Some Call it Paranoia, But I Call it an
Evil Bitch Trying to Use You as a Human Sacrifice
“Don’t say a fucking word,” Lia continues as she grabs me by the hair and starts dragging me up the tunnel. Pain— excruciating, overwhelming, maddening—explodes inside of me, and I clutch at my head, trying desperately to get some relief from the searing, tearing agony of being yanked around by my hair.
It doesn’t work, and for a second the pain is so sharp that I can’t even think. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Lia’s dragging me to my death. If I let her get me back into that room with the blood and the altar, I’m going to die
—in what I’m pretty sure is the most awful, most gruesome manner possible.
So, to hell with her warning and to hell with staying silent. Sucking in a huge gulp of air, I let loose with the loudest, most hysterical-sounding scream I can manage while at the same time digging my nails into her hands hard enough to draw blood.
Lia curses and slams my head into the wall she’s been dragging me alongside. Which dazes my already not- functioning-so-great brain but doesn’t get me to shut up. Nothing is going to do that, I promise myself as I scream and scream and scream, even as I struggle to free my hair
from her viselike grip.
Lia’s not having it, though, because this time she turns around and kicks me in the face. Not hard enough to fracture my jaw, but more than hard enough to have me reeling backward—which has the added benefit of shutting me up despite myself as everything around me starts to go black.
“Oh, no you don’t, you bitch,” Lia hisses at me. And this time when she hits me, it’s a sharp slap on my cheek. “You are not going back to sleep. The whole reason we’re in this mess right now is because I need you awake for this.”
That’s the best incentive I can think of to make myself pass out again. But unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be in the cards, since the pain of being dragged along by my hair is definitely keeping me awake. I just hope if I survive this—or even if I don’t—that I’m not completely bald by the end.
We’re about halfway up the tunnel now, and Lia pauses. At first I think it’s to take a break—in the grand scheme of her vampire strength, I’m pretty sure I’m not making her strain much. But with her normally impeccable clothes ripped and her bloody hair matted to her face, she’s not looking so good right now. Which means, maybe she’s more hurt or worn out than I think.
The idea gives me hope, and I start to struggle again, but she’s got something else planned, because she’s definitely not resting. Instead, she tightens the hand in my hair until I stop moving, then she puts the other hand against one of the stones about halfway up the wall and pushes as hard as she can.
The wall shifts and groans, but eventually a whole section of it opens up, revealing a super secret passageway in this maze full of secret passageways.
It’s narrow and dark and there is nothing in the world I want less right now than to be in this stuffy, airless corridor with Lia. But as she drags me to my feet, her hand still fisted deep in my hair, it’s not like I have much of a choice. Especially when she shoves me inside first and then frog- marches me down this new alleyway.
We’re only a few steps in when the secret door closes behind us. As it slams shut, I have a moment of overwhelming anguish when I realize this is it. I’ve exhausted all of my options, and now I’m going to die here in this crazy labyrinth of tunnels, the victim of a vampire who has gone totally and completely around the bend.
And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
The realization hits me hard, and for a moment it takes me to a place beyond despair and beyond hope. Because unless something changes fast, all I can do is pray that whatever’s coming is over quickly. Well, that and to make sure that I don’t give Lia the satisfaction of seeing me break down, no matter what she does to me.
I have a sick feeling that’s going to be next to impossible, but I’m still going to try. Because if I came all the way to Alaska to die, I want to do it on my terms, not hers.
And so, even as exhaustion sets in, I continue to put one foot in front of the other. Continue to walk closer and closer to the site of my own demise. And with each step, the hopelessness deep inside me turns to anger and the anger turns to rage. It fills up the emptiness, fills up the aching,
until all that is left is a fire in the pit of my stomach. A white- hot flame that wants nothing more than it wants justice.
For myself and, more importantly, for my parents. I’m here in Alaska because Lia wanted me here.
My parents are dead because Lia decided they needed to die.
She’s played god with too many people’s lives to just get away with it. I’m weak and exhausted and broken and human, but even I know that much. Just as I know she can’t be allowed to continue with whatever insanity she has planned. All of which means I’m going to have to do whatever I can to take her with me when I die.
I just wish I had a clue how I’m supposed to do that.
My brain makes and discards half a dozen feverish plans as we walk for what seems like forever. Eventually, though, we must get to where we are going, because Lia jerks me to a stop. She presses her hand against the wall, and seconds later, it opens just like the wall at the beginning of this passage.
All but cackling with delight, she shoves me through the open doorway and into the room where I was tied up what seems like forever ago. It seems strange to think that it’s probably only been an hour or so since I woke up spread- eagled on that cold slab of rock.
