Breaking Broken (Love After Life), page 5
And then I see them... in the wake of the severed heads, two new serpents return. They’re minuscule at first, merely babies, but grow fast as though somebody is pumping them up. They return blacker, more vicious, eyes sharper than before. Any ounce of relief shrivels up and dies when they turn on the other serpents. The battle is tortuous and feels as though it’ll never end.
I melt on the floor writhing in agony. That was supposed to make me better, but everything feels so much fucking worse now.
Chapter Five
Maze
I’m shaking, and not just a tremble. It’s a full-body, can’t-breathe kind of shaking. My stomach is in knots. Gods, I think I’m going to throw up all over the hallway floor.
I’m boiling under my skin.
She’s in there.
I know it.
Siren.
A perfect name to describe a perfect beast. Even the syllables of her name drag danger dipped in perfume through my mind. She’s a trap you’d walk into with your eyes wide open because even if you knew her sin, you’d still want to get caught.
A monster with claws that hug your neck.
My eyes feel heavy, and I stifle a yawn. I spent the entire night with my head in a history book. It wasn’t hard to find her name. Every book written in blood or bone mentions her lineage. Her fathers are notorious: The God of Sin and The God of Lust. The kinds of Gods you don’t whisper prayers to.
Their love story is one born from evil. Sin forged his husband from molten ash, carved him into the epitome of beauty, painted his features with kisses. Brought him to life. Gave him his very first breath. And then slaughtered him. Sin drank the blood of his creation, fucked the corpse to death, and bathed in his malice. Only then did he bring Lust back to life in his eternal glory. To be his husband. His sole friend. His only companion.
Siren was dragged from that chaos. It’s no mystery why she’s like this.
Thousands of siblings, scattered across timelines. Polyamory is their ritual. Pleasure is their faith. No morals. No mercy. Only indulgence.
But Siren? She doesn’t need to copy them to carry the curse. Hell, she’s made of it. All that seduction, violence, hunger bottled into one girl. If her dads are beautiful, she is God sent. Nothing prettier has been born. But also, nothing deadlier. Her charm is… known for birthing obsession. One look and she could lead men to war and evil Gods to salvation. One small smile and she could bring armies to their knees.
Siren, the queen of slaughtered fantasies.
Of all the Beings in the sphere to have as a bully.
Gods protect me.
But I did manage to find something worth knowing: her charm only works if you look her in the eyes. They say that’s the only way she can seduce you away from your will. That’s the trick—don’t look. It’s her gaze which unravels you. But knowing that doesn’t help much. Not when my knees go weak hearing her voice. Not when my nickname on her lips makes me breathless.
Not when I’m the source of her entertainment to make the school day go by quicker.
I push the classroom door open with a small breath that I don’t remember taking. My eyes remain glued to the floor, tracing the cracks between the tiles as though they’re escape routes.
I smell her before I see her—poison in the air: strawberry lip gloss and something expensive. Like she’s too good for the oxygen that the rest of us breathe. It makes the room smell wrong. Too sweet. Too dangerous. Like perfume at a crime scene.
I weave through the desks like a rat, my heart pounding. There’s one seat, left isolated in the back corner. I take it fast, gripping the edge like I’ll fall if I let go.
She’s not close. But she’s watching.
Five desks to my left, two forward. I calculate the distance almost instinctively, the way prey detects when a predator is nearby.
And then… her voice.
“Look who’s back,” she coos. “Good morning, freak.”
Gods. The way her voice kisses my brain has my body trembling immediately. I hate the nickname so much. I hate how deceptively sweet her voice is, despite her cruel words.
I see her out of the corner of my eye. As she tosses her hair over her shoulder, she tips backwards in her chair to dodge around the creatures between us. Hungrily, she drinks me in. I busy myself by unloading my notepad and pen onto the desk.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.
Her chair creaks and then silence. I feel her gaze lingering on the side of my face like a fresh sunburn.
