Page 55 of Our Little Monster
“Good,” I said softly, allowing myself a small smile for Bastian’s benefit. “That’s good.”
He straightened up slowly, his breathing still heavy. I grabbed the bottle, my fingers brushing against its cool glass surface, and poured the amber liquor into two shot glasses. One for me and Thorne.
The kitchen’s dim light flickered in the liquid’s smooth ripples, casting a warm glow on Thorne’s anxious face. He was watching me, his eyes searching for some kind of assurance I wasn’t sure I could give him.
Thorne finally nodded, his jaw set, resigned to the task before us. I picked up a small petal of vervain, feeling it sting against my skin, the edges crisp and slightly curled. My hands didn’t shake as I dropped two petals into the shots.
The small petals sank, leaving a faint trail in their wake, a visible mark of our defiance.
We threw back the shots, the liquor burning a path down our throats. It was a torment unlike any other; I could feel the vervain infiltrating my very core, attacking with a merciless intensity. The searing heat spread like wildfire, coursing down my throat and into the depths of my being.
My muscles convulsed uncontrollably. My knees gave out from under me. Bastian did his best to hold onto Thorne and me, but he was weak.
The poison coursed through my veins, leaving behind its insidious mark, I found myself engulfed in a haze of weakness. It was as if every fiber of my being had been drained of life, leaving me with limbs heavy as lead and a mind shrouded in fog.
Every movement became a task, I tried to stand up, but each step was a struggle against the weight of my body. Yet other than the pain, the weakness, I felt a subtle shift within me—like the slow thaw of ice melting under the warmth of the sun.
The invisible chains that had bound my will loosened. Allowing small tendrils of clarity to pierce through the fog of control.
I gaped at Thorne and Nox, all of us sharing knowing glances.
“We need to do this until we’re strong enough to completely pull away from his control,” Bastian said with determination. “It might take a while. I doubt we could do this every day; it would probably kill us. But just long enough to get out from under his control.”
Thorne straightened, nodding fiercely. “We’ll need to be careful. Victor can’t suspect anything.”
“Then we’ll play his game,” I said, “until we can flip the board over and end it on our terms.”
It was our only chance.
18
Serina
Ihadn’tleft.Notafter I got my stitches out, not after I was finished with my medications, not after telling myself I would leave once I was better because of Bastian’s stipulations.
I had stayed, forweeksnow, and was growing grossly comfortable with it.
I kept telling myself it was because of the protection, a place I knew I’d be safe from Vampires coming for me in the night. The help they had to offer.
But if I let my thoughts linger on it too long, I knew it wasn’t just that; I had never been scared to sleep anywhere so long as my weapons were tied to me. It might not have been as restful, but I had done it for years.
No, if I let my mind linger too long, I knew it was because ofthem.
I didn’t want to not be around them.
I ran my hand down my face as I climbed to my feet. I could already smell Thorne’s cooking coming from downstairs; add it to the list of things I had grown fond of since staying here.
French toast? Fucking delicious.
I made my way over to my bags, still never unpacked because I had never planned on staying. I noticed all my clothes in the dirty clothes hamper. I would have to do laundry today, as everything was dirty.
All I had was what I was already wearing, and I had worn this large band tee to bed three days in a row now.
I took it off and tossed it in with the rest of the dirty clothes. Grabbing one of Bastian’s silky button ups, I slid my arms through and buttoned it. I doubted he would mind. It would have to do until I got my laundry finished.
His shirt fell to the middle of my thighs, and I kept my boy short panties on beneath. I grabbed the laundry basket, not doing anything with my mess of dark burgundy waves as I headed downstairs with the clothes.
“Good morning,” I murmured to no one in particular as I passed the kitchen to get to the door that led to the laundry area in the garage.
