The Forsaken

by Laura Thalassa

  My gaze landed on Andre. Like me, he was held in place by demons. His clothing had jagged tears in several places, where claws or teeth had ripped the material. His shirt was drenched, and it had suctioned itself to his torso. Vampires didn’t sweat; blood had plastered his shirt to his chest.

  Crimson and black liquid peeked above its collar and congealed along his arms. God, he looked fierce, like some strange death deity come to carry away souls. Ironic that the unsullied man in the crisp suit was just that deity.

  Andre’s eyes found mine. He took in my bloody face and torn clothing and yanked at his wrists, but the demons held him fast. We might have exceptional strength amongst supernaturals, but not amongst Underworld creatures. “Soulmate!” he shouted.

  “I’m fine,” I said, though I felt anything but. My wounds burned, and my emotions roiled.

  My eyes searched for the demon’s third captive. I finally caught sight of her, her body slumped between two demons that held her fast.

  I’d recognize that face anywhere. It was the woman who’d helped me escape the devil several times before. The woman who raised me as an infant.

  “Cecilia!” I cried out.

  She shook her head and glanced about her, noticing her surroundings for perhaps the first time. She appeared as though she’d been drugged, but how could that be? She was a fate. Couldn’t she have prevented this situation in the first place?

  I turned my attention to the devil, who wore a pleased smirk as he watched me.

  “Let her go.” My voice broke.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, stepping in front of me. “You defied me.” His voice boomed for all our audience to hear. “Now you’re to be punished.”

  “But you promised.”

  His lips quirked, his expression amused.

  Hestia was right—I was in fact the village idiot. How could I for a moment have assumed the devil was to be trusted? Or that I could ever have the upper hand with him? He’d gotten me to place the last nail in my own coffin.

  “Not a promise, consort. A deal.” The devil’s eyes slid to Andre. Only too late did I realize that my soulmate had heard, and he stared at the devil with murder in his eyes.

  “An ill-stated one on your part,” the devil continued. “You named the people that were not to be hurt. I chose someone you had not mentioned.”

  The intent of my request had been clear—he wasn’t to harm my friends or family. Cecilia counted as both. But he was right, I hadn’t mentioned her. A sociopath would take advantage of something like that, and the devil was far, far worse than a sociopath.

  “Really, Gabrielle,” he continued, “I expect better if you are to stand by my side one day.”

  My stomach dropped. “Don’t punish her. Punish me.”

  “Soulmate, no,” Andre said, jerking once more against his captors. He growled at them, his hair rippling with his rising anger. I could feel the power surge tug at our connection.

  The devil stepped in close, his eyes alight. They were too bright. “It doesn’t work like that, consort,” he said. “I will never break you. Others will pay the price for your offenses.”

  “You’re breaking your promise.”

  “You are the oathbreaker,” he said, his rage seeping into his voice, “not me.”

  He swiveled away, agitation written in his features. “Bring Nona forward.”

  The demons dragged her towards the devil. I fought against my captors, bloody tears obscuring my vision. He’d done this once before, to Leanne. Luckily he’d only killed off her doppelganger.

  My breath caught.

  Her doppelganger. Cecilia had helped Leanne then, which meant Cecilia knew how to create a doppelganger. Perhaps the woman in front of me was only her doppelganger. Hope bloomed within me.

  “Cecilia?”

  She looked up and stared at me with tired, heavy eyes.

  “Are you … ? Are you … ?” I didn’t dare utter what I was thinking, but maybe she’d understand.

  “Mi tesoro,” she said gently, “tonight will not be like Samhain. But it will be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

  It wasn’t a direct answer, but it ripped my heart all the same. There was no doppelganger. Just this kind woman who had helped me over and over again. And for knowing me, she would now die.

  I shook my head, feeling several tears roll down my cheeks. “I am so sorry. Please forgive me, Cecilia.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, mi tesoro.”

