by A. M. Hudson
“I’m here to help you.”
“No, you’re not.” I tugged my arm free. “I don’t know you, I don’t any of—”
“My name is Morgaine. I’m a friend of—”
“Lilithian Morgaine?” We stopped; the girl looked at me, her eyes liquid and round, framed by her short-cropped cherry-red hair. “David’s Morgaine?”
She smiled and nodded. “It sounds nice when you say it like that. But, yes. I am she.”
“But, Jason said your people tortured David.”
“Yes, David was sent to us.” She looked down. “I was his punisher.”
“You? You did that to him?”
“No.” She smiled, shaking her head. “I didn’t. I—”
A loud roar echoed off the walls like a mountaintop call, and the crack of sticks made my eyes go wide; I pushed away from Morgaine’s arms and ran back to the cell, stopping dead at the sight of a body on the floor. “Mike! Oh, my God.”
Everything froze.
“Ara. You shouldn’t be here.” Mike grabbed me and pulled me into his chest. My eyes stared, wide and disbelieving, as Jason rose from the floor with a bloodied face.
“What did you do to him?”
“I punched him,” Mike said with a self-satisfied grin.
“But...”
Jason stood fully from his folded position and uncupped his hands from his face. The blackened bruising faded to yellow in front of my eyes before vanishing completely, leaving only a dried trail of blood over his upper lip.
“Ara—” Mike pushed me into Morgaine’s arms, “—you need to get out of here.”
“Why?” I asked, watching Mike roll the sleeves of his grey shirt up as he walked toward Jason.
“Because I have a score to settle.”
Morgaine pulled me by my tattered wrist; I slipped my hand from her grip and stopped. “Just. Wait.”
Mike sighed. “What?”
Jason looked up at me, his face flooding with confusion as I wandered over and stood before him. “I need my wedding ring back.”
After a deep breath, Jason reached into his pocket. “Ara?” he said softly, closing my fingers around the ring, holding them there; my skin crawled with his touch. But he said nothing more, just stared into me, his pale, murky green eyes turning bright and emerald, almost like David’s used to be. As if the world stopped for that one moment, we stood there, our gazes locked—a wordless exchange of anguish, fear and sorrow betraying my heart with confusion.
My hand started to shake and the sound around us came rushing back as Mike pushed me aside and slammed Jason into the wall—blood bursting out through his lips as he folded over again.
Everything slowed down around me; my body stopped living for a breath; no rational emotion a part of me. No fear, no anger—only pity, distorted by surprise when Mike stepped back and dropped a roundhouse kick to my torturer’s face, blurring as he spun.
An uncontrolled breath escaped my lips, my eyes stuck, watching Jason fall limp to the floor. He didn’t move, didn’t even block when Mike stormed forward and laid his fist down on Jason’s skull, tearing his skin into bursting, blood-spitting lacerations.
“Mike?” I stepped forward, but he was crazed, lost to a battle fought within his core—unable to stop, like a man chopping a tree with an axe. “Mike, Mike!” I grabbed his arm. “Mike, stop.”
With hate infused eyes, masked with tears, Mike turned to face me and wiped the dotted splatters of Jason’s blood from his chin.
My lips fell open when I saw the damage he inflicted on my vile, former friend—without a single scratch on himself. “What are you?”
Morgaine came up behind us then, and placed her arm around me. “Amara, when you accidently bit Mike the day of Karnivale—”
“You turned?” I asked, my eyes wide. “You’re like me?”
After Mike kicked Jason again, he looked at me and stroked my cheek; “It’s a piece of you I get to keep.”
Jason lay completely unmoving against the cellar wall. His body twisted into a mess of contorted limbs and torn flesh. I’d never seen anyone so battered. My heart flooded with a sick rush of pity for the man who caused me so much pain, and my mind lashed me for such idiocy.
“Mike, we need to go,” Morgaine insisted.
“Not yet,” Mike said through closed teeth and started toward Jason again. “Not until he’s dead.”
“Dead?” I cried.
“Yeah. I can kill him, Ara. My venom’s like yours.”
