Jealousy had raged within him when he’d realised where she’d disappeared off to and he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d gone down there baying for blood and had intended on torturing the insolent boy for his foolishness, but now he had an altogether different plan.
Wynter wanted to be free of him, and so she would be. Marcus was going to remind her of his power over her life and surroundings in the most gruesome way possible.
“My lady,” he called as he neared the trembling coward and stared him down. Warren was a wreck. He’d been fighting for the past two days and Marcus knew he was too tired to start all over again, but this time the vampire wasn’t going to simply deliver Warren a beating. He was going to take it all.
“Yes, my lord,” she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice. She already knew what he wanted of her, but for Wynter’s sake he spoke the words aloud. Dragged it out and made a show of it.
“Lift his curse. Give Warren the freedom Wynter so desires for him.”
She followed his command without a sound and Marcus felt it as his minion was freed of his hold over him. Warren was indeed his own man again and he stopped his trembling as a wave of anger spread through him too. Anger he could finally act on.
As well as resolve.
And hate.
Marcus took a deep breath of his empowered scent and grinned. He was preparing to run. To do everything he could to escape Marcus and his club and never look back.
And all without so much as a thought for Wynter or any of the others. “My sweet, do you see?” Marcus asked, still peering down into Warren’s determined stare. “Can you tell what he’s thinking? Because I can.”
“I can’t, but I can guess,” Wynter answered, and the smell of her bitterness hit him from across the room. She felt like a fool for not having done the same when she’d had the chance, but it was too late for her. It was also too late for Warren as well, but Marcus wasn’t going to disclose that just yet.
“She fought her curse, Warren. Wynter won back her freedom,” he revealed with a sneer, “and she stayed because of you. To save your life. And now look how you’ve repaid her. You’ve earned your freedom and what are you planning to do with it?”
“Run,” he mumbled, and as much as Marcus could tell it hurt him to be so brutally honest, Warren didn’t appear ready to change his mind at all. He was still going to leave Wynter behind, no matter what she’d done for him.
What a sweet victory this was for Marcus. He’d just bested his little fighter and her new approach to life by having proven her so utterly wrong it had hurt her deeply. And now, he was going to take it one step further. He was going to manipulate her by having the audacity to avenge her honour when he himself was the cause of her pain. And he was going to do it by making Warren pay for his misdemeanours.
“So run, little rabbit,” he taunted, “if you can…”
And with that, he kicked out Warren’s legs and sent him flying to the ground, where he stamped on the guy’s shin and didn’t hold back. The bone gave an almighty crack and Warren let out a pained wail, while Marcus’s face spread with a wide grin.
Warren’s pain was like a drug to him and he wanted more. A never-ending supply would be fantastic, but he knew better than to hope for such a thing. These frail humans never did last long when he really let loose on one of them, so better to enjoy every fleeting moment of it, or so Marcus told himself.
He walked away, leaving the boy to his sweet agony, and dropped to his knees so he could stare into Wynter’s terrified face. Her dark eyes were even blacker now thanks to her pupils having dilated and she too was trembling in fear, cowering before him. Marcus adored it, and he took the kiss she had offered him previously.
Wynter resisted, but didn’t fight. She let him take what he wanted and when he pulled away, he was surprised to find her nicely compliant—contrary to her usually so defiant nature. Marcus realised why when she tried to turn the tables and gain the upper hand. Just like her to try and win, even when it was so evident she wasn’t even close to prevailing.
“Come, let’s go and I can feed you. Leave him to his misery and to find his way out without our help,” Wynter attempted, while also trying in vain to pry the Priestess’s fingers from around her neck. His witch didn’t let go and Marcus knew why. She didn’t believe her, and neither did he.
“Sure,” he replied and then planted another gentle kiss on Wynter’s still trembling lips. When he pulled away he couldn't hide his cunning smile though and she saw. Her breath hitched and that little flash of light behind her eyes gave her away—as if he hadn’t already seen it anyway. She was scared for Warren and thought there might be some way she could stop the inevitable from happening.
As if.
“Stop this, Marcus. He’s done nothing wrong,” Wynter tried, but the ancient vampire shook his head.
“He has vexed me, my sweet. Betrayed you and made your sacrifice worthless, and you still want to save him?”
“Yes,” she mumbled, and then jumped when the lift arrived with a ding and his five vampire soldiers disembarked.
Marcus was hit with the true stench of Wynter’s fear when she saw them and his smile widened. He knew exactly what to do.
“Then take his place,” he growled, issuing his horde with a silent order to descend upon her rather than the wounded sacrifice still writhing in pain on the floor.
The moment all five of them turned to her with hungry stares, Wynter shrieked and cried out incoherently. She tried again to wrench herself free but his Priestess held her tighter, fisting one hand in her hair and pulling so that Wynter had no choice but to look up into the faces of death as they grew closer.
“No, no!” she cried and Marcus held the horde off, but they were ravenous and he could see each of them licking their lips, desperate for a taste.
“Him or you, Wynter,” he demanded, “and they’re starving. I intend to let them have their fill. Now, will that be from you or from Warren?”
