by Aliya DalRae
“Yeah, about that…”
“No time. I’m pretty sure my brother, Nox, has her.”
“Your what?”
“But I don’t know where to find him. I thought for sure he would have been hiding out here, waiting for me, but I’m not seeing anyone…” Raven hesitated.
For some reason, Malcolm had just collapsed to the ground. “Fucking cat,” Raven murmured, and was taking a step forward to see what was up with him when the first dart hit his neck.
Mother fuck… That’s what he was thinking when the second dart struck his arm. Only the Sorcerers had these darts, designed specifically to take out the preternatural. One Sorcerer in particular, which could only mean…
He was already feeling woozy when the third dart imbedded in his chest.
“Jessica,” he groaned, but it was lights out.
Chapter
One Hundred Seven
N ox slouched in the chair across from Fuhrmann’s utilitarian metal desk. He was trying to listen, but his mind simply wasn’t where it needed to be. Last night’s scene with Jessica kept replaying in his mind, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
Never mind the fact that he had been careless. It’s not like he’d never had less than pure thoughts about the female. However, he had become so enthralled with her, so comfortable, that he had let his feelings slip to the front of his mind, right out there for her to see. Listening to her talk about his brother like he was the second coming, all that talk of tolerance, could he be blamed for wanting a little of that for himself?
His biggest mistake, though, had been in touching her. Nox hadn’t laid a hand on her since that first night. He hadn’t dared, and their last encounter proved exactly why he’d been avoiding it. He wasn’t to be trusted around her, not with his thoughts, not with anything.
What he couldn’t understand, though, was why she’d gotten so upset. It’s not like she had an aversion to having her blood taken. He’d seen enough of her thoughts about his twin to know that their relationship was far from platonic. Nor did he actually try and bite her. It was a mere thought. A fantasy.
No, it was the idea of Nox, himself, tasting her that she was so adamantly opposed to. Nox, who in her mind was so filthy, so unworthy, that she wouldn’t deign to bleed for him. He was simply too far beneath her. Nox, who she would fight to the death to keep from her vein.
Yeah, fuck her.
Okay, that had crossed his mind as well, but that’s not what he meant.
He’d walked into her room distracted to begin with. Fuhrmann had decided to let him in on the full scope of the plan, and Nox wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. Nothing to this point had given him the warm and fuzzies. And yet, when it came time for Nox to play his parts, Fuhrmann had been able to make it all seem perfectly logical. It made him wonder again if Fuhrmann was using more than his powers of persuasion to get Nox to do what he wanted.
He pushed the thought away, not wanting to believe it. Brief as their association was, Nox had become uncharacteristically attached to the male. They spent countless hours talking, and not only in solidifying Fuhrmann’s plan for revenge. They discussed art and literature, music and culture. Nox’s past. The old man had helped Nox understand that his brother was nothing but a criminal. One who had escaped justice time and again, and it was up to them to exact the price from him that had gone too long unpaid.
And now Jessica. Yet another reason for Nox to hate his twin.
Fuhrmann continued to expound upon the details of his grand plan, pulling Nox from his reverie. It was becoming clear that when they laid hands on his brother, there would be but one twin walking out alive. That suited Nox just fine.
How could she love him? How could she give herself to him knowing what he’s done to all of those people, to Fuhrmann’s wife? It boggled the mind.
Although, it wasn’t like Nox was any better. Doing those two girls in had seemed completely rational in the moment. He had felt alive, powerful, intoxicated with the glory of holding their very lives in his hands, and snuffing them out when it pleased him to do so. And messing with Raven’s head before each kill had been a total kick. Once the high wore off? Now that was a whole other animal.
Nox had tried to explain how he felt to Fuhrmann, but the Sorcerer assured him he had done the right thing. It was vital in ensuring that their plan came to fruition, and Nox trusted him implicitly, so he knew he wouldn’t be lied to.
