by Sela Croft
I scooted back, with nowhere to go. The bat peeled back its lips, showing tiny razor teeth. I wrapped my arms around me and scanned the room for any other defense. Then I felt sharp, needlelike jabs in my neck.
The bat swooped away, then I reached for my neck, coming away with drops of blood on my fingers. I put my hand on my throat as a protection from another attack. But the bat morphed back into the vampire king. A rumble in his belly turned into a deep laugh.
He was flaunting his power, as if I wasn’t afraid enough. The gleam in his eyes spoke of death, and I saw my demise looming. The king was crazed, and I sensed no softer side. Pleading for mercy would fall upon deaf ears. He had no intention of going easy on me.
There was no chance of besting the king with strength alone, even with my vampire skill. A physical attack would secure the fate I most feared, as he would strangle the life out of me. I’d heard that he could suck out the essence of a victim as he sucked them dry of blood.
I had talents, but I wasn’t assured they would be enough. Alban had monster soldiers at his disposal, plus guards within the palace who could crush me. As I stared into the eyes of the raving king, I reached to the far recesses of my mind for a solution.
If I had a prayer of surviving, I would have to dig deep for a way to overcome my powerful opponent. Brute force wasn’t an option, which left me with only one alternative. I’d have to use my wits. If I had any chance, I’d need to outsmart the king.
Yet, staring up at him, I hadn’t a clue how to do that. The king waved a hand, and servants appeared as if from nowhere. His scepter was placed in his palm, and he lifted it. “Take her to the cell.” Two guards rushed forth to grab my arms.
I slipped, which angered the king. He roared at the guard who’d allowed that to happen, then pointed the jeweled scepter at him. A blast shoved the huge guard into the wall, and he slumped to the floor. Another one took his place, then moved me swiftly toward the iron gates.
If I’d thought my accommodations were bleak so far, they were luxury compared to the prison. Rows of cells lined the walls, and the area stank like the dead. I strove for some hope to cling to but, looking around, found little encouragement.
Chapter 17 – Mirela
The guards dragged me down the aisle, and haggard faces stared from behind the bars. The stones under my feet were uneven and the walls were crumbling. At the end of the rows of cells the castle wall had severed. The structure had split, and the ice had encroached into the space.
It made the area with the cells below freezing, a torture of its own. Those locked away were of a wide variety, from vampire to human. I suspected the humans hadn’t been there long, since it wasn’t likely they could survive the conditions.
At the last cell, there was a narrow passage, and the guards shoved me through. It appeared that I wouldn’t be allowed to mingle with the others. I was taken to a private room that was hardly warmer than the hall had been.
The guards released me but stood next to the door. Alban entered, gloating over his achievement. “Get on the table.” He referred to a wide wooden platform that did not look accommodating, so I hesitated.
The monster guards lifted me up and chained me to the table. With my wrists and ankles secured, I was less confident that I could contrive a way to escape. It seemed my last days would be inside this bleak room.
Alban looked at me then growled. I stared back, wondering if there was any sensitivity to him or if he was a creature devoid of any heart. He lifted a whip that hung on the wall and dangled it over me. “Now I will have the pleasure I’ve sought.” The tip of the instrument was right over my head. “I’ve craved this torture since the day that Draven turned away from me.” Alban’s red eyes seethed as if with the fires of hell.
Surprisingly, I found my voice. “It won’t help you win the war. I can promise that Draven will come, and he will be so enraged that you’ll regret taking me from him.”
Alban’s fangs distended, as if he was about to drink my blood instead of proceeding with other torture. “No, you are wrong. My son is weak; when he hears of your torture and death, it will break him.”
I glared at the awful king. “You don’t know your son like I do.”
Sucking in a breath, the king lifted the whip. With a precise movement, he snapped it through the air. The tip lit up like a sun and grazed my arm. Pain shot through me, as though an electric current had connected. My vampire nature was sensitive to excessive light. The tip of the king’s weapon concentrated damaging light wherever he struck.
