by Ciara Graves
At the same time, those who had survived spent those years in fear, looking over their shoulders. Eventually, they realized they could have peace for the rest of their days if they simply stayed out of the way. Stayed quiet, kept their heads down.
My coven might’ve survived, but their spirit was long gone. Rudarius had seen to that.
Bitter laughter bubbled up within me, and all I could do was let it out.
Shane and Nathaniel exchanged a worried glance as the vampires behind them looked like they’d missed the joke.
“You all are right to want to stay safe and alive,” I told them, stepping down from the table. “Your location will remain safe with me. I am elated to see you all survived, but clearly, the fight for you is over, and I won’t drag you unwilling into another one. May you all stay safe.”
“Draven? Where are you going?” Nathaniel fell in step beside me as I exited the cafeteria.
“Onward to seek out the other covens. Thank you for bringing me here, but you’re right, I’m asking too much of them. They won’t trust Seneca, and they haven’t even seen her in action. Shit, that would probably make it worse.”
I followed the old EXIT signs hanging from the ceiling, all from back when this place was a functioning asylum. Once we reached the front doors, I squeezed Nathaniel’s shoulder.
“Rudarius is coming. You did it once before and I ask is you do so again. Keep them safe as long as you can.” I turned to go, but he caught my arm.
“Draven, I-I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I wish they felt different.”
“I do too, but it is what it is. Maybe I’m not meant to lead them anymore. I’m merely the broken and beaten version of my old self anyway.” I didn’t say aloud that I might not even survive this fight, but from the serious glimmer in my old guard’s eyes, I didn’t have to. “It was good to see you again, old friend. Do as I said and keep them safe. Swear it.”
“I can’t do that,” he called when I walked away. “I left your side once. It won’t happen again.”
“Nathaniel—”
“No,” he interrupted me fiercely. “If you’re going to stand against Rudarius, then so am I.”
“Us, too.”
Behind Nathaniel, seven more vampires strode out of the asylum. My old guard. All who lived. One by one, they approached, crossing their arms over their chest and bowing in tribute to me.
“I can’t ask you to fight with me,” I said. “I won’t.”
“You’re not. We’re joining you whether you like it or not.” Nathaniel took a firm hold of my arm as he whispered, eyes glowing red, “You are right. It is high time that bastard paid for his crimes. We fight with you. No matter what anyone believes, you are our rightful leader. And we will follow you to whatever end.”
My guard nodded in agreement, and as we stood there, more vampires exited the asylum, some holding old swords and daggers, others with their fists clenched. It was a far cry from the whole coven, but it was a start.
Their loyalty touched me, and I hissed loudly in approval of their decision.
They joined me and together, we followed the gravel drive away from the asylum into the night. We’d make our way to the nearest coven. I hadn’t been able to convince my own coven. An inner voice mocked me, saying I wouldn’t get the others to back me either. But I had to try.
As we made ready to blur to the next state, pushing ever westward, I glanced toward the stars and thought of Seneca.
You better make it back to me. And it better be you. Don’t make me hunt you down, Seneca, please for the love of the gods, do not make me do that.
Chapter 8
Seneca
A cool hand touched my forehead.
I turned toward it, straining to remember what caused me to be knocked out. The beasts on the road, they surrounded Macron and me and then… then what? I shifted, and another cool hand touched my shoulder, pushing me back down gently.
“Draven?”
No, that wasn’t right. He couldn’t be here. Macron and I weren’t home, were we? How hurt was I? The fight came back to me in snippets, but not enough to tell me how it went. I moved again. There was a bed beneath me, but it wasn’t mine. My fingers spread out slowly. Definitely not mine.
Pretty damned sure I’d never buy silk sheets.
My body stilled as I opened my eyes tentatively, unsure of what I’d see. The second his face came into view, I groaned in annoyance. “Really?”
Rudarius’s brow was drawn together. “What were you thinking?” he countered.
“You first.” I stayed on the bed, in the room we continued to come back to, with Rudarius sitting on the edge.
His hand left my shoulder, but the one on my forehead stayed. I considered swatting it away, but never made an effort to do so. The coolness of his hand, unfortunately, felt nice. I was flushed, and the more I focused on the state I was in, I cringed. It was like someone replaced my blood with a slow burning fire that smoldered just beneath my skin.
“Not sure I can reply to really,” he commented wryly. “You nearly got yourself killed. I told you to run. Why did you not listen?”
I smiled as that slow burn turned hotter. “I’m surprised you even have to ask.”
“I do not want to see you dead.”
“No, you just want to kill the vampire I love, make me your bride, and take over the world.” I tried to sit up, but the room spun, and I sank back to the pillows. “Shit. What hit me?”
Rudarius lip curled in anger. “The mage.”
“Macron? Why?”
Another glimpse of the fight burst to life inside my head. We were surrounded on the road. Maron was too weak to outrun them, so I turned to face them alone. They attacked and then…
I slammed my fist on the bed in annoyance. Why couldn’t I remember? How hard had he whacked me over the head and why? I licked my lips, and the strong taste of copper had me reaching up to feel. When I pulled my hand back, blood dotted my fingers. Was it mine?
