25. Chapter Twenty-Five Crimson Tides
Chapter Twenty-Five: Crimson Tides
Tess
Though my muscles ached, and my lungs threatened to give up, I wasted no time because I knew I couldn’t defend myself if anyone else found me. Dragging a body is not the stealthiest way to get across a building, but I couldn’t bring myself to hack her head off with the dagger Reaper gave me. The thought was more inconceivable than actually driving the killing blade in. I was grateful I’d managed that part. It probably would have voided the offering as far as the asshole poltergeist was concerned if I hadn’t.
When I turned the corner to where they could see me, Reaper rushed over. “Let her go.”
I let go of the cadaver, and her body thumped to the floor.
“Why didn’t you cut the head off? You’re lucky no one caught you. How long have you been dragging this chick?”
“I don’t know. A while.”
He rolled his eyes and snatched the girl by her hair, holding his other hand out to me. When I met his eye blankly, he added, “The dagger, please, dear.”
“Oh…” I scrambled for it out of my belt.
I handed it to him, and he pressed it to her neck.
A throat-clearing sound jolted our attention up. “Um…” the spirit interrupted. I had no idea how a spirit could make such a sound, but he did. “She needs to present the head.”
Reaper nodded. “She will.”
“No. She needs to remove the head and present it to me herself.”
Reaper growled, glaring at him, lips pressed together, eyes glowing red. That warm tingle between my legs returned, and I chastised myself for it.
“Are you serious?” I whined.
“A sacrifice must be sacrificial,” explained the spirit.
“Asshole,” I murmured, holding my hand out for Reaper to give the dagger back. His expression seemed to communicate empathy, but his eyes also pulsed with a fierceness. He was formidable, but when our gazes met, there was a glint of softness, somehow. But I couldn’t believe my own interpretation.
A new vision took hold, the white haze filling my line of sight:
A primal heat, our bodies writhing, grunting, grasping. Reaper, manic, barking fierce demands, shoving me around, using me as his plaything. Me, whimpering submissively, going limp, crying, but eyes glazed in pure hedonistic lust.
I pulled in a sharp breath, stumbling backward, and he grasped my elbow to steady me, but I pulled away. Whether that was a vision of betrayal or not, it was not what I wanted. The concern on his face contrasted so deeply with what I’d just seen him doing to me.
“You okay?” he asked.
How soon was this going to happen? How could I defend myself? Was there any point? It was going to happen, and I had to be prepared. It was the only response that made sense. I couldn’t change the future; I could only be ready for it. Willing my runaway heart to slow, I nodded. “Fine.”
Running my hand down my torso to straighten my T-shirt, I reminded myself of the next grim task. Removing my victim’s head. But as I pressed the blade into the body’s neck, trying to emotionally distance myself from the reality of what I was doing, I already knew what the next challenge would be.
When we finally got past those doors into the room beyond. Reaper would have his way with me, I would fight him off, and I would fail. But worst of all, I was going to enjoy it. Would he end me there and move on? Was there any point fighting it?