Page 60 of Burn for Her

The woman was out cold, and Dorian prayed she stayed unconscious. This wasn’t going to end well for anyone. It never did. His father was getting more and more creative with his punishments lately—both for his victims and Dorian.

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled.

Dropping the cleaver, his father’s hand slammed down on Dorian’s shoulder, the other wrapped around the nape of Dorian’s neck. “Feed or I’ll gut you.”

Then gut me, he wanted to say. But he was too chicken shit to let those words tumble from his cracked lips. He didn’t want to die. He just wanted out of this life. Away from this terror. If he were stronger, he could run faster. He saw how quick his father was. He wanted to be the same.

“Drink, son. I’ll not tell you again.”

Dorian’s eyes squeezed shut and he bent over the woman’s neck. His father’s forceful hands shoved him down, forcing him to either feed or die. What Dorian chose would determine this woman’s final fate—let her be hacked into pieces or go easily in her unconscious state.

Mercy sometimes looked like murder.

And he was so hungry. He hadn’t eaten a bite of food in four days and water wasn’t enough to satisfy his thirst. His fangs throbbed. Tears stung his eyes as he opened his mouth and clamped down on the woman’s neck. I’m so sorry, he screamed in his head. I don’t know how to get us out of this!

The woman jerked beneath his fangs. Her blood rushed into his mouth when his teeth tore her skin.

She’s awake! No! Dorian drew back—and though his hunger demanded he keep drinking, he refused to give into it. “Run!” he screamed. Pulling the paring knife out, he spun around, ready to strike his father.

But it didn’t happen.

Instead, his father cracked the cleaver down on the woman’s right leg, severing it. “Yes, dear, run. Run fast before I cut your other leg off as well.”

The woman’s mouth opened in a silent scream. Her eyes bugged out of her head as the puncture wounds in her neck poured blood.

Dorian puked. Backing up, he panicked and couldn’t figure out which way to run. Palming his tiny blade, he knew he’d never be able to kill his father with something so small. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. Better to die fighting than live like this another day.

Dorian attacked.

“You stupid fool!” His father bit down on Dorian’s arm, taking a chunk of meat with him. Dorian screamed. His father raised his cleaver and swung down hard.

Dorian moved out of the way just in the nick of time. The blade only cut instead of cleaved. The sudden pain of both wounds made Dorian’s senses sharpen. He rolled out of his father’s reach as the cleaver fell again. It cut into the wooden floorboards of their shack.

“You can’t outrun me, boy.”

Good. Because Dorian didn’t want to outrun him. He wanted to kill him.

His father lunged and managed to sink his massive teeth into Dorian’s right thigh. Dorian punched his father’s head. His father took another hunk out of his sunken in torso. Dorian’s voice broke with his next scream. He snagged the well bucket—the only thing in his reach—and smashed it against his father’s head until it busted and crumbled to pieces. It did nothing but make the old monster laugh.

“Let’s play a game, Dorian.” His father rose to his full height and glared down at him with blood all over his chin and cheeks. “Hide and Seek. Remember how I taught you to play it? Run, Dorian. Run for your life and hide. Pray I don’t find you.”

Dorian didn’t want to run. He knew he couldn’t hide. His father would find him, come hell or highwater. That bastard loved the hunt and chase. He was a master at it.

The woman on the table screamed and thrashed about. Dorian’s father dashed to her as fast as a lightning strike and broke her neck. Dorian scrambled out of the house and headed into the woods. Blood poured from his wounds. He was disoriented and numb.

Bumbling through the forest, he spun around, unsure which direction to go. If he headed left, he’d end up in a village and there was no way he was willing to lure his father towards more people to prey on.

Something hit his back. Dorian pitched forward and slammed on the ground. Scrambling on all fours, he winced at the fresh pain and scuttled behind a tree. Panting, he reached back—

An arrow protruded just under his shoulder blade. Biting his lip, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to snap the shaft. He was too chicken to pull it all the way out right now. Dizziness made him sway. His stomach lurched and he dry heaved.

“Come now, boy. I taught you better than this. You’re not even trying.”

His father rounded the bend, holding his ancient bow and pulled a fresh arrow from his quiver. He’d seen his father hit a cardinal in mid-air at thirty yards away once. Dorian was a much bigger target. He wasn’t going to get out of this alive.

Dashing back towards the house, his brain checked out. He just wanted to be home. This was the safest place for his father to be trapped anyway, and the woman was already dead. She couldn’t be saved. None of them could.

With his father’s laughter ringing in his ears, Dorian ran into their little shack and started tipping everything over. The animal grease used for cooking. The hay beds. The wooden spoons and plates. They didn’t have much, but it was all flammable.