  “Moving, but time’s up, I’m afraid,” the devil said, moving between Cecilia and me. He sauntered over to Cecilia and stared down at her. “You have been a pain in my side for quite some time now.”

  She laughed at the devil. “Killing me off will not stop me from helping, Gabrielle. It is too late for that. You are not the only one to set events in motion long before they’ve come to pass.”

  Rage colored the devil’s face. His lips curled inward and his nostrils flared. I could tell he wanted to hit her by the way his fists clenched and unclenched.

  He swooped in close. “You will die slowly, and I will make her watch. And she will know what comes to those who cross me.”

  “Pain doesn’t scare me, nor do you, Pluto.”

  The devil leaned back on his heels, studying her for a second “Perhaps it doesn’t scare you, Nona, but I fear it will frighten my future queen.”

  His gaze returned to me. “Let this be a warning: next time you will think twice before defying me.”

  He snapped his fingers and all those demons holding my arms now released me. I glanced around at the sudden melee, only to see them descend on Cecilia. They’d clustered around the fate, obscuring her form with their dark bodies. Her shrieks ripped through the night air.

  I screamed along with her and tore my way towards the demons. I was now weaponless, but that was only a minor detail at this point. I’d pull them off of her with my bare hands if I had to.

  Arms encircled my waist and dragged me away from the swarm. I kicked against my captor.

  “Soulmate, it’s me. We have to go.”

  “No,” I sobbed, my eyes blind with tears. “They have Cecilia.”

  “It’s too late for her,” he said quietly.

  I knew he was right. Already her screams were becoming moans.

  “Consort!” the devil yelled. “You are not to leave.”

  Several demons paused what they were doing, glancing up, their eyes reflecting in the moonlight.

  Andre’s grip on me tightened. “Hold on.” Our surroundings blurred as he sprinted away from the devil and the carnage we left.

  Above us I heard the flap of wings as a demon pursued us. Already it fell behind. Demons might be stronger than us, but apparently they couldn’t keep pace.

  That, or the demon just wanted to get back to its kill.

  My throat closed up at the thought.

  “Andre,” I croaked, “you can put me down.”

  He ignored me, but I began to wiggle in his arms. “Seriously, put me down.”

  He kept running, cutting across dark fields. If anything, he clenched me tighter to his chest.

  “Put me down.”

  At the tone in my voice, Andre said, “We need to keep running.”

  “I know.”

  He set me to my feet but didn’t let go of my hand. I began to jog, my pace increasing until I sprinted. Eventually the sound of the demons vanished completely. We were only running from our shadows at this point. Still, I didn’t slow.

  Andre didn’t say anything but kept pace at my side. I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to break. But with the wind in my hair and my lungs drawing in deep gulps of air, for a moment I could pretend away all the grisly events that had come to pass.

  And then that unfeeling outer shell began to crack. My mind began to play out all sorts of horrible scenarios of what might’ve happened to Cecilia—what might still be happening to her.

  “Don’t think of her pain,” Andre whispered. “She wouldn’t wan
t that. Think of better memories of her.” Only after he spoke did I realize that I must’ve let out a sob.

  I wish I could do as Andre suggested, but her screams still echoed in my ears. I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth. The monster that orchestrated it all would take me two days from now.

  I stumbled, then fell to my knees. Once I landed, I decided I didn’t want to get up. My entire body shook. Cecilia was dead.

  Andre picked me up, and cradled me in his lap. “Shhhh, soulmate,” he soothed. “She’s immortal. She’ll be back.”

  But not before I died.

  I pressed my face into his chest, allowing the material to muffle my cries. He’d have questions for me. Questions I’d never meant to answer.

  Andre shifted me to pull out his phone. He made a quick call to his servants for a car and a cleanup crew before turning his attention back to me. His fingers brushed aside my own, and he lifted my wrist.

  Deep gouges had shredded the skin there where the demon’s claws had swiped at me. They’d scabbed over, but the injury should’ve been a distant memory by now. Gently he probed the wounds, his expression unreadable.

