by A. M. Hudson
“How long will I take to heal?” I asked in a pathetically high-pitched voice.
“Well, that’s what we need to investigate, silly.” He materialised beside me, spinning a pair of scissors around his fingertip. “A clean cut, unlike that one—” he nodded to my lip, “—should take a few seconds. But, weakened, the Lilithian body can take up to a few days—even weeks to heal.”
“What are you going to do with those?”
“Relax.” He walked to my feet. “These are just to cut some of this fabric off you.”
“No,” I cried as he grabbed the lace and made a hole with the tip of the scissors. No. Not my dress. Not my beautiful dress. My chest sunk as he cut the entire base away and left my legs, from an inch below my underwear, exposed—the dress crumpled at an odd angle where he had to reach beneath me to cut the underside away.
“Sorry to tell you this, but there will be nothing left of it after the High Council finish with you, and—” he dropped the fabric to the floor, “—you won’t be needing it at all when Drake comes for you.”
Please kill me before then.
Jason smiled and patted my leg. “Don’t worry, I’ve been granted approval to attend the examinations. I’ll be there to hold your hand.”
“You’re sick.” My lip curled.
“I know. Now—” He tapped his chin and cast his eyes to the four corners of the tool table, his face masked with indecision. “Ah, here we go.” He held up a small, steel instrument; “Scalpel. Sharp, precise, easy to hold.” He flipped it in the air and caught in his hand again, then fingered the top of my thigh. “Ever seen a muscle get cut open?” he asked, looking at me as if we were discussing a cooking show.
I shook my head, my leg tensed where his hands rested.
“It just splits; the muscle folds the wound out, makes it larger as you scale along with the blade—a bit like a zipper on an overstuffed duffle bag. Fascinating stuff,” he mused. “Perhaps I should’ve studied medicine instead.”
“What did you study?” I asked, possibly trying to distract him—or maybe half-crazed with delirium.
“Now, now, little princess,” he shook his head, wagging his finger. “No using that psycho-babble bullshit on me. It’s time to cut—” his eyes widened, “—then we can talk.”
“Jason don—” A low, gurgling howl escaped the deepest pit of my vocal chords as the blade pressed my flesh, making it sink, holding fast and tight until his elbow rolled and drove the blade downward, popping through the flesh with a wet release.
Everything grew louder and burst out around me, like the reaching wave of a fiery explosion. I held my breath, too shocked to scream or cry; my hands, in my mind, stretching down to surround the pain. But I couldn’t move, couldn’t get my arms from the cuffs to do anything.
The explosion surged, white noise going static until it sucked back in, silence hovering before the dry ache of heat melted out around the cut, crawling whitewash after a receding wave. As if I had a sticker placed on that one spot, my thoughts focused, ultra aware of what I could actually feel was a sideways gash.
A smooth scream split the air, and my arm shook under the iron hold of the cuff—my body shutting down—blocking all sound, all breath, all feeling, except the shooting heat of agony up the bone in my leg. Make it stop. Please just get it out. Get the knife out! Oh God. Please. Where are they; where are the men who rush in like white knights and save the day? Why won’t they save me, why won’t anyone come?
My wet eyes opened and fluttered rapidly, trying to focus on anything—the smell of blood, the cold in my fingertips, but everything was so black and empty.
I can’t breathe, can’t break my goddamn hands free. My wrists gashed deeper under the fight.
“Just breathe,” Jason said calmly, his hand somewhere on my leg—making the blood pulse up under his touch.
“Ah!” I screamed again, the pitch so high and so smooth it sounded like ice-cream would, if it were a sound.
“Hm,” he added, his tone flooding with confusion.
I tapped my foot, making my body rock, rolling my head backward as the arch of my spine lifted my neck off the chair. “I can’t take the pain.” His fingers tightened on my leg. “Stop it. Don’t! That hurts.”
“Shut up,” he growled. “I’m pinning it together. It should show signs of healing by now.”