“Wait.” I landed in front of Jason, my hand outstretched to Mike’s raised fist.
“Ara? Get away from him,” Mike ordered in obvious disgust at my sudden defence.
“No.” I turned and looked right into Jason’s eyes as he sat himself against the wall, struggling to catch his breath—his face hidden under a mask of red. “Jason,” I spoke softer, “I promised myself that one day I would get revenge on you for what you did to me.”
Jason’s brow pulled tightly over his wounded gaze. “What I did to you?” he scoffed, wiping his nose. “You will never know the true measure of what I have done.”
“That may be so.” I nodded. “But I’m going to let you live, so that you can suffer the eternity I know pains you to exist in. It is my eternal revenge.” I pushed up from the wall and fell into Mike’s arms.
“Ara?” Jason called as we walked away.
“Ignore him, Ara,” Mike said coldly and pulled me along.
“No! I want to hear what he has to say.” I lifted Mike’s arm over my head and stepped back to where Jason now stood in the middle of the cell.
“Please?” Jason begged, barely able to stand as he offered me the syringe. “Just kill me?”
His eyes were soft again; warm, like the eyes I seemed to have loved in the field. He was beaten and worn, and near death now anyway. If he were human, he’d be dead already.
I shook my head, my teeth tightening in my mouth. “No. You will live. I want you to suffer!”
As he fell suddenly to his knees, Mike grabbed my arm to pull me away.
“No, Mike. Let me go,” I ordered and knelt in front of Jason, letting a rise of hatred spill out through my voice. “You do not deserve the kindness of death—not for what you did to me, and not for what you did to Dav—”
“That’s enough.” Mike lifted me into his arms and carried me from the cell.
“For what it’s worth, Ara—” Jason looked down at the ground, his hands falling in front of him, “—I am sorry. You will never know how much I loved you.”
“And you will—” No! My words cut short as Jason gasped and folded over; the giant syringe hanging from his chest, right where his cold, dead heart would beat if he were human anywhere inside. Mike dragged me past the door of iron and I grabbed it, tugging to break free. “Let me go, Mike—let me go.”
As everything slowed down once more, I landed on my knees; dust stirring in a cloud as Jason fell forward, flat on the syringe.
“Oh my God!” Morgaine covered her mouth, disgusted. “He killed himself.”
“The vial. He had my venom.” I reached out to touch his shoulder.
“Damn it!” Mike kicked the wall. “I wanted to kill it.”
“It’s over.” I stared at his limp carcass; no breath moved his chest; no life surrounded his body; no light in his vacant eyes. I shrugged off Mike’s hold again, and, shaking, sprinkled a handful of dirt over the side of Jason’s face. “Now you can’t hurt me anymore.”
“Come on!” Mike said.
I took one last look at the vampire who destroyed my life as Mike lifted me in his strong, secure arms, and we stole away into the night.
Chapter 25
Though I stared, numb and wordless, out the window the entire drive, wrapped up safe in Mike’s arms, when my feet finally touched the green grass of home, a sudden rise of grief struck me down. The silence of the night, broken by a cricket’s chirping, came as a cruel reminder of what normal once was.
My knees wobbled unde
r me, and as the front door swung open and Emily came running out, I folded over—unable to stand, unable to breathe.
“What did they do to her?” She stopped dead, covering her mouth as I fell to my knees.
“I don’t know,” Mike practically yelled, squatting beside me. “She hasn’t said a goddamn word the entire four hours.”
Emily stood, barefoot, right beside me, watching on while I wailed the cries of a broken soul into the darkness. The pictures, the memory of the hope danced around in front of me. Happiness—together, our future. I let myself see it once. Why? Why did I do that? Now it only hurts so much more. Oh God. David. David, I’m so sorry.
“David?” Emily asked. “Why is she saying David?”
“Ara?” Mike placed a hand on my back. “What happened to David?”
