Because they were obviously necromantic field medics of some kind.
“Enough games,” Dracula snarled. I felt the pressure in the air suddenly drop—not having even noticed it during my fight—its sudden absence felt like the ground had just fallen out from beneath my boots.
And Dracula’s Beast grabbed me by the soul, somehow even pinning my wings to my back, proving that it was perfectly capable to dominate me on the physical plane as well as the magical.
I hissed and struggled, railing against the unseen appendages for any kind of weakness. Upon contact—or whatever this sensation could be called—I suddenly realized that I could feel the Beast itself. And it made my pulse skip a beat or ten.
It.
Was.
Immense.
Unbelievably immense. Like a force of nature. And some part of me realized that the Beast was as surprised as me—that I had somehow taken a peek beneath the curtain. I knew this because it suddenly grew incredibly warm as a tidal wave of rage surged up inside the Beast.
I took a wild guess and assumed it had verified my blood—the blood of Constance’s descendant—the woman who had somehow taken the Beast’s eyes. I struggled and fought harder, fearing it would simply engulf me and extinguish my soul like a pinched candle wick.
It wasn’t just that it was powerful; it was that it was a power I couldn’t even comprehend. Like I was a world-champion bodybuilder standing outside during a storm thinking I was strong enough to punch a tornado and knock it away from my house.
The two forms of strength weren’t even comparable.
But that example was more believable than me trying to stand up against this Beast.
It made Falco look like a puny runt of the litter, where this was the matriarch of all Beasts everywhere.
I heard the two men arguing loudly, but couldn’t make out their words as I strained against the Beast. “Enough!” Dracula finally commanded, sounding closer.
I gasped as the pressure abruptly eased, not having even realized it had been squeezing me so tightly that I hadn’t been able to breathe. The Beast still held me in place, but it was no longer beating the hell out of my soul. My eyes abruptly felt like they were about to bug out of my face and my body was shaking. My Silver claws had simply snapped off and fallen to the floor. What the hell?
Samael was suddenly standing before me, studying me and my broken claws thoughtfully. He looked at me like an object, not an ounce of recognition in his eyes—not a sliver of compassion or camaraderie.
A scientist examining a lifeless object.
A stranger.
I wondered which Samael had been real. This one or the one who had entered Dracula’s Castle with me. It sounded obvious—that this cruel Samael was the original, because he had obviously been working with Dracula the entire time. The part that didn’t make sense was that he’d told Dracula that his goal had been to bring Roland here, but back in the church where I had fought Roland, Samael hadn’t shown the slightest interest in the ex-Shepherd.
Samael had told me it had all been a setup to get me here, not Roland.
One of the two was a lie. Knowing he was a demon, I hadn’t expected anything less—regardless of our Blood Bond. Maybe Dracula had a Blood Bond with Samael as well, and his was simply stronger than mine.
Ultimately, the motivations didn’t really matter at the moment.
Samael lied so easily that it was impossible to know which lie was closest to the truth.
Samael stared at my arms and legs—the same spot I swore I could feel the furious Beast gripping me to hold me in place—even though there was no visible sign of my restraints.
I stared at Samael, my lips curling back. “Godless, dickless, spineless, powerless—”
He struck me across the jaw so strongly and casually that my vision winked out for a second. When it returned, stars spun across my field of sight. I hadn’t fallen, thanks to the Beast holding me in place, which made the blow hurt more. Samael stared at me with zero emotional expression—no anger, no amusement. Just an emptiness. “It’s time to play your part, girl. You will not enjoy it, but I will,” he said, staring down at my unseen restraints again.
Dracula spoke up from across the room. “Go ahead.”
I swabbed my tongue around my mouth, tonguing a tooth that felt slightly loose. Then I spit in his face, speckling it with blood and saliva.
He narrowed his eyes, and I felt a moment of vertigo as his eyes visibly darkened like they were trying to pull me into a void of nothingness. I averted my eyes to stare at his nose instead.
He chuckled derisively. “Embrace the Beast, daughter of Solomon.”
And he placed his palm on my forehead. My skin crackled and hissed.
I screamed as fire ripped through me like a trail of lit gasoline from forehead to toes. It burned and ravaged and…cleansed.
Cleansed me of all power. I wasn’t sure how I knew this through the pain, but I was certain of it. My powers were gone, burnt away. The fire slowly faded as it smoldered and cooled, and the Beast’s grip slowly evaporated with a satisfied purr—like it had just consumed a large meal and was going down for a nap.
I fell to the ground, unable to support my own weight.
Chapter 7
My arm and fingers shook as I weakly reached out to grab one of my broken Silver claws less than a foot away, and it took every ounce of mental and physical strength I could muster to get them working in concert, even if it was slightly arthritic and at a glacial speed. Like those dreams where you ran as fast as you possibly could—even faster than physically possible—only to find that the monster chasing you was only walking, laughing wickedly as he somehow managed to close the distance.
That you simply could not move fast enough to escape his leisurely stroll, even though you were putting absolutely everything you had into it.
Samael chuckled, kicking the Silver claw out of reach—waiting until I was about an inch away from contact to do so, the bastard.
