Page 122 of The Cannibal

With a bloodied smile, Levi gave a slight shake of his head before he let his back rest fully against the floor. One less fang than the last time he’d opened his mouth.

Individuals rushed to the middle of the floor, Luka grabbing Silas to pull him away as they tried to assess the damage on his father.

“Alina!” Phoebe grabbed my arm. I didn’t even notice her come to my side. “Are you all right?” Her voice swam.

But all I could do was stare at the bloodied mess of the floor, wishing I could have shared the catharsis of making it myself. Another time where my own cowardice proved I may be able to help every single soul except my own.

33

THE POISONER

If I rubbed my thumb into my palm anymore, I may wear away the skin.

I stood in the hallway outside the lab. Everyone from representatives to private security from all Nests surrounded the door. We had to treat him to avoid nullifying any goodwill we’d earned with our guests, but I feared it was already gone the minute Silas laid his hands on Levi last night.

Much was speculated about what was going on behind those doors, yet no one dared to speak too loudly.

My back was flat against the wall as I stared at my shoes, unsure what to do with myself. The ghost of hands on me made me flinch uncontrollably. This morning, I was buttoned entirely up to the neck, not even an inch of lace to avoid skin contact. The red color I chose for my wardrobe made me ill. All too bright, too noticeable. I wanted to be a shadow, never to draw the eye again.

Even staying in Phoebe’s room the entire night did not ease my tremors. I was awake, more than ever, even if my body begged to be put down. It was like my mind couldn’t shut off. Memories that were tucked away for years resurfaced involuntarily with far too much detail. I couldn’t wake from an endless loop of dreams, only to be woken with terrible dread.

The hand on my shoulder made me want to desleeve my arm.

“Alina.” Luka’s voice broke through the barrier, and suddenly the ache in my spine made me incredibly ill in spirit.

I couldn’t look at him.

“He won’t let me touch him.” He leaned close, to shield his face from prying spectators itching for anything to spill. “He said he will only let you.” Luka took both of my hands, one by one, and wrapped them around a jar.

I swallowed, glancing down.

A jar of milk, a long fang’s point breaking the surface of the white substance.

“Why me?”

“Punishment.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Not you,” he clarified, his hands only leaving mine when he was sure I wouldn’t drop the glassware. “I will be outside.”

He stepped away.

The spectators in the hallway stared. Some held their handkerchiefs over their faces in disgust, either at myself or what was in the jar—most likely a mixture.

My brow twitched involuntarily. There was no settling my exhausted nerves.

The bodies avoided me the minute I pushed off the wall and approached the heavily guarded door.

Men stood like statues, not even a single glance as they let me into my own laboratory.

The skylight lit only half the room, dust dancing in the air before it found a home on the cabinet glass or stuck to the surface of the table.

A dark figure sat at the back of the lab at the end of my workbench.

Light reflected from the back of his irises when he looked up. He was so still, as frozen as the ice against his head. Like some insect, he uncurled from poor posture when the door closed gently behind me. But I didn’t move.

“I don’t bite, dove.” The tone was cool, slow enough to hear a slight rattle as the phantom spoke.