“It won’t. It can’t—I’m not Lilithian. I’m not a vampire.” My eyes shut tighter.
“Shh,” Jason said and appeared by my face—releasing my aching leg; the muscle warped under the sudden change in pressure and cool air brushed the gaping cleft as it tore back open again.
“Ah! Oh God, it hurts. It hurts.”
“Shh, stop screaming.”
“I can’t.” I rolled my chin to my chest with each coughing gasp. My eyes stayed tightly fused together, blocking out everything but the pain.
“You can and you will. This is normal, Ara. It will heal—it’s just your first time, but it will heal. The incision is only two inches long.”
It felt so much bigger, like a great, gaping slash along my entire thigh. My throat continued to whimper as I closed my mouth and nodded my head, trying to stretch out the tight crumple in my brow, but unable to.
I watched the darkness behind my eyelids and concentrated my thoughts on Jason’s hand above my brow—warm and yet cold, soft, almost caring. “That’s it.” Jason lifted his hand and pressed it to my brow again, gently stroking my hair back, bumping the ruby stones Emily placed in my plaits. “That’s it. Settle now—you’re okay.”
My chest caved with each deep breath and slowly, as the sear in my leg fizzled like warm water over cold fingers, the pain eased, from my ankle to my knee, leaving a pulsing niggle in a ring around my thigh.
“Jason,” I whispered—it was barely audible.
“Yes.” He leaned closer, placing his ear to my lips.
My lashes swept against his hair. “Does? David. Know. Where. I am?”
He stood up and smiled; a sparkle in the corners of his eyes reminded me of the way David smiled when he was being cheeky. “Yes. He does—and he knows what will happen to you.”
My heart died. “What are they doing to him?”
“He’s being tortured. As we speak. Do you remember learning about the Judas Cradle?”
I rolled my face away; the images of my sweet David being hurt consumed my will to go on. “I...I don’t know.”
“Probably just as well. Not pretty. From what I’ve been told though, my brother takes his punishments like a true warrior. Not like you.”
“I’m not a warrior.”
“No. You’re not. You’re a weapon.”
“And David is your brother. You let them have your own brother.” Each word came as a hiccup.
“Yes, and you are effectively my sister, now—hasn’t stopped me from hurting you.”
I tried to swallow a hard, dry lump of spit and caking blood, wincing as it stuck against my tonsils. “Why would you want him dead so badly?”
“I hate him.”
“Was it—” I coughed to clear the mafia boss from my throat. “Was it really because of Rochelle?”
Jason stiffened and folded his arms. “You can never understand.”
“I can.” I swallowed again, this time, the lump shifted and lubricated my throat a little. I licked a dry ball of dirt from the copper-tasting slash on my lip. “I really can. Please—we were friends once. You know how I felt about you, right?” My eyes held a plea. “You know I was—” I bit my tongue. He doesn’t deserve to hear those words.
“Say it,” he said through his teeth.
I shook my head, shutting my eyes.
“Say it.”
“I was—” I opened my eyes, “—I was in love with you.” The last words came out as a whisper.
The bulge under Jason’s jaw shifted down his throat as he looked away from me.
I lost myself in the memory of our time together; his touch seemed so real, the way he looke
d at me; his soft eyes, kind and full of heart. He had stroked my hair and laughed with me, whispered all his secrets. How could he have been lying all that time?
I think that’s what hurts the most—the lies. The betrayal. “I just don’t understand. What did I do to you—what did I do so wrong that made you want to hurt me like this?”
He shot forward and gripped my cheeks between his fingers; “It’s because you are a filthy, dangerous blood hunter. And I will see every last one of you eviscerated and driven to extinction.” He smacked my head back down with a jolt.
“But I’m just a girl, Jason. I didn’t know,” I sobbed.
Jason’s face softened and he stroked my cheek delicately. “I know you are. I know you would never hurt anyone. But these are the laws—and the laws must be followed.” He spoke louder, waving his hand around. “Just ask my brother—he loves his laws. Why, if he were here right now, he might even be the one doing the tests. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“He could never do this to me.”
