Page 130 of Hateful Prince
I cried out around the gag still in my mouth, angry, frustrated, and scared.
The man turned around, the glint of a blade in his hand making me struggle harder as he came closer. Once his face was fully bathed in the warm light of the candles, though, I lost all focus on the weapon. I knew this face. I knew him.
He smiled down at me and removed the gag.
“Doctor Temperance. Oh my God, it’s you. Cut me loose. We have to get out of here.”
Rational thought hit me like a sledgehammer as soon as the words left my lips.
He wasn’t here to save me. He’d have come straight over, not wasted time setting the mood with some candles.
“It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long, stupid girl.”
I blinked, worried that I’d hit my head harder than I thought, because I didn’t recognize that voice. Not only did it lack a British accent, but it was rougher around the edges, lacking all of Dr. Temperance’s polish. But also, it wasn’t the voice I’d heard when I’d been taken. Were there two of them?
“W-wait. I . . . but you . . . you’re British.”
He laughed. “I have to admit, the accent was harder than I’d expected.” Then he leaned in and whispered in his British accent, “Have you never seen a scary movie, love?”
A chill ran down my spine.
“You’re the Ripper?”
He pulled out a small device from his pocket and raised it to his lips. “In the flesh,” he said with a grin that was fully psychotic. I knew that voice. It had been the last thing I heard before he took me. “And you will be my final victim. My crowning glory. Sacrificed on an altar made of all my previous victims.”
Bile charged up my throat as I heaved. I couldn’t even process the words. The thought that I was bound on an altar of the dead, that pieces of people I knew were touching me, it was too much.
Still looming over me, he reached out, brushing my hair off my forehead and making me jerk away from the repulsive feel of his skin on mine.
“Now you have a scar to match the one you gave me,” he said, showing me the faint pink scar that disappeared into his hairline.
“What the hell are you talking about? I never gave you a scar.”
He laughed, a cold, menacing chuckle that had me ready to piss myself.
“Oh, Dahlia. You pathetic sheltered child. Time in the real world didn’t do anything for you, did it?” He ran a hand down my body, calling attention to the rough-hewn fabric of the shift he must’ve changed me into. “This would’ve been so much more beautiful if you hadn’t ruined everything the first time.”
“What do you mean?”
“With your scream, of course. In fact...” He replaced the gag, and his glittering gaze locked on mine.
That was the moment I knew.
His name wasn’t Nate. He probably wasn’t even a real doctor.
This was Samuel, or Brother Sam, as he’d been back when I’d known him.
The boy my father had promised me to. The one who was supposed to help him sacrifice me. But I killed him, didn’t I? So how was he alive?
“I can see the questions swirling around in your mind. You always had the most expressive eyes. It’s all coming to you now, isn’t it? Who I am? Our destiny? The part you are about to play?” He let out a maniacal laugh.
I let out a garbled string of words behind my gag.
That only made him laugh harder.
“Sorry, sweetheart. You can’t be trusted. But don’t worry, you don’t need to say a thing. I already know what you’re thinking. Don’t believe me? Here, I’ll demonstrate. I’ll play all the parts. As you know by now, I’m quite the convincing actor. First you say, ‘But you’re supposed to be dead!’ To which I respond, ‘Sorry to burst your bubble. Our goddess had other plans for me. Plans you’re going to help me realize’.”
He leaned close, grinning down at me. “You did me a kindness when you gave me this scar. Your kick not only saved my life, it marked me with your favor. And as Death’s chosen sacrifice, that meant I must be the one to carry on your father’s great work. Just think, if you hadn’t lashed out, I’d be dead right now.”