Page 16 of Taming Seraphine

She glances over her shoulder and gazes up at me through huge, blue eyes. Her face would be the picture of innocence if it wasn’t smattered with blood.

The relief that sweeps through my system is so intense that my knees almost buckle.

She’s alive.

I couldn’t bear the thought of someone stealing this innocent girl away to yet another basement, especially after promising her she would be safe. Despite being happy to see her, something about this picture doesn’t look right.

Seraphine turns back to the counter, her right arm making slashing motions with a knife. I glance around, finding a plate with two slices of buttered bread and frown.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

When she doesn’t answer, I cross the kitchen, following the path of her delicate, red footprints. My pulse continues to pound. Did she see what happened to the poker crew? I imagine her curled up in a tiny ball beneath the bed, hiding from the killers until it was safe.

Fucking hell.

The poor kid.

She continues slicing something on the chopping board, using the precision of a sushi chef. I glance over her shoulder to see what she’s cutting, and my heart stops.

It’s a severed penis.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I rasp.

She looks up at me with those huge blue eyes. Blue eyes that radiate something more sinister than having simply borne witness to the murders of my poker buddies. I grab the wrist of the hand holding the knife and squeeze.

“Seraphine,” I hiss. “Where did you get that cock?”

Her face hardens, but she doesn’t speak. The only time she seems to answer my questions is when I ask about her brother... or her collar and chip.

“If you want me to help you find Gabriel, you will answer my question,” I snarl. “What the fuck happened?”

“That man touched me, so I cut off his dick,” she says, her voice flat.

“Billy Blue?”

“The one in my room.”

Guilt squeezes my chest, tightening my throat. I should have carried her out of the apartment and dumped her with Miko when she refused to leave. Now, I’ve gotten her traumatized by someone else.

“What happened next?” I ask.

“I cut him.” She raises a boning knife into the space between our bodies. “With this.”

Shit.

I step back.

“And the others?” I rasp.

“I had to make sure they wouldn’t do the same.”

Seraphine has a way of distorting reality, so all you see when looking at her is a sweet little angel. It doesn’t matter that Anton trained her as a Lolita assassin–my brain won’t allow myself to believe she’s capable of mass murder. Still, when she drops her gaze to my hand encasing her wrist, I release my grip.

“You killed them all?” I wheeze.

She turns back to the chopping board and continues slicing through Billy Blue’s cock. My gaze darts to the two slices of bread, and realization hits me in the gut.

“You’re making a sandwich?” I ask, incredulous.

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