“I was going to give you whatever you wanted,” he hissed in my ear as his body pressed my front into the wet bricks. He was trying to rip at my belt, and my panic kicked in. I tried to shift, to turn into Cal and beat the living hell out of him, but I couldn’t. My body wouldn’t obey.
For a moment, I thought something truly had broken in me. I could feel my long hair and knew it wasn’t short and blond anymore. The metal on my wrist burned slightly when I tried to summon Cal’s body to take the place of my own.
The son of a bitch had slapped a repressor cuff on me.
He inhaled next to my ear, breathing me in as he ground against me. He was mumbling about my pretty red hair, but I was trying to scream. His weight was too much, and the way he twisted my arm felt like my bones were about to snap. Before the panic could swallow me whole, I remembered.
A werewolf had given me a knife.
I kept the thing tucked in my pocket after the first time I had met this unpleasant sack of shit and swore in that moment that I’d repay Gideon somehow for making me take it. I grabbed it from my pocket, shook the sheath loose, and stabbed the son of a bitch in the leg. He howled, and I twisted it as hard as I could.
The feeling of blade meeting bone scraped through my senses and stained me permanently. I would never forget how it felt to do something so violent, but I didn’t regret it for a moment. As soon as my arm was free, I shoved clear of him and ran. My trousers were torn, as was my vest, but I didn’t care. I was sobbing as I ran, scared and horrified, and wanting someone to help me.
I somehow managed to find the sheriff’s station, and I barely made it inside before I collapsed onto the floor. I was in hysterics from it all and was desperately trying to claw the bracelet from my wrist. Someone helped me to a chair, told me to calm down, and popped the cuff off with a special type of device. Apparently those fuckers could be manually removed by a counterspell, but damned if I could retain that information in the state I was in.
The deputy wasn’t any of mine, though I wanted so badly for it to have been. I needed them. I wanted to be home. I tried to tell them what had happened, but my sobbing choked me. My body was shaking too badly.
I screamed when the Baron charged inside, knife wound oozing blood, and began charging at me.
The cuff was off. I could have shifted and been mighty and powerful, but instead I hid behind a deputy and screamed.
“That little bitch stabbed me!” The Baron jabbed a finger at me, his face purple with rage. “I want him hung!”
“Sir, we need to get you to a doctor--” The sheriff, a round man with a beard and shaky hands, was trying to tend to his wound.
“Lock him up, goddamnit! Or this whole fucking department is getting restaffed!” He grabbed the sheriff by the collar and shook him. “Am I clear? He goes in a cell, or it’s your ass.”
The sheriff nodded, his cheeks shaking before he pointed at me. “Throw him in a cell!”
The deputy, who was just trying to soothe me, grabbed my sore arm and jerked me around toward the cell.
“He attacked me!” I wailed, holding up my bruised wrists. “He put a cuff on me and attacked me!”
He didn’t care. None of them cared.
I was shaking too badly to walk straight and nearly fell as he pushed me inside the cell. When the door closed, I thought I was going to faint. My world was crumbling. I was falling apart. The Baron glared at me as they ushered him out, blood staining the floor where he had been standing. His eyes told me everything.
We weren’t done.
He wasn’t done.
I sank to the floor and held my knees, trying my best to calm down. I didn’t know what the hell was going to happen to me. None of the deputies would talk to me, and the sheriff ignored me outright once he returned. I couldn’t even muster the strength to get angry. I was just too tired.
I woke a couple of times throughout the night, convinced the Baron had returned to finish what he started or have me strung up. A loud drunk man in the neighboring cell was singing, and it smelled like piss.
When the morning came, the cell door was jerked open, and the deputy motioned for me to get out.
“I can go?” I swallowed, pushing myself to my feet. I swept the area, looking for the Baron, but the station was empty.
“Witness said he attacked you. We can’t hold you.”
I was fairly sure he was lying by how nervous he looked. I wasn’t supposed to be let out, but I wasn’t going to question it.
“W-what’s going to happen to me?” I whispered, feeling suddenly so goddamn exhausted.
“You need to leave town.” He shut the cell door behind me and kept his distance from me, like I was a leper. “He may not be able to keep you in a cell, but he’s going to come after you. Come after your life. Honestly.” He shook his head and gave me one of those sad, pitiful looks. “You’re safer in that cell.”
By the gods, if that wasn’t an understatement.
When I arrived back at my apartment, I found that all my things had been tossed outside. Everything I had, the small amount of what I could call my own, had been picked through. Only the bones of my life remained behind.
My jewelry was gone. My dresses were gone.
Someone even took my ratty suitcase.
Miss Venit stormed from her apartment, broom in hand, and raised it like she was going to strike me.
“Get out of here!” she snapped, causing me to flinch.
“I paid you up for this month!” I looked over what was left of my belongings. “Why would you do this?”
“The Baron came around here and told me what you did. Get gone before he sees you here, and we all lose our homes!” She swung at me, and I dodged the blow by inches. She didn’t let me stay and plead my case. Each time I opened my mouth, she took another swing. I didn’t even have time to grab anything before I turned tail and ran.
With nowhere else to go, still smelling like jail and yesterday’s sauce, I tried to go to work. Maybe Mr. Bosman would let me sweep and pick up extra time to work.
I didn’t even make it inside.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Bosman hissed through his teeth, grabbing my arm and spinning me around. My poor arm was every shade of purple by that point, so I cried out in pain. The ache, paired with the welling panic of my situation, made tears surface.
“I need money, Mr. Bosman. Please.”
“Go find it somewhere else. If he sees you here, we’re finished.”
“I have nothing left!” I let out a sob. “Please, I’ll stay in the back. I’ll sweep!”
“Not my problem.” He turned his back on me and left me in the street.
Penniless.
Homeless.
Alone.
Broken.
“Scarlet!” Trisha’s voice sliced through my panic like a knife, and I jerked my head up to see her running toward me. In her hands she had a cloth wrapped around some containers that contained something delicious. The ceramic and whatever else inside rattled as she pulled me into a solid hug and held me tight. I caved into the touch, rested my head on her shoulder, and let the tears fall.
“I know, honey,” she whispered, one hand rubbing my back. “You’re going to be ok.”
I wasn’t. I wasn’t going to be ok. Not now.
She pulled back and gave me what she was holding, putting her hand over mine as I grasped it.