Blood streams from the wound, pooling on the hard concrete floor.
So much blood.
I blink again.
Blonde hair, stained red.
Stumbling back, my vision waivers, and the scene morphs before me.
The man isn’t there anymore—instead, a woman sits in his place.
But, instead of her thigh, blood pours from the wide gash in her throat.
No. No. No!
Her body spasms as she chokes on the very thing that should keep her alive, and I jump when blood splatters from her mouth.
Oh, God.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I blink them open again.
The blonde-haired girl is gone, and the man pants, crying out in pain.
“He’ll kill me!” he pleads.
“There’s no question of you dying tonight,” Sebastian says, and the man whimpers, dropping his head—his shoulders shaking. “It’s only a matter of how quickly.”
Easton grabs the handle of the knife and twists his arm. Hard.
The man howls, the sound reverberating off every wall.
I can’t breathe.
I suck in breath after breath of air, but none of it reaches my lungs.
“Deveigne!” he cries. “It was Deveigne.”
I claw at my throat, stumbling backwards.
My back crashes into a wall, the hard corner digging into my spine, but I hardly feel it.
Throwing myself around the corner, I stumble towards the door, my vision hazy. My hands slap at the door, fumbling for the handle. Swinging the door open, I fall to my knees from the momentum.
Quickly, I scramble to my feet and spin around, disoriented and still trying to suck air into my lungs.
Run.
I feel wobbly on my legs, but I have no choice.
I need to run.