Jason smiled, his eyes flashing wider. “You already know about Pepper.”
“Not this? Surely not this?”
“Worse, and for longer—on this very chair.” He tapped the arm with each word.
Like the past had scampered up the aged wood of this chair, when I looked at Jason’s face, so like his brother’s, I felt the tight pull of history—able to feel what Pepper would’ve felt to be tortured by someone who loved her—or who she thought loved her.
My leg tingled; the shards of agony deep in my muscle, scraping my bone, eased, and my lungs loosened, followed by my fingertips and toes. I let out a long, deep breath—feeling other parts of my body exist for the first time in what felt like forever.
“You said…” I needed another breath to speak. “In the cell, the other day, you said you loved me as the human.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed and he looked up to the corner of the room. “I never said any such thing.”
My jaw fell open and my brow folded. Yes, you did.
“Stop talking.” He turned away.
“I didn’t talk.” But you did say that—you said you loved me, as the girl.
“Ready for more pain then, are we?” he asked.
“Why’d you wait ‘til now?” I asked, ignoring his question. “If you knew what I was, why didn’t you take me earlier?”
“Because I had to decide what I was going to do with you,” he answered quickly. “I had this knowledge, but needed to make sure I used it to its full potential.”
“What do you mean?”
“David would never’ve come back if you were dead. I had to wait for him to return, so he could stand trial and suffer the same fate as you.”
“Did—” I took a breath. “Did you mean any of what you said to me, ever?”
“No.”
“What about what you told me, you know, on the night of Karnivale?”
Jason pressed his lips together and scrunched up his nose. “No. Karnivale was just a trap—for me to gain your trust.”
My eyes watered while I studied his. “You’re lying,” I whispered. “I can tell.”
“What makes you so sure?” He smiled conceitedly.
“You’re like David,” I said, rolling my face away, gasping heavily. “His eyes shift to one side when he lies—you do the same.”
“You know nothing!”
“I know that you—” I looked back at him; he was gone. My eyes darted around the empty, dark room. “Jason?”
No one answered.
In the far corner, a tiny green light blinked at me, and I felt the eyes of all those watching somewhere out there in some room, probably laughing and drinking gin, maybe laying down wagers as to how long I’d last. If I could roll my wrists, I’d salute them with my middle finger. But I poked my tongue out instead, then flopped back heavily as a tingling numbness set in over my entire body. It felt like floating, drifting away on the surface of the lake. I could still feel pain, but it was in the background of my mind—like a song you’ve had in your head all day. And so, a song came to my mind—a melody I walked down the aisle to on the happiest day of my life. David’s song.
I smiled, feeling the weight of exhaustion lift my face, my shoulders, my arms, and travel down the rest of my body, until it lowered me into the warm, blissful pool of sleep.
Chapter 23
“Amara?”
I thought I heard a whisper, but it was so faint and my head hurt so badly, I just wanted it to go away.
“Amara?”
“Just…just let me sleep,” I mumbled, turning my face away.
“Ara? Beautiful girl. Can you hear me?”
My brows rose, trying to force my sandy eyes open. “Dad?”
“No, it’s…” I heard shuffling. “It’s me. It’s Eric.”
“Eric?”
“Yes, beautiful, it’s me.”
My eyes flashed open and spilled with tears. “Oh. Thank God. Get me out of here. He’s coming back.”
“I can’t. Amara.” He pulled my dress down over my underwear.
“What? Why?”
“I’m sorry, I—” Eric’s head whipped up suddenly and he looked toward the stairs. “Sleep.” His lips touched my brow; I closed my eyes. “He won’t hurt you while you sleep.”
“Eric, my good man. Right on time,” Jason said, his tone spirited, almost busy.
“I’ve brought the che…” Eric cleared his throat. “The tool with me.”
“Good.” Silence hovered over the darkness. “How is our victim, today?”
Another pause. I could feel Eric’s breath near my face. “She’s pale. I’ve never seen her like this.”
