Page 89 of Nightshades

“So do you.” Her face morphs into a hopeful smile, as if she has found a way to twist my words against me to save her life. “You have a choice. You can let us go, and we won’t tell a soul. We won’t,” Christina shakes her head.

“What’s the worst way you’d want to die?” I ignore her attempts because they annoy me.

“Please.”

Impatient, I wrap my hand around her throat and lift her into the air, the chair coming off the ground. “I said, what is the worst way you’d want to die!” I roar, the monsters within me taking hold.

“A shark!” she answers, another sly little grin threatening her lips.

She sees no water. Christina thinks she has outsmarted me.

“A shark? That’s not that bad. I’ve killed people in more brutal ways than a shark ever could.” I grab her face and turn it with a hard push, nearly breaking her jaw with my strength. “And I think you forget who runs the show here, Christinaaa,” I breathe the end of her name, the nightmare becoming one with my skin.

Becca becomes locked in a long, square tank that seems endless. She is no longer bound to the wire or chair, but banging on the inside of the glass for Christina to save her.

There’s no way out of that tank. Shark or not, Becca is dead.

“Becca! Becca! No!” Christina struggles against the barbed wire, cutting open her skin in her attempts to save her best friend. “Becca!” Her scream echoes into the neurons.

Becca swims, banging on the glass in hopes it will break. Her hair floats behind her, a silken scarf drifting through the raging seas.

I point, bending down to be eye level with my new friend. “Look. She has company.”

Christina’s spike of fear is like a drug to me, a shot into my veins that soaks into the chambers of my wretched, sick spirit.

“Becca! Becca!”

Poor Becca tries to swim away, away into the endless ocean I’ve created for her. She should be struggling to breathe any minute.

The shark swims fast, coming from the deep blue shadows. A great white, the white belly unmistakable. Bubbles flow from Becca’s mouth as she screams.

Even in the damn water, she screams. It’s never-ending.

The shark plays with her, snapping onto her leg, then letting go, then her arm, and letting go.

Red begins to bleed into the water, drifting through the current.

More sharks begin to come, and Christina screams when they attack Becca all at once, ripping her head from her body.

“No! No! Becca! Becca.” She sobs and shouts, shoulders shaking from how hard she’s grieving her friend. “You’re fucking sick.” Her angry eyes narrow at me through wet lashes.

“Oh, you have no idea.” I curl over her, burying my nose into her hair to breathe in the fucking fright. “My cock is aching to be set free, but I’d never allow you to see me. I belong to my mate.”

“No one could ever love you,” Christina says, her fucking chin held up high. “No one could love anyone who does what you do. What you look like. You’re a freak of nature. An abomination. Someone who shouldn’t exist. You’re a waste of fucking space!”

I know she’s wrong. Lula doesn’t care what I am. I’ve shown her all of me. Christina’s words bother me still, and instead of enjoying another kill, I become impatient and charge at her.

My head is down, my horns are sharp, and I spear right through her heart, then swing her into the shark-filled tank. I watch as their sharp teeth rip into her flesh, tearing away her muscles and bones. Pieces of her mix with what is left of Becca while I search for the peace Lula gives me.

I stand on the sidewalk, staring at my new home with my mouth open. I’m not sure if I’m imagining things with how exhausted I am from yesterday’s events and how long this day has been trying to ‘find’ the person who killed Harold.

I never met the man who owned the jewelry store, but apparently, he was very beloved in this town. Jake had grown up knowing Harold his entire life, so he is taking it hard and is on a mission to find who killed the defenseless man.

The wind blows into my eyes, reminding me to go inside and get out of this weather. It’s wet, cold, and dark minus the glow of the street lamp. The light is enough to show my yard covered in roots. They are even creeping up on the side of the house.

The nightshade flowers bloom, adding a touch of color. The roots form an arch down the pathway, and there are smallglowing lights now that I don’t remember ever seeing on any of his roots.

I walk forward, needing to make a pot of coffee to get through the next few hours. I need to talk to Shade. I haven’t seen him since the crime scene.