The Blood Bracelets #3: Soul Scarred

Chapter Two

Eljae let the water run cold, taking an odd satisfaction from the numbness that cascaded down her body with the rhythm of the water. She looked down to her hair, which had been darkened to a deep red under the weight of the water, and noticed how it spilled down her shoulders like blood. Her blood.

Orsen's blood.

She had never killed so coldly before, had never felt so much pleasure in a kill before – but it wasn't a type of pleasure that she wanted to experience again, even when the feel of Orsen's hands on her shuddered down her spine every time someone got too close, or when the victorious, domineering look in his eyes flashed into her mind right before she drifted to sleep. She hadn't lied when she told Julius that she'd kill Orsen if she found out he had somehow survived, and if by some deal with a demon he came back to life she'd kill him again, but she'd slice him into so many pieces his body could never be mended, not even in Hell.

Despite that, when it became clear that Orsen was, in fact, still dead, Eljae had felt a swell of relief fill her chest like she had just breathed air for the first time.

Yet even knowing that, the memories remained the way a bad scar does.

Suddenly shutting off the shower, Eljae stepped out from behind the frosted glass door and wrapped a fresh towel around her. She couldn't see her reflection clearly in the mirror, not with the steam that had clouded it, but her gaze lingered on the dappled, undiscernible image that faced her. In a way, what she saw now was a reflection of herself – or at least what she thought of as herself. Two weeks ago she was fierce, she was fiery, she could look after herself, she knew who she was. Now, because of some pathetic man with a superiority complex – who wasn't even alive anymore – she could only see a girl who couldn't defend herself, who couldn't handle one pathetic man with a superiority complex who wasn't even alive anymore.

Lifting her hands, Eljae's eyes swept across the tip of each finger but the injuries she had sustained when forcing her claws out had healed, leaving nothing behind. The curse marks on the back of her hands had scarred, however. Permanent reminders.

And now she was facing the possibility of going back to Alcatraz, or whatever had replaced it.

A sudden knocking on the bathroom door pulled Eljae from her thoughts. She caught Ace's scent just above the smells of the bathroom; a combination of sterile soap and the fruit-flavoured hair products that she had used since Coranna was no longer around to use them herself. Ace's scent was different though, because when it wasn't distorted by smooth cologne or alcohol he had that pleasant, fresh scent that clings to the earth after a storm passes.

'What?' she called, leaning back against the vanity basin. She watched the bathroom door, imagining Ace standing outside it impatiently.

'We need to work out what we're going to do about this black market business, Eljae. Ten days isn't exactly a lot of time to infiltrate the demonic trade,' Ace told her through the door.

Why did you get yourself involved then?

Eljae sighed, pushing away from the basin and scooping up her discarded clothes from the ground. When she pulled open the door, Ace's brow flew up in surprise and then he quickly looked away, as if should he not then his eyes would have no choice but to stare at the places where the edge of the towel skimmed her skin.

'I'm not naked, Ace, relax,' said Eljae, rolling her eyes.

He stepped out of her way, giving her a wide berth as she strode past, and although she could pass it off as him merely being polite she knew he had giving her such space deliberately. He had been surprisingly considerate ever since they returned from Alcatraz, but it wasn't in the way he spoke to her; his tone hadn't changed, he was still loud, blunt and sporting the same boyish wit, but he made sure to be the one sitting beside her in the kitchen or the lounge so she didn't have to bear the discomfort of someone else, and whenever she woke from a nightmare he was always conveniently awake at the same time, on his way to the bathroom or to fetch himself a glass of water. He would likely deny any of it if she asked, but Eljae didn't want to. She wasn't sure, yet, whether he was being considerate because he genuinely cared – which was unlike him – or because he felt guilty, somehow.