The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4 (Cursed #3-4) - Rebecca Donovan Page 0,134
I seethe.
“What? Are you going to kill me?” A condescending laugh erupts from behind his mask. “Go ahead.” He collapses his arms against the stone, as if in defeat. The blade presses into his flesh, a line of blood dribbling on its shimmering surface.
I glower at him, my lips pulled back in a sneer as my chest heaves from exertion. Breaths panting through flared nostrils. Across the top of his mask, printed in red, the choice is given:
My feral glare reflects back at me. The hate in my eyes is startling.
Hero or villain?
I ease the blade away, my hand shaking, realizing how close I was to becoming one over the other.
“She said I had my father’s eyes,” he says from beneath the mask. “That she wished I didn’t because there was evil in those eyes. Those were the last words she said to me before she died.”
I shift back on my heels, stunned by his confession.
This gives him the split second he needs to knock me off him. The knife skitters across the floor. Vic swipes the mask from his head. Rolling on top of me, he swings his fist. An explosion of pain erupts along the left side of my face.
I try to shove him with the arm that isn’t pinned to my side by his thigh, but he grabs hold of it and anchors it above my head.
“Tell me, bitch. Is that what you see when you look in my eyes? Or do you see yourself?”
I squeeze the fingers of my left hand into the pouch on my belt.
“I see nothing. You are a soulless waste of life,” I spit at him.
He backhands me. I wiggle my arm free and dispense the small canister, hoping the nozzle’s aimed in the right direction.
Mist fills the air, drizzling down on me. Vic cries out, covering his face. I scramble out from under him, swinging and kicking. Everything becomes distorted, like we’re inside the fun house mirrors. The single beam of light dances before my eyes. I crawl toward the stairs.
“Lana!” I hear from somewhere above me.
Something thuds behind me. I don’t know which direction I’m facing.
“Lana!”
Feet appear or disappear. Then I’m up. Blinking.
“Put some water on her face.”
Cold liquid jolts me back to the present.
I’m sitting on a couch in the Quiet Room, a silver face inspecting me. Strong arms hold me.
“Lana, can you see me?”
I nod.
“The real me?”
“Uh, you mean, the silver you?”
Arden smiles. “Yes. You’re okay.”
I glance around. Grant has me cradled on his lap, a damp strip of cloth in his hand, and Lincoln stands guard by the door.
I rest my head on Grant’s shoulder. “Where’s Brendan?”
“With Sawyer, tying up the monster,” Arden tells me.
I jolt upright.
Sophia.
Everyone looks confused. Grant releases me as I push off to stand. I sway a little, and Lincoln grabs hold of my elbow.
“Easy,” Arden says, splaying her arms as if to catch me.
I blink a few times to make the room stop swirling. Then I’m moving out the door, everyone following, like they have no idea where I’m going. Maybe I didn’t say her name out loud like I thought I did.
Ashton is seated in a cloud of fabric outside Sophia’s door. “She’s not answering. I’m not sure she’s here yet.” When she sees my face, she jumps to her feet. “Omigod, what happened to you?”
I pull the key card out of my pouch without responding, fumbling to hold it to the scanner. With the click of the door, I push my way in.
Sophia is as still as the beauty she has always portrayed. Her grey eyes closed. Long lashes brushing her ashen cheeks.
I collapse beside her. “No, no, no, no, no,” I cry.
Grant is beside her, searching for a pulse. I back away as he begins breathing into her mouth. I scoot along the floor, bumping into her desk. A thud draws my attention. A shoebox with my name written in linear red letters. The movement in the room slows down, and the voices become mute.
I pick up the box and clutch it to my chest with my eyes clamped shut, wishing and wishing for Sophia to wake.
But she does not rouse from her endless slumber.
I am the thief. I am the liar. I am the destroyer of hope and love.
The school delays the start of classes for two days, and in that time, they do a search of everyone’s rooms, confiscating whatever they find. They don’t find much. The students at Blackwood know