Again and again, Alban drew back the whip and struck my skin. Shards of pain riddled through my arms, legs, and chest. But he didn’t stop. Anxious to test my limits, he whipped the hurtful tip all over my body. The pain escalated, and I cried out each time.
My eyes closed, and I clenched my jaw. The agony was nearly unbearable. I might expire soon if the king didn’t stop. It appeared that he knew that, because he ceased. I opened my eyes to see the light whip dangling over me.
Alban’s body shook with an evil laugh. “I do enjoy this. After all the suffering that my son has caused me, I am finally able to pay him back.”
He didn’t mention my pain. It seemed that I was only a vehicle to get to Draven and give the king satisfaction. It struck me that he got pleasure from hurting others. The one advantage was that he might let me live longer—although in a horrible circumstance—so he could indulge in more torture.
I needed to muster all the strength that I could to tolerate his rough treatment. It was a way to buy time, and that was what I needed.
After a break, Alban resumed his ministrations. He seemed to be aware of how much I could take. He kept a rhythm that pushed me near the limit of my pain tolerance. Yet he gave me a momentary reprieve at certain intervals, so that he didn’t kill me.
“You aren’t impressive at all,” Alban said. “Look at you…stretched out on a plank of wood. I own you and could do anything I want with you.”
“You only think so,” I whispered. “I belong to no one. And whatever you do, I’ll hold my love for Draven in my heart.”
The king grabbed a knife from a nearby table, and I shuddered at what he had in mind. “I’d heard that you were part sorceress. But I haven’t seen any evidence.”
He slit my skin at the collarbone, then dipped his fingers in the blood and licked it off. “You don’t taste any different. But maybe I haven’t had enough.” Alban held the knife point under my chin. “I could make a deeper cut and have a real drink.”
Instead, he cut down my arm. Then he carved down my leg and into my belly. His eyes gleamed with evil that I hadn’t previously witnessed. As he proceeded to cut me, watching blood drip onto the table, a horrific realization gripped me.
I’d faced many things since I’d arrived in the kingdom, but none worse than the king who sliced me up for pleasure. That type of evil had been kept from me. I supposed that I’d heard or read about such things, but I hadn’t been faced with the horror.
Alban was living, breathing evil. He sought to give pain and lobbied for death. The torture he meted out was his greatest capability, because he had no love or kindness inside. I’d shuddered at being dragged into a cell, and at the torture that followed.
Yet the worst of it had only just dawned on me. I was dealing with a creature from the depths of depravity. I had to fend off a madman who hadn’t a shred of mercy. For so long, I’d taken pride in seeing the best in others.
But I hadn’t been faced with the worst. I’d had the luxury of ignoring how bad it could get. For surely, anyone had a spark of kindness that could be ignited within their soul. Enlightenment about what I was confronting rendered me near hopelessness.
I fought the fatalistic view that threatened to suck away all my urge to survive. It took great effort to brush aside thoughts of giving in. The evil was too great, too daunting. Terror filled me, and I wondered what it would take to conquer Alban—if that was remotely possible.
I lost my train of thoug
ht, as Alban resumed his torture. The pain was beyond anything I could have imagined. It seemed that he had unleashed his rage upon me, as if I was the source of all his ills. In the dim recesses of my mind, I tried to understand the king.
He’d claimed that the prophecy wasn’t real, that it was a tale told merely to steal his son. Even in my haze of pain, I wondered at that. If the king didn’t believe in the prophecy, then why did I matter? Why did he assume that ripping Draven and I apart would alter destiny?
I must have passed out, because I couldn’t recall the king leaving. The guards stood by the door, but the acute pain had abated a little. I was grateful for my vampire nature, because the wounds had begun to heal. That was fortunate, as I didn’t know how soon the king would be back to resume his task.