“You don’t recall the fight?”
“No,” I replied quietly, not really concerned anymore about Rudarius being here with me. If he wanted to hurt me, he would’ve done it by now. Or taken me captive. I was damned sure he couldn’t. All he could do was annoy me to death by talking. I was more worried about the fight and why Macron felt the need to hit me over the head. “The beasts came at me.” Dull pains started on my back and side. “I was wounded.”
“Severely,” Rudarius muttered with a hiss. “You could have died.”
“How do you know? Did you see it?”
“No, but I felt your pain, all of it. Sensed your fury as you clung to life and your confusion in the end when Macron acted against you.”
This time I did shove his hand away and sat up. “Why?”
I wiped at my face again, and he presented me with a wet cloth. I almost thanked him but swallowed it back just in time. What was wrong with me? This was the vampire who tortured me and almost killed me, who turned me into a monster. Where was my rage? My urge to see him dead, then bring him back to life, just so I could have the pleasure of killing him again? I took my time wiping off my face, waiting for those emotions to make themselves known.
Only they didn’t. They stayed tucked away out of sight, and I chucked the cloth angrily across the room. I tried to swing my legs around on the bed, but Rudarius easily shoved them right back.
“Really?”
“Again with the really. I’m not certain how you wish me to respond.”
“How about by remembering that I am not your bride and I never will be and none of this makes up for what you did to me. Got it?” I pushed against his hand, and he finally gave in. My feet touched the floor, and I stood.
Or thought I did. Somehow, I ended up back on the bed with Rudarius sighing as if he was dealing with a child. “Honestly, you must rest.”
“Just stop, alright?” I glowered at him, but all he did was sit back on the edge of the bed. “You’re not Draven.”
“Nor do
I wish to be, as I’ve said.”
“Then what are you doing? I’m not going to suddenly forget everything you did to me.” I shoved at his chest, but he made no move to back away. “You did it, you hear me? You turned me into this… this thing. Into a freaking monster.”
“Who said you were a monster?”
“Everyone,” I seethed.
“What about you?”
“What?”
He stood from the bed and walked away, hands clasped behind his back. “How do you see yourself, Seneca? Do you see yourself as a monster? As a freak of nature? Or do you see yourself as something so much more?”
I cursed him out quite vividly in response, not that it phased him at all. Another glimpse of the battle came back to me, and as I glanced down my front, my clothes seemed to shimmer in and out of view. Each time I blinked, they changed. One second, they were clean. The next, they were drenched in blood and gore.
Seneca? Can you hear me?
Macron? He sounded weak, very weak. I needed to get back to him.
Rudarius faced me again, standing tall, his shoulders thrown back and his eyes filled with that look of concern.
The urge to return to Macron disappeared in a shot.
“You are thinking quite hard about something,” Rudarius mused.
“Yeah, and?”
“Simply wondering if you wish to talk about it.”
“Talk about what? Nothing to talk about.”
He shrugged as if it was of no consequence to him. He picked up a glass pitcher on the table filled with a thick, red liquid. Blood. I sucked in a breath, and my own vicious snarl came back to me, as did a vision of my tearing into those beasts with my bare hands. I held onto the bedpost as the images assaulted me. I downed one beast, but the other three moved in too fast. Macron was on the ground, his magic all but drained. They came at us, slashing with those massive claws. I’d screamed, crawling to get to Macron and save him.
The blood spilling from the dying beast called to me, and with what strength I had left, I buried my fangs in its neck, searching fervently for a vein.
And I drained it dry.
The room came back into focus, and I lowered my head between my knees, waiting to be sick. Shit, this was almost as bad as the first time, with the shifters. Then I had Draven to keep me from falling apart. Now I only had Rudarius who simply held out a goblet of blood to me.
“I don’t want anymore, not now.”
“It’ll help ease the blood-rage. Trust me.”
“Trust you, huh? Just like that.” I cackled darkly. “You’re a real piece of work you know that?” My stomach roiled, and I slapped a hand over my mouth, waiting for the nausea to pass.
Rudarius held out the goblet again, and instinct had me snatching it and drinking it all in several large gulps.
Rudarius took the goblet away and waited. When I didn’t vomit the blood back up, he smiled. “Told you. I might not be the white knight you seem to believe Draven is, but I am not all that bad.”
I sat on that bed for a long minute, contemplating my next move. If ever I was going to try and convince Rudarius I was maybe falling for his game, it was now.
Who said you aren’t for real?
I hissed at the voice inside my head.
Rudarius’s brow arched, and I acted like I was going to pass out again. He blurred to my side in an instant to catch me. I clung to his arms for support, keeping up the weak act. His eyes locked onto mine and I froze at the heat rushing through me that had nothing to do with the blood-rage. His cool lips brushed against my forehead. The second they made contact, Draven’s furious snarl exploded in the room. Rudarius hissed and backed away from me. The room spun and then was gone.
“Seneca? Open your eyes.” Macron.
I did as he ordered, but it was hard. His face swam into view.
