Page 82 of Of Flame and Fury
I army crawl through the mud and up the incline, trying to put space between us. Above me, the sky morphs from sunset orange to a furious red. If the pain in my chest and my breath would allow it, I’d laugh into the wind and throw Johnny some major shade. As it is, I can barely force my middle finger up or my legs to keep going.
Misha clasps my ankle. I grab onto an exposed root, hoping it holds. I don’t feel the grooves along the twisted shape, I only feel enough to grasp. I kick out when Misha pulls me harder. He loses his hold, but my victory is temporary.
I glance over my shoulder. He’s baring his fangs, and his bloody features contort with rage. I curse when he leaps and snags my foot. My curses turn to screams when he digs his fangs into my calf. I lose my grasp on the root. Like an animal dragging his dinner home, Misha crawls backward, taking me with him.
Aching, burning pain shoots from my calf into my hip. Below the bite, my leg is oddly numb. He’s doing something to me, but I don’t give it much thought. I need to survive. I willnotbe the prey he mistakes me for.
My free leg kicks hard enough to nail him in what remains of his nose. His fangs release me, and he jerks away. I don’t even manage an inch between us before he grips my ankles and drags me the rest of the way.
Misha spits out blood. “You know what your problem is, bitch?”
I wipe my mouth enough to speak. “My balls are bigger than yours?”
Hell, if I can’t fight him physically, I’ll damn well screw with his mind.
An eerie calm enshrouds his naked form, adding scary points to something already seriously hideous. “No,” he says. “It’s that you don’t know when to stop.” He smiles. “And that you fail to see you’re already dead.”
“Okay,” I say, breathing hard. “Now you’re just saying shit to sound dramatic.”
His kick to my side has me curling inward and screaming in agony. He throws himself on top of me, pinning my legs with his knees and pushing down my wrists. In my state, the only fight left in me is in my right arm. I rip it free when he lowers to bite my throat and punch him in the head.
He jolts, and I do it again. It’s not as severe as my first strike, but it allows me to break free.
I trip as I stand, catching sight of the stick I lost when I fell down the ravine. I snag it, clamber to my feet, and swing as hard as I can.
The wood collides with Misha’s head, forcing him down. I don’t bother running away this time. I’m on him, beating him over and over.
The feel of his skull crushing inward rattles through my arms, and still, I don’t stop. It takes the stick breaking in half for me to finally stop swinging. Even then, I pick up the sharpest piece and ram it through Misha’s chest.
I back away, shaking and trying hard not to look at the chunks of brain soiling the ground, the thing that was supposed to be Misha, or the brutality I never believed I was capable of.
It’s one thing to use my lightning and fire to sizzle and burn, it’s another to kill something, however unreal, with your bare hands. I keep walking backward until I can’t. Then I sit in the mud and cry alone.
The sun sets in Johnny’s makeshift world, my tears stopping long after the moon overtakes the sky.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I spend hours drawing circles, chanting like a fiend, and swearing in between. I do everything I can to get out of here. It feels like hours pass. Except in Johnny’s world, nothing really makes sense. I could be months ahead of time or gone just a few seconds like I was in that swamp-creature-infested bathroom.
After a very exhausting effort, I tug at the hem of my dress and huddle near the fire I created.
The spark I conjured was barely enough, just as the kindling I gathered was barely enough to be considered wood. Both worked enough to beat back the darkness and the cold I think I should feel.
The quiet is getting to me. Even the fire is absent of sound. There’s no crackle and barely any heat. The coldness I initially sensed when I landed in this hell hole is replaced by the cold sensation surrounding Misha’s corpse, where it lays just a few yards away.
Oh, sure, I tried to get away from it, but I didn’t get far. The incline was difficult to maneuver in the dark. Dirt fell in chunks as if something stirred beneath. It wasn’t my imagination. I’m certain there was lots of stirring and plenty of moaning. The moans were the kicker. Me and Sparky here decided it was best to stay put where creepy things didn’t move underground.
The quiet, as unnerving as it is, does make it easier to hear something sneak up. It also gives me plenty of time to think. Me killing fake Misha pops into my mind one too many times. I force it away and focus on Johnny. His features were oddly attractive. I don’t mean he’s not attractive in general. He was just more so in a CGI kind of way than real flesh and bone. It could be related to the magic around here and the amount Destiny is forcing through the manor. Except Johnny seemed so different from the time I caught him in his lair or whatever that was I saw when I was drowning.
I huddle closer to the fire, hugging my knees and allowing my head to fall forward. I want to sleep. Hell, I need it. I fight it anyway. There’s not much I know about this crazy world Johnny created. All I know is sleep will likely earn me a gruesome and bloody death.
Sparky’s light fades in and out. She appears weak. I’m hoping she’s tired or conserving energy, except around here, that may be too much to hope for.
My head jerks up when the silence is replaced by steps in the distance. I shake out Sparky when she lights up and shuts off, creating a strobe effect. Like a lighthouse, she guides whatever is out there closer. The footsteps turn more audible, faster, scarier.
Shit.
I reach for a rock and shake my hand harder. “Knock it off,” I order. “Do you want to be used as an incubator when whatever kills me lays eggs? I don’t think so.”