Aira stared up at him, her chest rising and falling frantically. He was waiting. His dark, heavy-lidded eyes were pinned on her, stripping away every defense she had constructed. The silence in the massive bedroom was oppressive, broken only by the faint, agonizing crackle of the burning tobacco between his lips.
Every survival instinct she possessed screamed at her to look away, to stay quiet, to not provoke the devil towering at the edge of her bed. But a desperate image flashed in her mind—her mother. Sick, vulnerable, and completely dependent on the pact Aira had made with this monster.
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