Page 36

DELILAH

T he doctor is real.

All the blood in my body sinks to my feet as I see those fucking eyes.

The eyes that have been in every one of my twisted nightmares are staring back at me, the edges crinkled as he smiles, and he slightly tilts his head.

The movement forces me to look to the side, and my father is there beside the doctor. Like my nightmare, they’re together.

The chain around my neck loses weight at the sheer dread and fear coursing through me. It’s not fucking real. None of this is real. But then Kane moves his head, blocking them, as he snarls, “Now move before you ruin everything again.”

I silently beg him to make it stop. To send them away and torture me on his own. I can fight him and make him see sense. I can beat him, but I can’t do the same with the rest of them.

He looks down at his outstretched hand with his own silent command. I take the safety of his harm, following Ruby’s instructions—this is the boy who I loved, the one who loved me, and he’ll keep me safe.

The illusion of that boy still being there is enough for me to breathe again.

It becomes harder when he gently guides me closer to my living, breathing nightmares.

My father stands at my back and the doctor stands in place of an officiant.

He smiles and extends his voice whilst I force my limbs to hide the tremor taking root.

“I’m sure we can all agree that my,”—he stares at me, his smile widening—“ nephew has picked a suitable wife.”

Light laughs fill the cathedral while I fight tears.

Nephew. The doctor who isn’t supposed to be real called Kane his nephew.

Kane only ever mentioned one uncle, and Lennox was everything to him.

But there are two people with the exact same face surrounding us, identical twins—just like Asher and Kane.

I never met Lennox, since his visits were during the summer when I’d be forced to spend time with my grandparents.

The spikes in the back of the collar dig into my nape and little pricks of blood trickle down.

The side of my neck takes the brunt of the metal due to the chain piled on the floor.

Physical pain forces me to stay in my body when I want to run mentally.

I’m held in place in every conceivable way by the heavy duty steel when I shouldn’t be.

Everything blurs.

The surroundings, the people, the fucking voices.

Everything apart from Kane’s pale green eyes becomes a haze. The side of his eyes move, his cheeks pushing up and reducing the amount of the hue I can see. His hand is warm in mine, and he lightly squeezes.

I can’t speak, squeezing back as my father steps closer.

I bite down on my teeth and tense my throat to stop the scream from leaving as the man who was supposed to be my protector from birth places his hands on my shoulders.

He doesn’t apply any pressure. Kane’s eyes get closer.

The edges harden and then tearing fabric ripples through the haze.

I look down, expecting to be left naked.

That’s what happens in bad dreams, but my legs are still covered other than the slit in the dress.

Slowly looking back up, a tattooed torso comes into view.

Kane got his tattoos. He’s not Asher’s reflection anymore.

A large snake wraps around his left bicep, the unhinged jaw coming up over his shoulder as though it’s lashing out to protect his heart.

Roses are nestled around the coiling tail with hidden notes like it’s tucking a nest away.

An octopus is on his right pec, their tentacles wrapping around his shoulder to his back, and a series of small lines.

Hundreds of the lines blend into the shading around the tentacles.

There’s another Gorgon head on his ribs, but it’s a different style to the one on his hand.

The one on his ribs is sadder, her mouth open as she screams, and the white orbs of her eyes are broken with bars.

And I find the third Gorgon sister on his right forearm, with harsher features and large wings dropping down to his wrist.

Stheno, the strong. Euryale, deathly bellows. Medusa, the queen.

His right forearm. His ribs. His hand, that is made up of half of my features.

Standing in front of me, bare from the waist up, he holds his arms out and leans his head forward, so his nose is nearly brushing mine.

“Look at me,” he mouths. “Only me.”

I do it instinctively as he flares his nostrils, his neck cords, and he holds himself taut.

“Just me, my pretty girl.”

I smile up at him because he is my Kane. This isn’t real and my mind has given this version back to me instead of the one who hates me. This one will keep me safe from the new nightmares. My mind is fighting the terrors it creates by giving me the very savior I had as a child.

Long, black, hairy lines crawl over his shoulders and he slowly shakes his head without moving the rest of his body.