Silence descended on them all as she built the courage to answer him, and Wynter seemed frozen. Her eyes were unblinking and unfocused, as though she’d checked out entirely.
The snapping of one of the soldiers’ jaws then seemed to stun her back into action and Marcus watched as his darling girl finally summoned her strength and opened her mouth.
“Him,” she ground, but that wasn’t good enough. Marcus wanted her to say it properly. To seal Warren’s fate once and for all. “Drink from him,” she told the leader of his horde, whom Marcus also issued with the same order.
The huge vampire turned and ushered for the others to join him, and together they drank Warren dry while Marcus and his Priestess forced Wynter to watch.
Six
Wynter jumped awake in the pitch black darkness of her room, but didn’t panic this time. At least she was slowly getting used to waking this way, but she still hated it, and immediately reached for the nearby lamp. She got the shock of her life when she found someone lying in the bed next to her fast asleep. It thankfully wasn’t Marcus, she could tell, but a woman. Someone with long, bouncy curls that Wynter could feel beside her as she climbed up and reached for the lamp.
When it came on, she gave it a second and then opened her eyes to find Marcella lying in the bed with her. Her first thought was to wake her and find out what she was doing there, but instead Wynter just laid back on her pillow and let her friend sleep.
She needed some time to think anyway. Time to plan her escape at long last and track down her wayward soul mate to find out what the hell he’d been playing at rather than come get her like he’d promised. Plus, she needed a chance to process what had happened to Warren before she’d screamed herself silent and blacked out. She didn’t even know how long ago that was or how many hours she’d been sleeping. But she knew one thing for certain, he was gone, and her mind was racing.
Would Marcus tell everyone it was her fault? Would he tell lies about her to all the others who already treated her like an outsider
and probably wouldn’t give her the time of day after this?
Everything was so all over the place. She didn’t know which way was up, or what time of day or night it was. And really, she couldn't even remember what day of the year it was. It could be Christmas for all she knew.
Wynter felt as if she knew nothing at all anymore and had to stifle her tears as she leaned back and let the realisation of what’d happened wash over her. Warren was dead. The horde had fed on his broken body at Marcus’s request and there was absolutely no chance he’d survived. She’d seen him for herself.
The memory of his pale and exsanguinated body, and the five vampires in a feeding frenzy crouching over him, was ingrained on her skull now. His dull, lifeless eyes as he succumbed to his fate and let death take him away would haunt her.
It wasn’t like David. Warren’s death had been oddly peaceful and with barely a sound from him in protest. He had simply slipped away.
And yet, his death meant more than just a forced farewell. It meant Marcus had taken away the one person tying her to him and her job as his slave. He’d annulled their deal. He had nothing. Wynter would find his other leverage, Cossette, and run. She wouldn’t look back, not until she found Jak, and then they would make a plan to come back and kill him. To finish him once and for all.
Yes. She vowed to be Marcus’s undoing, and wanted it more than anything else in the world. It was time the formidable leader was knocked down off his perch and taught a lesson of his own.
Jakob could do it. She’d seen for herself how uncomfortable Marcus had been by his presence at the club, and she was willing to bet he’d not only killed other creatures in his time, but his share of vampires too.
Marcella let out a soft moan beside her and Wynter turned to watch as she slept. She wondered again why she was there, and reached out to stroke her cheek tenderly.
“Marcy,” she whispered, and was met with another moan before she slowly opened her eyes.
“Hey, Wynter,” she replied as she stretched and yawned, “sorry I must have fallen asleep waiting for you to wake up. I’m tired all the time at the minute. Must be the pregnancy,” Marcella added as she sat up and repositioned herself on the bed. “What’s wrong?” she then asked, looking at Wynter’s clearly confused expression.
“Why are you here?” she asked with a frown, “I don’t understand it. Did Marcus lock you in with me? Are you being punished for something?”
“No,” she answered with a small laugh, “why would you think that?”
“Because that’s what he does with me,” Wynter replied dejectedly, “so why?”
“He came to me and said someone had broken in and hurt some of the workers here. A vampire assassin called Jakob? Marcus said that I needed to come here and wait with you where it would be safe. Said you'd tell me what happened when you woke up.”
Wynter sat and stared at Marcella blankly. Jakob had certainly not come to the club and hurt anyone. He hadn’t been there at all, much to her disappointment. It was Marcus and the small horde that carried out his every request, and if someone had been hurt, it had nothing whatsoever to do with Jak. So why had he sent Marcella in here? What did he possibly have to gain by making her another pawn in his game?
“Nothing of the sort happened, Marcy,” she told her, and then reached for her friend’s hand. “But someone did get hurt. Warren.”
“Warren?” Marcella croaked and Wynter nodded.
“You know, the IT guy,” was all she could think to reply, and then wished she hadn’t when Marcella broke down in tears and leapt off the bed so she could pace up and down the small bedroom.
“Of course I know him,” she then cried, still sobbing into her hands, “he’s the father of my baby!”
The air rushed from her lungs and Wynter went icy cold. He was the father? All this time and he’d never once mentioned having knocked up their colleague, but of course he’d thought it was fine for him to come onto her and promise her all the things he had. He’d clearly been playing her more than she’d realised.
