Yes, Mr. Demon Boy? (BoyxBoy)

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Sam

My eyes were now flowing with salty tears, filling my mouth and making my face itch. The only thing I could do was watch the man cut into the side of Mason’s neck as he cried out in pain, extracting his nails in pure agony.

Wait a minute.

Extracting… his nails?

“Off him, Jason,” Darius said with a casual wave of his hand. “He’s had enough time.”

EXTRACTING HIS NAILS!

Quickly I forced my own set of werewolf daggers out of my right hand and dug them into the five half-moon cravings into the top of the slender box.

Darius’ heart stopped beating when the box began to glow a very subtle blue. It shook on the concrete floor, rattling the walls and sending an echo throughout the steel box we were in.

And with a small click, the box popped open.

Mason stopped growling.

Darius stopped breathing.

Damien took in a labored breath.

I just stared at it.

It looked completely untouched yet so ancient and aged. There was nothing else inside.

The script was identical to the writing on the note Darius shoved at my chest five minutes ago.

All that was in the box was a letter. A letter from my father.

We were all so entranced and distracted by the dimming of the blue light, and the suspenseful build up to virtually nothing, that we didn’t even bother to acknowledge the pounding on the steel door that had been going on for quite a while behind us.

That is, until it clattered to the floor.

“NOBODY MOVE. NOBODY.”

My entire body relaxed at the familiar sound of Caspian’s British screams. But when I turned around, I tensed right up again at the sight of him with two silver-bullet revolvers in his hands.

~~

Caspian

I did a double take. A man stood in front of me, wide-eyed and twisted looking. He looked exactly like Damien—who was standing all too peacefully in the corner—and definitely was related to him some how. He began snarling at me while Sam’s eyes formed saucers, probably regarding the sight of me with two of the supernatural world’s deadliest weapon in my hands. But I took a deep breath out through my nose and began to canvas the room. I could have sworn I heard Mason’s growls before, but I couldn’t find him now.

There was a single old wired light hanging from the ceiling, illuminating only a small circle in the center of the room where the three were standing. I felt my heart rate rise at the thought of this being a dead end; Mason not here and Sam just involved in some psycho lovers spat.

But then I saw it.

In the deeper left hand corner of the room, a glistening piece of metal caught my attention. I zeroed my focus in on it, but I wished I hadn’t.

Mason was on his knees encompassed by darkness while being held in a chokehold by a knife at least a foot long and 10 inches wide. The man behind the blade was stoic; unremorseful. Completely unperturbed. It was the sharpest thing I had ever seen and it was a quarter of the way through my best friend’s neck as his head lulled to the side, eyelids fluttering with consciousness, blood cascading down his side like a waterfall.