  When he caught me looking, his gaze flicked to my face. He hissed in a breath and reached a hand out. It came away with blood.

  I touched my cheek, feeling the wetness there. “They’re just tears Andre.”

  His thumb rubbed away some of the blood. “No, soulmate,” he said solemnly, tilting my head, “they’re not.” His brows pressed together as he studied the marks on my face. “The scratches are somewhat shallow. I’m … surprised they haven’t healed yet.”

  Not surprised. Frightened. I could read it all over his face. He paused, then his nostrils flared.

  Andre leaned into my neck. I thought he might bite or kiss me, but instead he drew in a deep breath. Beneath me, his body went rigid.

  I wiped my bloody cheeks with the back of my hand, though it did nothing but smear the blood. “What is it?” I asked.

  Ignoring my question, he pressed an ear to my chest. “Take a deep breath for me, soulmate,” he said.

  I drew in air, stopping when I felt I might cough.

  “Deeper,” he encouraged.

  I did, and a wet, rattling cough wracked my lungs. It shook my body, and it didn’t resolve itself.

  When Andre pulled away, that muscle in his jaw fluttered and his throat worked. “We need to get some blood in you,” he said, revealing none of his thoughts.

  My stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought. I’d have to force it down. Again.

  I stared at him for several seconds, the truth lingering in the space between us.

  Our time together was almost up.

  Chapter 22

  By the time we’d returned to Bishopcourt, my horror no longer cut like a blade. Maybe it was simply my exhaustion, or the sobering realization that I’d soon join Cecilia, but I’d become blissfully numb to it all.

  Power cackled off Andre as he led me into his estate. I swear he was secretly hungering for another fight. His mood had plummeted since he’d seen my cuts and heard my wheezy breath.

  “Would you prefer bagged blood or fresh?” Andre asked, leading me towards the kitchen.

  I dragged ass, letting Andre drift ahead of me a step or two. “I already drank once this evening.”

  “I can smell your lie,” Andre said, not bothering to turn around as he tugged me after him.

  Dammit. “I’m not thirsty.”

  “You’re not hungry either, which leaves me few options,” he said as we entered the kitchen. “You must imbibe something, soulmate. Otherwise you’ll waste away.” His eyes flicked back to me. “You’ve already lost too much weight—”

  “Sir,” one of the servants said, following us into the kitchen. Human, by the smell of him, “the Politia called while you were out.” He might be human, but he was obviously in-the-know.

  Andre dropped my hand and headed to the industrial refrigerator. Inside, rows and rows of blood bags hung.

  “About time,” he said as he reached for one.

  “They wanted to alert you that they’re aware of your presence on the island.”

  Andre raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement while he emptied the bag’s contents into a cup.

  “That better not be for me,” I said, nodding to the blood bag.

  “Soulmate,” Andre said, like I was being unreasonable. He put the cup into the microwave and nuked it. Microwaved blood—yum.

  Not.

  Andre pulled off his torn, damp shirt, and holy baby Jesus and all the wise men, that torso looked airbrushed. He tossed the shirt into an industrial sink, and it hit the bottom with a wet slap.

  A shirtless Andre leaned back against the kitchen countertop and, folding his arms, finally turned his full attention to the messenger. “And?” he said.

  The servant fidgeted, glancing my way, a detail Andre noticed. “They said that they know you harbor an international fugitive. They said the truce is in danger of dissolving. That you can prevent it by handing the girl over to the authorities.”

  Andre nodded, looking deep in thought.

  Just then the microwave dinged.

  Andre sauntered over to it, and I took the time to admire his backside.

  Damn, son.

  He grabbed the mug of blood and came back over to me. “Please drink the blood, soulmate.” His eyes pleaded with me. They slid to the side of my head, where the scratches likely still lingered.