His laugh made me imagine a sadistic kid with a magnifying glass after discovering an ant hill.
I reached within me, trying to call up my Silvers…and failed.
I tried my wizard’s magic, and sensed only smoke from the internal inferno that had blazed through me.
I even considered snatching at my Horseman’s Mask but I knew I would never reach it before Samael stopped me. I needed a minute to catch my breath before trying that.
I tried calling upon my wings to at least fly back from my enemies, anything to get away…
And I felt only the physical silence of an abandoned church.
I was, more or less, a Regular, with no magic to speak of.
Dracula grunted in satisfaction, staring down at me. I hadn’t realized he’d approached. I glared up at him, struggling to get my muscles to obey so that I could at least stand. “Incredible,” he mused, staring at my forehead as I glared at him. “The Mark of the Beast. I thought you were boasting! It has been some time since I’ve seen true devil-work. My resident demon prefers gossip to actual work.”
Samael grunted knowingly. “I’m surprised you keep her around. I’ve always hated her, and that’s saying something.” He smiled faintly. “I could take her off your hands—”
“You will do no such thing. Her gossip falls on deaf ears, and I must admit, she is occasionally useful. Enough to grant her continued existence.”
“As you wish,” Samael said, not sounding best pleased.
“While our guest is recovering, tell me what you did and why. What do you plan to do..” Dracula asked Samael, his voice trailing off as the two of them walked away to speak in private—too quietly for me to hear.
As much as I wanted to eavesdrop on their talk, getting back on my feet was more important. I groaned as I managed to prop myself up on my elbows. Then I actually sat up, supporting my weight with my hands. The effort left me panting and dizzy, but I pressed on. Even though my body was weak, I didn’t necessarily hurt—even on my forehead wher
e Samael had touched me with the Mark of the Beast.
I knew that phrase was referenced in the Book of Revelations in the Bible; however, I didn’t understand how it had taken my powers away.
The Mark of the Beast was a brand to be given to all mankind who were left behind in the End Days, like a farmer branding his cattle to prove ownership.
Except you wouldn’t be owned by any farmer. You would be owned by the Devil—or one of his minions.
And the Mark was a number—666.
So…
What did that have to do with my various powers?
I knew one thing, though. My Godfather was the worst kind of asshole.
I grunted, climbing awkwardly to my feet. The blood rushed to my head and I had to grip the table with my hands to steady my balance. I waited until my vision steadied before loudly clearing my throat, interrupting them as rudely as I could manage. “What did you do to me?” I demanded.
Dracula turned to smile at me, not bothered by my interruption in the slightest. Worse, he looked eager. “Samael was quite clever. He was just telling me how he used devilry to give you the Mark of the Beast, forming a conduit with Sanguina that I hadn’t considered possible.” Seeing the confusion on my face, he pointed up at the ceiling. “Sanguina is the name of Castle Dracula’s Beast.”
I glanced pointedly at the bloody Cross Pattée covering my chest. “Even though my outfit says otherwise, I’m not really up-to-date on the churchy stuff. The Mark of the Beast is from Revelations, so how would that take away my powers or tie me to…Sanguina?” I said, testing out the name. I was surprised that I didn’t feel her freak the hell out when I said it. I didn’t feel her at all, as a matter of fact. That couldn’t be good. “Shouldn’t it make me some kind of zombie or servant of Hell?” I asked, genuinely confused.
Dracula and Samael were both nodding, although Samael’s grin was smug and he looked as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As if he had finally gotten his revenge against me for the crimes of my mother, finally able to taste freedom after his long prison sentence within the Seal of Solomon.
Dracula motioned for Samael to explain, chuckling and shaking his head, looking thoroughly impressed by what Samael had done.
Samael turned his grin my way. “I was able to bond your powers to Sanguina because your mother took her eyes, and you share your mother’s blood. And since Sanguina is a Beast, the Mark of the Beast was a close enough conduit to bridge the gap,” he explained.
That…actually made sense. Damn it.
“Tit-for-tat,” he continued. “I’ll admit a small personal win as well—your mother bonded me in chains, and now I’ve bonded you in chains.” I narrowed my eyes, but didn’t say anything. “The Mark of the Beast is so much more than a mere bond of servitude to Hell. If I hadn’t been here in the heart of Dracula’s Beast, it never would have been possible. I wish I had thought of the connection sooner,” he admitted.
Dracula interrupted. “Is this something any demon could do?” he asked, suddenly looking concerned.
Samael snorted. “All demons know how to draw it, but only Greater Demons are strong enough to power it. An army of demons could doodle this all over your castle, and it would have the same effect as them drawing stick figures.”
Dracula looked immensely relieved.
I cut in, not caring about Professor Samael’s Demonology 101 lesson. “Since Dracula looks like he’s about to fanboy so hard that he’s dangerously close to dry-humping your leg, I’m guessing you already have a plan for when I tell you that I want my powers back. Right now.”
Dracula’s eyes narrowed slightly at my assessment, but Samael simply nodded. “If you want your powers back, you will have to make a trade with Sanguina.”
