Page 16 of Of Monsters and Mazes

Having just managed it with my right foot, it was easy to figure out how to move to free my left. A sense of relief penetrated the anxiety that had been swirling through my gut, and my heart rate almost started to slow as freedom was on the horizon.

Not that I knew where to go. The floor could be lava for all I was aware. But figuring that out while free was much easier than while bound.

I wriggled loose, one millimeter at a time.

Come on. Come on!

The thickest part of my ankle cleared the gap, and I near giggled in pure elation. A wide grin covered my face, and I was so ready to get out of this dark box and back to Pumpkin.

What a pathetic attempt at a trap.

I started drawing my knees to my chest, when a rough, calloused palm wrapped around my right ankle. With a sudden jerk of force, my assailant tugged my foot back down to the bottom lip of the wooden table, and violent pain shot through my entire body as a nail was plunged straight through the skin, flesh, and bone of the top of my foot. I was pinned back to the surface, now much more brutally and permanently.

I heard a scream, and it took several seconds to realize it was my own. It tore from my lungs and echoed back through the chamber in a vicious symphony. Three more nails broke through the top of my foot. I didn’t have time to gather my wits before this monster had my other ankle nailed down too.

They secured each foot with four more well placed bangs of a hammer. My legs were forced wide, while my knees were bent just to accommodate for the awkward position of my feet.

Tears stung my eyes that still couldn’t see a damn thing, before that same rough palm was around my neck, shoving me back down to the platform.

“Please. Stop. Please don’t kill me.” I heard pathetic sobbing, only to realize that was me, too. “I just want to get my cat back. That’s all. Then you can do whatever you want.” Bargaining. Pleading. Begging.

The game had felt winnable up until now, when it had been my wit versus Jericho’s, or my will against the forest, but I wasn’t facing off against him this time. I’d already felt the Devil King’s soft fingers to know this was someone or something else entirely.

The figure climbed on top of the table with me, and I could feel their intense warmth as they settled in between my open legs and tightened that hand more roughly around my neck. The direct contact radiated overwhelming heat down to my core, while a material that felt something like denim nudged my legs fully apart so they could position between my thighs. I forced breaths through the stranglehold on my esophagus, sweat bloomed from every pore on my body, and I trembled as the monster fit their pelvis against mine. They hiked my skirt even higher past my hips, and I heaved sobs from my lungs.

Without a word, they released my neck, and they grabbed hold of my right hand. I fought with my left, banging on the monster’s back with a closed fist, but this rock hard, muscular creature on top of me was completely unaffected. They raised their hammer and sent another nail down through my forearm.

Tink.

TiNk.

TINK.

I screamed and pounded harder against their shoulder as they continued their descent. The monster punctured my flesh with long, sharp nails in a lateral line right between the bones. They created a pattern of violence from my inner elbow to my upturned wrist, splitting my radius and ulna with the pressure of steel, and trapping me with one metal stake at a time. It took no effort for them to pin my left hand afterwards, finishing the job with loud clangs. My throat was raw and sore from screaming by the time they were through.

When the assault finally eased, I held my trembling lip between my teeth and tried to find some semblance of dignity again, even if it was fake and temporary.

“Your voice is beautiful, Butterfly.” A deep octave purred on top of me, and my whole heart stopped in my chest. “Don’t stop singing for me.”

With a flick of his finger, a small candle’s flame ignited on each side of my head. At last I’d confirmed my sight had returned, though I was no longer thankful for it as I took in the terrifying view of the man on top of me.

A masculine figure with thick platinum hair, swept back between rounded black horns, examined my expression. Scars that extended beyond the corners of his mouth carved a permanent smile on his face, adding an edge of viciousness to the real smirk that was already there. His eyes were an electric blue, divided by slits, with a glow that was impossible to miss even in the low light. Black jeans hugged his hips, and a heavy red scarf was draped around his neck, dangling over his bare chest and thickly defined muscles.

I could only make out those simple characteristics in the heavy shadows, but I could certainly see that much.

Gaining a visual forced me to notice the drops splashing down on my forehead again, and now I could tell all too clearly that the water leak wasn’t water at all. No, it was deep red, dripping down from the torn flesh of an unidentifiable head hanging from the roof above me. With another snap of his fingers, torches lit up the room with bright flames, illuminating both the rows of headless bodies nailed to blood stained walls at even intervals, and the sheer number of dangling, decapitated, and gasping faces swaying from chains on the ceiling.

I couldn’t breathe now, even without his hand on my neck, and I was fairly certain my heart wasn’t beating anymore. No air cycled through my lungs. No blood reached my face. No images translated through my eyes.

Pure, visceral fear was the only thing I could feel as this psychopath nailed me to a table like I was an insect in his collection.

“Fuck, that expression is satisfying.” His voice, so rich and smooth, barely registered in my ears. He bit his lip and adjusted himself in his pants. “Won’t you sing for me again?”

He slipped his fingers beneath my shirt, and he slowly pushed the fabric up my abdomen, dancing his fingertips just over my skin as he exposed me to his gaze. The feeling of cotton sliding along my rib cage sent a shiver down my spine. When he reached my bust line, he paused for only a second, before he nudged my shirt up and over my breasts.

He cradled the cup of my bra in his hand, and he stroked the lacey edge with the rough skin of his thumb. His idle movements tugged at the delicate fabric with the coarse callous on his fingertip as he followed the swirls of the design. The light pressure felt good even through the padding, and I couldn’t discern which shivers were fear and which were my body’s reaction to his gentler touch.

“Beautiful.” He hummed as he danced along the top of the cup. He skimmed my breast with that warm touch, and he following the contour down to the small bow in the center. “Has anyone ever told you you’re flawless, Butterfly?”