Read Online The Reaping: Language of the Liar by Angella Graff - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Angella Graff
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her dresser, she glanced down at the silver pendant the men had given her. It stood a harsh contrast to the cherry wood, and she reached out, slipping it into her first drawer and closing it with a loud thunk . It was a vicious reminder of her assault, and she was determined never to put it on.
“Good.”
The word hissed across the back of her neck, and Dorian let out a yelp as she turned. Eyes darting back and forth, they saw nothing but empty bedroom. Her hand was shaking as she reached up to her face, rubbing across her eyelashes, and she looked again. Still nothing.
“Just jumpy,” she said as she walked toward her bed. She would happily blame any and everything she saw tonight on those two morons.
Climbing under her covers, she reached over and switched her light off. No more being afraid. She felt good, relaxed and centered for the first time in a long time. Tomorrow was the start to a new day and nothing was going to change that.
Chapter Nine
She became aware of the room before she was aware of herself. Pitch black and small, she was surrounded by the darkness like a warm blanket. She knew this place, as intimately as she knew herself. It was a part of her. No doors, no windows.
Dorian was on the ground, but it felt like she was floating, and she had the distinct feeling she could stay there forever.
It didn’t last.
Something off in the distance shifted, like a breeze, a seal breaking, letting something through. Her heart began to hammer, her breath coming in audible gasps, and a long streak of light shot up vertically. A door cracked open, and a figure walked out.
She knew him. She’d seen him before, when she was young and even now, he would appear from time to time. It registered that he didn’t belong here in her safe space, but he was here all the same. Pure white, he glowed, but his shimmer didn’t touch anything around him. She could see him clear as day though, and a name played on her lips.
“Nic.” He spoke without moving his face, and her eyes narrowed, studying him. He was tall, thin, his body human but there was something about him that sounded warning bells off in her head. His eyes. They looked like a cat, vertical pupils, shining bright. When he smiled, a row of fangs gleamed, and she thought he could devour her if he wanted to.
“Never you, my love.” His hand reached up and the icy fingers stroked down her cheek. “Do you remember me?”
Even as her head shook back and forth, memories were coming. Nic laughed and she was bombarded by the sound. Too familiar. She was a little girl, trembling in her bed, bruised from the harsh fists of the other kids in her group home. And Nic was there. He held her tight to his chest and stroked her hair, telling her it was all going to be okay. He was there holding her hand every day until she told her therapist about him. They began shoving pills down her throat after that, and her dreams were out of reach. He stopped coming, stopped protecting her.
“How long?” Her voice sounded strange here, muted like they were in a sound-proof room. Clearing her throat, she stood up a little straighter.
“Your whole life, mon coeur . I was there when you were birthed into this world. I held your tiny fist as you lay there in agony, trying to fight off an addiction you never asked for. I helped make you strong.” He circled her, his feline eyes narrow, his lips curled in a smile.
Dorian felt her stomach clench. She knew her birth story. Her mother, high on heroin, was rushed to the ER seven and a half months pregnant. Dorian came into the world by emergency C-section. When her mother found out CPS was being called, she left against medical orders and Dorian stayed in the ICU until she was big enough to be shipped off to a friendly couple hoping to adopt.
It didn’t last long. She’d been sent off to a church-run group home who took infants after the
“Good.”
The word hissed across the back of her neck, and Dorian let out a yelp as she turned. Eyes darting back and forth, they saw nothing but empty bedroom. Her hand was shaking as she reached up to her face, rubbing across her eyelashes, and she looked again. Still nothing.
“Just jumpy,” she said as she walked toward her bed. She would happily blame any and everything she saw tonight on those two morons.
Climbing under her covers, she reached over and switched her light off. No more being afraid. She felt good, relaxed and centered for the first time in a long time. Tomorrow was the start to a new day and nothing was going to change that.
Chapter Nine
She became aware of the room before she was aware of herself. Pitch black and small, she was surrounded by the darkness like a warm blanket. She knew this place, as intimately as she knew herself. It was a part of her. No doors, no windows.
Dorian was on the ground, but it felt like she was floating, and she had the distinct feeling she could stay there forever.
It didn’t last.
Something off in the distance shifted, like a breeze, a seal breaking, letting something through. Her heart began to hammer, her breath coming in audible gasps, and a long streak of light shot up vertically. A door cracked open, and a figure walked out.
She knew him. She’d seen him before, when she was young and even now, he would appear from time to time. It registered that he didn’t belong here in her safe space, but he was here all the same. Pure white, he glowed, but his shimmer didn’t touch anything around him. She could see him clear as day though, and a name played on her lips.
“Nic.” He spoke without moving his face, and her eyes narrowed, studying him. He was tall, thin, his body human but there was something about him that sounded warning bells off in her head. His eyes. They looked like a cat, vertical pupils, shining bright. When he smiled, a row of fangs gleamed, and she thought he could devour her if he wanted to.
“Never you, my love.” His hand reached up and the icy fingers stroked down her cheek. “Do you remember me?”
Even as her head shook back and forth, memories were coming. Nic laughed and she was bombarded by the sound. Too familiar. She was a little girl, trembling in her bed, bruised from the harsh fists of the other kids in her group home. And Nic was there. He held her tight to his chest and stroked her hair, telling her it was all going to be okay. He was there holding her hand every day until she told her therapist about him. They began shoving pills down her throat after that, and her dreams were out of reach. He stopped coming, stopped protecting her.
“How long?” Her voice sounded strange here, muted like they were in a sound-proof room. Clearing her throat, she stood up a little straighter.
“Your whole life, mon coeur . I was there when you were birthed into this world. I held your tiny fist as you lay there in agony, trying to fight off an addiction you never asked for. I helped make you strong.” He circled her, his feline eyes narrow, his lips curled in a smile.
Dorian felt her stomach clench. She knew her birth story. Her mother, high on heroin, was rushed to the ER seven and a half months pregnant. Dorian came into the world by emergency C-section. When her mother found out CPS was being called, she left against medical orders and Dorian stayed in the ICU until she was big enough to be shipped off to a friendly couple hoping to adopt.
It didn’t last long. She’d been sent off to a church-run group home who took infants after the
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