Bleeding Hearts: Book One of the Demimonde

by Ash Krafton

  Gasping with the flash of agony, I crumpled. Marek reacted at once, leaping forward but caught by the chains binding him. With a roar, he threw another wall of power at us.

  Still-Heart shifted his own power, allowing Marek's attack to flow over us impotently. Bending his head, he lapped the blood away, his tongue searing my flesh closed as it drew its wet line across my skin. The pain tore a jagged scream from my throat, and Marek's roars added to the cacophony.

  "Oh..." Still-Heart looked up from my breast to search my face. Desire burned in his eyes, a need to be sated. "Magnificent. Who are you, human, to taste so... complete?"

  Licking his lips, he released me and drew away as if the touch of my skin scalded him. I fell back into the hard grasp of one of his flunkies.

  "What a waste it will be to throw you to him," he said. His expression was a mix of wonder, of lust, of anticipation. "Oh, I could do so many things... perhaps I'll keep you. For myself."

  An indistinguishable vampire secured me against the wall directly across from Still-Heart's dais. I twisted my face away, trying to avoid the scent of its skin, so much like old damp book.

  Ugly creatures, those vampires. Their bony faces gave skeletal gauntness to their appearances, reminding me they were corpses. Almost mummy-like in appearance, the ridges of their pronounced brows emphasized their white gleaming eyes.

  Their eyes disturbed me the most. Silver glow, devoid of color or warmth. Devoid of personality. I'd become fond of the bright eyes of the DV and delighted in the subtle shades that reflected their emotions. Vampires were different. Eyes were the windows of the soul, and the white gleam shouted the truth: vampires possessed no souls.

  Their eyes held empty, white light. Cold. Clinical. Dead.

  Still-Heart loomed like a monument before his altar. He didn't touch my mind, thankfully; perhaps I was too far beneath his notice for the moment. That could be good and bad; good for not drawing his attention, bad for negotiating my survival.

  To my left was the alcove where Marek was bound. He hung in his restraints, deadly still, deadly quiet. His power felt like a disease.

  Still-Heart's head snapped up as if he'd heard something. Rage seeped into his face and without a word he turned and swept out of the room through a large doorway to the right of the altar. The vamps streamed out in his wake, leaving behind only silence.

  The light faded when the Master left the room, as if he'd stolen it all away. In his absence the darkness spread. A few eerie glows remained, enough to discern doorways and recesses.

  An eternity seemed to pass, and my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Thin lines of illumination traced Marek's form. I summoned my nerve.

  "Marek?" I whispered, knowing he'd hear despite the distance. No response. I dared to raise my voice. "Marek, can you hear me?"

  "Sophie?" A brittle voice called from a completely different direction. "Is that you?"

  Donna clicked over the tiles toward me, her flashlight making a dizzy streak on the floor. It moved like a firefly on espresso.

  "My God. Donna?" I had to be hallucinating. "How did you get in here?"

  "I followed you. When those two guys hustled you off, I followed. I figured you were in trouble." She lifted the flashlight and turned her light to shine on me full in the face. Didn't people know how much that sucked? Especially when you'd been, say, chained up in the dark for a good while. I shut my eyes and twisted my head away but she didn't notice my discomfort.

  Then again, she usually didn't. Typical Donna.

  "What have they done to you?" Donna used her snippiest tone, reprimanding me as if this was my fault. Setting the flashlight down on its end so the light spilled upward, Donna examined the shackles where they hooked to the wall.

  I told her about the dragging, about Marek in the alcove, about Still-Heart and his men. Well, vaguely about that last part. I left out the details so she wouldn't freak out at the vampire part. Most people wouldn't react well to that sort of revelation.

  She started working out the locks with a piece of metal from God only knows where and freed one of my arms. Office manager efficient, right down to picking diabolical locks.

  As it came loose and fell free, the weight of the chain still attached to my wrist nearly pulled my arm out of the socket. "Donna, we have to get out of here. Can we get Marek loose?"

  "Where is he?"

  I jerked my head toward the shadows hiding Marek from view.

  "He's in there. Hurry before they come back." I shuddered. "The leader said he wants to keep me for himself."