Except…
“Tell me Nox, how is our little captive? Have you kept her well entertained?” Fuhrmann was in a rare mood tonight. It was Halloween, and he seemed a little drunk on his own power. He told Nox earlier that this was the night when the veil between the living world and the dead grew thin. Often, he’d said, the ghosts of those we’d lost would seek us out, try to communicate. He was convinced he would be seeing his wife tonight, and who knew? Maybe he would.
As for Nox, he was anxious for the whole ordeal to be done with, eager to move on. Maybe they could go out to the country somewhere, get a farm where his feral brood could hang out. They could go into town when it was necessary to feed or get laid, and come back and chill out with a movie and a six pack.
Of course, Fuhrmann could come too. He said he’d been excommunicated from the Church of the Holy Sorcerer, or whatever the hell they called their group, so he would need a place to stay too. It could be good to get away from the anger, the violence. Once Raven was taken care of, Fuhrmann would have his revenge, and he could move on with his life. No reason they couldn’t all be one big happy family.
Nox shook his head hard, trying to get these ridiculously domestic thoughts out of his mind. He knew intrinsically, it wasn’t Fuhrmann and the ferals he wanted to play house with. But that wasn’t something he would be admitting, even to himself.
“She’s fine,” Nox said, unwilling to elaborate. There was no need. Fuhrmann had every intention of seeing to it that Nox had his night with Jessica. He had no idea, or maybe didn’t care, that what he was asking of Nox could very well be the end of what little humanity he had left.
“Yes,” Fuhrmann barked into his phone. Nox hadn’t heard it ring, but watched as the old man’s face transformed. He looked like someone had just handed him the best gift ever. Nox didn’t have to hear the caller to know that tonight was going to be a very big night indeed.
And he wanted nothing to do with it.
Chapter
One Hundred Eight
I went through my forms and followed up with some sit ups and pushups. What I really wanted to do was run, but that wasn’t going to happen.
It felt like it was getting late. My days and nights were screwed up, I was sure, but my stomach was telling me that my daily meal was long overdue.
As was Nox.
I thought he might have come back, that I would have a chance to apologize for going off on him like that, but he never did.
Five more pushups and I collapsed on the floor, my triceps shaking.
Hearing those words whispered in my mind had flipped a switch inside me, and given my circumstances, I may have overreacted.
The look on Nox’s face when that bag of trash hit him? Couldn’t have been worse if I’d slapped him, and that bothered me on so many levels. Nox was as much a victim of circumstance as Raven was. When he said that I thought he was too dirty and damaged for me to be with him, it was so far from the truth.
When he said he wanted to bite me, all I could think about was him sinking his fangs into those two girls’ throats, ripping them out. But he didn’t know that, did he?
There was a knock at the door. I opened my mind, but heard nothing, and I frowned at the absence of the telltale itching that came along with Nox being in my head.
“Come in,” I said, as though my permission meant anything. These people came and went as they pleased. I pushed myself up off the floor and retreated to my corner on the mattress.
The door opened and one of Nox’s ferals walked in, a large steaming bowl in h
is hands, towel and washcloth draped over his shoulder. Closing and mentally locking the door behind him, he walked to the little table, set the water and towels down, and placed a bag next to the bowl.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Boss wants you cleaned up,” he said, eyes flashing that hideous orange that would forever remind me of the night I was attacked. I cringed as he turned to go.
“Why?” I asked, not understanding. He hadn’t cared for four days. Why now?
The feral leered at me, and it sent an icy shiver racing down my spine.
“Don’t wantcha stinky for the festivities I’d say,” and with a disturbing grin, he left.
I walked to the table, and dug through the bag, which contained soap, a hair brush, tooth brush and tooth paste, and a few other sundry items. I wondered briefly why Nox hadn’t brought this to me himself, but that was a stupid question. He was done being my errand boy, and more than likely, I had succeeded in alienating my only chance of getting out of here in one piece.
