Page 44 of The Flesh Remembers
She stilled.
Frye leaned in. “You know what this place is, what it’s doing to you. And you’re still here.”
He pressed her back against the stone, the texture rough through her nightgown.
“I’ve seen the way you walk now,” he growled. “How your hips sway, the look in your eyes when you pass the ritual chamber.”
His mouth brushed her ear.
“You’re aching to be touched. And not by James.”
She slapped him.
But her breath was shallow. Her cheeks flushed. And her hand lingered for a second too long against Frye’s chest.
Frye’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist before she could retreat. She let out a startled cry, stumbling as he shoved her roughly against the wall. Marian gasped, standing to intervene, but Frye’s glare held her back.
“This was my ticket," Frye snarled, his breath scorching her cheek. "You think I went through hell for these filthy rites just to watch you and that rotting beast wreck it all? I won’t let you ruin this.” His eyes gleamed with a twisted mixture of white hot anger and barely suppressed fear.
A sliver of genuine fear pierced Eleanor’s exhaustion. She tried to twist free, but he pressed a forearm to her chest. The coldness in his look sent a chill down her spine. In another time, she’d have rebuked him with moral outrage; now, morally frayed, she still felt a sick jolt of arousal at his domineering threat.Have I become so warped that even this stirs me?
Marian darted forward, heart pounding. “Frye, stop this!” she pleaded. “Leave her be!”
But Frye only sneered, glancing from Eleanor to the nurse. “Oh, I see,” he spat out in a mixture of anger and something else. He tightened his hold, forcing Eleanor’s back against the unyielding wall. She winced as her bruised shoulder flared with pain.
Frye’s free hand slid to Eleanor’s waist with a punishing grip. The moment bristled with non-consensual tension that left her trembling. She hated the adrenaline rush, the heated flush crawling over her skin. The entire clinic reeked of raw sexual violence in the aftermath of last night, and she found herself trapped in its vile current yet again.
For a heartbeat, it seemed he might assault her. But then, a slash of movement from behind. Marian lunged in a surge of protective desperation, brandishing a small scalpel she must have taken from the infirmary tray. She pressed it to Frye’s neck, voice trembling with rage-laced bravery. “Let go of her. Now.”
Frye let out a snarl but hesitated, eyes flicking to the glinting blade at his throat. He released Eleanor with a violentshove, sending her stumbling into Marian’s arms. The nurse tightened her grip on the scalpel, fury and fear mingling in her expression. “I’m done watching you exploit this chaos. Touch her again, and I swear”
Frye stepped back, glowering, the near-assault turned on its head by the nurse’s intervention. For a moment, it seemed the confrontation might escalate to lethal violence.
But with a curse, Frye pivoted and stormed off, muttering something unintelligible as he slammed the door behind him.
Eleanor collapsed to her knees, tears burning her eyes, battered by exhaustion and confusion. Marian dropped the scalpel, sinking beside her, voice trembling with emotion. “He’s out of control. We all are.” She paused, pressing a trembling hand to Eleanor’s cheek. “Are you hurt?”
Shaking her head, Eleanor whispered, “No. Thank you… You saved me.” She shut her eyes, reeling from the leftover erotic terror that still tingled in her limbs, as if her body couldn’t discern threat from a sick sense of twisted desire. She despised how her heart still pounded with faint excitement, a testament to how deeply these vile sessions had corrupted her.
Marian exhaled a shuddering breath. “We can’t keep living like this, on the brink of devouring each other. Frye might attack again. Others… might do worse.” Her gaze fell to the scalpel on the floor. “The madness is strangling the clinic.”
Yet even in that moment, neither could entirely deny the lure that had brought them all here. The same mania that overshadowed decency also promised the final act that might raise James to true life.
A rasp of footsteps broke their hush. Dr. Fairfax approached, eyes red-rimmed, expression grim. He’d heard the shouting. “I tried to find Lord Blackwood; he’s vanishedfor the moment. But I overheard Frye leaving, ranting about taking James for himself.” A bitter edge stained his tone. “The clinic is fracturing, Eleanor. I can’t see how we can avoid complete collapse.”
She pulled herself upright, leaning against the wall, mind whirling with the last vestiges of adrenaline. “We can’t collapse now. James is closer than ever.We must attempt another resurrection soon, before everything falls apart.”
Marian stared at her, raw disbelief flickering in her eyes. “After all this horror, you still want to push forward?”
Eleanor’s bottom lip wobbled slightly, tears brimming. “He’s my reason,” she murmured. “I can’t let him remain a husk, or a beast prowling the halls. We have to try at least once more. We do it properly, with all the apparatuses ready. Maybe we can break this cycle and return him to his original form.”
Dr. Fairfax met her gaze, pity and reluctant respect etched on his face. He glanced at Marian, who silently nodded. Despite her near meltdown, the nurse recognized that no other path was left. “If that’s your vow, we stand with you,” the doctor said quietly. “But the moral cost… It's staggering. I didn’t start my research all those years ago to bring such abominations into the world. I wanted to save husbands and wives, parents and children from having to experience the loss of age and death. And now, it seems, that death is all we are consumed with now.” Fairfax sighed heavily, running a hand through his pale hair.
Eleanor drew a slow, deliberate breath, her resolve pressing down on her chest. Moral cost. The words echoed in her mind, a grim tally of Frye’s twisted aggression, the bruises on her arms from nights of “fuelling,” and the guttural moans that haunted these corridors, born of necromantic hunger. Yet, through the haze of depravity, James’s stolenkisses lingered, his undead eyes searching hers, pleading silently for salvation.
Her vow solidified, sharp as a blade: she would see James fully alive, no matter the cost, even if it meant sacrificing the last fragile remnants of her innocence. “We will do it soon,” she said, her voice steady and unyielding. We gather the staff, we steady the coil. We face whatever mania awaits us. James is trapped within that shell, and it is my duty to bring him back. I caused his pain; I cannot abandon him now.”
Marian’s voice cut through the silence, soft yet weighted with doubt. “No, you can’t. But what if we fail? What if we lose him, and ourselves? Is it worth your life, Eleanor? Is it worth all of ours?”
