Tuesday, February 01, 2011

Of Blood and Honey 4 - Stina Leicht

"“Strip.”

When Liam didn’t obey, the guards beat him down and yanked the clothes off him. Again, he was shoved against the cell door at that awkward angle. Again came the burst of cold against his naked skin as the other guards left. He shut his eyes and tried to breathe using bruised ribs. A hand circled his wrist. He listened to the metallic click of handcuffs being opened. Sanders’s hot breath tickled his ear, and Liam couldn’t keep himself from trembling. Fight, damn you! Move! But he was frozen. The tingling sensation—the one he had come to associate with intense emotion—had gathered enough force now that his skin itched with it. Terror spiked his heart at the feel of a rough hand on his bare back.

“Not a sound, or they’ll—”

know you for a fairy.

“Our little secret. There’s my sweet—”

Quick fire rage cramped his jaw. Never fucking touch me again, he thought. I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking— He struggled against the sluggish weight of time to shove an elbow backward and into Sanders’s face before the cuff locked into place. —kill you. I’ll— The prickling grew worse, far worse than it had ever been. A swarm of electric insects crowded underneath Liam’s skin. The sensation engulfed him and then devolved into agony and the horrible feeling of bones and muscles stretching into foreign shapes. The cuffs dropped to the concrete floor with a clatter. An overwhelming hatred wrenched control from him. —kill you. Kill YOU. KILL— His vision blurred, and a snarl escaped his clenched teeth. Sanders stumbled, his face lengthening into a soundless shriek. Liam pulled air into his lungs, and an inhuman howl filled the infirmary from floor to ceiling. Sanders clawed at his holster. —YOU. FUCKING KILL YOU. Liam swung. The hand that connected with Sanders’s jaw was coated in black fur and tipped with long obsidian nails. Four long lines of blood appeared just before the wounds gaped, revealing the stark white of bones and teeth. Watching from a numb and distant place behind the rage, Liam felt queasy.

Sanders stumbled in a panicked retreat, his left cheek in tatters and his eyes bulging. He collided into the desk, tripped over a chair and upended it. Landing with a crash, he scrabbled on the floor from the broken chair like a crab, the ruin of his face soaking his shirt in gore, his jaw moving in odd jerks as if the scream born in his throat was too gigantic, too tangled to get out."


4 out of 5

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