The Vampire Court (Shadow World: The Vampire Debt Book 3)

by Ali Winters

  A shiver runs over me again, but this time it’s not from the cold. My pulse kicks up, pounding until it roars in my ears.

  I scan the cell again. Nothing is different, nothing out of place. There are no new sounds or smells, so why do I feel like I’m no longer alone?

  The corner next to the waste bucket is dark, darker than the rest of the cell. I squint into the shadows, barely able to make out the stone texture of the wall.

  A door opening pulls my attention away.

  Two—no, three—voices speak, but their words are too muffled to make out. One set of footsteps stops, a rattle of keys then the sound of thin metal being dropped on the ground followed by the clank of the cell. Then, the footsteps join the other two again.

  On and on it goes for several minutes before one of them reaches my cell. The torchlight at his back shadows the large figure. He stands for a long moment, just watching me. I don’t dare speak.

  He takes three quick steps in and hisses. My hand twitches, wanting to reach for the dagger. If I lure him closer, I could use it on him…

  I quickly reject that idea. Killing another vampire will only make this situation worse, and there’s no way I could dispatch all three of the guards.

  “Hurry up,” the man behind him says. He swings the torch around. The bright light is blinding, and I have to look away. “We don’t have all night.”

  The closest guard drops a metal tray. It clatters, but the bowl manages to stay upright. Then the door slams, and the lock engages. They move on without hesitation. No more doors open after that. Their footsteps fade back the way they came, and I’m once again surrounded by quiet.

  I counted four cell doors opening and closing—five including me.

  Getting to my feet, I use the wall as I make my way to my meal. It’s some sort of grayish mush. I squat, lifting the bowl to my face and sniff then recoil, barely suppressing a gag. It smells like it’s a month old and made of scraps no one would want to eat when it was fresh, let alone feed to a person.

  I am not that hungry yet.

  I drop the bowl back to the tray and stand, shoving the slop into the corner with my foot as I approach the bars. I press my face against them and look out as much as possible. Not a single guard in sight.

  “Hello?” I call out then wait for an answer.

  When none comes, I wrap my fingers around the bars next to the lock and feel around.

  Unsheathing the dagger, I look again to make sure I’m truly alone. Then, slowly, I reach my hand out between the bars and feel for the keyhole. Unable to see the lock from this angle, I guide the tip of the blade with my finger but can’t maneuver it from inside the cell. I’m not that skilled of a lock pick. After several minutes, my hands and arms start to tingle. I sit back on my heel, running the back of my hand over my clammy forehead.

  Giving up, I use the wall for support and go back to the corner farthest from the door and the waste bucket then collapse on the ground. The blood loss must be getting to me.

  My stomach chooses this second to grumble loudly. Food might help me get some energy back… I wrinkle my nose at the unsavory gruel.

  My hunger is just uncomfortable enough that I can use it to help me stay awake.

  It works, for what feels like hours, or possibly days. It’s impossible to tell with the never-changing light. Seconds, minutes, hours—they all blend together. Time has no meaning.

  I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing slow and deep. After a few breaths, the unsettling feeling of not being alone returns. I’m careful not to move a muscle, waiting for it to pass, but it only intensifies. I peek through my lashes. It’s useless. There’s not enough light to make out any details. Abandoning all pretense of sleep, I open my eyes fully, scanning the cell. Nothing.

  Am I going crazy?

  At some point, I fall asleep only to startle awake. The arm under my head is half numb from being used as a pillow, and my legs, knees curled up, are cramped. I rub the sleep from my eyes and push up to sitting.

  Alaric hasn’t come for me yet, and the longer he stays away, the more I think he won’t be able to—but I have to believe he’s trying.

  Another meal is brought to me, and this time, I am almost hungry enough to attempt to eat. I’ve been hungrier than this before. It’s painful, but it’s an ache I know. It’s familiar, though it will get worse before my body gives out.

