Chapter 4- Marv
I wasn’t dead, basically. I opened my eyes to see Irene examining me with an interested and amused look in her eyes. Her arm was gone- it was replaced by a sleek invisible and transparent arm, with frost lacing around it elegantly. Espying my gaze she let out a bark of laughter that sent creeps down my spine.
“Well, that is what I really am.”
“We, Irene,” said a too familiar voice in a drawling tone. “That’s what we really are. Ah, by the way, we are in Manhattan now.”
Isabella. I backed away, only to be tied back to the hard bricks by an invisible force. The air was knocked out of my lungs. Both astonished by the impact and her existence, I choked, coughing.
She was as beautiful as before, but from her waist, she was nothing but frost and gas. That was what those creatures were. Her blond hair was dyed black, tied into a slick plait that ran down until her shoulders. She wore a sleeveless sweatshirt, with camouflage pants beneath and a thick chain-adorned belt around her narrow waist. She brandished her fangs and neared, the gas helping her to move more elegantly than before.
“My, my, Charles,” she said in mock horror and shock. “Who has done this to you? You are bruised and blue-black all over!”
“You…reformed?” I choked.
“I was able to reform because I decoded the box that contained the red ruby, which is something like my heart.”
“Decoded? But-“
She patted my face, and hit it hard with so much force that I fell to the floor on my knees. I thought my kneecap bones would shatter, as I grimaced. She pinned me down and kissed my cheek deep and slow.
“Cousin! He’s mine!” protested Irene.
“You can have that- that boy- what was his name?”
“Andy?”
Isabella waved. “Yeah, that guy. He’s not as hot as Ben, but he’s O.K.”
“He’s a geek. Can I have…Bill? He’s hot,” gushed Irene, batting her eyelashes. “But- Charles is better. He protests- so it’s more fun.”
“Oh, yes.”
Isabella ran her finger down the white scar at the side of my face, and I shivered, unable to move.
“Your father did this to you, didn't he?” she whispered.
“He didn’t know that it would make it scarred,” I said, but the hurt in my voice was obvious in my own ears.
She giggled. “Yes, he was very much unaware.”
She ran her hair through my hair. “Very blond. Very, very blond- you inherited it from our mistress. We shall not want to hurt you. We want you.”
“I am a married man,” I snarled, but she waved.
“Oh, never mind,” she laughed. “Your wife doesn’t really want you anymore, does she?”
Again hurt rose up to my throat. I swallowed deep. “No, she doesn’t dispose people like they are rubbish like you,” I said quietly.