Composure would not come long enough for me to speak. I struggled against the stolen breath and gasped for air, clutching my stomach, whimpering as tears cascaded down. “Ja—Jason threw him. On—” the jagged breath stung my throat, “—the. Fire.” The last word rang out with a series of high-pitched sobs.
Mike’s hand fell away and he slumped onto the ground beside me. Everything seemed to stop moving then; Emily dropped to her knees and covered her mouth; Morgaine stood staring at nothing, and I cried. I cried until everything inside me tore out through my soul, the pieces of me that were once capable of feeling, left alone on the ground—never to exist again.
Mike snapped out of his wordless grief and looked at Morgaine. “Morg? Just—just—” Heavy sobs shook his shoulders. His head fell against mine, Emily’s against his, and we cried on the grass, out the front of the place I used to call home—home with David.
Morgaine flipped her phone and walked away, across the road, hugging her arm across her waist.
Exhausted, feeling worn and dead inside, I laid my head in Mike’s lap and let the sorrow give way to a numb, painless stare.
There’s nothing left.
“Come on.” Mike stood and picked me up.
“Mike?” Emily grabbed his arm. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” he said with an eerie depth of fear and emptiness. “I just need to get her inside, Em.”
My strong saviour carried inside the gasping, sobbing heap that used to be his best friend. I let him take me—I wanted to run away, wanted to die, but I hadn’t the strength to even give up. There was no air; I couldn’t breathe anymore—nor did I see the point, but I just kept on breathing anyway.
“Mike? I’m worried. Why is she breathing like that?”
“I don’t know, okay. All I know is that Jason got a quarter of the way through that list. I don’t even know what was officially on the fucking list.”
“Give her to me.” She reached across and took me.
“Em.” I wrapped my arms around her neck. “Em, he hurt me so much.”
“I know, Ara. I’m so sorry.” As Emily walked through my bedroom, into my bathroom, someone else flicked on the light, and I came from the secure warmth of my friend’s arms, onto the cold, hard base of the shower tiles. “I’m just gonna put the water on, okay?”
Away from the safety of her embrace, I hugged my knees to my chest, gasping when the tap came on cold for a second before heat mingled with the icy sprinkle, melting the first layer of blood from my skin.
“Okay, lift your arms.” She leaned into the shower and pushed her sleeves up her elbows, then grabbed the base of my dress.
“Em. Just leave me.” I shoved her hand off. “Just make it dark and leave me by myself.”
“Come on, Ara,” she said, “you need to take this off, you look like the corpse bride.”
“No. Just leave me be, Em. I just want to die.”
“Ara, please. You’re emotional and worn—you’ve been through hell, just let me clean you up and give you some blood.”
“No. No blood.” I shook my head. “Never again.” Never. I don’t deserve to live. I took the one thing I ever wanted in this world and I killed it—for the bite, for the hunger, for the blood. Blood is a curse. I will never, never drink it again.
“Ara. Please. Just get this dress off at least. I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”
I tucked my hands into my chest and curled closer to the wall.
“Ur! You’re so stubborn, Ara.” She stormed off.
Steam filled the bottom of the shower and rose up in soft white clouds, spiked with a distant scent of strawberries from my shampoo, and worse, faded orange-chocolate. I folded my chest closer to my knees, wincing as the jagged wound down the centre tugged, separating with the movement.
“Ara, it’s me,” a soft voice said through the steam, a hand reaching toward me. “It’s Morgaine.”
I looked up; her cherry-red hair turned almost burgundy as she leaned right into the shower, saturating the side of her face.
“Just leave me be. Let me grieve.”
“Okay.” She sat on the tiled ledge of the shower and, with a sponge in hand, gently wiped some blood from my chin. “You know, David talked with me about you when he came to me. We spent a lot of time catching up on the past while we were waiting to rescue you.”
Rescue me?
“He told me that you have nightmares sometimes, about the Immortal Damned?”
I nodded. I never told David that.
“Well, if you be a good girl, get clean and drink some blood, I’ll tell you a way you can help them—maybe even free them.”
“How?”
Morgaine smiled. “Uh-uh, self first, okay? You need to drink blood, your face is swelling and I’m worried it might scar a little if you die from blood loss.”