  I stare at the ceiling as hot tears form, the pressure building and blurring my vision. Crying will only dehydrate me faster. I press the heel of my hands into my eyes. When I open them again, the space above seems darker. I squint.

  The shadow congeals, growing thicker, taking shape until it’s an unmistakable black mass.

  Demon.

  They lower down, hovering inches above. I’m frozen in place. The majority of their body remains a thick cloud of black smoke, but out of their amorphous form, two arms protrude, boney and misshapen, fingers unfurling and becoming talons at the tips. The sharp points caress my cheek.

  The touch is… familiar.

  Their energy feels softer. It’s not warm like Alaric’s powers or cold and slimy like Victor’s had been.

  The demon’s mouth stretches. Then, they lower their skull-shaped head within inches of my face. Wintery breath brushes over my cheeks. They are a greater demon, similar to the one that chased me from the forest to Alaric’s doorstep, but this one is different somehow.

  “You are right, human,” they whisper.

  I blink up into the face, skeletal and charred. Demon’s and saints… they can read my mind.

  “Yooou muuust staaaay aliiive. It isss not your tiiiime to die. Yooou are needed. Do not be a stupid huuuman. Eat the gruel the vampires give you if you must.” Their words become clearer as they speak.

  They grip my head in both hands, and there’s a blinding flash of red light. Power flows through me, cold like ice but malleable like tilled dirt. I feel it in every inch of my body, every muscle, every fiber. The demon’s power borders on searing pain but doesn’t quite cross that threshold.

  Then, it’s gone, and I feel whole again. Every ache and pain is gone. When I test my muscles, I’m still weak, though there is a vast improvement.

  “How long have I been down here?” I ask.

  “A day and a half.”

  “I—” I frown. “Is that… all?”

  The demon ignores my question, lowering until they slide over me. They purr at whatever it is they find. The boney fingers flex, still holding onto my head. The demon’s power continues to flow. This time, it licks at the insides of my bones, studying me.

  “You have been touched by many demons.”

  “M-many?” I ask.

  “Yes, human.” The demon’s head lifts, their mouth forming what could be a smile if they had any lips. “More than one is rare… more than two has never before happened.”

  I push up on my elbows. The demon glides backward, giving me space. I press my hand to the side of my head. “I don’t understand.”

  They move around me, wrapping around my shoulders, encircling me but not touching. “If the first demon to get their claws on a mortal does not kill them, the second one will. We do not like our prey to be tainted by another’s magic.”

  The blood in my veins freezes. If I am their prey, why would this demon want me alive? Why heal me?

  “Being touched by a third,” they continue, “that has made you… malleable. The others have only increased this.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  Another grizzly smile. “For you to live.”

  “But why?” My voice is barely above a whisper.

  The demon releases their hold, floating up and to the far corner of my cell. In a rush, images flood my mind—going down a hidden passage, a dark, winding stairwell, and a demon locked away.

  “I know you…” I whisper. “I thought that was a dream.”

  The demon chuckles and continues to retreat.

  “Who are you?” I ask as they seep into the
wall.

  “Varin.” Their voice is a breath that fades, but their name sticks in my mind.

  I jolt awake and find myself huddled in the corner, knees pulled into my chest.

  Glancing at the far corner, I expect to see the demon, but they aren’t there. That area is no darker than any other spot in this grimy cell, yet the sensation of being watched still hovers from all angles.

  When I move, my muscles are weak, but there isn’t a single ounce of pain. I have been healed.

  Both times, the demon had been real.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Clara

  The cell door flies open, startling me from my half-asleep state. It takes two heartbeats to remember where I am. Two tall, dark figures stand in the doorway, backlit by torches. In a blur, they are in front of me. Before I can open my mouth to protest, they grab my arms, hauling me to my feet. Their fingers dig in with bruising force.

  The guards march me out into the hallway where two more vampires wait with torches. I have to avert my eyes from the sudden brightness after spending so long in the dark. Though the demon had told me to eat, no more meals had come.