“I think it suits her,” Jason muttered, his voice light, filled with humour. “She looks rather fetching as a corpse, wouldn’t you agree?”
“She looks sick.”
“She is,” Jason said pragmatically. “She’s been through several stages of delusion, too. Had to postpone most of my research. Is she lucid now?”
“Jason?” Eric said. “You don’t have to do this, man. You know the Lilithians will prote—”
“What’s that, Eric?” Jason’s voice moved away. “Please don’t tell me you care what happens to a Lilithian.” He spat the last word. “Where are your loyalties?”
“With the king.” Eric said humbly. “But she was my friend.”
Was?
“I know,” Jason said more softly and a hand wrapped my ankle, making me jump involuntarily. “She was my friend, too. But she lied to us. We could’ve been disciplined along with David, Eric. Think yourself lucky that I decided your punishment.”
“I am most gracious.”
“Now—” Jason’s voice trailed up, less business more pleasure. “We will begin. She needn’t be awake for this.”
“Why did you need a chest clamp?” Eric’s voice shook. His warm hand landed on my brow, familiar, like my mum checking on me when I was home sick from school.
“The king needs to know how long a Lilithian can live without a heart.”
Eric gasped. My eyes flashed open.
“I’ll put it back,” Jason said, as if he was borrowing a twenty from his dad’s wallet. “I’m not done with her just yet.”
Eric closed his eyes and stepped away from Jason, pressing his palms together in front of his lips.
“Come now, de la Rose, you know she won’t die unless I leave her in pieces.”
“What?” I screeched.
“Ah, there she is.” Jason stood over me. He looked scruffy today, unshaven, his hair longer, messier. “Have a pleasant sleep, my lady?”
“Eric?” I muttered, looking past Jason. “Eric don’t let him do this, I—”
“Shut up, Ara,” Jason cut in. “He’s here to help me. He doesn’t care about you anymore, don’t you get that? When you lie and betray your friends, they stop caring.”
Jason moved away, and I looked at Eric, who turned his gaze from mine.
That
’s not true. Please, Jason. Please don’t let me believe Eric hates me too—not if it’s not true.
“He told you to pretend to sleep, didn’t he?” Jason murmured.
You knew that?
“Ara, I know everything that goes on in this room.” We both looked up at the camera—its light green.
I rolled my head back and closed my eyes as Jason grabbed a pair of scissors and pressed them to my chest, just too damn exhausted to be afraid anymore.
I knew I’d scream; he knew I’d scream. I’d save my energy for that. But exhaustion didn’t weaken my mind, couldn’t curb imagination or the ability to conjure images; my white skin, my ribs, a thick trail of blood following a scalpel, bleeding over my pale flesh like red paint from a tube, staining the chair under my ribs. With the clipping sound of metal chafing metal, my eyes jolted open again. I watched Jason tailor my no-longer-pretty dress down the middle, cringing as he pulled the fabric apart, exposing my chest.
Eric reached out to cover me slightly. “What the hell did you do to her?” I couldn’t see Jason, but knew Eric was looking at him.
“What was ordered of me.”
Eric paled. “What if you’re wrong, man? I mean, if she is Lilithian, she should’ve healed by now.”
“She’s weak,” Jason stated factually, with little care. “Don’t worry, they don’t plan to keep her any longer than few months. She’ll get her death soon.”
“It’s not death, and you know it.”
“Yes, but it’s an end to physical suffering. I think our princess will agree it’s more pleasant than what the scientists will put her through.”
“Or what you’ve put her through. You monster!”
“Tut, tut.” Jason wagged a finger then pointed to the camera. “Remember your allegiance.”
Eric backed down.
“Eric?” I looked up at him. “What’s he talking about?”
He shook his head at half a turn.
“Please? Tell me?”
“I can’t, Amara. I’m not allowed.”
“Oh, go on.” Jason exhaled. “Just tell her.”
Eric swallowed and glared at Jason, his jaw stiff.