Zoya's P.O.V
It was as if the blade itself had become a portal to the sinister realm of the voices.
“The child…”
“Let us taste your sweet blood…”
“Zoya…”
“Zoya...”
Terror gripped me, every fiber of my being screaming to escape, to break free from the invisible shackles.
The voices seemed to seep into my mind, their chilling desires becoming a twisted symphony that threatened to consume me whole.
The air around me seemed to grow even colder, the atmosphere thickening with an oppressive weight.
The very molecules seemed to vibrate with an evil energy.
I felt it before I heard it – a mere whisper, barely audible, yet it was closer now, clearer than the other vague whispers, as if the words were etched directly into my mind. It felt like something was standing behind me.
My breath hitched in my throat, a sharp intake of air as I turned my head slightly, too afraid to confront whatever presence lingered behind me.
My gaze landed back on the knife, and an idea crossed my mind. I reached for it, this time, successfully able to make my body comply to my wishes.
The knife I held trembled in my grip as I shifted it, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.
I needed to see, needed to understand what was causing this eerie sensation.
Slowly, with trembling hands, I angled the blade to provide a glimpse of whatever loomed behind me.
What I saw nearly stole the very breath from my lungs.
A pair of eyes – crimson and piercing – stared back at me, a malevolence burning within their depths. They were unlike any eyes I had ever seen, their intensity seeming to pierce through the veil of reality itself.
A gasp escaped me, unbidden and raw, my scream trapped in my throat as terror surged through every fiber of my being.
My body felt frozen, as if encased in ice, even as my mind screamed at me to move, to run, to escape the clutches of this unearthly gaze.
Before I could react, before my scream could find its voice, a blood curdling cry broke free from me, the sound echoing off the walls like a desperate plea for salvation.
It was a primal response, an instinctual reaction to the terror that had consumed me.
I crumbled to the ground, the knife slipping from my hands and falling to the floor as well with a loud clang.
And then, like a burst of light in the midst of darkness, Ezra burst into the room. His wet hair clung to his forehead, droplets of water glistening on his skin, evidence of his hurried rush. He was only wearing a towel and was not even able to wipe his body with it, much less finish his well-deserved hot shower.
"Zoya!" His voice was a lifeline, a call that reached through the haze of fear and confusion.
He took in the scene – me lying on the ground, the knife held out before me – and his expression shifted from confusion to alarm.
He rushed to my side, his strong arms enveloping me in a protective embrace, his touch a reassuring anchor as he gently lifted me from the cold, hard floor.
With careful tenderness, he scooped me up and carried me back to the room, my head nestled against his chest.
The sensation of being watched had dissipated as abruptly as it had arrived, leaving a haunting memory in its wake.
The room, once steeped in an eerie chill, began to regain its warmth, the shadows retreating in the face of Ezra's presence.
As he laid me down on the bed, I let out a sigh. I knew I had a long day, but that didn’t explain the sudden and extreme exhaustion that took over my body.
Ezra's worried gaze met mine, his eyes a deep well of concern as he brushed a strand of hair away from my forehead. "Zoya, what happened? Are you hurt?"
I tried to find my voice amidst the remnants of fear that still clung to me. I wanted to tell him about the strange sensations and whispers, but my body felt like a heavy weight, each limb refusing to obey my commands.
Frustration welled within me as my mind fought to clear the fog that had descended upon it.
"Ezra..." My voice came out as a weak whisper, my lips barely moving as I struggled to form coherent words.
His worried gaze bore into mine, a mixture of fear and tenderness in his eyes. "Zoya, what happened? Can you tell me?"
I strained to push the words past my lips, my throat dry and scratchy. "Headache... can't move..."
Ezra's expression shifted into one of deep concern, his fingers gently brushing against my forehead as if trying to alleviate my pain. "Rest, Zoya. Don't think about anything else."
His words were soothing, his touch a balm to my troubled senses. As he reached for the blankets, his movements careful and deliberate, a strange sensation prickled at the edges of my awareness.
It was as if his words held an undercurrent of tension, a hidden layer of meaning that I couldn't quite grasp.
But then, just as he was tucking the blankets around me, his voice, barely more than a breath, reached my ears. "Oh, god! Not again…I can't let this happen again."
The words hung in the air like a haunting echo, lingering between us.
My heart raced as a chill swept down my spine, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten.
What did he mean by that?
Even in my hazy mind, it was clear to me that something was definitely wrong, and that whatever was happening to me now, might have been what happened to Lily back then.
But I must have underestimated my exhaustion, because the next thing I knew, I had already drifted off to oblivion.