“It’s rude to ignore someone when they say good morning.”
My face turns red. I keep my gaze firmly fixed on my notepad, where the same sentence loops again and again in my handwriting like a silent scream.
“Oi!” she spits. “I said good morning.”
“Good morning!” I blurt before I can stop myself. The blood in my ears makes it nearly impossible to hear myself think, let alone try and regulate the words to sound anything less than a yelp.
I refuse to look at her. And yet, I feel the smile on her lips. Small and cold. But she’s not satisfied by the one scene.
“Stray,” she hums, lower this time. “Your hair looks like you cut it with safety scissors. Did you do it yourself?”
Laughter. Not from her. From the ones who orbit her like moons. It’s gargled, forced and too loud.
“Good one, Siren!” It’s a female voice which praises her.
I keep my eyes down. Silent, still. My throat burns like I’ve swallowed glass. Seconds pass, maybe minutes. They watch me expectantly. I think I might cry. I won’t cry. I can’t.
Silence.
But I know this isn’t over.
A note flutters onto my desk.
Gods. Will she just leave me alone?
Don’t open it. The voice of reason is loud. Just wait until the professor arrives and then the attention will shift from you.
“Open it,” Siren whispers excitedly.
Don’t open it.
“Open it!” Her voice drops a few octaves. The playfulness vanishes like poison being dragged over rose petals. I can’t help the physical jolt that rocks through me. My traitorous fingers move before my head can stop them.
Heart in my mouth, I peel the sides back. Everyone is watching me. Waiting for the punchline. My fingers shake.
Even the paper is unnaturally hard, as though sliced from stone.
I read the words: Your shirt is cute. Did someone die in it first?
I close it. Slowly, carefully. Like it might explode if I move too fast. It’s hard to keep my face still when the class titters. Laughter again. Louder this time, and more have joined in. A choir of shrieking vultures.
I swallow hard. My throat feels like it’s lined with daggers. My face must be red and my ears ring. Gods, I think my vision is going spotty.
“Well, did they?” Siren taunts.
Heat floods my cheeks. I stare at my notepad until the world blurs. The ink stretches into long, jagged lines.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
“Ignoring me again. They clearly didn’t teach you manners at your last school,” she sneers.
I hate you. The voice in the back of my mind screams. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!
“Stray!” Her voice is a sharp slap in the face. I jolt. My only pen goes flying out of my hands. It smacks against the floor and rolls away from me.
Oh, Gods!
The room is deadly silent.
“Oh no!” She pouts, voice dripping with sarcasm.
My pen rolls for what feels like hours. The sound echoes around my mind as it gets closer and closer to her.
Please, don’t. I plead like my life depends on it.
My bully slips out of her chair. She moves dangerously slow, almost like she has all the time in the world. With every step she takes, more blood drains from my head. It’s like torture. The way her heels clink against the floor. The sound reverberates in my mind, louder and louder, until I feel as though I’m going to be sick everywhere.
She bends. At the hips. Her long, slender legs are made even more delicious by the reds of her heels. Her mini skirt, plaid and soft-looking, rides up slightly, but there’s a creature in the way of the sight. She retrieves the pen before correcting her posture. And then, the torture of heels against tiles resumes.
Finally, she reaches my desk.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.
And yet… I can’t resist. The thought of her being this close and not being able to defend myself if she strikes sends horror through me. Weakly, I lift my chin. I stare at her forehead, not daring to lower my gaze for an instant.
“You dropped this,” she whispers, holding my pen between her fingers like it’s something dirty.
My cheeks burn. “I don’t need it.”
It’s a lie. And we both know it.
Her smile is slow. Controlled. Perfectly orchestrated. “I think you do.”
I blink. She knows. She knows.
“You should really take better care of your things,” she whispers, eyes sparkling. “I know I do.”
I have no words. I am nothing beneath her.
