by Lizzy Ford
Sofia watched them walk away, alone and cold. If Damian died, it was because of her. She started towards the road, away from the field of death. Her phone rang. The number wasn’t familiar, but she answered.
“Hello, love,” Czerno greeted her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“If you’re as smart as I suspect, you’ve probably used your gift to figure out where I am.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Have you told your friends?”
“No,” she lied.
“Good. I’ve got a deal for you. It’s simple, really. Even if I kill Damian, I’ll have to deal with all his people. However, if I have you, I’ll beat them at every turn. If you come to me right now, I’ll let him go.”
Her heart beat hard.
“Swear on your soul?”
“Love, I don’t have a soul. By the time Dusty figures out what to do, Damian will be dead. In fact, if you refuse me now, I’ll kill him before I hang up the phone.”
She closed her eyes, shaking.
“If you agree, I’ll free him when you show up at my doorstep.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’d give you anything for him.”
“You have an hour.”
He hung up, and she stared at the cell then looked to her car. The door was open as she left it, the keys in the steering column. Jule and Dustin reached the building, and she looked at them.
Czerno would never let her go. If she went to him now, she’d spend eternity with him, a slave to the Black God himself. The truth settled into the pit of her stomach, along with the realization that she meant what she’d said, she would do whatever it took to free the man she loved.
Dustin met her gaze, and he froze.
“Sofia, no!”
She bolted to her car, far enough ahead of any of the men that they couldn’t stop her. Peeling out, she floored it and tore down the road. The dead vamp’s memories were fresh in her mind, and she sought the sights he’d passed.
Her phone rang, and she snatched it.
“Sofia, turn around. Now.”
“No, Jule. He’ll kill him if I don’t go.”
“He’ll kill him if you do.”
Her tears rose, blurring her vision. She struggled for control, focusing on the road.
“Sofia,” he said more gently. “Please.”
“Stop,” she begged. “It’s my fault he was caught. I can fix it. I can fix it!”
“You can’t fix a war that’s been on for hundreds of thousand years.”
The number took her breath away.
“I have to, Jule. I’m sorry. The world needs him.”
She hung up the phone. She gripped the steering wheel hard and drove.
The staging area was where the vamp remembered it being, tucked at the base of a mountain in a draw. Sofia swallowed hard at the sight of so many vamps milling around. She drove up to the elevator entrance on the side of the draw. One vamp in particular seemed to be awaiting her and strode to the car. The other vamps didn’t so much as acknowledge her as she stepped from the car. Her greeter motioned her to follow, and she obeyed, mind on Damian and nothing else. He led her into a small elevator that plunged quickly to the depths beneath the mountain.
The underground world was well built and bright with white washed walls lining corridors wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side. The vamp led her down a maze of hallways through scores of vamps and past multiple doorways until he reached a set of double doors. He opened one, and she entered. The study beyond was a replica of the one in Virginia, down to the Gothic hood on the fireplace.
Damian was nowhere to be seen. Czerno rose from a desk as she entered. The large man in black with lopsided shoulders and an executioner’s hood pressed himself into a corner. The man with verdant eyes stood beside him, watching her.
“I did what you asked. You said you’d free him,” she said.
At Czerno’s chilled smile, she knew he had no intention of freeing either of them. Panic swelled within her.
“Welcome home, love,” he said.
She whirled, but the vamp that led her down blocked the doorway. She sucked in a breath, struggling to calm herself.
“Czerno, free him! You have me!”
“I’d rather kill two birds with one stone,” he said. “Two, take her.”
“No!” she breathed. “Please no! I’ll do whatever you want! Please, just let him go.”
“We’ll talk later, love,” Czerno assured her. “You’ll have all the time in the world to beg me, on your knees and on your back.”
His gaze swept over her in cold admiration as he spoke. The executioner from the corner emerged from the shadows and took her arms.
“Let him go! Please!” she shouted as he pulled her from the room.
Hysteria gripped her, and she fought him until he slung her over his shoulder. Tears blinded her.
“Damian!”
Sofia.
His voice was weak, as if he were far away. She strained against the man again.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she sobbed.
The man in the executioner uniform dumped her onto a familiar surgical table in a room that stank of blood.
She screamed and launched off of it. He slammed the door closed, subduing her hysterical strikes with unexpected gentleness until she lay strapped to the cold table, weeping. When spent, she lay still, willing sleep or death to take her. Neither did. She closed her eyes to the ceiling.
Her stomach growled again. She’d starve in a day.
The shadow emerged from the corner again. She’d forgotten his presence, but he peeled off one glove to display a scarred forearm and hand. As she watched, he took a knife and sliced his wrist. She twisted her head away as he dripped the blood over her lips. He snatched her head with his other hand, then held her nose closed as she clamped her mouth shut. When she gasped for air, his blood trickled into her mouth.
She started to spit it out but stopped.
She knew this man.
Though his blood didn’t ensnare her as Damian’s did, it tasted familiar. She drank, and he lowered his wrist to her lips. His memories flashed as they made contact. He knew nothing beyond the past twenty four hours. His first memory was of waking up, then everything he’d done for the day.
