by N M Thorn
Another mirror lit up with the blue light, which was quickly replaced by an image of a young woman. No older than twenty-five, she was beautiful in an exotic way. Her long black hair framed the tender oval of her face, falling to her back and chest in rich waves. Her large, brown eyes seemed to be sad even though a soft smile played on her coral lips untouched by lipstick.
“Mr. Torres, would you mind telling our friends who this gorgeous woman is?” asked the man, his voice morphing into a soft hiss.
“Damian.” Ricardo turned to him. His ashen face reflected the bluish light of the screen, making him look like he was a step away from crossing the veil. “This is my sister, Camila.”
Damian looked at Ricardo and then at Cole, but said nothing, remaining absolutely emotionless, at least on the outside, in the hope that the man behind the mirror would make the first move. A heavy silence enveloped the room, pressing on his nerves.
“Damian, whatever you decide, I understand and support you,” Cole’s voice sounded in his mind. His brother tried to sound firm, but his voice trembled slightly, betraying the pain and despair he felt.
A soft click reverberated through the room, and the images of Ruslan and Camila vanished.
“I will give you until sunrise tomorrow to make your decision, Mr. Blake,” Mr. Amaris’ voice sounded somewhere above Damian, causing him to look up.
“Before making any kind of decision, I want proof of life,” replied Damian. “You showed us photos that could have been taken a long time ago.”
The voice chuckled, its sound shifting somewhere to the right. “I expected that,” he replied snidely. “This is why until tomorrow morning, the three of you will remain in my care.” He took a short pause and continued, “Mr. Blake, you and your brother…” Damian stiffened involuntarily, and the man snickered. “I always do my homework. I know everything there is to know about you, Mr. Blake.”
“I doubt that,” growled Damian but waved his hand, motioning for Amaris to continue.
“You and your brother will spend this time in Ruslan’s company,” Amaris proceeded, his voice turning frostier with each next word. “Mr. Torres will get a chance to speak with his sister. After that, you will give me your answer, Mr. Blake.” He fell silent again, but since Damian said nothing, he asked, “Do you agree?”
Dmitri, my child, you will accept his deal, and you will do whatever he wants you to do… Magnus’ voice sounded in Damian’s head, and he took a deep breath.
“I agree,” he replied flatly.
With a metallic click, the weak light vanished, replaced by an impenetrable darkness. A heartbeat later, a portal rotating with dim purple lights opened in front of Damian.
“Proceed through the portal,” the voice sounded somewhere so close that Damian could swear Amaris was standing right next to him. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
I hate the Destiny Council… The thought flashed in Damian’s mind as he stepped through the portal.
Chapter 12
~ Damian Blake ~
Damian had never been inside a high-security prison, but he sincerely doubted that even the most secured prisons of the human realm had so much security tech installed or so many guards on the premises. Even the Destiny Council holding facilities weren’t guarded as heavily as the underground bunker where Amaris kept his captive fighters.
Amaris’ portal opened up into a large hall the size of any good warehouse. Four well-lit corridors led away from the central area, doors constructed of heavy steel bars blocking the entrance into each corridor. A few massive metal desks were positioned in the center of the room, surrounded by digital display walls, every screen displaying a different cell with a single person inside or the area outside the building. He couldn’t say how large the entire bunker was, but the idea of so many supernatural beings suffering in slavery sent a jolt of anger through him.
A man dressed in a black uniform similar to military fatigues—most likely a guard—got up, saying something to the other guards. Then he grabbed a digital tablet from the desk and approached them, giving them a quick once-over.
“Please, follow me,” he said coldly, motioning toward the desks. “Mr. Amaris wishes to speak with you.”
Damian exchanged a quick look with Cole and Ricardo and followed the man. The guard halted in front of one of the monitors and pressed something on the tablet. The monitor lit up with a dark-purple glow, and the silhouette of a man appeared on the screen. The guard bowed to him and stepped a few feet back, crossing his hands behind his back.