“Macron, I—” My words turned into a grunt of pain that turned into a scream. No, this wasn’t pain. This was agony unlike anything I’d experienced before. My nails dug into the soft ground beneath me as Macron pressed his hand firmly to my forehead. “What… happened?” I gasped.
“You should’ve left me behind,” he snapped instead of answering me.
I snatched his hand, not that I could hold it very well. “Macron, tell me.”
His lips thinned, and he hung his head. “I failed you, that’s what happened. I dragged you here without understanding the consequences. Those beasts, their touch is poisonous. Your wounds are festering. And you going into a blood-rage doesn’t help matters.” His gaze wandered down my front and mine followed.
To say I was covered in blood was an understatement. “You knocked me out?”
“Had to. You weren’t calming down and your power—I feared it was going to burst out of control.” I held his hand fast, and he squeezed mine as another ripple of agony rushed over me. “We have to get you stable. The potions I brought with me, they aren’t enough.”
“Then we… we have to keep… keep moving.”
“We need to return home.”
“No.” I shook my head, trying to get up, but the wounds at my side and back screamed in protest. I shuddered and collapsed to the ground. We hadn’t moved far. I sucked a deep breath in. It told me the bodies of the dead beasts were only a few yards away.
“You’re wounded. I cannot heal you,” he emphasized. “My magic is waning. I might have enough to get us home.”
“We… can’t leave, not… not yet.” I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out as my body gave a spasm. “I won’t… be able to… to fight him off. Please, Macron… you don’t understand.” Rudarius’s red eyes filled my vision, and the feel of his lips on my forehead returned. I thrashed to the side. Draven. I needed to think of Draven and nothing else. “Rings. Have to… reach the forge… Macron…”
He hung his head, cursing under his breath, then squared his shoulders. “There’s one way I might be able to keep the poison at bay. It won’t be easy, and it’s going to hurt, worse than maybe anything before.”
We couldn’t stay on the road. The fog was closing in around us as though it wanted to swallow us whole. The dead trees of the woods disappeared, as did the bodies of the beasts I killed. “Do it.”
Macron’s eyes filled with guilt. He fumbled around on the ground and held up a stick. “Bite this. Hard.”
I did it without question and watched as he took a torch from the small fire he’d built nearby. He told me to lay on my side, and with some effort, I managed, each shift of my weight tugging and tearing at the wounds. I had multiple slashes to my back, but it was impossible for me to tell how many from the massive throbbing aches. Macron told me to bite down again. Then without so much as a warning, he shoved that torch into the wounds.
My fangs dug into the stick as I screamed, burying my face in my arm. He moved the torch slowly down the first wound. The flame drew back, and I breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. He rammed it right back for the next injury. I scrambled in the dirt, digging my nails into the cobbles until I broke them, and my fingers bled. My bloody, dirty hair fell over my face, hiding my view of the fog-ridden realm.
If there were any beasts close by, they’d be on us in no time with the noise I was making, but shit, this hurt almost as bad as the day Rudarius tore my wings out.
When my back was finished, Macron, hoisted me upright, then tugged up my shirt. I started to fight him, not sure I could endure any more of this pain.
“It’s working for now,” he assured me. “The poison is holding steady. One more wound, Seneca. If we don’t, it’ll kill you before we reach the forge.”
I hissed viciously, the stick still between my teeth, but gingerly tugged up my shirt. He maneuvered the torch closer, shoved it into the deep gash. The sensation of it parting my skin was enough to make me bite down so hard the stick shattered into splinters. I threw my head back with an animal-like howl.
“Finished.” Macron tossed the torch back into the fire, holding me as I collapsed into his s
houlder. “We can’t linger.”
“No shit.” I sucked in a deep, shaky breath and we helped each other to a standing position.
The fog had indeed moved in. I could hardly see a few yards in front of us. I glanced behind me to where the dead beasts were, I thought, then turned back the other direction. The path. We just had to follow the cobbles beneath our feet. The dim, grey lighting of this world was starting to irritate me, and I snarled as we limped along, supporting each other the best we could. Macron used his staff to help, practically dragging us onward. When the cobbles slanted and the trees around us became less and less, I cursed the uphill route the road took us.
Our steps dislodged the old stones creating the road, and we fell more than once, crashing to our knees, swearing and wincing at the new injuries befalling us. We just had to keep moving. Rudarius’s voice came to me once, but I hissed loud enough to drown out his words, and he didn’t attempt again.
“Earlier, when you were unconscious,” Macron said slowly, “you said a name.”
Please let it be Draven. But from the way the old mage’s white brows drew together, I knew it had not been the name of the vampire I was in love with.
“You were with him again, Rudarius?”
“Not like I try to be,” I muttered, cringing with every step.
“You are meant to block him out.”
I yanked us to a stop, which as soon as I did, I knew it was a terrible idea, but it was too late now. Might take us a few minutes to get moving again. “And how am I supposed to do that? He just appears there, alright? And when a certain someone knocks me over the head, not like I have any control over where my mind goes or who might try to break into it.”