Taken by the Beast

I spun around, the picture and frame slipping from my hand to crash to floor once again. A woman sat on the floor in the fetal position. She was pale and disheveled. Her face was gaunt, and she seemed as though she hadn’t slept in weeks. She looked up at me expectantly. When she shuffled, I realized both her hands and feet were fastened with chains connected to the wall.

 

I recognized her, too. With sickening clarity, I realized where I had seen this face before. It had shone, bright and smiling, from the missing poster I had seen when I first returned to town.

 

This was the missing girl. She was being kept here, in a house that Abram had something to do with.

 

This—the missing woman, the mutilated bodies, the strange creatures that chased me to this house—was all connected.

 

And Abram was at the center of it.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13

 

 

 

“Are you here to help me?”

 

The words couldn’t have been more off the mark. Here I was, staring at this woman, mouth agape and wide eyed. I couldn’t help myself, let alone someone else—not with my mind spinning like a top.

 

“H-hurry,” the woman begged. “He’ll be here soon. He’s never gone for too long.”

 

There was such hurt in her eyes, such unadulterated broken fear; it sickened me. Could Abram—the Abram that I knew—be the source of that? It didn’t seem possible.

 

Cuts and bruises spotted her filthy face. Her hands hung limply at her sides, useless appendages bound by chains. As shocked as I was, I managed to shake it off and kneel beside her.

 

She reeked as though she hadn’t bathed in weeks, which I realized with stomach-churning horror was probably the case.

 

“Is there a key?” I asked, mouth dry.

 

“There’s always a key,” she answered, narrowing her eyes. “We just don’t always see it at first glance.”

 

Her hand jerked toward my own, striking at me with long, unwashed nails. She sliced into my palm, breaking the skin and sending a trail of blood dripping to the floor.

 

“Ah!” I jerked away.

 

Her gaze transfixed on my blood, she ran her forefinger across the splatter. Then she looked back up at me, her eyes wide and sparkling.

 

“Chaarriissseeee,” she said in the sing song voice that had seemed to taunt me from behind closed doors.

 

I stumbled to my feet, grabbing my palm and glaring at her. There was a hunger in the way she looked at me now, something almost feral in her eyes.

 

“How do you know my name?”

 

“Did you know fear has a scent, Charisse?” She tilted her head to one side, her brow furrowing thoughtfully. “It’s sweet, like sugarplum. You stink of it at the moment, but it won’t be enough to make up for the blood. It won’t ever be enough.”

 

I was too stunned to reply. I stepped back, torn between helping her and being terrified she might hurt me.

 

“Let me out,” she hissed. She pulled toward me, jerking against her chains.

 

“I … I don’t have the key.” I almost tumbled with the next step back I took.

 

She held her forefinger up; it was coated with my blood. She grinned. “Just say the word.”

 

“Leave her alone!” Abram growled from behind me.

 

I spun, shuddering at the sight of him. He was just as big as he had ever been, but suddenly that size seemed more important, more threatening.

 

“You leave her alone!” I yelled, steeling myself. He wasn’t about to get away with this, not if I could help it.

 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he said, looking past me. “Wipe it off, or I’ll take the hand. I mean it.”

 

The woman’s eyes slid from Abram to me. Slowly, she ran her forefinger across the wall, wiping it clean. She sneered. “We’re not done.”

 

“We never are.” He sighed and turned his attention to me.

 

As they always had, his dark eyes disarmed me the instant they met my own. But this time, I couldn’t afford to let myself get lost in them, not when it was clear what sort of a person he was.

 

“Let her go,” I demanded.

 

Sure, the chick was acting strange—one charm short of a bracelet—but who was to say that being held captive for so long wouldn’t do the same to me? She was probably in shock, starving, dehydrated, and certainly scared to death.

 

“We need to talk,” he answered flatly.

 

“You can talk to the police. How about that?” I said, balling my fists.

 

I had been so blind, so stupid. How could I have let myself be seduced by someone like this, much less fall for him?

 

“I can’t let you do that,” he said, stepping closer to me.

 

I flinched, lunging backward and fumbling for my phone.

 

“It doesn’t work out here. Don’t you remember?” he asked. “Though I hope you know by now that I would never hurt you.”

 

“Tell that to her.” I motioned back to his prisoner.

 

“She’s a different story. A long story.” His jaw flexed. “I said we needed to talk, and we need to do it alone. Now, you can come with me, or I can throw you over my shoulder and take you.”

 

Though I couldn’t see myself, I was sure I paled.

 

“Listen,” he said, his tone a little softer now. “She hasn’t been harmed.”

 

“Save the bull. There are cuts all over her. She obviously hasn’t eaten or bathed in days.”

 

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