“Mr. Blake,” Amaris said, his voice coming through loud and clear. “You and your brother will follow my guard”—he waved at the man standing behind Damian—“to the cell where I hold Ruslan. As promised, you have a few hours to discuss the situation and make your decision. However, I must warn you, if you think you have enough power to break free and take Ruslan with you, think again. This facility is equipped with anti-magic tech the likes of which you have never seen. What you experienced in Mr. Torres’ house is nothing compared to what we have here. Am I clear, Mr. Blake?”
“As day,” muttered Damian through clenched teeth.
“The room where I hold Ruslan allows only for the presence of vampiric essence,” Amaris continued. “If you try to use your magic, channel your elemental energy, or even as little as open your second sight, the consequences will be dire. So, unless you don’t mind losing your brother and his maker, I suggest you think of yourself”—he twirled his hand and snickered—“as a mere human and nothing more. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” replied Damian.
“Good.” The silhouette shifted in his chair, readjusting his position. “One more thing, Mr. Blake. Ruslan’s life is strictly regimented, and I am not going to change anything just because you and your brother are in the cell with him. But I must warn you—do not interfere and don’t try to stop my guards, or I will have to remove you both from the cell and demand your decision immediately. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Damian grumbled, wishing to tear this man limb from limb with his bare hands.
“Yes…?” Amaris raised his voice as if expecting Damian to add something.
A breath caught in Damian’s throat as an explosive wave of fury washed over him. “Not in your lifetime, evil bastard,” he growled through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to bow to you or kneel before you. Neither will I address you as ‘my lord’. Am I clear?”
“We’ll see about that. The night is young, Mr. Blake.” Amaris cackled with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Mr. Adams, was that clear to you, too?” he asked, turning slightly toward Cole, carnivorous delight in his voice.
“Yes, you’re exceptionally articulate,” replied Cole, sounding as calm as ever.
Amaris got up and waved for his guard to approach. “Jeff, escort Mr. Blake and Mr. Adams to Ruslan’s holding cell.” He thought for a moment and added, “When you come back, direct Mr. Torres to his sister’s chamber. He’s not to leave her room until further notice.”
Jeff snapped his fingers at another guard, and he got up immediately, nearly running to him. “Make sure Ricardo Torres goes nowhere until I return.”
“Yes, sir.” The guard inclined his head and headed toward Ricardo.
Ricardo threw a troubled gaze at Damian, but he couldn’t say anything to him in the presence of the guards.
“See you soon, Ricardo. Be careful.” Damian gave him a curt nod and followed Jeff toward the corridor on his right.
Ruslan’s holding cell was at the very end of the corridor, and as Damian followed the guard, he kept his head down, trying not to think of what kind of supernatural beings were locked up behind the heavy, reinforced doors and the torture their lives were, day in and day out.
The guard stopped in front of the last door and swiped his magnetic card over the security dial pad. The lock clicked, and Jeff pulled the heavy door open, gesturing for them to walk in. As soon as Damian and Cole crossed the threshold, he slammed the door shut with
out saying a word. The lock clicked again, its metallic sound sending shivers down Damian’s back. He took a deep breath and observed the cell, focusing on every little detail.
Everything inside the room was absolutely white, and unlike in Ricardo’s house, the boxes of anti-magic tech were visible everywhere. There was no bed or any kind of furniture. Instead, two iron polls were erected in the center of the room. A man dressed only in black sweatpants was sprung up between the polls, his arms attached to them by thick iron chains. Under the manacles, his wrists were raw and bleeding, his skin covered in blisters and patches of burns. He was on his knees, and his head was bowed low to his chest, his thick, black hair falling over his face in disarray.
“Father,” Cole whispered and took a tentative step toward the man.
Ruslan lifted his head, his movement torturously slow. His gaze halted on Cole, but there wasn’t even a shadow of recognition in his glowing, scarlet eyes. Then he looked at Damian, and a feral growl escaped from his mouth, his upper lip rising in a snarl, exposing his long, blade-like fangs. He pulled on the chains, fighting against his restraints to no avail.