Chapter
One Hundred Nine
R aven slipped into consciousness, the remaining drugs in his system leaving him muzzy and slow. His hair was in his eyes, and he tried to brush it away, but was unable to lift his arms.
He shook his head to clear his vision, both from the hair and the drugs, the former being easier to resolve than the latter. Eyes focused, Raven looked around.
He was in a largish, concrete room which, based on the musty smell and feel, was underground, like a bunker or a fallout shelter. The space was mostly empty, with only a stone slab table in the center, and four metal stakes pounded into the floor a couple yards in front of him. Oil lanterns hung from the walls, giving the area an ethereal glow.
He tried to move his arms again, still without success, and noticed he was having the same problem with his legs. With an effort far greater than it should have been, he twisted his head around, trying to determine what was keeping him bound. And upright, for that matter. His head felt heavy as it fell to the side, but he was at last able to get a look at his restraints.
Daggers.
Yep. Someone had pinned him spread eagle to a concrete wall with fourteen inch daggers driven though his wrists and ankles, a living, breathing wall hanging of daVinci’s Vitruvian Man. Same getup as the dude in the picture and everything, which is to say no clothing at all.
The agony hit him out of nowhere, his body contorting with the pain. Either the drugs were wearing off now, or the shock of seeing himself displayed like a cockroach in an insect collection was more than he could handle.
On the plus side, the pain was bringing him fully alert. With his strength returning he yanked at his wrists in an effort to pull the daggers out and free himself. In spite of some lingering weakness, Raven was certain he would be able to remove them with little effort, and yet these bastards didn’t budge. He continued to struggle, but only managed to enlarge the wounds, causing his blood to flow freely down the cement walls. Curiously, the larger wounds did nothing to lessen the daggers’ hold on him.
The sound of one man clapping sent echoes bouncing through the chamber, and Raven looked up to find Helmut Fuhrmann making his entrance. His white locks were writhing around his head as the only door in the room slid closed with a soft woosh. It was coming back to him now. Jessica’s house. Malcolm collapsing in front of him. The darts hitting him, bringing him down, and now the immovable daggers? Of course.
Magic.
“So nice of you to join my little party,” Fuhrmann said in that thick German accent. And the dude was entirely too cheerful.
“Please, don’t bother trying to release yourself. Those daggers have been spelled. Not even you, with your monstrous strength, would be able to remove them.”
The Sorcerer approached Raven, bold as you please, and looked him right in the eye. Raven focused his mind touch, attempting to reach inside Fuhrmann’s head and force the bastard to release him. Jessica as well, because Raven could sense her presence.
“That’s not going to work either, Rapist.” Fuhrmann stared back at him, his red eyes glowing in the dim lantern light. “I’ve been dealing with your brother, and his powers make yours look like child’s play. If I can withstand his compulsions, and trust me, I can, then your attempts will be quite insignificant.”
Raven turned stony eyes from Fuhrmann and stared defiantly past the Sorcerer. He refused to rise to this monster’s taunts.
“Nothing to say to that?” Fuhrmann cocked his head and tapped his forefinger to his lips. Raven raised his chin higher. “Perhaps I can encourage some reaction from you with this.”
Raven felt more than saw the weapon in the Sorcerer’s hand. When the cold tip of the dagger, brother to the four in his limbs, touched the bare skin on his chest, pierced his flesh, Raven clenched his teeth and withstood the pain. He would not give this creature the satisfaction of seeing him suffer.
The carving went on for much longer than Raven anticipated Fuhrmann was in deep concentration, taking great care with each cut and slice, but this did not detract from the apparent joy he was taking in his task.
Raven’s blood was dripping in crimson rivulets down his bare chest, the length of his legs and pooling on the floor beneath him. Through it all, he remained silent. It wasn’t lost on him that Fuhrmann’s wife had behaved in much the same manner when Raven had tortured her.
