Revelations by Bella Higgin

Author:Bella Higgin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wattpad WEBTOON Book Group

Renie

I sat under the scalding shower water, my arms locked around my knees, my exhausted mind going over and over the events of the day.

I saw the face of the man I’d killed, the fear and desperation in his eyes, felt his blood pouring over my face, remembered the taste of it in my mouth. I’d scrubbed my skin and my hair until there was no trace of it left, but I imagined I could still feel it—sticky and drying—

still smell it, still taste it.

My stomach felt hollow, snarled with sickness and guilt, but I was angry too—at myself for feeling this way, and at that man for making me feel this way. He’d kidnapped me and handed me over to someone he knew would brutally torture me. No one had forced him to do it. I didn’t want to feel a shred of guilt over killing someone who’d done that to me, but I couldn’t help it.

The bathroom door opened and Roux peeked in. “You okay?” she said.

I tried to say yes, to pretend, but all that came out was a choked sob.

“Oh, sweetie!” Roux rushed into the shower, crouched down, and hugged me.

“You’re getting wet,” I mumbled, trying to push her away.

“I don’t care.”

We sat like that for a while, as the water rained down on us, until I felt strong enough to pull out of Roux’s hug. I shoved my wet hair off my face.

“Edmond said he was proud of me for killing that guy because it meant I’d fought back,” I said.

“I agree with him. You had no other option. Not to mention, you didn’t just do it to protect yourself. You were protecting us, weren’t you? If Etienne had made you talk, he’d have come after us.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” I admitted.

Roux gave my bare back a soothing rub. “Do you think you’re ready to get up?”

I nodded.

Roux fetched a towel from the rack on the wall and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

She led me out of the bathroom, then sat on the bed while I dried off. This was the first time that I’d actually taken note of the room that Caoimhe had given us. It was bigger than the room Roux and I had shared at Belle Morte, with a polished wooden floor and burgundy walls that flowed up to an arched ceiling. The four-poster bed was draped in white silk, the wardrobe along the nearest wall was large enough to practically be a room in its own right, and the space was dotted here and there with fat red candles on tall iron holders.

Keeping my towel tucked around me, I rummaged through the wardrobe until I found a pair of silk trousers and a cream fine-knit sweater that looked about my size.

“Does Caoimhe keep the guest rooms stocked with clothes for when people come to stay?” I asked.

“I guess so,” Roux said.

“How does she know what size—” I paused partway through pulling the trousers on.

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