The cell was musty and cold. Yet the freezing temperature was the least of my concerns now. I was chained to the wooden platform, unable to move my arms. I hadn’t attempted sorcery while immobile, so wasn’t sure what I was capable of.
The trauma had left me in a weakened state, and any abilities I possessed seemed submerged. In this brief interim, I had to come up with something. It would have been easy to collapse and pray for recovery.
But Alban might return at any second. I was breathing, and my mind worked. The sting of his weapons was subsiding. Yet it was all so overwhelming. I wasn’t sure I was able to survive torture and imprisonment. Still, there was no alternative.
I thought of Draven and how much I loved him. The image of being in his arms gave me renewed strength. No matter the curse that had descended upon me, I had to make sure that I reunited with him. Repeatedly, we’d been separated. But I’d managed to overcome any obstacle to return to him.
I had no clue how to get past the guards, or how to avoid Alban. But I knew one thing: there had to be a way. Whatever weakness threatened to make me a victim could not be tolerated. I had to find inner power beyond any I’d wielded before.
Chapter 18 – Draven
As soon as the battle had ended, Silvain had departed with his army. I marveled at the powers he possessed. What he’d exhibited rivaled any feat that Alban could achieve. It was promising that he’d allied with us, even if temporarily.
There were no royals in sight, as far as I could see. They’d disappeared over the hills, likely halfway back to the mountain palace. The dark leader had appeared with his fighters just in time. And he’d turned the tide.
The battlefield was a bloody mess. My men scoured the field to be sure that no royal was left alive. Then they saw to our injured. Our casualties could have been worse, and would have been, if Silvain hadn’t arrived. I’d only recently learned that he was my brother.
We might have a similar heritage—and the unfortunate circumstance of having the king as a father—but that didn’t mean there was brotherly love between us. I had no expectation that there would be. We’d been enemies for too long.
Yet something had prompted Silvain to have a change of heart. He could have allowed the royals to wipe us out, but he hadn’t. The sight of him terrorizing the king’s army was one I wouldn’t soon forget.
Quin walked over, looking somber. “We lost too many men. I suppose I should be thankful that it wasn’t worse.”
“That is true,” I said. “I’m not sure if we would have been the victor without help.”
“It’s not every day that an enemy has a change of heart.”
“No, and it’s not every day that I find out the enemy is my brother,” I said.
“I still find that hard to fathom,” Quin said, then turned to see Jon approaching.
“How does it look out there?” I said to Jon.
“We’ve got it under control.” Jon wiped the front of his armor, smearing the blood. “One hell of a battle.”
“The royals will have something to talk about when they return,” Quin said.
“I have my doubts that they will relay what happened,” I said. “Retreating is a crime in the Royal Army. Yet I don’t see how they will explain their return any other way.”
“We need an army of demons,” Jon said. “Then the royals will huddle behind the palace walls and leave us alone.”
I laughed. “True enough, but I don’t see that happening.”
It was disheartening to look out at the battlefield and witness the number of men we’d lost. I took solace in the fact that the Guardians were intact, able to fight another day. Yet I’d tired of fighting. I’d lost too many and was anxious to see an end to the war.
It seemed that any step forward was met with a step back. I needed to regroup and meet with my generals. I didn’t plan to stay within the castle walls, waiting for Alban’s army to make their next move. It was time to attack, and to do so in a big way.
At the castle, my soldiers went to get refreshed. It wasn’t known how soon we’d leave to fight again. I was tired too, more emotionally than physically. I was a warrior at heart, but so much death had worn me down. I cared for my men, my people, and my kingdom.
I wished for my sister to have the life she deserved, not having to battle at every turn. And I craved a life with Mirela, one that would bring us together, where we could live in peace. The momentary setback didn’t linger. The sag in morale was replaced by a surge in motivation.
There had been enough killing. There had to be an end to it. Alban’s death march had to cease for good. It was vital that I garner my troops and seize victory. It was fortuitous that Silvain had come to the rescue, but I didn’t expect that to repeat.
