Chapter 25 Chrysalis
Chrysalis
The cutting board connected with her skull with a sound like dropped fruit. She staggered, eyes going wide with shock that I'd actually done it. That the broken doll had teeth after all.
But I was already moving, already becoming what he'd trained me to be. Not soft, not weak, not helpless—his. And being his meant protecting that ownership at any cost.
The world narrowed to instinct and motion. She came at me again, blood trickling from her temple, and I met her with years of suppressed rage finally given purpose. Gabriel hadn't removed my anger—he'd transformed it into something useful. Something precise.
Something lethal when cornered.
The fight blurred into fragments. Her nails raking my arms. My hands finding weapons in everyday objects. The man arriving, shouting, trying to contain what they'd foolishly unleashed. Blood—mine, theirs, impossible to distinguish as survival overrode everything else.
I'd been magnificent in rage before he'd refined me. Now I was something beyond magnificent. I was focused destruction, channeled violence, every lesson he'd taught turned to deadly purpose.
When clarity returned, I stood in a kitchen painted with evidence of what happened when you tried to steal what belonged to Gabriel Mire. They weren't moving. Wouldn't move again. And I...
I was smiling.
The realization should have horrified me. Should have sent me spiraling into guilt and self-recrimination. Instead, I felt only satisfaction. Deep, bone-level contentment that I'd protected his property. That I'd proven worthy of his training.
"Mine," I whispered to the silence, and meant myself. I was his, would always be his, and I'd painted that truth across their kitchen in shades of red.
My body catalogued damage—cuts, bruises, a dozen small hurts that would scar—but pain felt distant. Unimportant compared to the singing in my blood. This is what he'd seen in me. This is why he'd chosen me. Not despite the monster but because of it.
I hummed as I worked, some half-remembered tune from childhood. Found a knife, still sharp despite its recent use. Knelt beside each of them with the kind of grace he'd taught me.
Two small shapes. Simple. Elegant. A bunny on each of them, marking them as mine the way he'd marked me as his. Warning to anyone else who might think Institute girls were easy prey.
We weren't all made the same.
Some of us were made dangerous.
Their phones were easy to find. Car keys too. I gathered them with steady hands, humming growing louder. Should clean up. Should hide evidence. Should feel something other than this perfect peace.
But I had promises to keep.
I walked through their house like I owned it. Found a bathroom, cleaned the worst of the blood from my face and hands. My dress was ruined—the soft yellow soaked through with consequences—but that felt appropriate. Baptism required blood, and I'd been reborn in violence.
The front door opened to afternoon sun that seemed too bright for what had just occurred. But the world didn't care about indoor slaughter. Birds sang. Breeze blew. Life continued while death cooled behind me.
I took their car. Adjusted the seat with crimson-stained fingers, started the engine with perfect calm. Somewhere, Gabriel was waiting. Watching. Maybe he'd known this would happen. Maybe it was all part of his plan.
Or maybe I'd surprised him. Maybe he'd wake tomorrow to news of his Bunny gone feral, leaving bodies marked with her signature. Maybe he'd smile that secret smile and know his experiment had succeeded beyond expectations.
"I'm coming," I told the windshield, the road, the universe that had tried to separate us. "No matter how far you've gone. No matter how well you've hidden. I'll find you."
Because that's what you did when you belonged to someone completely. You protected that belonging with blood and teeth. You proved worthy of their claim through whatever means necessary.
The phones would have contacts. Traces. Links to the network that hunted Institute girls.
I'd follow every lead, unravel every connection, until I found my way back to him.
And anyone who stood between us would learn what he'd already known—that some creatures chose not to bite until biting became necessary.
Then they bit deep.
I drove toward the setting sun, humming louder now. Covered in proof of my devotion. Wearing evidence of his perfect training like war paint. The good girl he'd built from rage and pain, finally understanding her purpose.
Not to be weak. Not to be helpless. Not to be anyone's victim.
To be his weapon, aimed at any throat that threatened what we'd built.
"Thank you," I whispered to his memory, his ghost, his lingering presence in my bones. "For seeing what I could become. For making me into something that could protect itself. For trusting me to find my way back."
The road stretched endless before me, but I didn't mind. Every mile brought me closer. Every minute proved my dedication. Every breath was a promise written in copper and determination.
I'd find him.
No matter the cost.
No matter whose blood I had to wear.
His Bunny was coming home, and God help anyone who tried to stop her.