“What do you mean die? I can’t die.”
“No, you don’t stay dead, but you can die initially, and when you do, you regenerate with scars.”
“Morg, don’t tell her that, she’ll freak out,” Emily said, landing beside the shower; I hadn’t noticed her in the room. “Ara, Morg’s stretching the truth there. You only get a scar from the injury which causes death.”
Morgaine shrugged and smiled. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, or we’ll have to get Mike in here to undress you. Do you want him to see how bad you’re hurt?” She tugged the base of my dress.
I lifted my arms and Morgaine pulled the tatty remains of the happiest day of my life over shoulders.
How did it all go so wrong? They planned to save me—talked history while they waited. How did it come to be that David ended up in Drake’s hands—to be tried, and killed?
I lifted my hips a little, as Morgaine hooked her thumbs into the sides of my underwear and slipped them down my legs. The warm water touched my limbs, washing away the blood and other impurities that lodged in my skin while I was being stored and tortured. I cupped my hands over my breasts, leaning my head on the hard tiles again.
“Your shampoo smells pretty,” Morgaine said, lathering it in from the tips, working it upward until her delicate fingers rubbed gentle circles around my scalp.
I closed my eyes as the soap dripped down the ridges beside my nose and the soft strawberry scent gave me a flash feeling of normality. Sound fizzled out but came rushing back quickly as Morgaine flooded my head and face with warm water, then wiped her hand down my eyes and cheeks—smoothing away the soap.
“You’re going to be all right, Amara,” she said softly.
No. I won’t. Just let me die. Just cut me into pieces and place me in jars around the world.
“Okay, you’re clean.” Emily held her wrist in front of my lips. “No more excuses—bite.”
“Em?” I pulled away.
“Ara, you need blood. Bite.”
“Emily, don’t you know? My bite can kill you.”
“No, it won’t. I’m immune.”
“How—how can you be immune?”
“Because I’ve been drinking Mike’s blood, Ara, it gives me immunity to your venom, too.”
“Only as long as you keep drinking it,” Morgaine added.
&
nbsp; “Well—” Emily chuckled once, “I’m pretty sure I’ll be covered, then. I’m the one refusing him lately.”
“What? I thought Mike hated blood?” I said.
Emily smiled. “Yeah, but it’s funny what a case of vampirism can do to change your outlook.”
“Oh, right.” I folded my arms, closing my eyes.
“Yeah. It’s pretty cool really,” Emily said. “Well, it is now—wasn’t a few weeks ago though.”
I frowned, not wanting to but unable to resist asking “Why?”
Morg and Emily laughed, a kinship showing between them that seemed ages old. “So, it was, like, the day Eric came to see us—told us about you being kidnapped—”
“Eric told you?” I cut in, still feeling his cold, tight hands blocking the passage of air to my throat.
“Yeah.”
“But...but he was helping Jason.”
“We know, Ara. Eric’s on our side,” Emily said. “We sent him back to the castle to find out your location.”
“That’s why he was there?”
“Well, there were a number of reasons, but that was why we had him there.”
“So anyway,” Emily continued, “when Mike found out what happened to you and David, he asked me to change him into a vampire—so he could rescue you.”
Emily and Morgaine laughed again. The sound warmed the room.
“I don’t know the exact method, so I just followed what Jason did to me. You should’ve seen the look on his face when nothing happened.” Emily folded her arms and smiled at nothing.
“Did he get sick? Or go into a coma?”
“Nope. Nothing. Didn’t even feel the sting of venom, or a numbing sensation.”
“Why? He’s like me. How can he have escaped a coma?”
“When you were bitten for the first time, you had no immunity. See, a created vampire gets stronger from the first bite, blood or none,” Morgaine said, “but a born Lilithian is only as strong as the accumulation of blood in her lifetime.”
“So, if I’d been drinking more blood, I wouldn’t have gone into a coma?”
“No,” Emily said. “It takes only a week of blood to build immunity—”
“And only a week to lose it,” Morgaine added