Page 104

I nod, and then he turns and opens the door.

The first of my senses to be assaulted is my sense of smell. Urine and sweat. Potentially even faeces. I pull my nose up in disgust but follow Damon into the room.

I thought I was prepared, but what I see is nothing like I expected. Lowrens is naked and chained to a wall, hanging from his hands. His body is filled with cuts. Small one-inch gashes that are not too deep but deep enough to draw drops of blood. I imagine it would be like having paper cuts all over your body.

“A cut for every tear he caused you to cry, rainbow. Starting with hishand. The place the first one touched as he held you in that bathroom, trying to steal your light.”

I nod, my eyes drifting from Damon's back to The Reaper, who is unconscious. I’m grateful for that. It gives me a moment to prepare myself.

Damon must have known that. In this strange moment, that comforts me. Damon comforts me with his presence and with his actions.

I approach Lowrens and bend down so that I can see his face. As I thought, none of my imaginings would have accurately depicted the very plain-looking features I am faced with. Clearly beaten, but besides the injuries inflicted, no scar, freckle, or mole would set him apart from so many other men. Maybe I imagined him to look more sinister or to have some hideous deformity, something to allude to what was within. Instead, the monster is concealed in human skin.

My eyes drift down to his penis, which is flaccid, limp, small. Even it has not been spared a couple of slices, blood running down the flesh to drip off the tip. It is tiny compared to Damon, even soft, yet it felt much bigger when…

I shake my head, attempting to push away the vivid images of The Reaping that flood my mind, as clear as if it happened just yesterday. Damon's hand on my shoulder grounds me, and I grasp it with my own, trying to steal some of his strength.

“I’m going to wake him up. His revenge is waiting, but it has a time limit.” I nod, not quite understanding, as he cracks a capsule under his nose.

Lowrens jerks awake so forcibly that he hits his head against the wall while I stumble back in fright.

“Sienna,” he rasps, his hazel eyes no longer as I remember them. Instead, his pupils are blown out, and the sclera is a mixture of red and yellow.

This monster now looks like a man as fear crosses his features.

“Please. Help me.” I cannot reconcile the person in the bathroom at Lady Chatman’s with this man. They are chalk and cheese. But they are the same. This is the man who took from me unwillingly. This is the man who gave me an experience I can never give back.

This is the man who killed my father.

“No. You don’t deserve anything from me.”

Lowrens shakes his head, the action making him flinch.

“You are not like this. You are not a killer. You won’t be able to live with yourself if you let me die.” His assumption of me might have been accurate before, but I am not the same Sienna I was. These men, the one hanging from the chains before me and the one on my right, have changed me. I have changed. I am stronger than I was.

“You caused this. You bear the responsibility, not me.” Lowrens coughs, and I step back as he leans forward, spitting out some blood and a tooth onto the already blood-splattered floor.

“She is not a killer. But I am,” Damon says, his tone dangerous and holding a warning.

“So are you.” I want an admission from him. I want him to tell me he killed my father. Perhaps as justification for what is happening here, as if The Reaping isn’t enough. Lowrens isn’t entirely wrong. This is disturbing for me, and I do wonder at the repercussions. How will I feel once everything is done and dusted?

When he says nothing and just looks at me, I prompt again.

“You killed my father.”

Lowrens’ gaze drifts over to Damon, and what he sees there must be what prompts him to respond.

“Yes. I killed your father.”

Pain.

It rips through me, and Damon must sense it. Before Lowrens cansay another word, Damon slaps a piece of silver duct tape over his mouth.

Then he puts his arms around me, turning me so I can no longer see the monster.

There is no remorse on his face or tone as he crushes me with five little words. A sledgehammer made up of vowels and consonants. I know words have a beautiful power, like when Damon speaks to me. But that power isn’t always kind. Lowrens shows me just how destructive it can be.

I have got what I need. Damon will carry the burden of the rest.