A nose pressed against a slab of Fleurette-carved mahogany. Ten toes popped as they settled in front of Rhazien's office door.
My hair was wet, the dampness drenching me through my nightgown. My skin smelt vaguely of citrus, humming in the way it does when scrubbed raw.
A loud thunk.
The bed lifted off the floor to drop back again.
It was like trying to soften iron; the thought– the memory locked behind an impenetrable wall. Everything else was a hollow shell.
Rhazien was still screaming.
He never stopped.
I remembered that.
An itch in the middle of my back, a nugget of something missing.
There was the sound of the door opening and closing upstairs. Of short, flurried steps. Jane didn't even acknowledge my existence as she trampled down the hall, heels clicking on the kitchen masonry.
I had come to the door.
For some reason, I wanted to go into Rhazien's office.
"River Woolf, I Luther Navarro, owe you a life boon..."
Three more bangs as Jane flew up the stairs, arms full of red bottles. Two more growls– One hiss of pain, before a cacophony of high-pitched shrieks.
I had come to the door.
My forehead connected with the wood, the pressure a soothing hand over my throbbing brain.
The weight was heavy– the steel cage, a presence I could acknowledge but not view.
His office was unlocked, the room held in a suspended breath. The fire was long cold, the desk neat with little evidence of use. As the door swung from my grip, bare toes brushed a dusty rug, sodden with years of smoke.
My mind felt like smoke– yellowing my skull from the inside out.
"Vampires don't feel the effects of narcotics..."
It was just a desk, but it felt like a secret.
I had already broken this privacy barrier before.
Why did it feel so wrong now?
As if in response, Rhazien's shattering howl surged through the house.
My hands were yanking open drawers, hungry to find my suspect.
Rhazien had recently cleaned out his stash, four empty syringes rolling to meet my palm. The glass was cloudy, a dark red mixture sticking to the inside of the tube.
A bang, and then another one.
I followed the noise upstairs, slipping into the bathroom tucked against the side of the stairwell. The light hummed, a soft sound compared to the violence nearby.
The medicine cabinet creaked, scouring for the palm-sized brown bottle. I removed the plungers, holding the containers between my fingers as I splashed a healthy drop of Hydrogen peroxide into each tube.
Rhazien's voice was like the bubbles climbing the glass, hissing and furious.
Another ripple of screams caused me to nearly shatter the tubes.
I couldn't–
"HE DOESN'T WANT IT!" The door smacked against the wall in a loud boom, a pale-faced, sweat-drenched Luther jerking up at my intrusion. My hands were shaking, the syringes clutched in my white fist, my chest heaving with effort.
YOU ARE READING
The Beast I Am
RomanceMissing agency and direction in her life, River takes matters into her own hands to realize she never had much control to begin with. Thrust suddenly into a world she never wanted, River grapples with her newfound existence as she navigates the trea...
