Page 199 of Sins of the Hidden

But his eyes—his eyes burned with recognition so fierce it could resurrect the dead.

"V?" My voice came out strangled, barely audible over the hammering of my pulse. The copper scent grew thicker, coating my throat like oil. My stomach revolted violently, and I doubled over, dry heaving against the doorframe. Tears streamed down my face as I fought to stay upright, to stay conscious. "It's okay now. I'm h-here."

The room kept spinning. I could barely see him through the haze of nausea and terror that clouded my vision. Every breath brought more of that metallic stench, making my throat close up like I was drowning in it.

His body convulsed. Head snapping toward me with desperate, starving hunger. His pupils had devoured everything else, leaving only thin rings of molten gold around endless black. Lips peeled back from teeth that looked ready to bite or pray—I couldn't tell the difference anymore.

"Not real," he snarled, every muscle coiled to spring. To end. To silence whatever cruel joke his mind was playing. "They always wear her face. Use her voice. They dress up like angels and speak with forked tongues." His voice cracked like ice over deep water. "Not real. Can't be real. She's gone. I lost her. I always lose her."

The words hit me like physical blows, each one driving deeper into my chest. My vision blurred, the room tilting sickeningly as the smell of carnage overwhelmed my senses.

He thought I was a hallucination.

"I-It's me." I took a trembling step forward, my legs shaking so violently I nearly collapsed. The copper-thick air made my vision blur, black spots dancing at the edges. I had to stop, gripping my stomach as another wave of nausea crashed over me. "I'm h-here. I'm real."

I couldn't stop shaking. Couldn't stop the tears streaming down my face. The smell was everywhere, in my hair, on my clothes, coating the inside of my mouth until I gagged on it.

The bat lifted, hanging in the space between us like a promise of death. Dark drops fell from its surface, each one hitting the floor with a wet sound that made my skin crawl.

"Stay back."

"Oakley, don't." Dad warned, his voice tight as a wire about to snap. "He's not himself?—"

"Shut up," Mitchell commanded, eyes never leaving V. "Let her try."

I moved closer, my legs threatening to give out with each step. The glass crunched under my feet, but I could barely hear it over the roaring in my ears. My vision kept swimming, the room tilting dangerously as wave after wave of nausea rolled through me. I pressed my hand to my mouth again, fighting not to vomit.

The smell grew stronger with each step, overwhelming, until I could taste it coating my teeth. My heart hammered so hard against my ribs I thought it might burst.

Another step. My vision went white around the edges, and I swayed dangerously. Close enough to see the evidence of his rampage painted across his skin like war paint. Not drops—he was baptized in it, anointed in the holy sacrament of violence done in my name.

I couldn't breathe. The room spun faster, and I had to brace myself against nothing, my hands shaking so hard I couldn't control them. Bile rose in my throat again, bitter and burning.

My stomach lurched. I pressed my hand to my mouth, fighting the bile that surged upward. This was what love looked like when filtered through a monster's devotion. This was what happened when V believed I was gone.

V's breathing stuttered. His head tilted like a wolf catching scent, nostrils flaring as he drew me in deep. His eyes widened, recognition fighting through the haze of madness like dawn breaking through storm clouds.

"Oakley?" My name broke on his lips like a prayer he'd forgotten how to finish. Hope and terror danced in his expression—desperate to believe, terrified to trust his own senses again.

"I'm h-here." The words came out weak, breathless. Black spots danced across my vision, and I swayed on my feet. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to get away from the carnage, from the smell that was suffocating me. "I'm r-real."

My knees buckled, and I had to lock them to stay standing. The metallic scent seemed to coat my lungs, making each breath a struggle. Tears kept streaming down my face, and I couldn't stop them.

The bat trembled in his grip, metal scraping against concrete like fingernails on a gravestone. His eyes darted wildly—to Mitchell, to the shadows, back to me. Searching for the trap. For the moment reality would splinter like safety glass and leave him drowning in nightmares again.

"They hurt you." Not a question. A conviction carved into his soul with rusty knives. His voice dropped to something barely human. "Broke you while I was locked away. Made me listen to you scream."

My stomach collapsed. Whatever hell his mind had created, I'd been the victim in it. V, believing I was being destroyed while he could do nothing—the thought made me want to burn down everything that had ever dared to hurt him this way.

"N-No one hurt me." I kept my voice steady even as my soul fractured, even as the metallic taste in the air made me gag. "I'm o-okay."

"Liar!" The word exploded from him like a gunshot, rattling what glass remained. Veins bulged in his neck, his face flushing dark. The bat swung up, pointing at Mitchell like an accusation carved in steel. "He called you here. Wants you bleeding. Wants you broken. Can't let them. Won't let them touch what's mine."

"V, l-look at me." I forced myself to take the final step, though my legs were shaking so hard I nearly fell. The bat's wooden tip kissed my chest, right over my heart, and the copper scent rising from its surface made me gag violently. My vision swam, darkness creeping in. "P-Put it down."

I was going to pass out. I could feel it coming—the way the room tilted, the way my hearing went muffled, the way my knees wanted to give out completely. I gripped my stomach, doubled over as another wave of nausea hit me.

He moved around me in a slow circle, each step deliberate, predatory. But not hunting—mourning. The bat scraped against the floor as he walked, leaving dark streaks that made my stomach heave. He stopped inches behind me, and I felt his breath against my neck as he inhaled deeply, shuddering.

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