An eternity later, Fuhrmann stood back to admire his work. Pleased, he dragged both sides of his blade on Raven’s chest, to bloody the steel more rather than clean it, and returned to the stone table across the room, facing Raven. There he began speaking in Latin, holding the blade as an offering above what Raven recognized as an altar.
Brain woozy with pain and lingering drugs, Raven found the words difficult to translate. Yet one word he recognized immediately, and it was said time and again.
Sylva.
Fuhrmann’s wife—but she was dead. Raven had murdered her himself, and he deeply regretted both his actions and the suffering they had caused. However, between the two, Fuhrmann and Sylva had managed to exact a substantial amount of pain and suffering on Raven and Jessica.
And now he was back for more.
Raven struggled again to try and free himself. He needed to find Jessica and get them both out of here. There was nothing he could do to Fuhrmann because of the curse Sylva had cast on him, preventing him from harming her husband. For now Raven would settle for escape.
But this he vowed: somehow, some way, he would break the curse that kept him from Fuhrman’s throat, and guilt be damned, this Sorcerer was going to die.
Chapter
One Hundred Ten
T he same feral who brought the water and towels returned with a stack of clothing, and ordered me to put it on. He left right away, assuming, I supposed, that I would obey. Which, of course, I did, although “clothing” may have been a bit of an overstatement.
In reality, it looked like a Halloween costume they’d picked up from the grocery store. It was one of those cheap, black, robe-type jobbies with a hood in the back and a tie at the neck. Useful thing, if you wanted to dress up like the Grim Reaper or a witch or something. Not very flattering though.
As I was going through my ablutions, I felt a shock of pain. I clutched the edges of the table, my entire body seizing, and for a few seconds I was a mass of jagged nerve endings. The sensation was gone as quickly as it had come, and with my mind cleared, I was able put it all together. Raven was here.
Of course he was. Why else all this fuss and bother? They were ready to put me to whatever use they had in mind when they kidnapped me, and it was all about Raven. The trap they’d laid out for him had been sprung, and now he was as much a captive as I was.
And he was hurt.
Trying not to think about it, I focused on the task at hand. Taking the nasty feral’s “stinky” comment to heart, I decided against the underwear I’d been wearing for four days. And so with my teeth brushed, my hair combed and pulled into a pony t
ail, and with a lump in my throat the size of Texas, I stood prepared. Whatever was to come, I was as ready as I would ever be.
I sat on the cold metal chair for a long time before Nox came for me. He was wearing leather pants and a t-shirt, all black, and exactly what Raven would have been wearing when he was captured. It was Raven’s war gear, and though they were identical, it looked somehow wrong on Nox. I’d come to think of him as a blue jeans kind of guy.
“Nox,” I said. I was so relieved it was him and not that skanky feral again. I jumped up from the chair and had taken two steps toward him before I noticed he wasn’t looking at me.
What’s up? I sent to him, reaching into his mind, only to find it completely blank. Nox? I tried again, pushing against his shields, searching for something, anything, to explain what was going on, but his mind was impenetrable.
“It’s time,” he said, and that was it. I knew this was coming, of course I did. But that didn’t stop the kangaroos from jumping up and down in my stomach as I took the final shaky steps toward Nox and my fate.
Please, Nox, I whispered into his mind when I reached him. Just because I couldn’t hear his thoughts didn’t mean he couldn’t hear mine. Please, tell me what’s happening. I grabbed him, both of my hands on his bare forearm. He flinched, and continued to look anywhere but at me.
“Please,” I begged aloud, refusing to let go. He lifted his free hand, laid it on top of my hands where they clung to him, and for a split second I relaxed. Hope dissipated when he seized both my wrists in that one hand. He pulled his arm from my grasp, and producing a length of heavy rope, proceeding to bind my hands before me.
“Nox?” I whispered, desperate to get through to him. It was as if he were a different person, not the male who had shared the disappointments of his childhood with me. This guy was all Vampire, and with his task completed, my hands tightly bound, he turned his gaze on me. In that moment I was terrified.