  She ceased fiddling with the shackle and whipped a sharp look at me. "What?"

  "He was going to kill me but said he might keep me for himself." I remembered the pain, the touch of his mouth, the unspoken threat of more. I shuddered violently. "I'd rather die than let him touch me again."

  Donna gave me a long look before she pursed her lips and yanked the chain free from anchor. I sagged against the wall, waiting for her to loosen my wrists. Instead of freeing me, she stood still, staring.

  "Donna?" I hoped she wasn't losing it. Not now. "What's the matter?"

  "What's the matter? What's the matter!"

  I panicked. She'd blow our cover with her big mouth. I shushed her like crazy but apparently crazy was her department because she howled with rage.

  "You are the matter. I cannot believe this!" She stomped away several paces, then whirled back. "Bad enough you're Golden Girl at The Mag. Barbara loves you. They all just love you. And why? I haven't a clue. I dress better, I have better friends... you don't even get your nails done." She spat the words like a condemnation.

  "And now. This." She waved her arms around us, hands twisted into furious claws. Her eyes were crazed. "He is going to keep you? You? Oh, no."

  She shook her head, grimacing. "You'll die first. You're not the Golden Girl here. I am!"

  Holy crap. Donna's one of them. She wasn't just evil—she was evil!

  Donna reached down and grabbed my chains. My arms had only started to reperfuse, the numbness giving way to useless tingling. I was too stiff to fight back. She turned in the direction of the alcove and stomped toward it, hauling me behind.

  At the approaching racket, Marek lifted his head to watch. I felt his stare, the weight of his gaze both familiar and strange. The gleam of his left iris flashed like an emerald searchlight through the strands of his hair. I heard the growl of a caged beast.

  Donna babbled, oblivious to the danger.

  "I've done too much for my master to be pushed aside. He promised me. Me!" Pausing in her dragging she jabbed her perfectly French-manicured finger into my chest. "Who is Still-Heart's favorite? Me. Who has the blood that sings of sweet seduction? Me. Who will receive his Dark Bequest and share in his power forever? Me! Not you!"

  "Listen to yourself, Donna! You're a moron. You're food. Nothing but food!"

  "Well, now you are, too," she smirked. "The difference is: you'll be dead and I won't." She turned on her heels and started dragging again. "You know what? I cannot stand you, Galen. From the minute I met you, I despised you. When Chal told me to get your address from HR, I knew they had plans for you. When he told me to make sure you went to the parking garage alone, I could barely contain myself. I mean, how do you keep a straight face, knowing you get to screw over someone you absolutely hate?"

  My legs finally obeyed and I put the brakes on, jerking her to a halt. I couldn't believe what I heard. "Chal? Chal put you up to this?"

  There couldn't be two Chals, not even in a city this big. Too stupid a name.

  "Chal was my meal ticket. He's the one who gave me to our master." Sparing me a look that said I must be even dumber than she originally thought, she took a fresh grip on my chains and yanked. "Finally, you'll get what's coming to you and I'll get what I deserve."

  Closer to Marek now, close enough to see his chest rising and falling with each breath. Too close. I knew he watched every move we made, holding still, waiting for the moment to spring. Like Bli
nd Horus, he'd be deadly to anyone who came near.

  "Oh, yeah. He sees you. He smells you. How about it, Marek?" Donna pulled me, closer and closer. She'd feed me to him if she could get me close enough. I scrambled and tried to pull away but her grip was too strong. We were only a few feet away from him now. How far did his chains reach?

  "I can't wait to see lover boy rip your head off." Donna dumped my chains in a heap and I staggered to a stop. Grabbing me by the hair, she pulled my face close to hers, twisting my neck painfully. Her minted breath hissed onto my cheek. "Say 'goodbye,' sweetheart."

  "Bella Donna."

  That awful voice echoed from somewhere behind us. Rabbit fur and tar and malevolence. Donna turned to it eagerly, slave to the compulsion I fought to block out. Her face wore a sick mix of blind love, wild joy, and vicious desire.

  Something inside me sank. I might have been able to bum rush her on her stilettos but against him I could do nothing. Hope evaporated like warm water on a hot sidewalk.

