9
MARKULA
The air in the kitchen is laced with the sharp stench of blood and the even more pronounced stink of fear. And they should be scared. Of me. What would I have done if something happened to her?
I glare at the others — not that they notice. They’re all sitting around the kitchen island where the white box rests almost innocently on the marble. Kain’s hunched over a giant leather-bound book at the end of the ruined breakfast bar. Silas’s purple gaze is locked on Dawn, maybe trying to listen to her thoughts as she traces the jagged edge of the cracked countertop. Draynor’s watching the kitchen window, his arms crossed; his dark eyes haven’t met mine since this afternoon, when I walked into the kitchen to find him holding human intestines and doll legs as if he were playing some g
