what I am. Friend or foe, pick one. It's time to decide,” he demands with a voice now inflected with aggressive undertones. His urgency is pretty darn clear and he may be a nutcase but he means this heart and soul.
He holds out both hands, watching me like a sniper waiting for me to shake a hand that may possibly mar me for life.
It would be intriguing if it wasn't so damn intimidating. Glancing between them the triangle looks the least painful, but I have a soul deep impression this is more than just a mark of friendship, it's a brand of allegiance, it determines whether I live or die this night.
Yes it's strange, but I've seen weirder things than this.
I refuse to offend him because he has shit sticking out of his hands the way the rest of us wear metal and tattoos.
My hand is trembling when I lift it, clasping the large palm with my own. A scream wrenches out involuntarily when our flesh touches. The execution via electrocution is enough to incinerate my soul, the spiritual-fire meshing into my body buckles my legs and I stagger, tripping on the burgundy hem of my dress, the long sleeves snagging when I stumble to regain balance. My body is rejecting me, flaming my eyes with the flare of reaction, poisoning my bloodstream with an acidic inferno.
Collapsing to my knees, cradling my hand, the excruciating pain is like he chopped it off at the wrist. Shaking violently I turn my hand around using the other to stabilize it, staring in horror at the blood and welts on my palm.
Friend or foe, pick one.
Thanks for the warning, asshole. What did you do?!
My teeth clack together in trepidation when his hands claim my upper arms and he hoists me off the ground.
We've already been in this position once before. Amour rusted my legs the first time, this time it's torture. He grips my palm, forcing blood out of my hand, stealing me away into the dark while my nerves decapitate with agony.
“ W..ait!” I wail, terrified.
“ Your blood must go in the book,” he states flatly, impatiently stalking into indelible dark, rendering me sightless in this impenetrable black blindfold.
The only noise jangles my heart, it's the deathly echo of hard boots on a floor, ricocheting back and forth, multiplying to suggest a legion is marching me to be sacrificed to the night.
Ghosts storm with us, their footsteps heavier than sin, mocking my futile wriggling to get free. Only the tendrils of insubstantial shadows will witness my end, their march a dirge.
But I chose the palm for friend. Help!
Chapter 4
This close I can smell his skin again and despite my bewildered fear a harsh ache settles into my stomach, wallowing in a pressured sink to my legs.
Sorcerously weakened, I wish I understood how he immobilizes me. Feeling heavy I cradle my hand while sagging against him, unsure if my jagged breathing is due to shock or dichotomous attraction. This is weird. All of it.
Digging internally for the compass I never use I attempt to retrace my memories, examining them for gnawing sixth sense pings of danger or treachery. Nothing resonates. It's lust pure and simple, stupid lust, the kind that gets innocents murdered by serial killers because they're good looking and smooth.
The searing pain in my hand distracts me and it dawns on me that tears of duress have slipped out to paint my face with tragedy's masque. Pain is not my friend so why mark your 'friends' with it?
Light filters to us and I peer through my mental haze to the source with a glimmer of resurrected hope. His stride is long and he covers the gap to the end of the tunnel so rapidly that my heart flutters in relief.
Staring up I take in the cave higher than a cathedral, long crystals stalactiting from way up high and somehow reflecting light down the steep walls to crest the cavern in a film of warmth. It's homely and welcoming, and precisely the pocket of normal I craved. Darkness noosed my soul for a claustrophobic moment back there and this light instills a
He holds out both hands, watching me like a sniper waiting for me to shake a hand that may possibly mar me for life.
It would be intriguing if it wasn't so damn intimidating. Glancing between them the triangle looks the least painful, but I have a soul deep impression this is more than just a mark of friendship, it's a brand of allegiance, it determines whether I live or die this night.
Yes it's strange, but I've seen weirder things than this.
I refuse to offend him because he has shit sticking out of his hands the way the rest of us wear metal and tattoos.
My hand is trembling when I lift it, clasping the large palm with my own. A scream wrenches out involuntarily when our flesh touches. The execution via electrocution is enough to incinerate my soul, the spiritual-fire meshing into my body buckles my legs and I stagger, tripping on the burgundy hem of my dress, the long sleeves snagging when I stumble to regain balance. My body is rejecting me, flaming my eyes with the flare of reaction, poisoning my bloodstream with an acidic inferno.
Collapsing to my knees, cradling my hand, the excruciating pain is like he chopped it off at the wrist. Shaking violently I turn my hand around using the other to stabilize it, staring in horror at the blood and welts on my palm.
Friend or foe, pick one.
Thanks for the warning, asshole. What did you do?!
My teeth clack together in trepidation when his hands claim my upper arms and he hoists me off the ground.
We've already been in this position once before. Amour rusted my legs the first time, this time it's torture. He grips my palm, forcing blood out of my hand, stealing me away into the dark while my nerves decapitate with agony.
“ W..ait!” I wail, terrified.
“ Your blood must go in the book,” he states flatly, impatiently stalking into indelible dark, rendering me sightless in this impenetrable black blindfold.
The only noise jangles my heart, it's the deathly echo of hard boots on a floor, ricocheting back and forth, multiplying to suggest a legion is marching me to be sacrificed to the night.
Ghosts storm with us, their footsteps heavier than sin, mocking my futile wriggling to get free. Only the tendrils of insubstantial shadows will witness my end, their march a dirge.
But I chose the palm for friend. Help!
Chapter 4
This close I can smell his skin again and despite my bewildered fear a harsh ache settles into my stomach, wallowing in a pressured sink to my legs.
Sorcerously weakened, I wish I understood how he immobilizes me. Feeling heavy I cradle my hand while sagging against him, unsure if my jagged breathing is due to shock or dichotomous attraction. This is weird. All of it.
Digging internally for the compass I never use I attempt to retrace my memories, examining them for gnawing sixth sense pings of danger or treachery. Nothing resonates. It's lust pure and simple, stupid lust, the kind that gets innocents murdered by serial killers because they're good looking and smooth.
The searing pain in my hand distracts me and it dawns on me that tears of duress have slipped out to paint my face with tragedy's masque. Pain is not my friend so why mark your 'friends' with it?
Light filters to us and I peer through my mental haze to the source with a glimmer of resurrected hope. His stride is long and he covers the gap to the end of the tunnel so rapidly that my heart flutters in relief.
Staring up I take in the cave higher than a cathedral, long crystals stalactiting from way up high and somehow reflecting light down the steep walls to crest the cavern in a film of warmth. It's homely and welcoming, and precisely the pocket of normal I craved. Darkness noosed my soul for a claustrophobic moment back there and this light instills a
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