Page 47 of Cruel Malady: A Necrosis of the Mind

The world is dark and begins to tilt. I sway and reach out in search of her.

“I wish I could feel bad about this,” she says, and I hear the twigs snapping under her boots as she nears. “But, as you’ve pointed out many times, I don’t have the capacity.”

The sight of her raising the rock comes into focus, and my instincts take over. I use my forearm to block the attack, and Blakely decides instantly that she’s not ready to fight. She drops her weapon and takes off at a run.

“Fuck.” I touch the sharp pain at my temple, my fingers showing the dark stain of blood when I examine them.

I don’t want to fight her. But it’s best we get this part out of the way early, so she learns there’s no escape. Then we can both stop this anxious dance.

Faculties restored, I start in the direction she went. Toward the river. She’s fast; I knew she would be. But I have the advantage of familiarity on my side. I’ve stalked this ground for years. I’ve learned every path. Memorized every tree.

Pines claw toward the canvas of stars. The sky is backlit by the glow of the moon, providing a blanket of light along the forest floor. As I reach the mouth of the river, I hear Blakely’s footfalls along the beach, the crush of rocks beneath her feet.

I pull in a shuttering breath, adrenaline climbing. The chase gives way to something dormant, something inherently primal within me.

Even though she’s a city girl, she’s resourceful out here. Following the river is the smartest way to find civilization and not get lost in the process. Unfortunately, it’s that cunning wit of hers that makes her easier to track.

As I gain ground, I quickly snatch the syringe from my boot and pick up speed. I hear her trip ahead, a fervent curse rebounds off the rock crags, and then I catch sight of her.

She splashes into the river, looking back once to gauge my distance.

“We can stop now,” I shout. “It doesn’t have to go this far, Blakely.”

She continues to wade into the river up to her knees, committed to her quest. She has nothing to lose. I have everything to lose, however, and that fear—that I feel down deep in my core—propels me forward.

The icy water bites into my body as I enter the river. I hold the syringe aloft as I come up on her, my free hand snagging the soaked hem of her shirt.

Blakely groans, her voice cracking, breath fogging the air around us, as she lodges a strike to my face. Her nails claw my cheek, and I quickly maneuver out of her reach before banding an arm around her waist.

I pull her back to my chest and secure her arms, syringe gripped tightly in my fist, as I cradle her body against mine. The frigid water streams around us—and I should be shivering the way Blakely is shivering in my arms, but I’m on fire.

The freezing water prickles my skin like a million needle punctures, but soon the searing burn of her flesh touches mine. I admit, it gives me a thrill that she chose to fight—an excuse to finally hold her the way I’ve only dared to fantasize.

Suppressing my urges, I tow Blakely to the river’s edge. She’s strong, I know she is, but whatever fight she had has been drained by the river. I lay her along the flat earth to catch my breath, and she rebounds with a second wind, struggling against my hold.

“We’re done,” I say, as I clasp her wrists in one hand and use my forearm to pin her arms to the ground.

Her eyes burn with malice. Her breaths come hard, her chest rising with each strained inhale.

I bring the syringe to her neck in warning, the tip of the needle pressed to the pulse in her vein. Our eyes stay locked as the threat hangs between us.

She takes a ragged breath. “Do it,” she dares. “This is how you want me…”

The challenge in her fiery gaze ignites my soul—and it’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. There’s no passion behind that heated gaze, yet she imitates it so perfectly, testing my resolve.

It’s a flaw in the design.

“A creature so unfeeling shouldn’t be allowed to imitate sentiment,” I say, a light whisper across her lips. “You’re like the viceroy mimicking the monarch, beautiful and dangerous.”

Her arms go lax against my hold, her gaze flicks over my features searchingly. “You’re insane.”

Quite possibly, and it would be all her doing. “I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity,” I recite a favorite verse, yet I don’t think I fully understood the meaning of Poe’s words until now.

I grow hard where I bear down between her thighs, and I know she can feel my arousal. She can see it in my eyes—how badly I want to taste her, to know what those dangerous lips feel like against mine.

I lower the syringe and let it fall to the earth. Then I reach down between our bodies and unfasten my buckle. Blakely’s eyes widen in alarm as I pull the leather belt from my waistband.

I groan at the torturous friction the movement causes. One second where I saver the feel of her this close, then I push upward, bringing her hands with me. I lasso the belt around her wrists and cinch it tight.

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