She refuses to let me breathe. “But I guess when you come from nothing, you’re used to breaking things that don’t belong to you.”
“I…” I fumble the sound.
She twists the pen to show me the inscription—a bloodied heart, dripping out of an upside-down cross. I stare at it in horror.
“My crest,” she mutters. “I lost that pen in my first year of school. Good to see you’re scrounging from lost property.”
I shrink in on myself as if that will help me escape. “I…I didn’t know. You can have it back.”
She leans in closer. Too close. Her breath against my ear is hot and awful.
“Consider this charity work,” she hisses, slipping it into my shirt pocket. Her fingers caress my collarbone like it’s nothing. But it’s everything. I flinch. She drinks it in. She almost doubles in size, as if the mere touch has doused her in energy.
Gods!
No. I can’t stay here any longer. It’s not safe!
“I…” My voice is timid. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
It’s another lie. She notices. Her head tilts to the side, like a beast scanning its prey for weak spots.
“Go.” It’s as if I need to get permission from her to move.
Dipping my head, I snatch my books and try to escape from the class. My head rushes from the sudden movement, and I stagger into the desk, almost sending it sideways.
Get the hell out of here, Maze.
Chapter Six
Siren
She’s so magnetising, and I can’t stop staring at her as she runs away.
I can smell flowers clinging to her soft skin, whispers from a faraway garden. Her hair is the colour of white silk, and I want to pull it just to be sure it’s real. It looks too pure, too perfect.
What the actual fuck?
Why can’t I get her out of my head?
My skin feels thicker, eyes brighter. But what’s worse is despite feeling full, my hunger still roars. I need more, I must take more.
She is more.
She scurries away with the flit of a fleeing mouse. Head down, shoulders high, as if that will protect her. She’s so strung up that she doesn’t once check over her shoulder to check if she’s being followed.
I guess some lessons are better learned practically.
I rub my head; the ghosts of my snakes still throb painfully. My head hasn’t stopped aching since I sliced them off last night. My own fault, really, and I know I’ve awakened a blackness within my heart for violence. And there is one name on my mind.
Stray.
I shouldn’t—I mustn’t.
But I can’t help myself.
I go after her.
She’s digging down in her locker, completely unaware of me lurking in the shadows. The sterile walls in the hallway are far brighter under the artificial lighting. She looks like she’s on stage and I’m her desperate audience, waiting patiently for a single look. I can’t see her head; it’s like she’s trying to climb into the locker. There are noises too, like frustrated whimpers. She hurries to gather her things.
Her fear is fucking delicious.
I move further into the shadows. I ought to strike now, to catch her off guard. The element of surprise is how I trick my targets into looking into my eyes, and yet… I wait. Patiently, quietly. I want to drink her in until I’m drunk on resentment.
She strains onto her tiptoes. Her locker is just out of reach, and I thank whatever God had arranged the universe so perfectly in this moment. Her top rises slightly, exposing an inch of her milky skin. It’s so clear, so blemish free, I’m sure I’m looking at the flesh of an Angel. It must be warm, flush with the heat of her anxiety. I wonder what it would be like to mark her for my own? My nails sinking deep into her skin would leave the most delicious red marks, almost like kisses stained in blood.
Would she cry out from my touch, or would she pretend to resist the pleasure? Hell, I don’t know which one I’d prefer. I want her to fight me. To scream that she hates me, that she doesn’t want me, but equally, her submission… shit, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.
Finally, she emerges from the locker, glancing down at the books she holds tightly against her chest. I stare angrily at the place that was once revealed to me.
She’s completely unaware of the predator a few metres from her. The seconds tick by in my mind. With every moment, my hunger expands and my fingers tremble with excitement. It grows too much; I can’t wait any longer. I need to be near her again.
With a shaky breath, I push out from the shadows. My prey immediately senses danger and her head jerks up instinctively. By the time she realises her mistake, it’s too late. Our eyes meet. I smile as she freezes. The blood drains from her face.
