“Tell me everything, now.”
Tillie glares at me in defiance. “I’m not telling you shit.” Then she barges out of the room, leaving Bishop, Brantley, and Eli in here with me, standing around like what the fuck just happened.
“Bravo, boys. Way to choose your women…”
“Shut the fuck up, Eli,” I snap.
“Crazy girls fuck better.” Bishop chuckles, swiping his mouth. “But they don’t know shit about love.”
“Is it true?” I ask Bishop, wanting to hear his side.
He flings his arms out wide. “Yep. Saw it with my own eyes.”
I drop down onto the sofa, my hand running through my hair. “I swear to fuck, these girls are aging me every day. Between Tillie and—all of that—” My eyes go around to them all, and for a second they all sober. “—and Madison and this. What happened?”
Bishop drops to the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest. “Don’t know. She fucked him in our house. On my bed. It was recorded and sent to me. It was there in black and white, but I still asked her. She admitted it. That’s that. It was the day before—” Bishop pauses. “When it happened. That stunt at your house after, was the final time I fucked her. Put my cum inside her pussy to remind her who owns it.” He pauses, his eyes glassing over. “Or owned it.”
I snicker at the pussy comment. “Nice.”
“Jesus Christ,” Eli mutters, just as Hunter, Jase, and Ace pad in, all drunk as fuck.
I make sure to fill them in until we’re all sitting around on the floor.
“Did you know him?” I question Bishop, my hand covering my mouth.
Bishop shakes his head. “Never seen him before in my life, but when I do—”
I nod in agreement. He doesn’t need to say the words that he’s thinking, because it’s already done. If Bishop doesn’t find him, I sure as fuck will. In fact, it just bumped up on my list of things to feed on.
“What are we going to do about Tillie?” Brantley asks, breaking through the tension.
I exhale, leaning back on the sofa. “I don’t know, but I think it’s time to tell her why we snatched her ass and placed her in Perdita.”
“Really?” Bishop asks, his eyes coming to mine. “You think she could handle that right now, considering…”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Fuck.”
Tillie
Pain doesn’t define us, it shapes us. We come into this world as newborns, a fresh start. New life, a crisp soul. Then life happens, and every single choice you make has an implication. Every scar has a story, or it doesn’t and it’s just a scar, but whether or not it has a story, it’s still a scar, and that scar doesn’t define us, so why should pain?
I roll onto my side, closing my eyes and willing my mind to sleep. Let the alcohol pulse out from my pores so I can start fresh again tomorrow.
But that’s not how it works.
Tears slip down the sides of my eyes as I flip onto my back. Everything feels heavy. Weighted. I don’t want to live within these walls anymore, living for what?
“Puella,” Daemon whispers from the other side of my room and I jump up when I see him standing at my doorway. He’s been quiet all night, and I feel awful that I forgot he was here.
“Are you okay?” I ask, because I always need to know that he’s okay. My beautiful saving grace isn’t grace at all. He’s weeping with darkness and demons, but he’s still mine.
Calmness takes over me as he comes closer to my bed. His hand comes to my cheek where he swipes away the fallen tears. “To cry is to feel.”
I swallow. “That’s the problem,” I jest, chuckling softly.
“I never cried.”
I swallow. I know that. Daemon is as cold as ice, but he melted parts of him to let me in, and for that, I am so grateful. He has saved me in ways that he will never know. I crave his presence. “It’s okay, Daemon.”
“Lie down.” He points to the bed.
I do as I’m told, lying on my back, my nerves relaxing at his touch. He pats my forehead and it feels like a light of healing every time he caresses me. He doesn’t fix my broken parts, he just fills them with peace.
A small bottle of blue liquid is sitting on a table. My feet are covered in wooden shoes with red tips, pointing upward. What the fuck? I search around the room. There’s nothing in here, just that small bottle. I try to take the liquid, but my hand can’t grasp it. I get frustrated, sweat spilling out over my flesh. Why can’t I touch the stupid bottle? I finally grab it, flicking the cork off. A tag is around the neck, on it reads “Drink me.” Okay, so I’m Alice in Wonderland? Those boys are clearly fucking with me again.
I drink the liquid in one go. Sour goo clings to my tonsils, reminding me of that time when I tried to eat Play-Doh. The glass enlarges in my hand. What! It grows bigger and bigger, expanding as the seconds pass. Suddenly I’m standing beside the now monstrous-sized glass bottle.
The room has proliferated. Everything is so much fucking bigger!
The table leg catches my eye, because there’s a book shape that’s carved into the wood. I step closer. It’s an opened book, carved with perfect precision. Weird. I step even closer and run my fingertips over it. Puer Natus.
I suck in a breath, turning to see who it is that’s playing a sick joke on me, but as soon as my finger touches it, a black hole opens up and sucks me in.
I wake up in a graveyard.
DAEMON reads over the stone.
I’ve been here before. What is going
