Page 18 of Demonic Cage
This is not like it was in the cemetery. This is real now. His fingers are gently caressing my face, and as much as he looks like the kind of man I would fantasize about… somewhere deep inside, I know he’s not.
And this realization fills me with so much fear that suddenly I’m not sure if I want to break free from my previous life. But the psychiatric ward… I can’t go back there. Because if I go back, there’s no guarantee I’ll survive.
“Do what you truly desire, Lotte,” Darya says. He’s so close, his chest is touching mine. “Come with me. Of course, if you choose the monsters, I understand. That’s a kind of fate, too.”
My stomach churns as I think about the monsters. If I stay here, would they attack me again? Would I be safe here at all?
I bite my lip, and Darya looks at the motion again. I won’t decide to go simply because I’m attracted to his… his broad jawline, his sculpted, perfect physique, or the way he looks at me like he wants to tear my clothes off. Somehow, I see the monster behind the beautiful mask, and I feel like he’s deliberately letting me see it. To prepare me for something I don’t yet know. Perhaps if I go with him, it won’t be easier.
But it will be different. And this difference promises nothing, just the possibility that there might not be any more medication. Maybe no one will see me as crazy anymore.
Darya leans closer.
“Tell me, what do you desire, my little champion?”
I have no idea why he calls me this.
“I don’t want to stay here,” I whisper, my voice trembling with the truth. I’m somewhere else – somewhere in my past, where every dark memory surfaces thanks to the medication. “I don’t want to be locked up. I want to leave this place. To go somewhere where they can’t lock me up again. To a place where… they won’t see me as crazy anymore. Can you give me that?”
He inhales the scent of my skin, as if it were a fresh page of a new book.
“Yes,” he replies, nodding.
He releases me, making circular motions with his hand as if loosening his wrist. Mist, as black as soot, forms on the floor at his gesture. Cold rises from the gaping hole. I hear the call of a bird, like a raven’s gurgling croak, and a smoky scent burns my nose.
“You said angels kill people who have demon blood,” I say, addressing Darya uncertainly. “What doyoudo with them?”
The man holds me tightly, his moon-white hand freeing the hair from my neck.
“We break them.”
Just as I’m beginning to comprehend this, and just as I see that sunlight is filling the room again, Nathan regains consciousness, but he no longer sees me. I press my body tightly against Darya’s before the dark patch rippling on the floor touches us and sucks us underground.
The black fog rapidly and violently throws me down. My feet sink into the marshy, muddy ground, and I fall into Darya’s arms.
I weakly turn my head, pushing myself away from the man. Without his help, I can’t stand on my own. Clinging to his arm, I look around. The light is chillingly red, and I have to blink to see anything. The air is damp, and I cringe at the earthy scent. Brown swamp walls surround me, with both sides leading into long, dark tunnels. I am in a cave. Red and white crystals are embedded in the rock, providing a source of light just like lanterns.
Breathing is difficult. The narrow space and dizziness remind me of another place, one from which I could barely escape.
I startle at Darya’s scratchy voice. Once again, he speaks in a language I don’t understand. His silver hair now glows red, and his black pupils scrutinize.
He contemplates my silence, as if angry I can’t see clearly in the red light. Where am I, though? My muscles slowly come to life, tiny stabs spreading through my limbs. I blink to dispel the effects of the sleepless night caused by the withdrawal symptoms. I am terribly tired.
I feel the sting of the drugs I hastily took rushing through my stomach.
“When do you think,” the man says in French, “you will speak our language again?”
Their language? He means that scratchy voice. I once saw a video where members of an African tribe clicked their tongues at the end of each word, deeply, as if they had a muscle in their throats that we don’t. Darya’s language reminds me of that. An indefinable scratching, as if a caveman is trying to kindle fire with two flint stones.
“I never understood your language,” I mumble, my head heavy.
“We spoke it all afternoon,” he says.
I shake my head. Can’t they leave me alone to process all this new information, just for a moment? This damn cave is spinning enough already.
Darya has brought me to a place that… Actually, I have no idea what kind of place this is, but the cave walls are closing in as though I’m never to escape from here.
Panic takes over me, and my palms start to sweat.