He moved away when she ceased drinking, back to the corner. She twisted to stare at him. He was Damian’s size, though by his lopsided shoulders and scars, he’d survived some sort of serious injury. He was lean and wiry compared to Damian’s bulky build.
Memories flooded her mind, and she sensed there was something she was missing from them.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
He didn’t answer and returned to his corner.
She lay still, the man in the corner so silent she had to look several times to make sure he was still there. Sobs wracked her body as she thought of Damian and how badly she’d destroyed any plan Dustin or Jule could make.
“Damian,” she whispered. “Forgive me. I should have let you make love to me.”
Panic and tears soon drained her of energy, and she stared listlessly at the bloodied ceiling until the man in the corner stirred. The door behind her opened, and Czerno stepped in, trailed by the older, silent gentleman.
“Still alive,” he observed, walking around her. “Two, let her walk around for an hour every twelve. I don’t want her muscles turning to jelly.”
She glared at him, hate in her gaze. She would never give this man the visions he wanted!
Czerno trailed a finger down the side of her face, his chilling smile and the onslaught of visions making her gasp.
“I’m blood bound,” she forced the words out. “If you kill him, I’ll die.”
“I’ve got something almost as good as him,” Czerno said, motioning to the man in the corner. “According to my source of information, a blood relative can sustain an oracle marooned without her master. We’re going to test this. Either you’ll die or you won’t.”
&n
bsp; “I’ll never help you!”
“I have eternity to break you, Sofia. I’m in no rush, though I do have a plan to motivate you. It involves removing your body parts, one at a time. Or maybe peeling your skin off? Maybe fucking you til you scream will soften you up a bit. We’ll see what works, won’t we?” he lowered his head to her ear. “I have options. You don’t. Trust me. Everyone breaks.”
Terror washed over her at his calm, controlled words. She’d seen what he was capable of in his visions. The best she could hope for was eternity on this table, alone, knowing what she’d done to humanity’s defender. She started to cry again.
Czerno circled her again and ran his hands down her body, stepping away in approval. He left with a satisfied chuckle.
“Forgive me, Damian,” she whispered again.
Two freed her a few hours later and let her walk around the room. He stood in front of the door, unmoving as she explored her surroundings. The room was empty aside from the table. There was one vent in the ceiling, not large enough for her hand let alone her body. Despair washed over her, but she forced herself to concentrate.
Damian wasn’t dead. She felt it. If she could only reach him …
She faced Two, the only thing between her and escape. He was a puzzle, a man with no memory beyond waking up in the morning. The rest was blocked, as if a dam was placed there. She paced and stared at him.
… a blood relative can sustain an oracle.
She’d heard no such thing, but then again, she didn’t know anything about oracles aside from what little she’d gleaned from books and testing herself. His theory was so far correct. Her stomach was content, and she’d not thrown up. She hesitated, then approached Two. He didn’t move as she stopped in front of him. She took his hand. He obliged and removed his glove, rolling his sleeve to his elbow and withdrawing a knife. Though she wasn’t hungry, she drank, exploring the black curtain shielding his memories as she did.
He pushed his sleeve up farther, revealing the bottom of a thick bicep with a partially visible tattoo. She slid her hand up his arm and nudged the sleeve. The image on his bicep was the same she wore around her neck.
Images flooded her mind, Damian’s, Claire’s, Isac’s. She saw Damian watch the new king get his tattoo as a rite of passage, saw it again as Claire made love to her husband, saw it in Isac’s vision as he hacked the tattooed man apart. The man hiding in the corner of her mind, he whose death plagued Damian for thousands of years.
Darian.
She staggered back, the visions cementing in her mind, overwhelming her. She tripped, and her head snapped back. Two caught her before she hit the ground. His stunted memories collided with the others running through her mind. His honey-colored eyes were visible in the harsh lighting of the room.
“Darian!”
His pupils dilated. He placed her on the table and retreated, shaking his head and swiping at the air around him, as if plagued by bees.
“Darian,” she repeated.
Kiri.
Seizing control of himself, he stepped forward and pushed her back, binding her to the table again. Her hope soared, and she watched him return to his corner.
“Your name is Darian. Your brother is Damian. You were born two years a part. You married Claire … “ she went on, closing her eyes as she repeated everything from the memories of others.
He didn’t move, didn’t respond. She spoke until she was hoarse. Her hope flagged, and she cried, then started again. She spoke until she drifted into an uncomfortable doze only to awake when he released her.
Cramped, she stretched before approaching him again. She pulled the necklace from her neck.
“Look,” she said and touched his bicep.
Mechanically, he rolled his sleeve and pricked his wrist. The curtain blocking him from his memories was less defined, like ice beginning to thaw.
“This is who you are,” she said, holding up the symbol. “Your name is Darian. Your brother is …”
She started over, talking until he freed her once more. But he showed no sign of life as he took up his position in his corner, and desperation crept through her. She cried and kept talking, her sentences punctuated by sobs. At last, she stopped speaking and lay, exhausted. If there was a way to make him see what was in her head … to make him remember … she focused on Damian’s memories, the ones before the dark age, when he and his brother were happy.
