Daughter of Blood and Nightmares

14: Blood And Ink

The door slowly creaks open to reveal a lone man sitting at a table, an empty chair across for him. I'm positive that's meant for me.

"What is this about?" My lips have a hard time forming the words that race through my head. An interrogation? Another show?

By the twitch in Carden's feet, he knows that I'm more than willing to wait them out or attack. You put a cat in a corner and the claws are bound to come out. We stare off against each other, but all I achieve is giving myself a panic attack from all the crazy ideas on what the hell these idiots are going to do to me. Are they going to haze me like I'm in some stupid fraternity? Are my chances of surviving significantly reduced if I don't cooperate?

"Sit." Zayne requests.

"No." I snap back. I'm not sure if I can speak to him like I talk to Winston, but I do. I square off against him, daring him to do something.

"First lesson on being an Order soldier. Listen to commands. Now sit." His voice is stern and unlike Winston he seems like the type to result in violence to get what he wants. I mean he hunts and kills demons among other evil things. If I overstep with him, I could end up dead.

I stalk over to the chair and drop down onto the seat like a scolded child. Without blinking, I eyeball the man that was patiently waiting for us to arrive. He seems unafraid or unfazed by what I can do. In fact, he gives me a smile. It's unsettling.

Time stands stills as he reaches under the table, pulling out a leather rolled up pouch. The string unwinds and he rolls it open on the tabletop to reveal several sharp tools. The buzz of one sends me into a panic.

I bolt up from the chair, nearly knocking it over, but the man sitting across from me lunges for me and grabs a hold of my left wrist, tugging me back down before I have a chance to fully stand up. Fight it, Ashton. Fight the images.

Zayne remains calm and untouched by my hateful attitude and my bad behavior. "This will hurt less if you just sit and relax."

"Oh, I have a feeling it's still gonna hurt." It already hurts, my shoulder with the bruise still on it burns as he twists my arm. I stare defiantly at each of them, but neither of them waver. Maybe because I start to sway on my feet, lose the color in my face. I desperately try to get them to see things from my side. "You're going to brand me?" The words are forced as snippets of this man's nightmare fights to be seen.

I try a different tactic, "I'm not one for pain." My legs snap at the knee to pop me out of the chair, but the man's hold is strong.

Pinning my arm to the table with one hand, his other pulls my sleeve up showcasing all the scarred lines of abuse for everyone to see. Our eyes meet deadlocked in a challenge. I silently dare him to say something as he silently questions me and calls me out as a liar.

But the longer he holds me, the stronger his fear gets. I'm unaware if my eyes are open or closed, unaware of the look on the man's face. He could be looking at me in horror or disbelief, but I can't tell. I fight to keep my consciousness. My vision blurs with images of a boy in the woods. I fight it back even though I know it's futile. It only makes it hurt more.

The moonlight covers the small clearing in an eerie glow. The group of campers are all huddled around a fire warming up or making smores. Laughing and joking until an inhuman growl fills the woods. All chatter stops, the children panic and the adults barely hold it together themselves.

Their words of calm down, quiet, everything's okay is said on shaky breaths and with rattling limbs. A predator stalks them, circling their campsite. I catch a glimpse of glowing eyes and they don't look like they belong to an animal.