“Don’t hurt him.”
The audacity of this minx. She was still fucking giving orders. She must have thought I was under her spell. That I would willingly bow to her decree.
My lips twitched into something cruel. “Okay,” I murmured instead, then ended the call.
The room was suddenly filled with a sound that was neither a scream nor a cry. It was something primal, something that shouldn’t come from a human’s throat. It was the sound of flesh parting, of agony, of justice carved into bone.
I drove the dagger into the other thigh, twisting, watching the bastard sob, his body writhing in agony, his voice raw and strangled.
I was fucking mesmerised, pausing briefly to stare in awe as blood pooled, staining the floorboard and seeping into the old cracks.
The next weapon would be the axe, chopping off his legs. I would severe it from the thighs–the fucking thighs she probably strapped as she rode his fucking dick. Then his arms, the same ones that held her naked body flushed against him. Then his fucking fingers, the same fingers he touched her cheeks with, whisking away the wet hair matting to her face, like she belonged to him, like her body was his.
Finally, I would reach into his chest and carve out his heart with my bare hands, feeling its warm and its final beat in my palm.
This was the punishment he deserved for touching what was mine. This was the fate of anyone who took what belonged to me.
No one who knew what Beth Fraser tasted like was allowed to remain alive.
So I would erase them all.
I would kill all of them. Every single one.
They all must die.
40
BETH
Swallow it.
I woke up with a start, my heart hammering against my ribs. The alarm clock on my stands read 10 PM, its full glow the only source of certainty in the dark.
A distant thud pounded in my chest, the exhaustion from earlier before I fell asleep still settled into my bones.
Disoriented, I struggled to lift my head from the pillow, and then saw I it, a shift in the shadow.
My breath stuttered when I caught the silhouette of someone sitting in the worn-out armchair by the window.
“Oh, my god!” I bolted upright, my trembling hand immediately fumbling for the bedside lamp. The yellow lightflickered to life, peeling back the darkness just enough to reveal a familiar face.
Zaghan?
“Did I scare you, baby?” he asked, his voice low, amused even, before he exhaled heavily and rose from the chair, his movement slow, unhurried.
I couldn’t answer. Confusion still tangled my thoughts, leaving me struggling to make sense of why he was here, in my room, at this odd hour…not that this was the first time he was making such a visit.
Then I saw something in his hand, a gift box with red stain smeared across it.
My breath caught. The red stain on the box was from his hands. It coated both his palms, too dark, still moist, painting his pale skin in shades of crimson.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I instinctively shifted back against the headboard.
He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. Too close, his presence suffocating, like always. I knew he was coming. I waited all night before I fell asleep. But I thought I was overly emotionally prepared for what was coming. I was sure I had seen the worst of his darkness. But right now, uncertainty hung in the air like a wet shroud on a cold winter night.
“You look so beautiful when you sleep, little witch.” He reached for my face, and I flinched away without meaning to.
A smirk curled his lips, his sharp features cast in wicked amusement. The scream rising in my throat remained trapped beneath my fear.
