Chapter 20 The Headless Horseman
THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN
He was a fool.
A no-good, stubborn, headstrong fool. He had once asked Scarlett why she hadn’t left with him, and she had said she was scared and wanted time to plan a way to ensure their safety. She had admitted they should’ve just left, and that’s exactly what he should’ve done as well.
Revenge was not worth this. Coming back here was not worth it.
He could only hope now that she would be safe. If she learned of what happened to him, he prayed she would not come searching. He hopes his magic will keep her asleep until this is over. He will use his last breath to beg for them to be reunited in death if his were ever to be granted.
The silver shackles around his wrist have weakened him considerably.
He doesn’t know where her father got them from.
If only he hadn’t acted so rashly. He should’ve come up with a better plan than an ambush.
Earl Richard Crest had been expecting that and easily slapped the shackles on him whilst he was busy dispatching some of the earl’s guards.
Freshly torn skin knits back together along his back. The crumbling remnants of his pumpkin make it hard to see. A sharp squeal of hinges echoes down into the dungeon, making his breath turn ragged.
Pain always follows that sound.
Heavy footsteps descend the stairs until the sconces illuminate Scarlett’s father. They look nothing alike. She had always favored her mother. It is shocking that a man as cruel as him sired someone as wonderful as Scarlett.
The stone hearth has dwindled considerably.
The earl whistles as he stokes the flame into a roaring orange inferno.
The wooden bench below him is caked with his dark blood.
He has been shackled to it for hours each day.
The only reprieve will come later, when Earl Richard grows bored and tosses his bleeding, broken body into one of the cells.
Through one hazy eye hole, he can make out the earl jamming a poker into the fire. His own green flames have been diminished, barely more than a kindling. The metal glows orange as the earl turns. Running a hand through his short beard, the man looks thoughtful.
A wicked gleam dances in his dark eyes.
“Your skin regrows when I cut it off. Now let’s see how it fares being burned.”
The earl’s steps grow closer, and the Headless Horseman tries to blank his mind. To go into that dark place he clung to during his transformation. Scarlett’s lovely face swirls in his mind. Her floral scent, the feel of her soft lips, the way his name sounds moaned in his ear, how tight her—
Her memory evaporates when the hot poker presses against his exposed flesh. A scream rips from his lungs. He can feel it sizzle and bubble. Again and again it is applied as the earl callously laughs. The scent of burning flesh is heavy in the air.
“Scream all you want. We’ve only just begun.”
He is going to die down here.