90 DEADLY DAYS (WEEKLY UPDATES RETURNING THIS DECEMBER)

Chapter 30

We interrupt your Sunday update to bring you this message

**if you listen to the songs, don't listen to this one until near the end. It makes sense then**

Thank you for your patience! Enjoy the read! ~Sonny Mae

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Chapter 30

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Butcher wants to leave the burrow but it's impossible. The snowstorm strikes with a vengeance, trapping us in the hole. A wall of snow four feet high guards the door and climbs. He packs up everything anyway, keeping one eye on the entrance.

I think he still believes a mother Fynx is on her way. Even if she were, there's no way she could dig through all this snow.

Since living in the burrow means also being trapped with Butcher, I'm constantly tormented. I've sunken into muteness and my hands are forever shaking. At first I didn't believe I could become more of a shell of the girl I once was, but now I see it's true.

And this time, there's no one to save me.

Oh God...

There's absolutely no one... I am left to him.

The cursed.

It has come to the point where my mind flees my body and I pretend all that happens, happens to another girl. Some helpless waif who lives without a backbone. She is the one who cries, the one who pleads for mercy. Not me.

Not. Me.

The past thirty-five days march by as if on a movie reel. I think of how much I've overcome, how much I've encountered. I was strong, brave—I never believed I could be brave. I'd nearly became the woman I never thought I could be. I mistakenly believed myself to be weak, a feeble child constantly falling. But now I see the truth...but now it's too late. I took that cursed hand on the embankment, I trusted a man who doesn't know what trust is.

I should have fallen back, I should have taken my chances with nature. Now I'm held in the clutches of the god of pain.

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It's night.

My eyes flutter when a coldness rushes up my spine. It's an intuitive sense. I've learned to heed it and many times it's saved my life.

The den envelopes the night. All is pitch black, I cannot see even my hand before my face. I breathe. Carefully.

Silence.

Not all silence is good.

Something rustles over. I sit up, brushing back tangled ringlets.

And then I see it.

Two clear eyes glow in the darkness before me. My brows wrinkle with confusion. It's too early for thinking straight. Did Butcher actually set the baby Fynx free? Has it returned? The bloody knife meant nothing?

A vicious snarl erupts with volcanic intensity and there's the hiss of a body flying through the air. The clear eyes reflect the barest light, and because of them I can see blood red gums and rows of spiked fangs. Saliva spills out in long strings and the breath smells like nothing less than pure agony.

The weight of a car hastily crushes my chest, pinning me to the floor. White fangs lunge for my exposed jugular, snapping savagely. The weight of the beast prevents me from crying out, desperate wheezes are all that make it free. My ears explode with feral growls and blood-hungry yowls.

Butcher was right. The mother Fynx would come. Hell has nothing that can stop it, not even mountains of snow.

"Come with me!" something cries. Perhaps the voice comes from the dripping fangs, the frenzied yowls. I don't know, but Xaro, as always in my darkest moments, feels very near.