Chapter 4

Eloise POV

Consciousness returned in a haze of damp concrete and stinging bleach.

My head was pounding a dull, heavy rhythm against my skull. Instinctively, I tried to move my hands, but the restraints bit sharp and deep into my wrists. I looked down. I was zip-tied to a chair in what looked like a basement converted into a makeshift operating theater.

Soundproofing foam lined the walls, absorbing the hum of the ventilation. A single surgical light hung above me, its beam blindingly bright.

"She's awake."

Holden's voice.

He stepped into the light. He had shaved his head. He was wearing a white doctor's coat over his tactical gear. It was a grotesque costume, like a child playing surgeon with a butcher's intent.

"Where are we?" I croaked. My throat felt like it was filled with glass and sand.

"Somewhere Alphons won't look," Holden said. He didn't look at me; he was busy arranging instruments on a metal tray. Needles. Tubing. Scalpels. "He thinks you ran away. Jaidyn left a note in your handwriting. Very convincing."

"He won't believe it," I said, my voice gaining a fraction of strength. "He knows I don't run."

"He knows you're a spoiled princess," Holden snapped. He turned to me, his eyes manic and bloodshot. "And he knows you hated the marriage."

"I hated you," I corrected, locking eyes with him. "I respected him."

Holden's face twisted in a snarl. He picked up a large bore needle, the metal glinting under the harsh light.

"Jaidyn is sick, Eloise. Really sick. Her heart... it's failing. The stress of your attack pushed her over the edge."

"I didn't touch her," I said, straining against the plastic ties. "She's lying to you, Holden. She's been lying for ten years."

"Shut up!" He slammed his hand on the tray, making the instruments rattle. "She needs blood. Transfusions. To keep her strength up until I can find a donor heart on the black market. You have her blood type. O-negative. The universal donor. Isn't that poetic?"

The door opened.

Jaidyn walked in.

She looked radiant. Her cheeks were flushed with an undeniable health. She was even eating an apple.

"Is she ready?" Jaidyn asked, taking a loud, crisp crunch of the fruit.

I stared at her in disbelief. "You're eating. You're walking. You're fine."

Jaidyn winked at me. She actually winked.

"I'm feeling very weak, Holden," she said, her voice suddenly dropping to a breathless whimper. She leaned against the doorframe, letting the apple fall from her hand. "I feel... faint."

Holden rushed to her side, abandoning me instantly. "Sit down, baby. I'm starting the procedure now. I'll get you the blood."

He guided her to a plush armchair in the corner. She sat down, smirking at me over his shoulder.

"Holden, look at her!" I screamed, fighting the chair. "She's playing you! She wants to drain me dry because she's jealous!"

Holden marched back to me. He grabbed my arm, swabbing the inside of my elbow with alcohol roughly.

"You don't get to speak," he said. "You forfeited your right to speak when you tried to kill an angel."

"She's not an angel," I hissed. "She's a succubus."

He didn't hesitate. He jammed the needle into my vein.

I gasped. The pain was sharp, invasive. Dark red blood shot through the tube, flowing into a collection bag hanging on the stand with terrifying speed.

"Comfortable?" Jaidyn asked from the corner.

"Go to hell," I said.

"We're already there, princess," she laughed. "And the best part is, your husband isn't coming. Nobody is coming."

I watched my life force drain out of me, filling the plastic bag. I felt cold. My vision started to blur at the edges, the room swimming out of focus.

But I didn't beg. I was a Bowers. I was a Woodward.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, focusing on the pain to stay conscious.

I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a single scream.