  Cold hands of an unfightable force seized me, tearing me from Donna's grasp, and I barely had time to register the look on her face. Rapture. Triumph.

  Then it faltered. Incomprehension. Fear.

  I was shoved aside, away from Donna, away from Marek. Landing hard on my knees and elbows, I rolled onto my side in a crumpled lump. Fresh pain.

  Still-Heart, nude except for clinging white leather pants, stood like a panel of silk and marble. He gripped Donna's upper arms, standing nose to nose, and his threat gushed like heat from a burning building.

  Babbling a stream of pleading devotion, she ran her hands over his chest and through his hair, anything she could reach, oblivious to the hatred pouring out of him. He stroked her face with one hand, tenderly.

  He leaned for a kiss, turning his cheek away from her mouth and trailing his lips down her throat, eliciting a shuddering moan. When they parted, angry ribbons of bright red dripped down their skin.

  He licked his lips, an animal used to taking what he wanted.

  "Goodbye, sweetheart," he said smoothly, then tossed her to Marek.

  Marek sprang from the wall to the limit of his restraints and snatched her. With a roar he tore Donna open and devoured her, sucking greedily at her blood and draining her life.

  I couldn't block out the sounds of what he did to her. I curled into a ball and plugged my ears but I still heard what he did to himself when he killed her. The Sophia wept with agony to feel what he did to his soul, shredding it like an unwanted curtain. I howled until my vocal cords ceased to issue sound.

  Still-Heart tossed me against the wall and secured my chains. My throat raw, my body battered, I hung. Exhausted. Desolate. Hopeless.

  Still-Heart stood a long time, watching Marek settle down, watching me as I slumped and waited. Donna's body lay cast aside like a broken toy, discarded and useless. A puddle of light from a lone torch pooled on the floor beside her body, flickering over her fingers, her perfect manicure.

  This night would not end well.

  Soft sounds of skittering against stone broke the drone of silence. In the archways blinked the white gleam of vampire eyes, and shadows slid around the edges of the room. The audience grew as the Master's vampires assembled.

  Still-Heart entered through an alcove opposite to Marek and the crowd greeted him with a guttural roar. He'd donned a long jacket of pale silk, which he left unbuttoned over his bare chest. Streaks of blood stained his flesh. His vampires reached toward it as if the blood was a relic.

  The Master seated himself with great flourish, gazing intently in my direction. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard, dreading the events to come. Where there was an audience, there was usually a show. My situation redefined the words stage fright.

  Sounds of a struggle began faintly from somewhere outside the hall. I couldn't tell with the acoustics; noise seemed to come from everywhere all at once, like stereo speakers in a torture chamber. Still-Heart raised his head, expectantly, as if he'd heard the approach of a lover. His mouth parted and light gleamed upon his wicked teeth.

  Heavy doors to my right swung open, hitting the wall with a massive bang. The shock reverberated through my abused muscles. The struggle spilled into the room and I watched two vamps subdue a black-clad man, grunting as they hauled him toward the front of the room.

  Their captive put up an impressive struggle, managing to twist free and strike back several times. The vamps dumped him to the floor and one aimed a hard kick at the captive's side before backing off. The man stayed down, coughing.

  Turning his face away, the vampire reached up to his face gingerly, jerking his hand away again. An angry cross-shaped burn marked his cheek and eye. The man must have used a crucifix on the vampire.

  A cross! Why didn't I think of that? Damn me and my fashion choices again. What if I'd been wearing the one Jared gave me for my birthday last year? I knew it was blessed because Jared blessed just about everything he could wave his fingers at. Marek told me he didn't mind holy items because they only hurt the Fallen.

  Marek did mind, however, who had given it to me. I'd left off the cross for his sake, wearing instead the Blood of Isis amulet he'd given me. I should have put my Crucifix back on when Frank was murdered.

  I should never have let a man come between me and my God. Oh, Jared, I'll never see you again. As if nothing else this night had been a call for self-pity, I succumbed to useless tears.

