Page 42 of Devour
“In,” he demands.
I rush past him into the small, dark room, and my trembling knees buckle, dropping me to the ground. My breaths come in too fast. My mind is a mess of fear and sadness. My eyes lock on a smear of red blood on my forearm.
Somehow, that is what opens the door to panic, and I am quickly flooded.
My chest is crushed under the weight of my reality. I scream and slam my fist into the stone, which sends roaring pain up my arm and into my back.
I sob uncontrollably.
The door shuts with a thunk.
I don’t know how long I cry for, but it feels as if an hour must have passed before I finally notice that I am alone.
I twist awkwardly, panic still pressing down on my chest and black still peppering my vision, but I find a closed door and no one by it.
My new personal Dread left and has not come back, which is a relief but also somewhat confusing because as I finally take agood look around, I find it hard to believe this is a room made for me—a captive.
It’s not particularly large, but it looks lived in, and actually fairly cozy.
Though the walls and floor are uneven dark stone, it is furnished with a fur bed and a flickering lantern opposite it. Several wicker baskets line the other wall, filled with clothes of some kind. There are weapons stacked in the corner.
Those are most certainly not for me. I could easily end my life with them if I wanted. If I didn’t have a loved one to reunite with, I might have even considered it.
Could I catch my captor by surprise and kill him the moment he enters the room next? Certainly the cult wouldn’t want that. The chances I could succeed in that endeavor are slim. Besides, what then?
Where would I go? As soon as the cult found out I’d be fed to the draken. I shiver.
Quickly, I grab a small, ribbed knife before I can convince myself against it. I don’t know what purpose it could possibly serve, but it feels good to have some ability to defend myself. I tear a stretch of cloth from my leggings and wrap it around my thigh, pinning the blade uncomfortably against my flesh, then I carefully maneuver my skirt to cover it.
I look through a few more items. There is a small wooden shelf with jars of liquids. I peer into a few of the jars, but I couldn’t confidently identify a single one. They could be poisons, or they could be herbal remedies, or they could simply be recreational spirits.
The door swings open, and it’s as if I’ve been struck. I stumble back, slamming against the uneven stone wall.
The Dread, still covered in blood, stands there with wide eyes.
The moment of stillness settles between us. He doesn’t approach me. He doesn’t attack. He just watches, as if he were the one who should be afraid.
Finally, he slowly lifts an object in his right hand. A bucket.
“To wash the blood,” he says softly. Too soft. Why would a man twice my size who drinks blood and rides reptile beasts speak so softy? “And to drink.”
When I don’t move, he slowly sets the bucket on the ground.
“There—there will be opportunities to bathe, and there will be food, but for the night, this will have to do.”
His shadow looms over my crumpled body. Harsh stone, bitter cold. And him, my nightmare.
He shifts on his feet, and I squeeze my eyes closed, bracing for what will come next.
Moments pass, almost long enough for me to open my eyes, to beg him to just get it over with.Whatever happens here, just let it happen.This waiting is a torment of its own.
He squats down beside me.
“Please,” I mutter. I don’t even know what I’m begging for. To get it over with? To leave me alone? To free me? To undo the past and start it all over?
The Dread slowly drags the cloth mask down from his face, dark eyes intense with unclear emotion.
I take in a breath and hold it, unable to look away. This monster that has taken me captive is… just a man. He has sharp features, exaggerated in the flickering orange light of the fire.