  I writhe against the painful grip, which only makes them tighten their hold. We stop before one of the vampires holding a torch.

  He sneers down at me and wrinkles his nose. “Get her cleaned up. We can’t have her smelling like demon shit when we take her to see the queen,” he orders, jerking his chin toward the end of the hall.

  My guards nod then pivot, marching me down the long corridor. The pace is brisk, and even at full strength, I would have trouble keeping up. My legs are weak and clumsy. Each time I manage to find purchase with one foot, I stumble and end up with my feet dragging.

  When we near a large wooden door with brightly polished hinges and lock, we turn down a side passage that brings us to be a large alcove, similar to my cell. Instead of hay scattered around, the ground is damp with puddles of water in the grooves.

  The guards lead me to the center of the room and drop me. I fall to my hands, gritting my teeth at the painful crack of my knees on stone. A hand clamps on the back of my neck and pushes down.

  “Don’t even think about trying anything.” His hot breath wafts against the side of my face.

  He presses down harder, bringing my nose within an inch of grayish-green water. I push back until my arms tremble with the effort. He releases me then steps back. A second later a blast of icy water slams into my back, stealing my breath. I nearly collapse from the shock. Another wave is dumped over my head, slower this time. I’m surprised to find the water smells of pine needles and sap instead of sludge or worse.

  One guard fists a hand in my tangled hair. Wrenching my head back, he guides me to sit up, while the other dumps more water over me, bucket after bucket until the shock from the frigid temperature slowly wears off, and I lose feeling in my body.

  I ignore the quiet chuckles from behind, focusing on keeping my chin up. Not that I have any dignity left to preserve.

  By the time they finish thoroughly drenching me, I can’t control the shivering that racks my body. A guard flings a towel at me. I grab for it, but my fingers are numb, and my reflexes are slow. It falls to the floor, soaking up a good deal of water.

  “Dry off, and be quick about it,” the guard orders, hauling me to my feet.

  The vampires holding torches keep the light in my eyes, blinding me to their faces. With each passing minute, they seem to grow bolder. The tentative way they approached me, hesitating then using their inhuman speed…

  They are afraid of me to some extent.

  A sliver of pride tugs at my lips. I am human, weakened by blood loss and a lack of food and water, and it still takes four of them to feel comfortable around me.

  I fumble with the towel, drying off as best as can be expected. My wet clothes cling uncomfortably to my skin.

  The same vampires who pulled me from my cell take hold of my upper arms again. They drag me from the alcove, through the door of this wretched dungeon, and out into the hall. There are no windows. Nothing open to the outside.

  One of the torch guards walks in front, the other behind so that a vampire is on every side of me. I attempt to look over my shoulder.

  “Keep your head down, girl,” one vampire snarls, pressing his fingers harder into my arm in warning.

  I relax and focus on keeping my feet under me.

  We walk for what feels like miles turning around through a labyrinth of halls with no distinct markers anywhere. Sconces are places equal distances apart, furthering the effect. We never leave this level, not by stairs or by an incline. I assume this is a tactic meant to confuse me.

  It works.

  Beads of sweat drip down the sides of my face, and I’m panting by the time we stop. I lift my head and stare blankly at the door before us. It’s similar to the ones that lead into the throne room but a smaller version. The wood is polished to a fine sheen, and in the center is the queen’s crest inlaid with silver.

  The guard on my right drops my arm and steps up to the door. He knocks once. There’s a pause. Then it swings open. Sconces and candles are lit throughout the room. I sigh as warmth rolls out in a wave. It’s a welcome change from the constant cold. Holding me at arm’s length, my guards guide me inside the windowless room then release me with a shove at my back. I stumble forward and catch my balance after a few steps.

  At the far end of a crescent-shaped table, the queen sits in a high-backed chair resembling her ornate throne. Her slender hand rests on Alaric’s forearm. On her other side sits Cassius, Lawrence, and six others I don’t recognize.

