Page 9 of Blood & Bedlam

CHAPTER 4

Falling.

The air rushes up around my body, twisting, writhing against the nothing as gravity sucks me toward the ground. But even through the fear, I am at peace. The night sky stretches above me, the stars of the heavens a tapestry of beauty. I close my eyes at the last moment, arms flung wide into the sweet oblivion of fate, but unlike so much of my life, this choice is my own.

A set of silvery blue eyes welcomes me into death’s embrace as my body collides with hard stone.

I thrash, a scream ripping from my throat as pain jolts me forward, a pair of strong yet delicate hands urging me to calm, my limbs tangled in swaths of red and black fabric. My eyes fly open, panic arresting my breath as a nightmare crashes me back to consciousness.

What a delicious little lamb you are.

The memory of that voice sends chills up my spine, a bone-chilling terror. I clutch for my neck, to the holes he ripped into my skin. Tepid hands, warmer than the icy ones that held me so tight they crushed, soothe over my face, the scent of vanilla washing over me.

“Shh, shh, you’re all right. You’re okay.” Gentle words, softly spoken into the breaking dawn and dying candlelight of this unfamiliar place, pull me out of my panic long enough to see the hands belong to a girl, no, woman, of incredible beauty. Her skin is flawless, perfectly smooth in the pale darkness, her black hair the color of ink twisted up in an intricate coil on the knot of her head. She’s dressed in an elegant couture gown that would have had Makenna salivating. Fear tears through me as I push up, attempting to swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

“Makenna?” I demand, pushing against the woman’s grip. Her large eyes are a deep, caramel brown ringed with something else, something other that makes her look nearly unreal. “Let me go. I need to find her,” I insist, but she holds firm. The fog clouding my mind dissipates just so, and memory, the weight of what’s happened, pushes me to the edge of hysteria.

“Makenna. Oh god. Oh god, he killed her.” The sob rips from my chest and I replay her death on repeat in my mind, seeing it even when I close my fucking eyes. The cruelty in his face, the savagery.

“The Italians? They killed her?” she prods gently. I hear an accent there, possibly French? Definitely European, just like those fucking monsters. My heart leaps into my throat. I tug harder, but she’s got too much strength for someone of her size.

“Let me fucking go.” I snarl, putting far more bravado into my voice than I feel through my tears. The woman cocks her head to the side and studies me curiously before releasing my arms. She makes no move to back away from the bed, but I don’t feel as trapped without her hands on me.

“I won’t harm you,” she clarifies, folding her hands neatly into her lap. Her fingernails are honed to sharp points, the color a deep gold that complements the shimmering gown she wears. My body shakes, as I glance around the elegant room, searching for an exit. The long window that leads out to a balcony looks to be my best bet, but I’m at least a floor up, judging by the treetops.

“I have to call the police. Did you hear me? He fucking killed her. H-he—” My body seizes, more and more memory pouring into my mind. Blood, so much blood …

“Listen to me—you have to breathe. We will make them pay, but for right now, we can’t have you passing out, can we? Deep breaths, that’s it.” She coaxes steady breaths from my lungs, her voice melodic as she soothes, and I feel my body relax against my will. When I manage to suck in deep gulps of air, oxygen returns to my mind. While I’m still shaking, I’m not dissolving into a mess, and that in itself feels wrong.

“You are safe. My father recognized that you were in a dangerous situation, and he quickly and swiftly corrected it. You are in our home, and once my family has had a chance to discuss the matter, you will most likely be released. I am sorry about your friend,” she offers kindly. I wring my hands together, her words a deep weight on my skin, soothing, calming, completely at odds with the panic coursing through me.

The masquerade, the man who took me away, his eyes …

I stare, dumbfounded, because, of everything she’s just said, the part I can’t wrap my head around is that she claimed her father saved me, but that can’t be true. How is it possible the mystery man from my dreams is real? But I’m sure of it—I’d know him anywhere. Pale silver irises, full lips, angular jaw, and the deep set of eyes that would make poets weep. They’re the same eyes I’ve been drawing my entire life.

“Your father saved me? He didn’t look old enough to have a grown daughter,” I sputter. She chuckles, shaking her head like she’s in on a joke I’m not.

“He’s much older than he looks,” she assures. “I’m Juliette.”

She speaks to me as though we’re old friends, and the juxtaposition of stillness over me and the raging tornado of anxiety in my gut sends me into a spiral. She barely moves, not a fidget or a flinch, and if I weren’t in shock, I may have noticed she doesn’t seem to be breathing normally. She’s beautiful and petite, but something about her screams power. The hold she had on me earlier was iron. I can’t make sense of this. “And you are …?”

“Reine,” I whisper. A shiver rocks down my spine, my fingers twisting in soft sheets because what I’m feeling is terrifyingly familiar to how it was when I’d been in that limo. “Are you like him? W-what is happening to me?” I demand. I hate that my voice shakes. Her eyes are full of pity as she hears it too.

“Yes and no. Am I strong in the way he is? Yes. Will I violate you against your will? Never,” she vows, her voice firm and filled with emotion. Even as this feeling consumes me, I recognize it’s different—I believe her.

Maybe I’ve got PTSD.

“He didn’t … violate me, like that,” I manage, swallowing thickly as shame and snakes roil in my gut. He hadn’t touched me, not sexually. Not yet, a small voice inside squeaks. Juliette’s jaw sets, and she slowly reaches her hands out, palms up, resting them between us.

“He was inside your mind. Fed on you. That’s violation of its own. Do you … do you want to talk about it? I have to warn you that they’re going to have to ask you eventually. It’s not your fault, but you’ve been dragged into something bigger than you,” she explains, and there’s a quiet vulnerability to her words that catches my ear. They’re the words and voice of a woman who knows that cruelty. Has lived with it. Sat with it and bargained in the dark with it.

She knows.

I swallow, lips trembling.

“You’re doing something to me, like he did,” I accuse.

She gives me a small smile. Inclines her head. “It’s similar, yes. I’m only tempering your most extreme emotions, curving the edge, if you will, so you can tell me what happened.”