Chapter 4

The man drifted closer. Each step, to me, felt like a threat. My heart pounded harder, like a drum in my chest.

 If only it were a full moon tonight, I thought. Or if I had a mirror.

 A single glance at my reflection would've been enough to awaken the curse. But there wasn't one.

 Not even a shard of glass.

 I slid my feet backward, trying to maintain the distance between us.

 "Where. Is. He?" The words rolled out in a growl. "I won't ask again."

 I lifted the pan to defend myself, only for him to slap it away. I watched my means of defense clatter against the utensils on the table.

 My back hit the fridge, and in a blink, we were a few inches apart. His rough hand wrapped around my neck, squeezing just enough to stop me from swallowing.

 With his other hand, he raised a blade to my face. "It'd be a shame to ruin that pretty face of yours," he said. "But I will if you don't cooperate."

 "Knock her out already, Finn!" one of his men barked. "We don't have time for this."

 Finn smirked, exposing his rotting teeth. "What's the rush? I want to play with this beauty first."

 The blade pressed into my chin, a sharp sting followed by the wetness of blood strolling down my neck.

 I flinched but refused to cry out.

 He leaned closer, his tongue sticking out to lick the wound. His foul breath slapped me.

 I wrinkled my nose, letting out a puff of breath. "Do you store dead rats in your mouth?" I watched as a frown crowded his forehead. "Forgive me if this sounds offensive, but…" I cleared a lump in my throat. "…I'm confused if that pungent stench escaped from your mouth or your rear."

 Finn's grin vanished, replaced with a snarl. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, tugging my head back so I met his gaze.

 "You've got some nerve, girl," he hissed.

 His smile returned. He noticed the butcher knife on the counter and grabbed it.

 The blade gleamed in the light. Holding me firmly, he raised the knife to my face. He drew closer, pressing himself firmly against me.

 I felt the bulge in his pants. It made me furious.

 That's when I saw it—my reflection. My eyes, dark and frightening. Black veins stretched across my temples.

 Voices pierced my ears. Screams, whispers, and cries occupied my head. I clutched at my ears, my body convulsing as the curse broke free.

 My head snapped back, and I let out a scream. The men stepped back as they watched in silence.

 When I opened my eyes, the air seemed heavier, charged with something primal. I rolled my neck, the cracking of bones filled the room.

 Finn's smirk wavered. "Playtime's over. Tell us where he is, and no harm will come to you."

 I tilted my head, my voice calm. "Why is it that a strong man such as yourself cannot force out information from an ordinary girl?"

 Angrily, Finn lunged with the butcher knife.

 "Careful, Finn, he wants—" one of the other men began, but his words stopped as I caught his arm mid-air and twisted until I heard the snap of a bone.

 Seeing the bone sticking out of his flesh, I smiled. Satisfied.

 He yelped, but it was cut short as I slammed his head against the counter.

 He collapsed to the floor, and I looked up at the others.

 The rest stood, rooted to their spot and watching in shock. The man with a pair of daggers reacted first, hurling one at my face. I caught it, its sharp edge digging into my palm.

 An excruciating pain punctured my abdomen.

 I looked down. The second dagger was embedded deep in my stomach.

 I locked eyes with him, slowly pulling the blade out. The wound closed almost instantly; the skin knitting back together.

 He rushed at me with the club. I ducked, and it swung harmlessly over my head.

 Rising, I drove my elbow into his face, sending him stumbling back. Blood poured from his nose.

 Before he could regain balance, I plunged the dagger into his neck. He gurgled, clutching at the wound as he collapsed.

 The last man froze. Then, as if he had been snapped back to reality, he shuddered, raising his rifle. He aimed it at me and a shot fired into my chest. I staggered backwards, writhing.

 The hole healed itself.

 I snatched the rifle and struck his jaw with the bottom. He stumbled backward, his legs betraying him as he crashed to the ground.

 I crouched beside him, his chest heaving as I tilted my head, meeting his terrified gaze. His teeth were stained with blood.

 It was funny to me how the huge, frightening men from earlier suddenly became cowards.

 My hands gripped his head, and I twisted it off. The snap of bone followed the dull thud of his body. I let his head fall from my hand and it hit the floor across from him, rolling away as I surveyed the kitchen.

 "Fun's over already?" I muttered, wiping the blood on my hands on my trouser. I shrugged and walked toward the open door.

 The living room was dim. When my head jerked back, I felt the malevolent entity pull out of me. It left me weak, and I slumped to the floor, barely conscious.

Morning came quickly. The sound of movements pulled me halfway from sleep. I heard the footsteps approached. They stopped just beside me. A moment later, I felt my head being lifted gently. "Hey," a voice came.

 I thought I was still sprawled on the floor, but apparently, I laid on the couch.

 My eyes fluttered open, and I stared into deep gray eyes framed by thick lashes. His skin was a rich and warm caramel.

 Something about his face pulled at my memory. Where had I seen him before? I meant before I rescued him a week ago.

 "Are you okay?" Marcel asked.

 I pulled away, staggering to my feet. His gaze dropped to my bloodstained clothes, and his shoulders slumped.

 "Not my blood," I said weakly and headed toward the kitchen.

 He followed, and his shock deepened as his eyes darted between the bodies across the room and the blood streaking the floor.

 "Are you going to help me, or just stand there like an idiot?" I snapped.

 "How are you still alive?" He frowned in disbelief.

 "Help me drag the bodies out back," I said, grabbing a leg and pulling one man toward the door.

 "Really, who are…you?"

 "You ask too many questions," I said, looking up. "I'd appreciate some silence."

 "How do I know I'm safe around you?"

 "You don't," I said, "just don't get on my bad side. Now, will you help me clean up this mess?"

 He hesitated, then sighed, bending to lift the headless man and slinging him over his shoulder.

 We hauled the bodies out back.

 I fetched a mop and a bucket of soapy water while he grabbed a towel to wipe the blood off the counters. He kept his distance, stealing wary glances at me as we worked.

 "I never thanked you," he said after a while. "For coming into the woods to help me."

 "I have no use for your gratitude," I replied.

 I could see the shame when he averted his gaze and returned to cleaning.

 "Why'd you come back? I thought I clarified you could only stay for a night?!" I was furious.

 "I left my notepad here. I just came back for it." He pulled out a small jotter from his pocket and showed to me.

 "So your notepad was hiding in my kitchen cabinet?"

 "Maybe I was a little hungry, all right?"

 A knock at the door made us pause.

 "Expecting someone?" He asked, and I shook my head.

 He left to check who it was and returned moments later with worried eyes.

 "Take this." He shoved the bloody towel into my hands. "Get all these out of sight, change out of those clothes, and come back down."

 I hurried upstairs, dumping the bloodied cloth and my stained clothes into the sink before quickly washing up. I slipped into a clean sky-blue dress with flared sleeves and descended the stairs.

 The sight in the living room nearly stopped the breath in my lungs.

 Two police officers sat across from Marcel, their faces impassive but attentive. Marcel leaned back, shirtless, his expression calm, though his fingers tapped nervously on the armrest.

 "Good morning, officers," I said, forcing a smile. "What an unpleasant surprise. What brings you here?"

 One of them stood, extending a hand. "Detective Laughlin, and this is my partner, Darwin."

 I shook his hand and settled onto the couch beside Marcel.

 "We're investigating the disappearance of Mr. Lawrence du Martel," Laughlin said, pulling out a notepad from his pocket. "His sister gave us this address as the last place he mentioned visiting the night he disappeared—a week and two days ago. She hasn't been able to reach him since then. When was the last time you saw or heard from him?"