  I plead silently for Alaric to look at me. He holds his head high and angled toward the queen, but his eyes remain downcast. His face holds no emotion, and for some reason, that twists my heart.

  All four of my guards remain behind me, their gazes burning holes in my back.

  The vampire at the end of the table stands and walks to the center of the room, blocking my view of Alaric. She has sharp features, hair the color of snow, and skin equally as pale.

  “We have been called here,” she says, “because this human is guilty of slaughtering a vampire. The only reason she lives to stand before us today is because she has been claimed by our crowned prince.” She pauses and angles her body toward me. Bright pink eyes take me in from head to foot, her ghostly white brows arching. Then facing the court, she continues, “The law is simple; any human who dares kill a vampire for any reason must pay for it with their life.”

  Murmurs fill the room. The vampires at the table lean in to whisper to one another. Their faces morph from shock and disbelieving to hate-filled.

  The pale vampire spreads her arms. “The sentencing will—”

  A chair scrapes the ground, the noise reverberating throughout the room. All eyes turn toward Cassius. He rises from his chair, and when he speaks, he looks only at me. “I think the human should be allowed to say for herself what happened.”

  “What?” the speaker asks. She presses a hand to her chest as if a human speaking to a vampire offends her delicate sensibilities.

  Cassius holds up his hands and walks around the table to stand in front of her. “I will not deny that Miss Valmont did kill Kerin. I was there to witness the fatal strike, but she should be allowed to explain the circumstances that led up to the murder.”

  My heart thumps in my chest at his defense. Why would Cassius defend me and not Alaric? I look between the two of them, my breath caught in my throat.

  “Vampires,” the queen’s voice booms. She stands, leaning forward, her long fingers splayed on the table. “You said as much yourself—she is a potential slayer.” Lavender jewel-like eyes narrow on me.

  Alaric snarls, and I startle from the outburst. The queen holds up a hand to silence him, not taking her eyes off me for a single heartbeat. I don’t know if it makes me happy to know he’s not as unaffected by this as he seemed, or if I should be worried that he gave himself away.

  “This is not
a discussion of innocence, Mr. Wellington. This is a formality to decide on the sentence for her crimes out of respect for our prince, but she will not speak.”

  A lump forms in my throat. What is the point of me being here if I can’t even defend myself? Though, knowing me, I would only make things worse. My mouth has always had a habit of speaking before I could think better of it.

  Cassius bows his head to her. “My queen, if I may? You know I hold no love for Alaric, so I will not argue for his benefit.” He nods in my direction. “Indeed, she killed Victor but only after he challenged her. Alaric, Lawrence, Della, and I were present there to witness that the rules were followed. I myself saw to that, while Lawrence and Della kept Alaric from interfering. The fight was fair, but Victor was demon cursed, and that in itself is a death sentence. It could be argued that the human saved us the trouble of dispatching him ourselves. His death should hold no bearing on her punishment, as per the law.”

  “That does not excuse her from Kerin’s murder,” the speaker snaps, backing up a few steps. Her forehead scrunches as her bottom lip wavers, but otherwise, she remains composed.

  My gaze shifts from her to Alaric. He leans forward, resting his arms on the table, hands tightening into fists.

  “Of course not,” Cassius continues, “but she has been claimed by our crown prince. There is not a single vampire in all of Nightwich who isn’t aware of that fact, yet Kerin chose to take her blood without permission—an intentional display of disrespect…” he trails off with a shrug. “I have spent time around the human. She never made a single attempt to harm any of us. I believe this was out of self-defense.”

  Murmurs erupt among the vampire court, deafening to my ears, rising to a din. The words all blend together. It’s surreal. It feels like I’m watching this happen to someone else from a distance.

  “Humans are not entitled to self-defense,” the pale vampire argues.

  A high-pitched ringing in my ears drowns everything out, only for everything to come crashing around me until it’s too much.

  “I warned him, but he still fed on me. He was killing me, so I struck him with my weapon.”