Women.
Blood was used as ink, and it dripped down the wallpaper like thick tears.
My heart throbbed when I saw it. I knew it was you. But why have you loved me through so many memories and never told me about this one?
Thank you for always watching over me. I love you more than life.
Your Soulmate,
Skylenna
25. The Greenhouse
Sapphire
The glowing streetlamps illuminate ournaked bodies.
The cold, wet cobblestone street presses into my back and thighs, and dampens my ratty hair. The fog and light misting shimmer across the twinkling night sky, casting a blanket of white shadows across the Chandelier Main Street.
“I should have killed him,” Niklaus mutters next to me. His deep, groggy voice is worn and beat down.
It feels like we haven’t slept in weeks. From being naked in a blizzard cave to being naked in Uncle Niles basement, strapped to a dirty mattress—I’ve aged one hundred years.
“No.”Fuck. My throat is in shreds, funneling a sea of sand and gravel. “His end is too satisfying to mess up.”
Niklaus sits up next to me, scanning the empty street, then grimacing down at me. And although I’m in nothing my undergarments, I don’t fucking care. My skin is probably unrecognizable. Black and blue. Streaks of gushing red.
“You sound like hell,” he comments, eyes dropping to the shiny cobblestone. “Did he…”
There’s a long pause before I shake my head, fighting to keep myself from sobbing over the idea of how close he came. How if I didn’t bide my time, scare him with what I know of his future and past, he absolutely would have assaulted me.
Niklaus glances up at the stars, sighing. “How bad did he hurt you?”
I roll my shoulders, arch my back, stretch my arms and legs, and wince at the long beam of pain radiating through my nervous system.
“No broken bones,” I rasp, then caress my fingertips at the fire eating away at my throat from Albatross’s strangulation.
“He beat you before he tried to choke you to death?”
I nod.
A few gentlemen turn the corner across the street, cigars in hand. They adjust their bowler hats to get a better look at us. Niklaus and I come to the same realization as we shift and attempt to scramble to our feet. He pops right up. I nearly faint from the effort.
“We’re going to get thrown into that fucking asylum if we don’t find somewhere to hide. I’m guessing by their outfits that we aren’t back home yet,” Niklaus whispers.
I prop myself on my elbows, panting with trembling muscles.
“Don’t fight me on this.” Niklaus lifts me off the ground, cradling my body to his chest and abdomen.
I want to laugh at his comment. I’m not stubborn enough to refuse help right now, even if it is from him.
Each step is a fight not to scream or groan through my teeth, my bones protesting as they grind and smoosh against my wounds. My body doesn’t feel like mine anymore. It’s a distraught collection of bruises and inflammation. But even through the jostling of his brisk walk down the midnight main street, Iamstubborn enough not to rest my head against his shoulder. I hold the muscles in upper back pin straight, putting myself through agony to maintain my posture.
“Just do it,” Niklaus says.
No.
But the weight of the night, the pain, the ongoing thumping steps loosens the grip I have on my position. I slump in his arms, dropping the side of my head to his chest.