“No!” she wheezes.
“Well, that’s no way to greet somebody,” I coo, the smile spreading across my lips. I move towards her slowly, purposefully, letting her drink in the suspense. Or more importantly, drown in it. Terrified, her back hits the locker. It’s a beautiful reminder of where we first met.
A breathless noise escapes from her dark lips. I’m hooked on the way they part, the way her bottom pillow trembles. I love the way her body shuts down in my presence. Any clever animal would be fleeing, but her? She freezes for me.
“I-I have to get home,” she stammers, casting her gaze down sharply.
“Class hasn’t begun yet.”
She audibly gulps. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
“Hurt you? I don’t want to hurt you. I was just teasing back there in class. Aw, come on, I’m not some big, bad monster.” I flash my toothy smile, and it makes her shrink in on herself. “Can’t we be friends?”
I’m shaking. The anticipation is far too much. I’m desperate to lull her into a false sense of security. I giggle. “Come on, I don’t bite. Well… only if you ask nicely.”
I catch sight of my pen in her pocket and nearly fucking whimper. She looks so good with my name so close to her breast. What kind of sick fate would tempt me so badly if I wasn’t allowed one taste?
With a frightened squeak, Stray pushes forward, trying to escape. I effortlessly step in front of her. “Are you saying you don’t want to be my friend?”
“Please, I don’t want any trouble. I just want to go home.”
“And I want to talk to you.” I lean in. Fuck, she smells so good up close, like jasmine and innocence wrapped in a neat little bow for my taking. I want to take the ribbon and pull until she’s forced to expose herself to me. It would be so easy to convince her—Hell, one bat of my eyelashes and she would be putty between my fingers before my charm fully consumed her. But I let her avoid my gaze; I let her tremble in the silence of her own freewill.
“Are you scared of me, Stray?”
Please, for the love of God, say yes.
“Yes.”
Fuck. My knees almost give way, and I swallow hard to clear my mind of all my dirty thoughts.
“Don’t be,” I lie. “Have I given you a reason yet?”
Yet. The word lingers in the air between us. It’s thick and hot, and I want to push forward to close the space.
“You’re mean,” she croaks. “You’re so mean to me.”
“Aw, I’m just teasing, Stray. Don’t take it so personally. If you’re going to survive in this school, you better get used to a joke.”
I love playing with this toy. Her mind whirls and it’s so evident on her beautiful face. It contorts and scrunches, but she never once opens her eyes. The sweet girl dips her head slightly, trying to turn her face from me more, but I won’t let her hide so easily. I gently touch her arm.
Despite the fabric between us, the connection steals my breath away. She feels like a cloud—soft and enticing, yet something holds my fingers there. I want to press harder, I want our skin to become one.
She hesitates. The clever little thing knows not to stare the threat down, but she can’t help pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. The pause does something to me. She’s so shy, so inexperienced. She doesn’t know the true level of danger she’s in. For a moment, it’s almost as if I’ve lied too convincingly.
“Look at me,” I whisper. “Look at me, and I’ll let you go.”
Centuries wither and die in the time it takes her to gently lift her head. Finally, those golden orbs connect with mine. I wish I had the restraint to let her tremble in the unknown, but that would be punishing myself, too.
Just one taste.
One small slither of her sex and I’ll leave her alone for good.
But with a small smile, everything changes. My charm swims into the surrounding area like dark pink snakes slithering across the air. She isn’t able to see them; she’ll breathe them in unknowingly, and I watch with awe as they sink into her lungs. I poison her until the only word on her mind is my name.
It’s so beautiful—the exact moment her resistance breaks. Her pupils blow up, dilating as my command takes hold. She’s unable to look away, transfixed on me as if I were her creator. She releases a soft, shuddering breath. I was right: Stray is fucking breathtaking with my poison swimming through her veins.
