Chapter 19
Scarlett
I did exactly what he told me to do, and it hurt, but not more than choking did.
Despite the pain, it felt good too. I remembered every single word he had said.
I followed his instructions without deviating, without hesitation.
Because I knew there was no reason to doubt him.
It was medical instructions. All the outcome brought was better healing for me, which was strange, I suppose, because nobody ever looked out for me.
Maybe I should have been more apprehensive, but why wouldn’t I believe someone with eyes as warm as his? With words so clear and concise? There was no need for my muscles to tense or my stomach to twist or my mind to question and whisper and wonder.
And it felt…I didn’t know how to describe the feeling.
It gave me the same feeling I had felt when he had called me by my name.
The same feeling I felt every time he looked at me.
A feeling that told me that maybe I had finally done something right.
That I deserved to be able to heal myself the right way.
When I was finally lying in bed at bedtime—7:30—I held my homemade rice pack against my chest and closed my eyes, allowing myself to imagine that the burning sensation was Azrael.
I never liked to imagine things just in case somehow, Thomas or one of the Leaders were suddenly able to read my mind, but tonight, I couldn’t help myself.
My mind lingered on the way he had told me of the blood that would drown the souls. It sounded like a prophecy straight from the bible. Revelation 16:4-6, to be exact.
“The third angel poured out his bowl on the rivers and springs of water, and they became blood.
Then I heard the angel in charge of the waters say: ‘You are just in these judgements, O Holy One, you who are and who were; for they have shed the blood of your holy people and your prophets, and you have given them blood to drink as they deserve.”
The Seven Bowls of Gods Wrath.
What was he trying to say? Was he going to punish all those who deserved it? Was he going to kill everyone in that church?
I shivered again, the warmth spreading across my body, a strange flutter starting between my thighs. I allowed my mind to imagine him, the cracks in the stone around my heart growing wider.
The shadowed man with the smile that split his face in two, that cane gripped in his hand, blood flowing around him as if he were standing in an ocean of it, commanding it. It soaked his pants, his shoes. It flowed across the lands in waves.
I released a breath, my heart racing as an ache started between my thighs. It suddenly felt like I had a heartbeat down there. I had the overwhelming urge to touch it. Touch that heartbeat. Ease the ache.
But touching myself in an impure place was against the rules. I could ruin the rest of my purity by even thinking about it.
And I wasn’t with Azrael anymore. He wasn’t telling me what to do, so I had to follow my normal rules.
I twisted my legs together and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ignore the feeling while I imagined him holding out his hand to me. “Until then, you do what I say, and perhaps your head won’t be among theirs.”
I imagined that very blood dripping from his fingers, and then he would touch me, sliding his hand over the side of my face, the blood spreading across my skin in strokes of crimson.
His voice would caress me in ways nobody’s ever had.
Low and melodic, like a dark, evil secret nobody else could hear.
Everything about him was captivating. From his name to the way he said mine. From the way his presence took up more space than the sun, to the way his eyes warmed my skin. I imagined him swiping his thumb gently across my jaw, leaving a stroke of blood, his Cheshire smile trained only on me.
My body arched, my legs squeezing tighter together only for a warm slickness to force my eyes open.
My brows pulled together.
I immediately sat up, wincing at the pain from my chest, and gently slid my fingers under my pajama pants, running them over my inner thighs. When I pulled them out, I smeared two of them together and brought them to my nose, smelling them. It didn’t smell like urine.
Thank goodness. I knew I had a bout of peeing the bed when I was 11, but I had hoped it would never happen again.
So what was it? Why was there an ache? What was happening to me?
I frowned and laid back down, moving a small amount to test out my body. I was sore, but not down there. The flutter was gone, the warmth dissipating.
Was I getting sick? Maybe I had had more of an infection than I thought I did.
I released a breath and readjusted my rice pack before closing my eyes and clearing my mind. I needed rest. Thomas always claimed that rest healed all wounds. I mean, it never had in the past, but perhaps this time was different.
I hoped it was different.