Then again, it seems even stranger to think that after all the pain and frustration I’ve been through in the last hour, I’m about to be tied up there again.
FML. And Lia’s, too.
“Move it!” she snarls, pushing me through the hundreds of lit candles to the raised altar in the center of the room. “It’s
almost time.”
“Almost time?” I ask, figuring that getting her talking might buy me some time to think of something. Or buy me enough time for Jaxon and Flint to find me…though I’m not sure how much help either of them will be in this situation.
Flint’s answer to Lia’s insanity is to kill me before Lia has a chance to do whatever crazy thing she has planned, whereas Jaxon might actually be a part of her crazy plan. Not exactly a typical selection of heroes, but my mom used to say that beggars can’t be choosers, and right now I’m definitely willing to beg if it means I don’t become Katmere Academy’s first human sacrifice.
“The stars align at twelve seventeen.”
I have no idea what that means, but as Lia and I get closer and closer to the altar, I know that I’ve got very little time to do whatever I’m going to do to stop this madness. Because once she gets me tied down this time, it’s game over for sure.
With no other ideas and no other options, I make my legs go weak.
“Walk!” she screeches, but I ignore her as I let my head loll back and my entire body sag. Then, using every ounce of willpower I have left, I close my eyes and make the gamble that she won’t kill me right here, right now. And then I drop to the ground, ignoring the searing pain in my scalp as I rip out what I’m sure is a whole handful of hair in the process.
Lia howls in outrage as she loses her grip on me.
The sound bounces off the ceiling and echoes around the room in a macabre warning that has everything inside me
urging me to run, to crawl, to put as much distance between her and me as I can possibly manage. Even the voice inside me is screaming to get up, to get moving.
But even on my best day, Lia’s ten times faster than I am and twenty times stronger. Outrunning her isn’t an option even if I could move faster than the sad, pathetic crawl I’m currently limited to.
So instead of running, I play possum. Not running, not moving, not even breathing as she screams at me to get up. When screaming doesn’t work, she tries slapping my face a few times. And when that doesn’t work, she hauls me up herself, throws me over her shoulder and starts stumbling toward the altar with my head hanging halfway down her back.
That alone tells me she’s in a lot worse shape than she let on. Flint obviously did more damage than I gave him credit for. Good for him.
My injured shoulder is screaming at me in this position, but I ignore it even as I give myself permission to open my eyes for a second.
Everything looks exactly as it did when I ran from this place, including the jar of blood that’s still knocked over on its side. Lia steps around the glass containers and carries me past a stone lectern that has a book spread wide open on it. I have just enough time to wonder if it’s the same book she was reading from in the library all those days ago, when I have to close my eyes again and play dead—or at least unconscious—as she dumps me on the altar.
This is the best—the only—chance I’m going to have to get myself free, so I wait until she turns her back on me and
starts trying to untie the knot on one of the hand restraints. Then I grab her hair and throw every ounce of my weight behind it as I push her forward and slam her head against the edge of the altar as hard as I can.
Lia howls like a banshee.
And since she doesn’t immediately strike out in revenge, I pull her head back and do it again, even harder this time. Then I scramble backward as fast as my bruised and battered body can carry me.
I don’t get far before she whirls on me with a growl worthy of a big cat episode on Animal Planet. It doesn’t stop me, though. Just makes me push harder through the pain. This time I’m not running for the door, though. Instead, I head straight toward the lectern—and the book Lia has resting on top of it.
It takes her a second to realize what I’m going for, but when she does, she lets loose a scream like nothing I’ve ever heard before. And then she leaps after me, clearing the altar with a single bound and landing right next to the lectern. But she’s too late.
I’m already there.
I snatch the book, tear out the pages she’s using—plus a few extra for good measure. I almost burst into tears of relief when Lia completely loses her composure.
She screams and lunges at me, but I muster the last of my strength to leap backward while shredding the pages.
In seconds, Lia is on me, her claws and teeth attacking me in a frantic bid to seize what I’m certain is an ancient spell. “Give it to me!” she roars, her fingers raking down my biceps. “Give it to me now!”
I cling to the pages with all my might, despite the blood flowing freely down my arms. Then I make a desperate decision to keep the pages out of her grasp: I roll both of us off the altar and onto the hard stone floor several feet below.
We hit the ground with a jarring thud. Lia barely seems to notice the fall, but I’m convinced the landing has dislocated my shoulder again—and possibly broken my back. Still, I have one chance to thwart her plan—whatever it is beyond killing me painfully. I push through the agony and reach for one of the hundreds of candles around us.
And I thrust the spell straight into the flames.