“Hungry,” she whispered.
Two obeyed and moved forward, slicing his wrist for her again. As she drank, she replayed Damian’s memories over and over.
Damian needs you.
“Kiri.”
His word threw her off guard.
“Think, Darian, think,” she said. “Do you remember your brother Damian?”
An image flashed, that of Damian chained to a wall. Tears formed in her eyes.
“Yes,” she choked out. “Damian. Your brother.”
“Don’t cry, kiri.”
He was struggling. She replayed the home videos, closing her eyes and focusing. If he were like his brother, he would hear her thoughts.
Two returned to his corner.
She kept the movies playing, focusing on nothing other than the brothers’ time together. She drifted into a doze.
“Damian,” Two said, waking her.
“He needs you,” she whispered. “He’s in trouble.”
“Damian in trouble.”
“Yes, Darian.”
“Don’t cry, kiri.”
He fell into silence again for several hours. When he freed her again, she approached him and touched his hood.
“Remove it, Darian.”
He didn’t respond. She touched his arm, replaying the videos. He pulled off the hood with one hand.
His face was as deeply scarred as his hands. His hair was brown rather than white-blonde, his beautiful eyes deep set and large. She took his face in her hands the way she had Damian the night he wanted to destroy the world and forced him to meet her gaze. His honey gaze was still.
“Damian needs you,” she whispered. “He’s in danger. I love him, Darian. Please help us.”
“Damian.”
She raised to her tiptoes and kissed him, her own memories of Damian forefront in her mind. She replayed their first kiss, his ring, the way his men spoke of him. She showed him Czerno, his master, and the darkness in Czerno’s mind. She dropped to her feet and moved away.
“Kiri.”
His eyes were closed.
“Your name is Darian. Your brother is Damian.”
Emotions rippled across his face. She touched her hands to his cheeks again.
“Please, Darian, please. You can do this.”
His eyes opened, and he met her gaze. For the first time, she sensed he was aware. His golden eyes swirled.
“Remember,” she said, holding up the necklace.
“Two!” Czerno pounded on the door.
She waited. The life died from his eyes, and he replaced his hood.
“No. No, no, no!” she shouted, pounding on his chest.
Sobbing, she dropped to her knees. Two stepped aside. Czerno entered.
“Congrats. You’ve survived two days. Looks like I was right,” he said, satisfied. “Two, put her on the table. Kill Damian and come back when you’re done.”
Sofia tried to push him away as he lifted her onto the table. There was a tug at her neck, and she touched it, surprised to find the necklace gone. Two left.
“As soon as he’s done, we’ll start working on you,” Czerno promised. “Start thinking of which way you want me to fuck you first.”
He closed the door behind him with a cold laugh, not bothering to bind her.
She curled on her side and wept.
I love you, Damian. Please forgive me!
He’d never heard kiri cry so hard. Her heart was breaking. Two walked through the halls quickly. He couldn’t remember what the master had told him to do. All he could see in his head was kiri crying and the dreams she’d made
him remember. They weren’t good dreams, and the ones she showed him weren’t the only ones in his head.
“Don’t cry, kiri.”
He didn’t know what to do. His master was hurting her. Why didn’t she go back to his head, where she was safe? Why did she come to see him? He took care of her and fed her and let her walk around. Every time he freed her, he hoped she returned to his head. But she didn’t.
Damian. Darian.
The images in his head made him stagger and fall against the rough wall. The chain around his hand bit into his finger, and he looked at it. It was kiri’s. He rolled up his sleeve, staring in wonder at the tattoo on his bicep. He didn’t remember how he got it.
Damian needs you. Please help him, Darian.
He was Darian, eldest son of the White God. The dreams were coming faster now.
He looked around him and at the necklace in his hand. He was going to Damian. If he freed Damian, kiri would go back to his head, where his master couldn’t hurt her.
Two went to Damian’s cell and opened the door. Damian was still and silent, but he wasn’t dead. No, the master had been waiting to kill him, had been feeding Damian the same juice Two stopped drinking. Damian was chained to the wall so he could be force fed. Two had helped force feed him, before he knew kiri loved him.
Two stopped and looked at Damian, another flash of dreams driving him to his knees. He pulled up his sleeve. Damian had a mark like his on his ring. He lifted the chain, kiri’s chain, and looked at the identical symbols, struck by the idea that he somehow belonged to the same world they did.
Two released him and lifted him over his shoulders. He made his way through the crowded halls, grunting under the weight of the man. He followed a familiar path through a narrowing hall and looked at his palm for the three codes written there. He took Damian outside to the rock where he and kiri watched the stars and set him down.
“Don’t cry, kiri,” Two said, still hearing her sobs.
He knelt over Damian and pulled the ring from his finger. He placed the necklace in his hand and closed it gently.
“From kiri,” he told the unconscious man. “She loves you, and she’s sorry.”
He turned and made his way through the doors he remembered traversing many times the past few days. And now, he would convince kiri to return to his head, before his master killed her.