Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Zedediah
I’d kiss the knife in Cat’s hands if it meant feeling her breath on my skin again, but she’s fading. Where is she going? Why is she looking at me like that, like, like I’m one of them? Cat! I scream. Please just tell me what part of me is making you run?
My head is throbbing, but it’s nothing compared to the fire tearing through the left side of my face.
Harold’s harsh grip is on my shoulders and as he shakes me I feel the hay from the barn floor sticking to the side of my wet face.
Some blood has dried, but a steady pour continues down my cheek.
It’s dripping from the tip of my nose to the straw.
In my peripheral I see it turning the once-pale yellow pieces a deep crimson color.
I don’t have to touch the cut to know it’s deep.
It’s also the fact that I can taste blood just from breathing.
I don’t move right away. I just try to breathe through the pain, letting my limbs stay limp. My vision’s swimming, but I manage to squint open my eyes and catch it—the glint of metal under his coat. Where the fuck has Harold been hiding a gun?
I keep still, letting him think I’m weaker than I am. My breath rattles in my throat as I shift just enough to groan, before letting my arm flop back to the floor like dead weight.
I cough, attempting to sound as pitiful as possible. “Help me up,” I croak, keeping my eyes half lidded. “I can’t…”
He hesitates before he leans down, his thick arms slide underneath my armpits and haul me upright.
That’s when I move. My hand slips between us, not to fight, to take.
My fingers close around the cold steel of the gun, freeing it with one swipe and using my free hand to push him down.
His back lands on the ground and he freezes.
I release the safety and raise it, pointing it toward his face.
I remember something as I push myself up. The same thought that flashed through my mind on my way to the barn. The only one with a figure so large is Harold. I know he was the one who brought her here. “Where is she?” I snarl.
I’m suddenly wide awake. The pain in my face, my skin, is stinging like it’s being peeled away. “Safe,” is all he says.
My finger itches with a desire to pull the trigger. “I’m not going to ask you again.” Harold shakes his head, his eyes wide.
“I can’t tell you.” I’ve never imagined a look like this on Harold’s face. Who knew giants scare too.
He just stares, his silence is doing more than pissing me off. It makes me feel helpless, and I don’t do helpless.
I push the metal of the gun against his temple, tempted to pull the trigger right here, right now. My rage makes me feel larger than him for once. The blood pouring from my cheek feels like it may have clotted up. But, every thrum of my heartbeat feels like a hammer to the face.
His eyes roll up meeting mine, but he says nothing. My boot drives into his ribs with a crunch that vibrates all the way up my leg. He folds over, spitting out blood and groaning. The sound isn’t satisfying, it’s sickening. But it does make me feel in control.
“You think dying will give you some sense of honor?” I spit blood from my mouth, landing right beside him. “You’re going to die either way, Harold. So why not be useful for once?” My nostrils flare, and I want to choke the life out of him with my bare hands. “What did you do with her?!”
“I had someone come and get her. Zedediah…” He spits blood out of his mouth and it lands on my shoe. “She’s gone.”
I don’t wait for another word. I just lift the gun and pull the trigger.
The shot is louder than I expect, bouncing off the walls like thunder.
His head jerks up before it drops onto the ground like a stone.
Blood and bone hit the floor and splatter up my legs, hot and wet.
Some of it hits my mouth, but I don’t flinch.
I stand there, feeling the barrel that’s still warm in my hand. My ears are ringing. Harold is a lot of things, but he isn’t a liar. He was a tool my father used, and he had to go. The probability of her being “safe” is probably high. But it isn’t enough. She isn’t safe if she isn’t with me.
The pain rushing through my body only fuels me at this point, and I don’t stop to wipe the blood off before walking out the door.
Time to find Daddy Dearest.
When I walk into his office, I breathe in the scent of iron as I scan the room.
The record player’s arm is raised. His table is knocked over, his trinkets scattered over the floor, and he’s laying in a thick puddle of blood.
I lower beside Fenris causing a rotten stench to waft over me.
He isn’t moving, and I can’t tell if he’s breathing or not.