  The man on the floor groaned and tried to pull himself up, hunching over to favor his ribs. Still-Heart rose ceremoniously from his seat and flowed down the steps toward him, his long open shirt gently blown about by a nonexistent wind, looking like a cross between David Bowie and a Meatloaf video.

  It might have been enthralling if I'd let the compulsions take root. Instead, the truth was ugly. Without the glamour, Still-Heart's intent showed plainly, and there was nothing theatrical about it. The monster was real. The threat was real. The ugly truth was real.

  The vampire gestured, lifting the man from the ground and drawing him up straight with a cruel compulsion. The man balled his hands into tight fists as if he endured terrible pain, yet he uttered no sound.

  Still-Heart circled him, assessing him like a sculpture in a museum. His voice came in layers, the sound of many mouths talking in unison, echoing in my head.

  "You believe in sacrifice, don't you?" Still-Heart cocked his head, as if in sympathy. The man didn't answer. "How ironic. You have now become one."

  Without looking away, Still-Heart raised a hand and turned his wrist. Silently, a group of his men moved forward, hauling an unresponsive Marek. His head hung between his shoulders like an empty sleeve, arms flagged and toneless. It took the strength of a half-dozen to move Marek and none of them seemed to enjoy the task.

  They stopped a few feet away from Still-Heart and dropped him. I flinched, not wanting to see Marek hit the floor.

  Marek snapped into sudden action and landed in a taut crouch, balancing on his toes and fingertips, holding himself mere inches above the stone floor, cataleptic no more.

  Marek focused on the man who wiped blood from his brow and looked around at the mocking church-like fixtures, the watchful vampires lining the walls.

  "You are so close, Thurzo," Still-Heart intoned. "Your soul clings by mere threads. Drink down this life. Consume the death and sever those threads! Join me, at last!"

  The word hissed away into silence, a silence I could no longer bear. I'd witnessed that man's courage and I would not hang a silent victim any longer. I could not abide this injustice.

  "No!" My rage spilled up and out. "You will not hurt that man. Let him go!"

  "Sophie?"

  A voice called to me, a voice I had so loved to hear, so deep and sweet and soft in my ears. It didn't come from Marek, who pulled himself up and reared, anger and alienation in his crazed eyes. The man in black whirled toward my direction.

  When I heard his voice—when I saw his face—my courage and strength and resolve failed.

 
; It was Jared.

  "Sophie?" He turned to seek my voice and saw me bound to the wall behind him. "Sophie! Let her go!"

  Still-Heart's expression changed subtly as a layer of exasperation coated his sinister satisfaction. "The human knows her. I should be surprised but, somehow, I am not. Tell me, how? Is she one of your flock, priest?"

  "Let her go." Cords of muscle in his neck stood out as he fought against the vampire's invisible restraints. "Only a coward puts a helpless woman in chains."

  "Wasted efforts, priest. I will not rise to your insults. Come."

  Obedient to the compulsion, Jared shuffled closer, defiance blazing in his eyes.

  "Again. What is she? Surely one such as yourself is entitled to divine revelation." Jared remained silent and Still-Heart sighed like a parent with an uncooperative child. "No matter. I shall see for myself."

  Seizing Jared's head, Still-Heart looked at him, through him, his gaze unfocused. Jared gritted his teeth, trying not to cry out as the vampire sifted through his mind. With a push he released him. Jared's head flopped.

  "Oh!" Still-Heart chuckled and leered at me. "I didn't expect that."

  I wondered what truth he could have stolen from Jared's mind. I didn't wonder long.

  "You wicked whore. You delicious, wonderfully wicked whore!" He laughed throatily and danced in place. Marek swiveled his head as well, wearing a murderous look. "You did all that? With a priest? Sweet Pain! I truly underestimated your worth!"

  My face burned. I never hated anything before in my life the way I hated him.

  Jared had closed down, not seeming to register anything the vampire said. What damage did he take, trying to keep our past from Still-Heart?

  "I did not do anything with a priest." I seethed, enraged at the way he twisted past and present into scandalous sin. "I'm not depraved."

  "We'll see, my newest desire. When your mind lies in tatters and your will is seared away, we'll see what you're capable of doing."