Page 136 of Damsel in Disguise

“Alistair, st—”

“That I’m the only one who lo—”

Her body seizes.

It’s not subtle this time. It’s violent.

She arches her back in an awkward angle, limbs locking for a split second before the erratic convulsions begin—her entire system spasms as the overload exceeds the equilibrium threshold.

I don’t hesitate to grab her face. My fingers dig into either side of her head, and then I twist hard with a grunt.

The body goes limp instantly.

I shove her off me without ceremony, letting her collapse onto the couch. For a second, there’s nothing but the involuntary twitching in her limbs.

A pale, creamy fluid seeps from her nose shortly, then her ears. It’s slow at first before it thickens, trailing down her skin in sickening lines while her body continues to jerk sporadically.

Crash confirmed.

“The one who loathes you,” I finish quietly, the words settling into the silence like an afterthought.

My erection aches, turning into an angry shade of purple for not finishing off.

Ignoring the throbbing pain, I push myself to my feet, rolling my shoulders once, and step over to the discarded pile of clothes on the floor.

The bloodied leather are still slightly damp, still heavy in my hands. Without looking at her again, I toss them over her body.

“I know you’re watching, little kitty. You can come out now,” I call out for Ariella even though I’m entirely naked.

There’s a sudden tranquility for a minute echoing my voice back to me.

Then the main door creaks open.

Ariella steps inside cautious like a timid, scared kitten—one who willingly walks into the danger just for the thrill of it.

Her eyes flick briefly towards throbbing erection before she forces it toward the twitching, ruined body beneath the blood-soaked leather lying on the couch.

“Is she… is she dead now?”

“Yes.”

She steps closer despite herself. “How are you so sure?”

“Because I designed her.”

Her gaze snaps back to me, an unsettling doubt flickering beneath the surface. “Are you a Synthète too, Alistair?”

For a fraction of a second, I actually pause because of what the question implies.

“No.”

Suspicion creeps in her demeanor where curiosity used to live. “How would I believe you? After everything I just witnessed?”

“If I were one, I wouldn’t need to break one to prove a point.”

Her lips part. But her eyes flick to Delilah, then back to me.

“You made her malfunction,” she points as an observation.