Page 34 of Nemesis

For some reason, it didn’t feel inconsequential when it was dripping from Octavia’s arm in that clever offering. No, her blood felt devout. Something worth collecting on my knees and securing to an altar.

Something’s off.

I’m not sure exactly what it is. In fact, I’m not too sure about anything now. Each thought slugs along like a projectile fired underwater. The cage…where is the cage? I think I left something in it. I need to get back. I need to…

The weight of a boot shifts somewhere behind my chair, shoving me back into the present.

Octavia.

It’s the silence. That’s what’s bugging me. The other guy, the leader, from what I can tell, is loud and boisterous. Sure, he almost accidentally killed me with a moronic slice not five minutes ago, but I’ll take that over quiet any day. Especially when there’s a snake coiling behind my chains, reveling in his freedom from surveillance.

I straighten as best as I can against the metal backing. Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t think this specific guard has ever been allowed to handle us without an audience. Not since…

My chest clenches. Those heavy steps clip across the floor until the massive oaf passes right by my chair. Directly to the cage.

Not since Octavia stepped in front of me and bit a chunk out of that asshole’s neck.

My shoulders strain and twist, trying to catch a glimpse in the very direction I’ve refused to look in for the past hour.

“Hello again.”

My stomach sinks. I twist further away from the dangling yellow light. The chains bite into my skin, but I couldn’t give less of a shit. Not when I see the hulking, dark form stepping up to the bars of the cage. Stafford, I remember the others calling him.

Twisting, I catch another shadow, mostly concealed in the darkest corner of the cell.

Good girl. Stay back.

“What, you don’t feel like talking?” He clicks his tongue, folding his arms into his chest. The worst of my dizziness dissipates with the rising threat. “I thought you’d at least like to apologize.”

“Fat chance,” I hear a soft, high-pitched voice spit. My chains clatter against strain. Don’t antagonize him, I want to shout, but it would only drive his growing excitement.

An unpleasant laugh seeps into the air. “I can’t believe they’re all fighting over an untrained brat like you.” His head tilts in consideration. Fuck. Not good. But then those steps rumble once more, this time approaching me. I can’t even celebrate the shift in direction because something about his entire game feels wrong. “Maybe your friend, here, will volunteer to pay your penance?”

I’m nodding before his last word spills free from his lips. “I will pay your price.”

“No!”

To my horror, the small shadow launches up from the back of the cage, materializing into the light. Stupid fucking girl.

“I said I will pay it,” I repeat louder, straightening to twist even further toward the cage. One of my wounds reopens, spilling dark dribbles down my chest. I don’t even glance.

Without turning, Stafford freezes mid-step, lips twisting in a knowing smile when his eyes meet mine. He may not be the leader of this poorly run operation, but he’s much more calculating than the rest. Octavia’s bite seems to have launched some sort of fixation. He wants to play with his prey.

“No? Do you want to settle up, little lamb?” he asks, still facing me with that fucking smile. Reaching over to the nearby stool, he plucks up the blade. Red still coats the metal, not yet dry from his predecessors’ ministrations. I shove my arm off the chair’s ledge, stretching it as far as it will go with the unyielding restraints.

“What will it be?” I lift my swollen wrist. “Do you want to finish what your boss couldn’t?”

“Stop! Don’t touch him,” Octavia shrieks from the cage, ignoring every single rule I’ve laid out for her. I’ve done everything I could think of to keep her from growing an attachment to me. Why the hell does she continue to try to protect me?

“Quiet,” I snap. Let him focus on me, zlaya.

Please.

Except she doesn’t relent. “Leave him alone. It’s me you want, isn’t it?” she cries out, pulling some vital string packed inside my chest. Cold creeps down my spine. “I’m the one who messed up your neck, and I’d do it again. I can still taste your blood on my tongue. My only regret is not biting deeper and ending your pathetic life!”

The change is like a puff of smoke, there and gone in a single blink. One second, Stafford is barely a step away from my chair, fiddling mindlessly with the knife. In the next, he’s nothing but a vengeful shadow stomping across the room. I shout out, thrashing in the bolted chair.

She doesn’t cower in the back of the cage like I so desperately need her to. When Stafford reaches the silver bars, her hands are already wrapped around the grooves, in perfect reach. Those bright green eyes flicker in the dull light.