A scream burst through her chapped lips as he pierced her, sliding the blade along the flesh under her belly button, slicing the skin, and letting loose a flow of precious blood.
Chapter Sixty-One
The blackness enveloping Haven’s mind began to recede, but as memories resurfaced, and the excruciating pain screamed through her nerve endings, she tried to call the blackness back, to hide behind the ignorance and painlessness it provided. Unfortunately, no amount of pleading could hold back the waking world, the world where evil lived, where evil had cold eyes and cold steel. Where a single, vile human man had a disturbing, venomous purpose. A world where Angelous Kroger used his beloved, immaculately maintained knife collection to steal the life from her.
Slice by slice, cut by cut.
“So, you’re coming back to me,” he said in a soft, cajoling voice. He smiled down at her. “After only a few dozen cuts, you fainted, putting a temporary end to my work. I want you awake and writhing beneath my blade as I make each slice. So, I waited, watching over you as you slumbered like an angel bound to earth with table restraints.” He pulled on said restraints, running his finger along the raw skin beneath. “Usually,” he began, “when a canvas falls unconscious, I wake it with smelling salts. With my previous works of art, I didn’t have the luxury of time, I only had a few short hours with which to create. Those worksof art were failures, utter garbage. Not worthy of my talents, or the praise of my Heavenly Sire and earthly father. They were disappointments, and I hate disappointing those I adore. You understand, don’t you, Haven?” He didn’t give her time to answer. “With you, I have taken every precaution. We have all the time in the world, so allowing you to wake on your own was a luxury I could afford. Besides, watching as you slept, so peaceful, so beautiful, I had to lay aside my knife and just gaze upon the strokes of genius I’ve already carved into your flesh. Seeping bright, fragrant blood, your once-flawless skin growing pale as the life trickled from your veins.”
She opened her mouth to remind him that the sight of her body sickened him, even made him vomit, but nothing came out but a husky groan. She must have screamed before she blacked out. She must have screamed a lot. The words of anger and terror she wanted to hurl in his face erupted as a hoarse croak. The lining of her voice box was like sandpaper, like strips of parched, raw flesh curled downward, barricading her words within her chest.
She whimpered as he leaned over her.
“You are exquisite. My Heavenly Sire couldn’t have provided a more perfect canvas for the masterwork of blood and beauty.” With strong fingers, and a less than-gentle pull, he forced her to face him. He placed a glass of tepid water against her cracking lips. “Now, you’ve lost much blood. Please, drink something. Your strength must last a few hours longer. My dream masterpiece will never become a reality if my canvas dies too soon. Congealing blood does not flow as freely as blood rich with oxygen and fear.”
He tipped the glass and poured the water down her throat. She gagged. The coughing that followed her gagging opened the already scabbing shallow wounds along her torso and thighs.Blood flowed eagerly from his well-placed and precisely made cuts.
As the warm water sluiced down her throat, it took every ounce of strength she had left to keep from dragging in great gulps of air. Bleeding to death wasn’t ideal, but neither was drowning on a table surrounded by knives.
You’re going to die.
You’re going to die, and you will never see your friends again.
You’re going to die, and you’ll never see Logan again.
After the last of the water trickled down her throat, a sob of deepest despair burst from her lips.
She could feel the life flowing from her. No one had any idea where to find her. She would die, her life cut short when she’d finally found something that made all the struggles, tears, and pain worth it.
Oh, Logan. I am so sorry. If only I could tell you....
Angelous turned and placed the empty glass on the table, then picked up his wickedly curved blade and inspected it with appreciative eyes.
It was over.
She let out a slow hiss of breath, her whole body slumping. The fight gone.
He looked down at her with an eager expression. “I can see you tire of my banter. So, let us begin again.”
The windand slashing rain whipped at his face and back, eager to get at his skin.
“Follow....” He could barely hear Perez’s voice over the howling storm, but Logan latched on with desperate hope.
Further into the storm, racing, he hunched over the back of Gehenna, praying to God that wherever Perez was leading him was close. He didn’t know what to expect, but he knew Haven was in danger, and she didn’t have long before?—
Before what? He didn’t dare to think about it. Over rain-soaked pastures, through the whipping, stinging branches of tempest-tossed trees, he raced. His heart beating as fast as the pounding of the horse’s hooves.
Faster. Must go faster.
Over the howling of the wind, he made out the sound of Perez’s voice. “Toward the hills....”
Turning Gehenna to the right, he urged her up the incline, her flanks heaving as she galloped up the hillside, catching herself when the ground gave way under her.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmured into her ear, thankful his spirited and beautiful horse could sense his urgency, his need to go faster, to move with purpose.
“Here!” Perez’s voice shot out from the storm.
Logan pulled on the reins, nearly flying from Gehenna’s back when she stopped. He quickly dismounted, tying her to the nearest covering bough. He pulled his pistol from the saddlebag, and raised it, preparing for anything, hoping to heaven and back that he wouldn’t have to use it. But by God he would cut down anyone who stood between him and the woman he loved. Slitting his eyes to glare through the battering storm, he spied a dark, dilapidated hovel built into the side of the hill. He willed his breaths to calm, and moved forward cautiously, one foot at a time, his boots sinking into the inundated ground. As he drew closer, he saw the hovel had once been a stone cottage. Its chimney, windows, and door were in disrepair, and the foundation was giving way under the weight of the agedand broken structure. He looked through a pane of shattered glass, and found nothing—no lights, no belongings, no evidence anyone had been there.
