Jason grabbed my arm and lifted me again.

“Please—don’t.” I hid behind my hand. “Please, just stop hurting me.”

“Not until you attempt escape.” He threw me, spine against the wall, then stood up and grabbed the flame torch from the mount.

“I can’t, Jason. I never knew I had the power before. I don’t know how to call on that now.” My lip stung with each word—especially the ‘p’.

“Then you are not only weak of body, but of mind.” He smiled down at me, then grabbed my ankle and pulled, landing on my chest, my arms pinned under his shins, his knees holding my temples in place. “Do you know how hot the oil in this torch is, Ara?” He rested his thumb to my brow, forcing my eye open under the heat of the nearby flames.

“Oh, God! Please, please don’t.” As I spoke, my lips brushed his crotch—just one more inch and I could bite him and run. I tried to wriggle down, but he was too heavy.

“I’m going to give you one last chance, Ara.” The heat came closer; its hot light glowed orange against his face, and moisture broke out across my brow.

“I’m trying.” I kicked my feet, forcing my thumbs through the lace on the sides of my dress as the scent of smoke and kerosene choked me, reminding me of a camping shop.

Jason sighed, tipping a few droplets of hot, sizzling oil onto the dirt beside my cheek. My eyes followed it. “Last chance.”

I screamed out, a rolling growl, the only fight I could offer. I have no power. I can’t break free. I’m useless, stupid and weak. I can’t do it.

I thrashed about savagely, like a child throwing a tantrum. If I could just get my thumbs up, I could stab him in the groin—but he was too heavy, and my puny, pathetic arms couldn’t shift his weight.

“Time’s up, Ara,” he said and moved his hand so his thumb rested at the base of my eye, the other one spreading it open from just below my brow. The heat burned my icy cheeks while my corneas shifted nervously.

No. Not the eye. Anything but the eye.

I screamed—my desperate cry cutting the air like acid on metal.

Get off me. Let me go. Let me go.

He leaned closer and peeled my eyelid a little further open.

No. I rubbed the base of my skull sideways against the dirt. I have to get free, I have to…

The light of the torch moved away and my skin tightened with the sudden cool. Slowly, I opened my eye—the other one rolling back from its absence behind the socket. Jason glared down at me; his green gaze focused, then, he took a quick glance over his shoulder.

Is that it—is he going to do it, or is this just another horrible, tortuous anticipation?

He dropped the flame pole to the ground and rested both thumbs to the inside of my eye—cupping my temples with his fingers.

What are you doing?

My eyes closed again as his thumbnail angled against the inner corner of my nose—right beside the tear-duct. A sharp, quick sting ripped through the skin. “Ow!”

“Get up.” Jason jumped off my chest.

I sat bolt upright, covered my eye and rested my head against my knee, watching the torch of terror still rolling around on the ground. “Why did you do that?”

The vampire grabbed a handful of my dress and before the tension spread through my legs, he ripped a wad of lace from the base and offered it to me. “Put this over your eye.”

I looked up at him; he stared back, then rolled his eyes.

“No.” I shrank away as he shoved the lace into my palm, releasing it into a tight spring back to the safety of my body.

“Put it on your eye,” he ordered again.

With shaking hands, I cupped the soft fabric over the nip. The lace was cool enough to soothe the sting a little, at least. “Why didn’t you do it?”

He released a breath of impatience as he placed the torch back in the mount on the wall. “Because, Ara, there are some things even I’m not capable of.”

“So you…you…”

“Enough.” He grabbed my arm and hoisted me off the ground. “We need to hurry. The council will return to the viewing room soon and they will want to see this next test.”

I stumbled feebly to the chair, by guide of his hand on my arm, and fell heavily into it, holding my severed lip in place with my top teeth. A heady wave of nausea rippled my insides; I closed my eyes and let the world spin. “Jason?”

The thick metal clamp wrapped my wrist again, warm and tight. “Yes.”

“My throat’s really dry.”

“And I should care?”

“Please.” A crackle constricted my throat, forcing me to cough—the tight cuff tugging my wrist, ripping the skin further as my body convulsed.

He stood, waiting until I caught my breath again, my eyes watering, my gut heaving.

“Put your other hand in place.”

The chair felt moist and sticky under my elbow with the sweat, blood and probably tears eternally belonging to the wood. “Where’s that music coming from?” I asked.

“What music?”

I strained to hear it then, blinking tightly. “It’s—can’t you hear it?”

He paused a long moment. “No.”

“It sounds like that song—the one in the box.”

“The box?”

I nodded, feeling heavy, exhausted. He rolled the chair back and I closed my eyes, the gentle hum of that melody taking me to my room, to the night before I married David. “Yeah, the box.”

“Ara?” He appeared over me, his hand on my brow. “Ara?”

I opened my eyes to his insistent tone. A tense version of Jason stared back at me, reading my face, I think, his thumb resting just between my brows.

“What?” I said, closing my eyes again.

“Yes,” he said, and space followed. “I think she might be sinking down.”

Sinking down? I turned my head to look at him—on his phone, across the room.

“I’m not sure how much longer she’ll last. She’s delusional.”

Delusional?

“Yes. She mentioned him a few times while sleeping. I’m not sure, but I don’t think we have time for that. I’ll see what I can do. Just make it quick.” He rubbed his brow. “I said make it quick! She’s…yes, I’ll be handing her over soon. Just hurry up.”

A soft, nearly hysterical laugh jiggled through me; I almost felt like I was sitting on the teacup ride at a fair, rocking in a circular motion. It felt nice, soothing, while the music made my hairs stand on end, surrounding me, as if a musical ghost was making rings around the chair.