“Damian, stay back,” Cole hissed, pushing Damian toward the wall. “I don’t know how many days they haven’t fed him, but he’s mad with thirst. He can hear your heartbeat, and it’s driving him crazy.”
Slowly and carefully, Cole approached Ruslan and lowered to his knees in front of him. Pushing his long hair off his face, he tucked a few strands behind his ear.
“Father,” he called, “it’s me, Nikolai… Can you hear me? Can you understand?”
The vampire hissed and pulled back, shying away from Cole’s touch. Swearing under his breath, Cole rose to his feet and turned toward Damian. He lifted his arm, his fingers trembling slightly, but then dropped it and lowered his eyes, staring somewhere at level with Damian’s chest.
“If we want to speak with him, we have to get him some blood,” he said, his voice hoarse and shaky. “I would never ask you for something like that, but it has to be yours, Dima. Ruslan bled for me more than once, and I would give him every last drop of mine, but I know it’s not going to help him.”
Damian stiffened, everything inside him screaming against doing what his brother was asking for. He glanced from Cole to Ruslan and then quickly observed the cell again, registering every white box of magic detectors installed along the perimeter.
“That’s fine.” He nodded, his throat too tight to speak. He swallowed and continued, forcing himself to sound all business-like. “I trust you to control Ruslan. By the looks of him, he won’t be able to control himself, and I’m too weak to stop him on my own without using my magic,” he said softly, pointing up at the boxes. “You can’t let me die a human death, Cole. If I die, the elemental energy of Earth will take over to resurrect me and heal my body, and that will trigger the anti-magic tech, killing you and your maker. Do you understand?”
Cole nodded, his arms hanging limply at his sides. “Dima, I’m sorry.”
Damian didn’t reply but headed toward Ruslan, halting a couple of feet away from him. The vampire growled and jerked forward, pulling on the chains. Turning toward Cole, Damian gestured for him to come closer.
“I need you to bite my wrist,” he said flatly. “I can’t summon my daggers here.”
Cole approached him and took his wrist, his fingers cold against Damian’s skin. He lowered his face, and his fangs expanded before he sunk them into Damian’s arm. Blood spilled from two puncture wounds, permeating the air with its metallic odor, and Ruslan hissed, thrashing violently in his restraints. Damian approached the ancient vampire and seized his hair, yanking his head back. Then he lifted his bleeding arm, pressing it to Ruslan’s mouth.
A groan escaped his lips as Ruslan’s fangs cut into his arm. The pain was sharp but short-lived, replaced by the sensation of warmth and content almost immediately, and Damian moaned, closing his eyes. Dizziness assailed him, and he would have fallen if his brother hadn’t caught him.
“Cole, please…” he moaned but was unable to say anything else. His head dropped back powerlessly, and darkness, soft and sticky, wrapped around him, taking him over.
“Dmitri, open your eyes.”
A voice sounded somewhere above him, and someone slapped his cheek gently. It wasn’t the voice of his brother, and even though he had never heard Ruslan’s voice, he expected him to sound deeper.
“Dmitri, look at me…”
Damian cracked his eyelids open and gasped, struggling to scramble into a sitting position. As far as he could see, there was absolutely nothing around him. He could feel a hard, slick surface under his back, but he couldn’t see it. A wispy, white mist flowed low over the invisible floor, its long, curly tendrils slithering over his legs. There were no walls or ceiling—nothing but eerie darkness all around him. The air lacked the freshness and scents of nature, and even though he couldn’t see anything that would help him identify where he was, he was positive there was nothing natural about this space. It was man- or magic-made.
A man kneeled next to him, his silvery-white eyes glowing dimly, concern reflected on his face.
“Magnus,” Damian whispered, reaching for the man in the long white robe. “What are you doing here? Where am I?”