Large orange-red ovals follow the legs of the spider as it drags itself over Kane’s shoulders.

More follow it, at least five without me looking down, and he grits his teeth.

His jaw hardens even further and his face twists in pain as a roaring blue light glows behind him.

The pale green of his eyes are entirely swallowed up by his pupils and his chest inflates.

I stare in horror as a welding torch is moved in a line between his shoulder blades.

The wand isn’t close enough to his skin for it to fully burn, but I can feel the heat blowing over his shoulder as the spiders crawl over his shoulders, one after another.

They’re huge and I tremble. My skin crawls too, as though the sight of them alone is enough for me to feel them.

But Kane just stares into my eyes as his muscles tense further.

His veins bulge through his neck, his shoulder, his arms, down to his hands.

The dark ink, blue veins, and those fucking spiders with yellow-orange ovals over their hairy bodies are all I can see as the heat intensifies, glimmering behind him.

It agitates the spiders, and one clings to his traps with its back legs.

Rearing up, it extends its front legs. His muscles shake as the spider sinks its hairy fangs into the side of his neck.

The thick sharp points are fully embedded into his skin and he roughly jerks, causing the other arachnids to slip as they attempt to bite him too.

The torch is moved away as leather-gloved hands delicately collect the arachnids.

Kane doesn’t remove the one attacking him.

He blows out a long breath that brushes my cheek as the doctor wraps his fingers around the chain.

He yanks my head to look at him, pulling the spikes further into my skin, and wonder fills his voice as he says, “Prove that you can be his strength, sweet girl.”

A whimper gets caught in my throat at those two words. Sweet girl. He always said it. They should be an endearment, but instead my body reacts like I’m allergic to the syllables as bile burns up my throat.

The gloved hand removes the spider from Kane’s neck and my father places his palm flat against the back of my head, pushing me forward as the doctor tightens his hold on the chain to force me up on the tips of my toes.

The spikes are stuck in my skin, stretching the small holes they’ve made as the doctor barks, “Suck.”

The whimper gets louder, audible to those around me.

Kane doesn’t move his arms and his hands ball into loose fists.

His eyelids droop, sweat beading at his hairline.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do when the doctor repeats, “Suck.” He leans closer to me, his warm breath touching my cheek as every venomous syllable leaves him.

“Save him or don’t. Either way, I’ll find a use for you both. ”

I ignore the pain of the spikes and those of the memories as I look at him. “How?”

He smiles, wrapping the chain tighter around his fist, so the spikes are pushed further into me. “Remove the venom, of course.”

My head is pushed forward again, straight into the crook of Kane’s neck, and I can see the puncture wounds from the spider’s fangs.

Two small holes that drip with watery blood.

He sways forward slightly, and I place my palms on his overheating chest to steady him. His lips part as he mumbles, “Delilah…”

Fighting my tears, I move forward without any prompt and seal my lips over the wound.

A bitter taste mixed with the sickly iron of his blood fills my mouth.

But I keep sucking, even when salt is added to the formula as my tears slip over my lips.

Kane winces and regains enough energy for him to control his arms. He threads his fingers through my hair, pushing my father’s hand away.

His other hand goes to the chain, then there’s nothing else—no one else—touching me other than him.

He holds me to him as my father and the doctor walk around us to congratulate each other.

I can’t pick up their conversation because Kane fits his lips beside my ear and whispers, “You’re mine now.

” He winces as I suck harder. “My wife.” He pulls me closer, and his dick is hard.

It presses against my stomach and the chain gets trapped between our bodies.

“Mine to kill,” he adds even lower. “Spit, koukla mou.”

His fingers get tangled in my hair as he roughly pulls me back and turns my head to the side.

A chalice sits on the floor, the inside engraved with my family’s crest but the edges have other etchings I’ve never seen before.

He lightly strokes his fingers against my scalp as he gently repeats, “Spit.”

I spit down into the chalice as he turns his head so no one can see him and whispers, “Good girl.” His shoulder brushes mine as he softly kisses my hairline.

I hold myself rigid as warmth covers my back, but Kane dips his head and whispers, “It’s not your dad.”