Page 38 of The Heir
"Kicked them. No keys." My heart sinks as I suck in breath after breath.
"They're still alive?" Helena whispers in horror. With my lungs burning, I can only nod.
"You shouldn't have done that, Dante." Ella appears behind me. I didn't hear her footsteps—she moves like a ghost. Turning to face her, I scowl at the malicious glee she's exuding. "Time to go back."
Melody
The grinding, gnawing feeling in the back of my skull takes over all rational thought. It's all I can feel. It's all I canthink. I need to wrap my hands around someone's throat—anyone—and watch the life drain from their eyes. I'm twitching in the prison-style cot. My teeth chatter as I clench my fists, trying to force myself to think about something else.Anything else.
But it doesn't work. My nails dig little half-moons into my palms with the pressure. I try to focus on the pain, but it just makes me need itmore.
I need blood. Preferably Ella's but at this point? I'm not picky. Every muscle in my body is strung taut like a bow. My eyes burn, and my mouth feels gritty and dry.
Can't think. Need blood. Can't think. Need blood.
I bite my tongue to keep the mantra internal, but it spills out of me, anyway. My voice echoes around the cinderblock room, taunting me, teasing me. It doesn't even sound like me. It sounds like the vicious little voice in my head that repeats Charlie's words.Fat bitch. Can't even kill anyone. Pathetic.
"I can!" I scream into the empty room. "I can! Watch me—fucking watch me!"
"God, you're so annoying," Hannah complains as she stomps up to my cell door. "You give people like us a bad name."
People like us? What? What does she mean—what's she talking about? I roll my head from side to side, willing the nervous tension to abate. She watches me with a look of disgust, her lip curled over her teeth.
"You're so fuckingweird. No wonder Roman hates you."
My hands are claws. My nails are knives. I need to rip and tear and slash andkill—
"He warned me about you, you know," Hannah continues. "He said you get… like this. And there's only one thing that helps."
She disappears again but quickly returns with… someone. I can't see their face. They have a grungy yellow pillowcase tied around their head, and their hands bound behind their back. Hannah whips out her key ring and quickly unlocks my cell, shoving the person inside. They hit the floor with a thud and let out a tiny whimper.
"Go ahead, girl," Hannah whispers. "I wanna see this for myself."
"No," the person pleads. "No, please, please! Don't!"
Oh, good. It's a man. He's probably done something horrific in his days. I stalk closer, quietly, tilting my head to the side. I focus on the rapidly fluttering vein in his neck. His heartbeat. There's so much blood in the human body. I don't remember exactly how much, but I yearn for the deep crimson. I need it.
I need to see it spill. I need to see it spray from wherever I hack and slash. I need to see it pool under his corpse. I need himdead.
The man shivers on the floor, unable to push himself up. He just… huddles there in a fetal position. Well, fetal position and arms behind his back. He yanks at his bindings. It's not the crappy, cheap handcuffs like Ella used—no, it's zip ties. Thick, substantial zip ties. He wriggles and writhes, trying to break free.
That won't do.
Baring my teeth, I pounce on the man and rip at him with my claws. My nails barely scratch the surface, but the skin breaks—a tiny bit. Microscopic beads of red well up. A deep groan rumbles in my chest. I need more. I needfuckingmore.
Clank!
The noise startles me, and I flinch. My vision is blurred, but it looks like Hannah threw me… something. Something metal. Somethinglong. With a shaking hand, I snatch up the object and feel it all around. It's a metal rod—rusty, but useful. My hands flex around the rod, and I pull it close to my chest.
Yes. Yes. This is good.
Rearing back, I swing for the fences, and the metal connects with the man's ribs. The reverberation zips up my arms and down my spine. Ohhhh, fuck, that'sgood. He lets out a yelp, and I bite my lower lip, hard.
"Please, no, please, no, no, no, no," the man mumbles. I roll my shoulders and rear back before bringing the rod down on his head. He screams and delicious red blooms through the pillowcase. Yes. Yes. Yes.
Screaming like a banshee, I hit him. Again. And again. And again. Every time the rod connects with his head, he jolts, but he doesn't make any more noise. Redstains the end of the rod, and I reach out to touch the substance. Another shiver rolls down my spine as his blood coats my hand. I smear it on my face, my other hand, my body—everywhere.
I need to be covered in it. I need to feel the heat of his body seep away. I need to see the light fade from his eyes.
