Page 47 of Capturing Sin

The monster was watching me again.

He was always watching me.

Nothing escaped his notice. Not the vials I picked up, nor the way my hand shook as it hovered over the syringe. Nothing.

I skirted the bench, heading to the mini fridge that somehow made the sterile room feel more like a hotel room than a lab.

Was I walking weird?

It felt like I was walking weird.

What are you even meant to do with your arms while you walk? What is the optimal level of swing? Forty degrees either side? No. Surely it’s more forwards than back, right?

I glanced over at the demon under my lashes, wondering if his heightened senses could somehow pick up on the internal panic threatening to make me fling my arms about like a marching soldier.

His starlit gaze met mine, arrowing straight through all the noise to pin me in place.

I stilled. My entire nervous system locked down for a drawn-out beat.

Then I blinked, breaking his spell and moving with purpose—and very little arm swing—towards the fridge.

Since the hate-blow-job incident, I was acting weird around him.

Of course, Sin was completely unfazed. Like he received hate blow jobs on the regular from people holding him prisoner and trying to poison him.

I’d fed him for the last week. Every. Single. Day.

He’d kept up his almost-orgasm biting tactic, and I hated to admit that it was working. Despite the…reprieve.

I was slowly losing my mind. Even though every night in the shower, I’d embarrassingly finish what he started. My thoughts betraying me with the image of his savage face and cruel smirk as I came.

I swore I could almost feel his twisted satisfaction in the act. Like he had some mystical demon powers and knew what I was doing.

The lack of food wasn’t helping.

I’d resolved to continue saving money, but the cost was putting me on a bowl of cereal and a pack of ramen noodles as my only food every day. With the demon taking my blood, and valuable nutrients right along with it, I was starving. But that stubborn part of me that craved freedom refused to touch the savings I’d stashed in the flimsy wall of my apartment.

My stomach chose that moment to growl, as ferocious as any demon. I ignored the hunger pang, pretending it wasn’t painfully hollowing out my middle, grabbing the day’s compound as I prepared to inject it.

My hand shook too much to be of any use.

A wave of dizziness swept over me. I stumbled, dropping the syringe to the counter.

The world blinked.

I gazed up at a panelled ceiling. Roaring filled my ears.

My head throbbed. Nausea swam through my gut. My mouth felt thick.

The rushing sound cleared into words.

“Poison! What the fires are you doing? Get up!” a masculine voice snarled.

Booming thuds sounded, and I flicked my eyes to the source, struggling to focus.

A panicked demon slammed his spiked fists against the glass separating us. But he was the wrong way up.

I frowned. Why was I on the floor?

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