Page 39 of Haunted Nightmares
“If there ever was a time you should tell the truth it is now.” I get to my feet and walk through the carnage toward a bucket by the window, one that’s been sitting in this room almost as long as the bodies littering it. “Once I start I may not be able to stop so clearing the air before then is a right good idea, yeah?”
But I don’t give her the chance.
Quicker than she can process, I’ve snatched the bucket as well as Archer’s t-shirt I was wearing, the stretched cotton material folded and covering her entire face, and I’m pouring the contents of the nasty plastic over it.
Iris’s entire body struggles at the abrupt lack of oxygen, as the stagnant water and gelatinous blood flows over her mouth and nose. She fights more than I expected her to, but the bucket is empty rather quickly and that won’t do.
So, I use my power and force the claw foot tub from the upstairs bath to come crashing through the ceiling above the dining room then stretch my fingers before giving them a flick to summon it to my side. It starts to fill from the faucet with one look from me and while Iris coughs and chokes, gasps for air and tries to get free, I replenish my supply once again.
“Lying to your king,” I growl as I tilt her back a little more before quickly dumping the ice cold water on her face. “An offense punishable by death back in the day, and refusing to identify yourself would have guaranteed a slow and agonizing one.”
I give her just enough time between the second and third attempts to gasp long and loudly, the growing panic in her voice evident even as she refuses to use the time to speak. Another refill has Iris writhing, her legs kicking against her restraints on either side of me as I dowse her again.
“Frothing at the maw, yeah?” I grin as that perverse, insatiable hunger swirls in my gut, twisting and rolling before racing up my spine and slithering through my brain. “Be a good girl and open those pretty white fangs. Show me what I need to see.”
I peel the drenched fabric from her face, my stare moving over the white foaming around her mouth, her eyes now bloodshot, the snot running from her tiny little nose.
“I did not… eat… anyone’s… soul,” Iris chokes out between coughing fits. “I am not… a witch.”
“Lies!” I scream, throwing the shirt back over her face before pouring water over it again. “You lying,”—again and again—“cold hearted”—bucket after bucket—“horrible deathmyjakbitch!”
Moving to refill, I go stock still as the raven swoops in through the hole in the dining room ceiling, the winged creature squawking and clicking as it heads directly for me.
And I fucking crumble.
I drop the bucket in the tub and fall to my knees, the empty, rotting darkness spiking behind my chest, pounding against my sternum as it shoots out through my veins.
“My mate…” I whisper as I watch the raven uncover Iris’s face. “You ate her soul when she died but her spirit is in that bloody bird.”
After an eternity of nothing but Iris trying to catch her breath, throwing up water, and the feathered creature’s clicks, the female I almost waterboarded to death speaks.
“I’m so sorry.”
I snort and reach out to remove the metal from the bottom of the rocking chair. “Somehow I doubt you’re apologizing for eating her soul.”
“Because I’m not,” Iris coughs up a mouthful of bloody water as she goes upright, clearly lightheaded and dizzy as she does. “I’m not a witch and I have never eaten anyone’s soul, but I am genuinely sorry for what you’re going through.”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“You don’t have it.”
My gaze snaps to hers as Iris gives a burnt-shoulder shrug. “Why would I pity you for finding the kind of love that makes you torture people in the name of it?”
“Are you daft? I just tried to kill you, and I would have had the little dark angel not come to your rescue.”
Iris watches me closely as I begin undoing the rope from her ankles. “Having a love that you would kill for or in the name of, one that makes you rise from the ashes of your rotting and hollowed out self just to honor…” She pauses as she rolls the joints then waits for me to look up at her. “All that does is make me respect you as my king, and sorry that you lost that kind of love while fighting for the crown.”
“If you,” I say as I clear my throat and avert my eyes, busying myself with removing the duct tape from her wrists and the back of the chair. “The sun is about an hour from rising so you should… you…” My shoulders sag and I hang my head as I back away from her and blurt, “She was my entire fucking world, mywretched heart living and breathing outside of my chest, and the crown means shite without her.”
Iris gingerly scoots to the edge of her seat, rubbing her wrists before hesitantly reaching toward me to flip a little of my hair out of my eyes. She moves to do it again but glitches and quickly pulls back. “I don’t pity you for that kind of love, I envy you. It isn’t my destiny to have it now but seeing how utterly destroyed you are over losing yours makes me long for it.”
“I suppose I do makemourning, rotting, and dying from the inside outlook rather good, yeah? Even as I become a walking corpse.”
“You look like a broken king who’s trying like hell to keep the nightmares away long enough to rule in your mate’s honor.”
“Got all that from this one torture session?” I snort and shake my head as a black tear forms in the corner of my eye and I try like hell to blink it away. “You might have a concussion from when I knocked you out, you may want Lorna to?—“
“I saw it the first time we ran into each other. You came out of hiding to do right by your queen, it was written all over your face then and it still is now.”