Dracula cleared his throat. “That was one of my questions, too,” he told me. “Those inhabiting my castle are bonded to me by blood, and in effect, bonded to Sanguina. Their bond to me is the only thing keeping them safe from Sanguina’s…appetite.”
I nodded slowly, working that out in my mind. “Sanguina won’t eat those bonded to you. And what Samael did to me is similar enough in effect, bonding me to her indirectly through this Mark. I’m assuming I can’t just wipe it off…”
Samael laughed harshly. “Go ahead and try. It won’t feel pleasant.”
So I did. I reached up and wiped my forehead with my sleeve.
And fucking collapsed like a sack of potatoes, hissing as if I’d scraped a raw wound.
Dracula’s eyes widened, and Samael nodded satisfactorily. “Only a Greater Demon can remove it,” he said in a lecturing tone as I climbed back to my feet.
“Right,” I said, knowing that I would not be trying that again.
Samael cleared his throat. “Now. The difference with your relationship with Sanguina is that I gave her a taste of your powers, and she now knows you are the daughter of the one who took her eyes. She is very hungry to eat you, Callie. If I hadn’t put her to sleep, you would already be dead. With you, there is no buffer of protection like the inhabitants of this castle can claim. In three days, she will wake, and you shall die.”
“Unless,” Dracula said, holding up a finger, “you give her something else she desires. Over the years, I have gifted magical ruby amulets from my treasury to certain residents of my castle as a token of gratitude to thank them for one thing or another,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “There are about forty of them in total, and Sanguina has always wanted to eat those residents more than the others—to see if she could taste the extra dash of loyalty in their blood.” He frowned and turned to look at Samael. “How many does she need again?” he asked.
“Six,” Samael replied dryly before taking a sip of his wine.
Which was interesting. 666 was the Mark of the Beast but…I was also the Sixth Horseman.
Coincidence?
Dracula snapped his fingers. “Right. You could find and kill any six of these forty esteemed residents, and dip their amulets in their blood. The amulets have the ability to absorb their blood and essence, you see. Then, when you are ready to feed them to Sanguina, simply shatter them on the floor. Each shattered necklace will result in some of your powers returning. When all six have been broken, I will call Sanguina off.”
Forty options and I had to pick six. What kind of esteemed residents were we talking about? Frankenstein? The original Renfield? I’d read up on Dracula over the years, but it had primarily been via Bram Stoker. And, thinking that Dracula had died at the end, I hadn’t really delved much further into his specific story. Who had he been friends with?
And…could I kill any of them without my powers?
I studied the two men, thinking furiously. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to just let me walk around the castle to feed six of your most valued residents to your dog so that your dog doesn’t eat me?” I asked, trying to comprehend why the hell anyone—especially Dracula—would want such a thing done. I even wondered if I had misheard him.
Dracula nodded. “If you survive that long, you will join me for dinner at the end of the three days. At which point, I’m sure you will try to kill me since you will have all your magic back, and I will be forced to swat you down like a child. Afterwards, you will serve me for eternity, whether you want to or not.” He leaned forward, smiling darkly. “Or you can reconsider your earlier answer about working with me. We can skip all of the games and you can begin serving me right now.”
I narrowed my eyes, not liking the sound of that one bit. Especially after hearing how much he valued his current residents. “I’d prefer the chance to fight you on even ground, since you so bravely took away my weapons before flexing,” I said, taunting him.
He smiled good-naturedly. “So be it. I will arrange for a guide to show you around, otherwise you will never even find your six targets in the three days Samael has given you. Do with the guide what you will. I have no further use for him. I also won’t tell any of my people about your little visit or you wouldn’t last a
n hour. But if they sense you…” he trailed off, shrugging with an anticipatory grin.
“How considerate,” I muttered.
He smiled politely. “You’re welcome. Don’t be too picky on your targets. Your time is limited and there is a lot of ground to explore.” He rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Samael and I will be rather busy over the next three days, but I truly look forward to our dinner. You can tell me all about your adventures before we begin working together!”
Then he gave me a mocking bow, and motioned for Samael to follow him towards the door in the back of the room—the same one Samael had initially entered from. Samael hesitated after a few steps, and then cleared his throat pointedly.
Dracula slowed, turning to him. “Yes?”
“You forgot to mention that each shattered necklace will bring Sanguina up from her slumber. That she will fully wake when all six are broken. What if Miss Penrose is ambitious and finishes early? I warned you that she is rather competent.”
My stomach lurched, even though I kept my face blank.
Dracula considered the question, scratching at his chin. “Well, I’m not going to change our dinner reservation. You and I have much work to do over the next three days, Samael. Business before pleasure, I always say.”
Samael nodded his agreement. Neither of them bothered looking at me. “So what happens if Sanguina wakes early and we are too busy working?”
Dracula thought about it and finally nodded. “I see what you mean.” He turned to me, dipping his chin again. “It seems your choice is to either dine with me in three days, or be dined upon if you are too…ambitious. I’ll leave the decision up to you. But we could do great things together, Miss Penrose.”
To summarize, it would be suicide to get all my powers back as fast as possible and go exploring. Like I needed to do to find Dracula’s Bane—the only weapon that could permanently kill him, apparently.
Godless: Feathers and Fire Book 7 Page 4