My army was strong. Even with all the soldiers we’d lost, I was certain that we’d come back with force. And this time, we’d be better prepared. The royals had attempted to mow us down, but that had given away their tactic. The plan to defeat the king’s army and unseat him would include an effective method of dealing with the monsters.
It came down to numbers. It had taken three of my soldiers to overcome and decapitate one royal. I’d plan for four to one, just to hedge my bets. The royals couldn’t think on their feet, so were unable to adapt. They were automated killers, but their lack of independent thought would be their undoing.
The thought of overpowering them put a bounce in my step. It was going to happen. My Guardians would defeat the Royal Army. And with Silvain’s Dark Fighters no longer against us, the upheaval of the kingdom would be resolved at last.
I went to the barracks with my comrades, where I left them while I went to meet with Clay. “I’ll be with you shortly. I need to brief the general.”
But I didn’t go directly to the command center. I’d have an opportunity to coordinate with Clay and my other generals. First, I had another matter to attend to. I’d left Mirela behind to ensure her safety. I hated being away but couldn’t risk taking her into battle.
The few times I’d allowed her to accompany me, some disaster had befallen us. I’d left her behind the fortified walls, so I could focus on battle without concern for her. Now, I wished to see her, above all else. It would be balm to my soul to hold her in my arms.
I stepped inside the castle to find it unusually quiet. Quickly, I went to the rooms where I was most likely to find Mirela, but they were empty. I decided to look for Calina, as they were probably together. The library was empty, as well as the main room. I checked with the guard at the stairs, but they hadn’t gone to the basement for feeding.
I missed Mirela yet wasn’t alarmed. Since I’d left her behind with my sister, I was certain she was fine. Whatever they were doing had them well occupied. I inquired about Mirela from a few servants, but only got head shakes. No one had seen her recently.
“What about Calina?” I said. “Where is she?”
The servant waved toward the tower. Of course, my sister often went up there to think; sometimes she had visions while looking out. My pulse sped with anticipation. Calina would know where Mirela was, or they might be together.
I levitated to the tower, but when I saw the expression on Calina’s face, my heart sank. “I’ve returned and ha
ve victory to report.”
Calina looked at me.
“Are you not happy?” I said. “And where is Mirela? I want to tell her.”
“I don’t know where she is,” Calina said. “I’ve looked everywhere.”
Panic gripped me. “How can that be? She’s inside the city walls. She must be somewhere.”
Calina shook her head. “I think not. I know Mirela, and she wouldn’t intentionally make us worry.”
“What are you saying?”
“Something awful must have happened to her,” Calina said. “That’s the only explanation.”
Any joy I’d felt over the recent victory in battle dissipated. Mirela was gone, but I didn’t see how that could be. “Did the gate guards see anything?”
“I asked, but each claimed that Mirela had not gone out the gate,” Calina said. “But if she didn’t, how can she be missing?”
It didn’t make sense—unless…
“The passage,” I said. “Could she have gone out that way?”
“But why?” Calina said. “She would have been aware that it’s unsafe.”
I raced toward the entrance to the escape tunnel, with Calina right behind me. I rushed down the stairs, wishing I’d had the good sense to close up the exit long ago. It wasn’t used, so had been forgotten about. Yet it was still a way out.
I shoved the wooden door open and stepped out. Calina stepped past me, looking at the ground—then she gasped. “Look…footprints.”
I stooped down for a closer look. The prints were fresh in the soft dirt and were the size of Mirela’s foot. “It has to be…”
“Why would she leave?” Calina said. “And she didn’t tell me. I don’t understand.”
My gut wrenched. “I think I do. It was a trick. That’s the only explanation.”
“The king?”
“Who else could it be?” I said. “I was about to tell you that Silvain fought with us, on our side.”
Calina’s eyes widened. “It couldn’t be him, then. That only leaves the king, who is the most likely anyway.”