Magnus exhaled with relief and sat back on his heels, dabbing sweat off his forehead with a white handkerchief. He stuffed it back in his pocket, grumbling something under his breath. Then he took Damian’s bleeding wrist and touched it with two fingers, whispering a short spell. The bleeding stopped, and the wounds closed.
“You’re nowhere,” replied Magnus in a quick whisper, “and I don’t have time to explain. While you are here with me, time in the human realm stands still, so I don’t want to keep you here longer than I have to.”
Damian tried to push himself up again but felt too lightheaded and let go.
“You lost too much blood,” Magnus pointed out, pursing his lips. “When you come back, make sure Cole stops his maker from taking more of your blood.” He seized Damian’s shoulders and helped him to sit up.
“What do you want from me, Magnus?” Damian shifted to adjust his position and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his bent legs. “You literally threw me into the lion’s den, giving me no wiggle room and leaving me no choice but to do whatever this evil asshole wants, no matter how dangerous or reckless that might be. What more can you possibly want from me?”
Magnus sighed and averted his eyes, his fingers fiddling nervously with the official ring of a high member of the Destiny Council, turning it around his finger.
“Goddammit, Magnus.” Damian slammed his hand against the invisible floor. “If you’re going to tell me that I have to become one of Amaris’ captive fighters, I’ll demand the ‘no one’ status again, and this time, I’m not coming back. I’ll never wear a collar again.”
“No, I would never let you do that,” Magnus objected quickly, too quickly for Damian’s liking. “But what I’m about to ask you is not much better. In your case, I believe it’s actually worse.”
“Spit it out,” Damian growled, his teeth clenched so hard, his jaw hurt.
“It’s about Cole—”
“No!” Reaching forward, Damian seized Magnus’ robes, yanking him closer. “I said, no. Leave my brother out of this.”
“Sorry, Commander.” Magnus raised his arms in a placating manner. “But your brother is neck-deep in all of this already. And let me remind you—it’s his maker’s life Amaris holds over your head.”
Damian exhaled and let go of Magnus’ robe. “No, Magnus,” he said quietly, slightly shaking his head. “I already told you. Cole loves his maker like a father, but he was ready to give up on him if I chose not to deal with Amaris.” He rubbed his face, looking away. “It’s not Cole’s desire to save his maker that forced me into this dangerous situation. It’s you and the rest of the High Council. So, tell me what else I need to do and get the hell out of the nightmare my life has become.”
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��I understand why you are not happy with the situation, but unfortunately, I’m not authorized to give you any more information than I have already given,” said Magnus, his voice void of emotions. “I wish I didn’t have to—”
“Not authorized? Oh, cut the crap, Magnus,” hissed Damian. “You are the Head of the Destiny Council. You could’ve stopped the other two. We could’ve come up with some other way to find out what Amaris’ deal is.”
“No, I couldn’t, and you know it, but you’re too upset or too lightheaded to think clearly,” objected Magnus. His voice shook, and he looked away for a brief moment. “The Destiny Council is not a monarchy, and I’m not a king. The three members of the High Council are equal in rights, and it has to be a majority vote on all important decisions. Please trust me, my boy, I’ve done everything I could to avoid putting you in this situation, but this is the only way. I swear.”
“Fine.” Damian shook his head bitterly. “Just tell me what I need to do, and how it is going to affect Cole.”
“In the morning, when you tell Amaris that you have decided to comply with his demands, he may ask for your brother to remain in his care as a hostage until you return,” started Magnus, speaking quickly, his eyes following Damian’s every move. “You’re going to agree to this condition.”
For a heartbeat, Damian’s vision became blurry, and he felt as if the invisible floor disappeared from under him.
“So, let me get this straight… You want me to leave Cole—an ancient vampire with unmatched fighting skills—in the hands of a monster who makes a living by enslaving supernatural beings and forcing them to fight in gladiatorial events?” he whispered, fighting to keep his fear and anger under control. “Are you out of your fucking mind? It’s like giving a dog a treat and asking it not to eat it. As soon as I step out of the building, Amaris is going to put a collar on Cole’s neck and throw him into the octagon.”