I hear a notification go off and turn my head, looking up to see his laptop open.
There’s a pop up flashing in the corner.
I pull myself up and walk over. There’s a video being uploaded so I click on the open tab.
A sudden burst of pain rushes through me, and my knees buckle causing me to hold on to the ledge and brace myself against his desk.
I lower my body to the chair, my eyes locked on the screen as it starts to play.
When I attempt to mess with the volume I realize it doesn’t have sound.
I watch in horror as Catarina steps into the room.
Fenris gestures for her to sit. Her movements are stiff.
I know my girl. She’s trying to mask her anxiety.
I watch the way she looks around the room, searching for a way out.
The video skips and I hit the thirty second rewind, thinking it was a mistake, but it does it again.
There’s footage missing. How much is cut out, and why?
I press the resume button and see his hand reach out before his long fingers tighten around her wrist. She flinches and pulls away, but he doesn’t let her go. He pulls her closer to him, his body leaning into hers, and I can almost feel the pressure he’s putting on her.
She stiffens, but she doesn’t stay still.
I watch her fight back, her hands push against his chest, trying to create distance.
But he’s too strong. He pins her to the floor.
I see the desperation in her struggle. My girl.
My father forces her down harder. I reach for the screen.
There’s a tremor taking root in my fingers.
I want to reach in, pluck her out, and save her.
I want to stop watching. I pause the video, burying my face in my hands. My cheek stings from the tears pooling in my wound.
Pressing play again, I can almost feel him tear her from my grasp, something I never deserved in the first place. My eyes flick to her left, and I see it. The ram’s horn. It must’ve fallen during their struggle. She pulls it from under the sofa and without a second thought, plunges it into him.
She doesn’t stop until he’s a broken heap beneath her… She stares at him, blood dripping from her hands. Her eyes scan the room, like she’s waiting for something. For me.
I watch Harold walk through the door right before the video ends. I look at my reflection on the black screen, staring into his eyes. The man who made me, destroyed the person who saved me.
I really thought I was finally something someone wouldn’t need saved from.
When she looked at me, did she see his face?
Could she tell the difference? I stand faster than I should when I hear a wet cough.
My head feels like I’m on the cusp of passing out again, but the pure disdain I feel allows me to push through.
I stomp over and glare down at the pathetic excuse of a man while flashes of the damage he caused replay in my head.
“Are you here to defend—” He tries to suck in air.
“Her honor? Just wait until Harold finds her.” He attempts to raise his hand up.
“I bet you can smell her o—” He coughs again, cutting off whatever filth he planned to spew.
For the first time in my life, I don’t have to bury my desire to cause him pain.
My knees slide in his blood when I kneel down beside him.
My eyes trail his body, taking in the image before me.
The blood is the only proof I have that he is, in fact, human.
I smile at him while straightening my posture. I want to keep my distance so he can see what I’m about to show him. I dangle Harold’s gun in front of him. “Harold’s dead,” I sing.
When I look in his eyes, it’s the most satisfying feeling I’ve ever felt.
I hunch over before slamming my fist into his jaw, crushing his head against the floor.
Agony is written all over his face, but somehow, he pushes it away, replacing it with a grin.
I take note of his broken teeth; he’s at least missing five.
I look at his pants around his ankles. There was so much blood it didn’t register at first. I scan over his body that’s riddled with holes.
Some are gaping, others formless and jagged.
He’s barely more than torn flesh hanging on by threads of muscle.
“It looks like Catarina gave you exactly what you deserved.”
He takes this moment to gurgle out his sentence from earlier. But he shouldn’t have. “You can still smell her on my fingers.”
“You talk too much, Fenris.” I reach over and pick up the scrap pieces of Cat’s clothes strewn around.
Torn. I start shoving the fabric as deep as I can into his throat, fighting with his gags.
He tries his hardest to constrict his throat from accepting anymore.
I glare down at him. “You know, I was going to kill you. When you tried to force me into marrying Lucy, Jonah and I were planning your funeral. We had talked about gutting you, putting what would be left of you on display. We were going to burn you, the same way you made us burn his body.”