I really need to get a grip, maybe he really did cause a psychological break.
I’m just being paranoid. Too many days of isolation and self-pity have made me jumpy. That’s all this is.
I grab a clean towel from the closet and head toward the bathroom. And it’s totally not because Cassian fucking Crowe called me out. I just need to wash away this weird feeling crawling across my skin.
I push open the bathroom door, flipping on the light.
The scream tears from my throat before I can even process what I’m seeing.
Blood. Everywhere. Smeared across my mirror in crude, dripping letters:
SINNERS WILL BE PUNISHED
I stumble backward, tripping over my own feet and falling hard on my ass. My heart hammers against my ribs as I scramble away, still screaming.
“What the FUCK?”
My hands shake so bad I can barely move as I crab-walk backward, eyes still locked on that bloody message. Holy fucking shit. Holy FUCK.
Scrambling to my purse on the floor, I dig frantically through the mess of receipts and makeup until my fingers close around my phone. I hit Lucien’s contact without hesitation, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
One ring. Two rings.
“Seraphina.” His voice is cold, distant. Like we’re strangers.
“Someone’s been in my room,” I gasp out, the words tumbling over each other. “There’s blood—fuck—there’s blood all over. It says ‘Sinners will be punished.’ Lucien, I?—“
“Are you alone?” His tone shifts instantly, sharp and commanding.
“I think so—” I’m practically hyperventilating now.
I hear movement on his end, keys jingling, a door slamming.
“I can’t move,” I admit, my voice small and pathetic. My legs feel like they’re made of concrete. “What if whoever did this is waiting for me?”
“Seraphine, listen to me. Go to your end table and grab the knife I know you have there.” Lucien’s voice cuts through my panic. “It’s a dorm room, if they were still there you’d know it by now. There aren't many places to hide. I’m already on my way.”
My eyes dart to the end table. Ironic that I never thought to use it against Lucien. “How do you know about my knife?”
“For fuck’s sake, just grab it and stay on the phone,” he snaps.
“Okay,” I whisper, crawling on my hands and knees toward the nightstand, unwilling to stand and make myself a bigger target. My fingers are shaking so badly I can barely pull open the drawer, but I manage to grab the blade. The familiar weight of it is oddly comforting.
“Do you have it?” Lucien demands.
“Yeah,” I breathe, flicking it open with a practiced motion. The six-inch blade gleams in the dim light of my room. “I’ve got it. What if they come back?”
“Then you use that knife,” he says without hesitation. “Aim for the throat, the eyes, or the groin. Don’t hesitate, don’t show mercy.”
I tighten my grip on the knife, the metal warming against my palm. “I’m not a killer, Lucien.”
“You will be if you need to be,” he says with such certainty that a chill runs down my spine. “I’m like three minutes out. Just keep talking to me.”
I just start rambling, about anything and everything. I’m not even sure if what I’m saying makes sense but then I feel him, and then I see him and hear him as he squats down in between my legs.
“Hey Little Sinner.”
Chapter 19
