You Are Mine Little Sister (by Syra Tucker) novel Chapter 187

RALI

'You were made for me, Green.'

'You've been mine since you were seven.'

'You have no idea how fucking obsessed I am with you.'

I was at a table, working on a sketch. The sight was blurry, I couldn't see what I was working on.

Then he walked in behind me. There was something familiar about him.

I didn't turn to look at him, but I felt him. It was Void. The Torturer.

'Quite impressive. The dress, I mean.' He complimented my work.

He sounded familiar too. I couldn't really place it, but there was something that felt 'recent' about him.

I came awake with a small start, my heart not sprinting as it wasn't a nightmare.

For a long time, I lay on my back, tracing cracks in the ceiling with my eyes, wondering why I was suddenly having these dreams of the dead man.

It was the third time I was dreaming of him in a row. I had a feeling those dreams were memories. But why? I didn't want to remember him. I wanted him to stay dead to me.

.....

I closed my eyes, a bright smile on my face as I leaned out my window and inhaled the fresh winter air. God, it smelled wonderful—snow, frost, flowers, happiness. I guess this was what Christmas smelt like.

The morning was busy, being Christmas Eve. Davis, his wife—Ivy—and little daughter had came over to spend the holiday with us. With Marovelle and Rosaline very busy at the restaurant which was overflowing with customers, I tagged along with Ivy to the market for supplies.

I tried to keep my mind busy. I mean, there was a lot to do that should keep the mind busy. And yet, around midday, a thought skidded across my brain and refused to move: Where was Dominic?

I hadn't seen him in two days. He didn't drop by the bookstore, neither did he come to the house.

I told myself it was silly to care. He wasn't obligated to orbit me like a moon, but it was hard not to care when it was strange.

‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡

VOID

"This one?" I tapped the blade's tip against the ruined limb.

He whimpered a wet, chewed sound.

"Oh. This?" I traced the steel across the place where all toes were missing.

He still kept whimpering without giving me an answer.

Damn it. It was hard to get what he was saying when he didn't have a tongue.

"I really do want to understand you, man. Maybe we should've kept your tongue," I told him, almost apologetic, just before I stabbed him in the eye.

The howl that detonated out of him was blood to the beast. He thrashed against the table, the cuffs clanging, leather biting his wrists and ankles.

I tried to move and felt liquid on my boot. I looked down.

Piss. A spreading, ugly halo.

I angled my head at the man laying on the next table. I couldn't believe it. "You peed your pants?"

He had a tear running down his temple. He too couldn't speak. His tongue was still intact, but a bar cranked his jaw open, holding the mouth in a permanent, useless O.

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