Page 106 of Our Little Monster
“Please, stop.” My plea was a graveled whisper in her ear.
But she refused to relent. She was trying to follow through on an order that wasn't hers, a command etched into her mind by a fucking monster who took pleasure in pain.
With one last wrench, I pried the knife from her grip and sent it skidding across the wooden floor.
“Damn you, Victor,” I hissed under my breath, pinning Sam's struggling form against the cold counter with one hand while the other opened the junk drawer for duct tape. “Easy,” I murmured, though my voice trembled with suppressed rage as I maneuvered her to a chair in the dining room, wrapping tape around her to keep her from harming herself—or anyone else.
Nox and Thorne appeared while I was restraining her.
“What the hell is going on?” Nox demanded, rushing over.
“Compulsion,” I growled. “Victor had her compelled to kill herself, and I don’t have any vervain here to give her; it’s back home, so I’m keeping her tied up until we do.”
I finished securing Sam, taking a step back to take a breath.
“Serina… any change?” I dared to ask, my voice barely above a murmur.
Thorne swore under his breath, his hand running through his disheveled hair. Nox's jaw clenched, the muscle ticking in silent fury.
“Nothing, Bastian,” Thorne said, his voice hollow. “She's still…” He blew out deep sigh.
“I need some air… I’ll run to the house and get the vervain. Call me if anything changes,” Nox said without a second glance at us as he rushed toward the door.
“Be quick and be careful,” I replied, nodding curtly, grateful for something proactive to cling to amidst the chaos unfurling.
It took Nox about half an hour before he slipped back into the cabin. He didn't speak, but he didn’t need to. I was sure he had spent some of those minutes away lost in the grief we all felt.
His hand extended, offering the small pouch of vervain.
“Thank you,” I muttered, taking it from him.
Thorne watched silently, his expression grim as he prepared a glass of water. With steady hands, I mixed the herb into the liquid and told Sam to drink it as I put the glass to her lips and tilted it back.
The moment the vervain-laced water touched her lips and trickled down her throat, the transformation was immediate.
Her eyes cleared, the compulsion-induced haze dissipating as if it had never been there. Her breath steadied, and the grip of fear that had clutched at her because of what she was forced to do loosened its hold.
I cut the tape off of her, and she stood on unsteady legs.
“Thank you.” Her words were weak as she looked between the three of us. “Can you take me to her please?” she said, sounding utterly defeated.
Thorne, Nox, and I followed behind as she walked toward the room nodded to. We stepped inside and there she was—Serina, so still and peaceful. She was dressed in a simple white shirt and loose pants, her hair fanned out around her like a dark halo against the pillow.
The blood and ash were gone, but so was the warmth of life that should have radiated from her skin.
Sam made it to the side of the bed and then her knees buckled, her body convulsing with sobs. Her hands wrapped around one of Serina’s.
“Please,” she choked out between cries. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. Oh my God, I killed you. Serina, I’m so sorry…”
I wanted to say something, to offer comfort, but my throat closed up, strangling any words that might have surfaced. Nox and Thorne stood beside me, their faces etched with lines of grief and guilt—a mirror of my own agony.
All we could do now was hope she woke up.
35
Bastian
Ishuffledintothedim room, my gaze fixed on the still form lying on the bed.