Marcella then put her hand to her mouth and ran to the bathroom where she proceeded to puke her guts up and cry some more.
Wynter went to her but couldn't help. All she could do was rub her back and try to get her to calm down.
“It’ll be okay, Marcy,” she tried, “Marcus will take care of you and the baby. He’ll make sure you're both safe.”
“How?” Marcella finally croaked.
“I don’t know, maybe get you a flat somewhere and—”
“I mean how did this happen?” Marcella interrupted her with a screech, and Wynter paled. She suddenly realised exactly what he’d done and why.
Marcus had fed her lies in a bid to get her in this room with Wynter so she’d have to be the one who spilled the beans of Warren’s awful demise. But she wasn’t going to lie. She wasn’t going to be another of Marcus’s puppets doing his bidding, and she certainly wouldn’t protect him.
“He tried to run,” she explained with a frown, “him and I had grown close, but we decided not to pursue anything romantic and nothing ever happened between us. If I’d realised you two were involved I would’ve never gone near him.”
Marcella began to sob again and she tugged off some toilet roll to wipe at her eyes and mouth. When she finally lifted her head out of the bowl, Wynter could tell that wasn’t going to be the end of it. She needed to hear the rest. To hear how Warren had died.
By the time the awful tale had been told, Marcella was a wreck. She was lying on the bed in a ball and fits of tears just kept on coming, but there was nothing Wynter could do to stop them. All she could do was hold her and hope that she was bringing her some comfort. And that she didn’t hate her for what’d happened.
***
Marcus watched via his hidden cameras as his Priestess put on a bloody good show. The devious little witch truly did have a mean streak and while he knew she adored Wynter to some degree, he also knew she had taken after her mentor and showed that adoration in ways others didn’t always understand or agree with.
Like him, Marcella wanted to manipulate and control the object of her affection, and have Wynter hanging on her every word. To make her compliant to her wants and needs without the poor girl even realising she was doing it. And she was doing a good job in manipulating her. The lie about the baby’s paternity had worked a treat and had truly woken up Wynter’s softer side. She was empathetic and oozed with guilt, and was opening up before his eyes.
Although, he had to wonder if his Priestess wanted some closeness so had concocted her lie, or if she perhaps had another motive for continuing to get close to Wynter and still not revealing her true self. Their friendship was split over the two separate personalities she had shown her. The two faces Marcella gladly wore, and wore well.
“We weren’t together as a couple, but things happened between us one night and he wanted this baby,” he heard Marcella telling his darling slave, “we were going to try. To see where things went.”
“I honestly didn’t know,” Wynter then replied with a frown, and it was clear she was beginning to second-guess her own relationship with Warren because of the lie. She was so quick to believe she’d been played. And all from someone apparently trying to better herself? She had the willpower of a crack addict who’d been promised a free fix. “But please don’t worry. Nothing ever happened between us. I didn’t feel that way about him.”
“Why? How could you two go from being secretly sweet on each other one day and then stone cold the next? What changed?” Marcella asked, and Marcus beamed. She was trying to figure out what was truly going on with Wynter too. They both knew something had changed in her, and Marcus had been forced to realise he couldn't coax it from her himself, nor was there a way of finding out using the Priestess’s powers or forcing it out of her, so she was going for a different method. A more personal, tactful option.
Wynter shuffled awkwardly and stared down at her only free hand, which she was stretching open and then b
alling into a fist again. He’d seen her play with her hands before when she was on the cusp of revealing something that scared her, as though she was gathering the courage to speak up and needed something to focus on.
Marcella was so close and Marcus silently urged her on. He was on the edge of his seat and watched enthralled, eager for his witch to make sure Wynter opened up.
“Well…” she began, still staring at her hand, “that assassin you spoke of, Jakob. He isn’t what you’ve been made to believe. In fact, he and I spent a bit of time together while I was away last week. We talked a lot and even spent the night together.”
Marcella feigned interest and surprise, while Marcus had to do everything he could not to scream with rage. He was about ready to storm in that room and give Wynter a proper beating for just mentioning her time with Jakob. Pain had made her comply before and he was more than willing to go down that route again. Softer touch be damned.
“So, do you love him?” Marcella asked, digging deeper.
“No,” Wynter answered with a small laugh, but Marcus wasn’t convinced. She’d been different ever since her escapades with him, and he would not stop until he found out why.
He stood and glowered at the screen, his hands balled into fists that he pressed down on the desk. His shoulders were flexing and tense with fresh rage. He wanted to hit something—or someone—and was just about ready for the next person he came upon to become his personal punching bag. It was that or strike Wynter, and if he was honest, he wasn’t against the idea.
He guessed it all depended on what she told Marcella next, and so forced himself to pause. To take a moment and see what she had to say for herself. “It’s just…” her voice permeated his silent rage, “I had the night of my life with him. Nothing compares to it.”
Marcus proceeded to trash what little furniture he had around him and then fell to his knees. He had his head in his hands and was yanking hard at his short hair, relishing in the pain of it, when his Priestess’s voice found him.
Made of Scars Page 5