  I took the cup from him and stared down into it. The smell had my gag reflex working. “I … don’t have an appetite anymore,” I admitted.

  I glanced up. Andre’s stoic façade had slipped and I stared at raw agony—there was no other term for it. He placed a hand on the side of my neck and squeezed it lightly. “Please try,” he rasped.

  My lips rolled inward and I nodded. “I think I need to be alone for a little bit.”

  Judging from Andre’s expression, the idea of alone time seemed to disturb him greatly, like I might use it to juggle knives or scrawl poetry onto my arm with razors.

  The servant shifted, reminding me that we had an audience. Before Andre could protest further, I left the room. He didn’t need me here while he had to make tough decisions concerning me and his coven.

  His voice drifted back to me as he returned to business with his servant. “Get ahold of the Politia and tell them they have more important things to take care of at the moment, such as the two dozen full-bodied demons that have been set loose on the island.”

  I caught a whiff of the blood I clutched to my chest. Despite being repulsed at the smell, my fangs descended. Idiot fangs.

  I took a tentative sip, then made a face as the spicy liquid hit the back of my throat. I’d gone from being disgusted by blood to craving it back to being disgusted by it. But I’d completely lost my appetite for food, and I couldn’t live off of water, so I would choke this down.

  The next swallow I took was larger, and I gagged a little at the taste.

  Screw it. I plugged my nose and began gulping the blood down. At last I finished it all, swallowing thickly. The metallic taste lingered, so similar to the smell of Cecilia’s blood when …

  I shut the thought down before it made me physically ill. But at the reminder of Cecilia, I headed for Andre’s room, where I’d unofficially taken up residence.

  Once inside, I moved over to my pile of belongings. They were exactly where I’d dropped them when we first arrived.

  I dug through my dirty, travel-worn clothes looking for the one memento I still had from the woman who’d saved me numerous times. The woman I’d indirectly killed, for sleeping with Andre no less.

  My stomach churned, and I pushed down the nausea, but—

  Nope, nope, nope. Not staying down.

  I ran to the bathroom, barely making it before my stomach purged itself of the blood I’d so recently drunk. I flushed the toilet, and straightened, my legs shaky.

  I went over to the sink and ran the water. Cup
ping my hands under the stream, I collected a small pool of it and used it to rinse out my mouth. I spit out the water when I tasted something putrid.

  I drew my hands away from me. Black blood still covered them from where the demons bled on me.

  Ew, ew, ew. Was that what I’d just tasted? Demon blood? Not chill.

  I scrubbed my hands furiously, until they were raw. And then I glanced up.

  Crimson blood covered an entire side of my face where I’d been scratched, mixing with the black blood splattered across my cheeks and over my nose. I sucked in a breath and touched the side of my face.

  I ducked my head close to the sink and splashed water onto my face, scrubbing it all down. Everything felt dirty—my hands, my face, and all those places water couldn’t touch. Gripping the edge of the sink, I let the cool liquid drip down my cheeks.

  I should take a shower.

  No amount of stream and scrubbing, however, would change the fact that Cecilia died today—her body, at least.

  I swiveled away from the counter, my attention returning to my belongings. I left the bathroom and resumed tearing through them. Right now, I didn’t need to feel clean; I just needed to feel close to the woman who’d given up her life for me.

  “Where the hell did I put that thing?” It had switched pockets at some point, but I couldn’t remember when that was or what I’d been wearing.

  For one horrible second I feared I’d lost it. Then I slipped a hand into one of my tattered pants pockets and my hand closed over the sheet of paper.

  The birthday card Cecilia had given me.

  I yanked it out. It was bent and smudged, but not lost. A drop of blood that had rolled down my cheek now dripped onto the note. Even after all this time I still had the enchanted card.

  I ran my fingers over the soft linen finish, tracing her writing. It took me a second to realize the words were not the same ones I’d read with Andre shortly after we’d landed in Germany.

  A new set of instructions was scrawled onto the cream-colored paper.