from our side, directly beside the wrought iron gate, and the barking is even louder. A portion of the stone floor lifts on a hydraulic press, whirring as it slides, revealing a stone cellar. The walls are covered in a mix of colors—dark maroons, browns, and wet patches.

“Fuck!” I shout, pushing Delilah away from it. “Run.”

Four large dogs leap up the stone steps.

I don’t give a fuck if Delilah’s going to be pissed, I press both hands flat to her side and push her with every ounce of strength I possess as the pack of Bully Kutta salivate, racing towards us. The first dog is quicker than the others as it stands on its back legs at six fucking feet. The bark is louder than the rest, evenmore aggressive, and it drops back down to all fours, sending sand flying up around its paws.

Adrenaline takes over and I run, pushing Delilah forward. I manage to get her a few paces in front of me when a shrieking whistle breaks the air, and the barking intensifies.

She whimpers and turns her head as the pack leaps forward.

“Fucking run!” I snap.

She slows.

Why the fuck is she slowing down?

Her cheeks are flushed and her chest heaves as I forcefully slam my right hand between her shoulder blades. My arm is fucked with the arrow twisting with my movements, but the only other option is being mauled.

34

DELILAH

Ican’t breathe.

It hurts and my lungs are on fire. It doesn’t help when Kane pushes me forward, screaming over the violent barking, “Delilah, fucking move!”

He does it again then lets out a growl of frustration. He speeds up, charging me, and his body slams into mine as he wraps his uninjured arm around my waist. I crane my neck to see the dogs on our heels like I need confirmation that this is happening. They’re too close. We don’t have anywhere we can escape. We’re stuck on an island with animals who have been trained to kill.

But then the image is replaced with a wooden door slamming. Kane presses his side against the door. He slowly sinks down, pulling me with him, as the barking rattles the door. Their nails scratch the wood and I flinch at every loud slam of their paws, jolting us both.

---