A Wicked Night by Kiersten Fay

Author:Kiersten Fay [Fay, Kiersten]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-04-16T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Days passed by, but to Cora, it might as well have been years. Time became nothing more than a solid lump of suffering to varying degrees. The routine was this: Swap blood with Bray, endure the dire lust that followed, occasionally suffer through the guards tormenting bath time; twice more they’d unleashed that fire hose on her, the cigar man chortling in sadistic pleasure. She’d never imagined something as tepid as water could berate so painfully. She was always surprised when it didn’t manage to rip away skin just as it made it impossible to breathe till the brutal stream shut off.

Her thoughts often cycled back to before she’d been captured. She should have listened to Knox. He’d been suspicious of Devon from the start. So had Mace, but Knox had been more inclined to put action to words. If she’d given her go-ahead, he might have killed Devon without a second thought. She wished she could have seen the logic of his ruthlessness. But, then, she wasn’t a killer, was she? And yet, her well-intentioned mistake might have brought Mace to an end.

That was the kicker.

She had no way of knowing if Mace was still alive. The wondering ate at her every moment. And when she slept, she sought him out in dreams, which were becoming more vivid, but alternatively less coherent. She didn’t think she was entering the dream realm. Just plain dreaming. The only tangible escape she had.

When awake, Bray regaled her with stories from his long life, rarely pushing her to reciprocate. He told her his father had died long before his change. And that Cortez was younger by three years, though he’d always tried to act ten years older. Bray called him a stiff prick with brass balls. He always smiled when he spoke of Cortez, even when he had nothing good to say, which was kind of endearing.

On the occasions she couldn’t hold in her tears, Bray never failed to sooth her, saying that “it would be alright” and “we’ll find a way out of here.” And when she lost hope completely, he was full of encouragement, suggesting that Trent would likely double the search effort for her alone. She didn’t reveal that she wasn’t exactly Trent’s favorite person. Bray was clearly loyal to the man.

How he remained so positive, she couldn’t understand.

On the rare instances when he made her smile, he seemed to take it as a personal accomplishment, adorably jutting his chest, drawing another smile from her, which she could tell was always his intention.

However, there were cracks in his façade, and she began to realize it was put in place for her alone, as if it had become his sole purpose in life to comfort her. Every so often, mostly as he skated that place between sleep and consciousness, or when he came out of a drugged stupor, the deep-seeded threads of his loneliness choked strong emotions from her. It burrowed deep, to her very bones, and nested there.

The melancholy

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