The Three Who Chose Me
Chapter 57: The Taste of Madness

Chapter 57: The Taste of Madness

Josie

I couldn’t remember how it started.

One moment, Kiel’s lips were brushing against mine, soft and careful, and the next, I was drowning in the sensation. His hands moved with a reverence that made me ache. Our bodies tangled on the bed, heat blooming between us like fire spreading on dry grass. We didn’t cross any lines—no sex, not even close—but we didn’t need to.

His hands roamed over my back, under my gown, stopping just before the edges where things could go further. I stopped him, breathless, pressing my palm to his chest.

"I want this," I whispered, "but not all the way. Not tonight."

He didn’t protest. He only nodded, kissed my forehead, and pulled me into his chest. We lay there, tangled, skin touching skin, hearts beating too fast.

That should’ve been enough. It should’ve felt safe. But it didn’t.

Sleep came in fragments. One moment I was drifting, the next, I was wide awake, staring at the ceiling like it was made of flesh. I blinked, and suddenly, my parents’ corpses were everywhere.

On the ceiling.

On the floor.

On the damn dresser.

Blood oozed from their lips like syrup. Their eyes, unblinking, bore into me with judgment, with sorrow. My mouth opened in a scream I didn’t make. I shook, the panic tightening around my chest like a belt.

My body burned.

It was like something inside me had caught fire, and the flames were licking my organs, boiling my blood.

I turned to Kiel. He was sleeping, his brows drawn like he could feel something wrong even in sleep. I should’ve woken him. I should’ve screamed, cried, begged him to hold me.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I climbed out of bed, heart thudding, hands trembling, and grabbed my phone.

Marcy. She’d help. She knew what to do, didn’t she?

My fingers were unsteady as I typed out a message.

Me: Are you awake? I need help. Please.

She responded almost instantly.

Marcy: Come out of the house. I’ll take care of you. Trust me.

Trust.

What a stupid word.

But I clung to it, slipped on a robe, and walked barefoot out of the house like I was floating through someone else’s nightmare. The night air was cold and smelled like wet leaves. Marcy was waiting near the edge of the woods, wrapped in a thick coat, her eyes wide and too bright in the moonlight.

"You came," she said, relieved.

"I’m not okay," I muttered, voice hoarse. "I think... something’s wrong with me."

She wrapped her arm around me and guided me to her place. It was warm inside, dimly lit, with herbs hanging from the ceiling and incense that made my head swim. She led me to a chair and poured me tea from a cracked white kettle.

"Drink this," she said. "It’ll help calm your nerves."

I didn’t ask what it was.

I just drank.

The tea was bitter and thick, leaving an aftertaste that coated my tongue like ash. Almost immediately, I felt my limbs go heavy. My mind grew slower, fuzzier, like someone was turning the world’s brightness down.

But I didn’t sleep.

"Marcy..." I murmured, "My body... something’s wrong. I feel like... I’m slipping. Like something inside me is fighting. Burning."

She stiffened slightly but covered it with a smile. "That’s probably just the trauma surfacing. We’ll figure it out."

I nodded, not believing her.

"Do you remember anything from earlier?" she asked, sitting across from me. "Anything about today—something that stood out?"

I tried.

I really did.

But everything was hazy.

Flickers of light. Kiel’s arms. Thorne shouting. Varen pacing. My own voice echoing in my ears. Nothing made sense. The pieces didn’t fit.

"No..." I whispered. "Nothing clear. Just bits."

"Sometimes," Marcy said, leaning in, "if you remember the bad things, the real bad things, you can start to fix them. It’s the only way to get free."

Free?

That word floated around in my skull like it didn’t belong there.

I pressed a hand to my forehead. Everything was tilting, spinning. The room grew darker, the shadows longer. I could hear something now.

A voice.

Low and slick.

"End it," it whispered. "They’d all be better off. No more confusion. No more pain."

I blinked and found a knife on the table.

Where had that come from?

"End it," the voice repeated, coaxing, seductive. "Just a little cut. Quick. Sweet."

My fingers twitched.

I reached for it.

Then the door slammed open.

"Josie!"

Kiel’s voice roared through the fog. I turned, knife in hand, just as he and his brothers stormed in.

Varen tackled the knife from my grip, and Thorne caught me before I hit the floor. I was shaking, teeth chattering. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know who I was in that moment.

"She drugged her," Varen growled. "I can smell it."

"I didn’t—!" Marcy stepped forward, hands up, eyes wide. "She asked for help!"

"You were supposed to protect her," Thorne snapped. "Not let her nearly kill herself!"

I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. My lips parted but no sound came out. Kiel lifted me gently, his voice a whisper near my ear.

"I’ve got you," he said. "I’ve got you, Josie."

Back at the house, the front door opened before we even stepped inside.

The witch was waiting.

She stood in the hallway like a statue carved from rage, long white hair wild around her face, her eyes glowing with fury.

"What the hell did you do to her?" she hissed.

I whimpered and tried to pull away, but Kiel held me tight.

"Let me go," I begged. "Please. I don’t want to see her."

"She’s here to help," he said. "She’s the only one who can."

I didn’t believe him. Not for a second. But I didn’t fight.

The witch moved forward and placed her hands on my temples. A soft warmth flooded through me, pushing back some of the fog.

"She’s been drugged with wolfsbane," the witch snarled. "Are you all complete idiots?!"

My head jerked up. "What?"

"Wolfsbane suppresses wolf instincts. It makes you sick. It messes with your mind. If you were any weaker, you’d be dead by now."

"I didn’t take wolfsbane," I whispered. "I just... drank the tea Marcy gave me."

Marcy chose that moment to appear in the doorway.

The witch turned to her, eyes narrowing like blades. "What did you give her?"

Marcy swallowed hard. "Just calming herbs. She was panicking."

"I’m going to need the exact ingredients. Now," the witch snapped. "And while you’re at it, bring every bottle, every tablet, every damn thing Josie’s been given."

Varen handed over the rest of my medications—half I didn’t even recognize. The witch sifted through them with precision until she held one up, jaw tight.

"This," she said, holding a small green bottle, "has wolfsbane in it. Someone prescribed this?"

"Michelle," Thorne said bitterly. "It was Michelle’s doing."

"She wanted her dead," the witch growled. "Slowly. Quietly. And none of you noticed."

The silence that followed was thick with guilt and fury.

I sat there, watching them argue around me, my body heavy, my mind a broken mirror. I didn’t know who to trust. I didn’t know what to believe.

But one thing was clear.

I was losing pieces of myself.

And if someone didn’t help me soon...

There’d be nothing left to save.