by Amy Miles
Pain consumes my world, ensnaring my thoughts and then shattering them into thousands of shards. I had thought darkness would be a comfort, though it only feels like a prison. I am aware of my body in ways I have never known before. My toes feel as if they are nothing more than bits of bone rattling in my boots. My legs are curled backward, my heel touching my hip in such a manner that it makes me nauseous.
My ribs are on fire. My arm is out of socket and lying uselessly beside me. My nose feels as if it has shifted to the side, my cheekbone smashed in.
I groan, my throat too raw to allow a scream, as a boot slams into my side. Warmth spreads along my ribs as I gasp for breath, gagging as something sharp digs into my stomach.
“Is she not precious, brother?” The crooning voice sends shivers trickling down my spine.
“Verity?” Blood bubbles burst between my lips as her name gurgles in my throat.
A wisp of dark hair fills my vision just before she sends her backhand against my cheek.
“She knows my name,” Verity hisses as she rises. Through my partially swollen eye, I watch as she wipes her hands upon her dress, as if touching me left something offensive on her skin.
Blood spills within my stomach and out through a hole in my side. As I try to curl inward to inspect my wounds, I feel warmth seeping from several openings along my chest and abdomen. What have they done to me?
Death was stolen from me once again. The taste of blood at the back of my throat is rank, as if drained from a rotten corpse instead of a living being. Perhaps it was. I shudder at the thought, knowing that human blood would have aided me in healing.
I shift and cry out as I feel my flesh tear. I rise up just enough to see a splintered board rising from my right side, impaling me. It has been driven deep into the earthen floor. Another has been thrust through my wrist, just above my shattered arm. Two metal stakes have been driven through the tops of my feet.
My cries of mounting terror come out in rasping coughs that leave me lightheaded and wearied.
“Do you know what it is that you have done, sister?” Cassius hisses. I recognize his voice. It has plagued my dreams since the night of the fire, taunting me as if it had been me he set alight instead of that blood slave.
I can just spy the toe of his black boot as he paces to and fro a few feet away. I can smell his anxiety, his fear. Despite my pain, I curl my lip in an attempt to smile and find it to be split and swollen. I am unsure if it is delirium from the pain or just the realization that despite the horrors I have experienced at Vladimir’s hand, no one is allowed to touch me. No one.
Verity and Cassius will pay for this. I take great comfort in that knowledge.
“It will be our heads on a pike if we do not return her where you found her,” he calls as she bustles past him.
“Peace, brother,” she soothes, her voice as silky as a fine pastry. “Vladimir is gone.”
Gone? A silent scream catches in my throat as I attempt to discern my surroundings.
The walls are made of thick wooden planks, darkened with age and soot. The roof is peaked and the building appears to be a single floor. Leather harnesses hang from pegs along the wall. Branding tools and stonemasons’ hammers lean against a long table with a wooden bench pushed beneath it.
Hay litters the floor, although it seems mostly undisturbed. This must be the small hut that I spied from my window, I muse sorrowfully. It is well outside of screaming distance, even for an immortal. Not with the rippling waters of the lake, the lowing of the animals, and the usual hustle and bustle of the castle to interfere with my pathetic attempts.
No one will look for me here. And why should they? If Vladimir is gone, there is no one to care for my wellbeing.
Despair seeps into me like a slow-killing disease. I can feel the weight of it paralyzing me.
“You overestimate the girl’s worth to Vlad,” Verity calls from somewhere to my right. I try to turn and look in her direction, but the wound in my stomach catches and I hiss through the stabbing pain.
“You are a fool and I will have no part of this!” Cassius stomps past me and snatches open the door. He turns back as the cold wind whips through the small cabin. It unsettles my hair. I breathe deep, searching for any other scent in the area.
“He will have your head for this. Mark my words.” He slams the door behind him. I listen as his boots crunch on the stone walk as he attacks the steep climb back up toward the castle.
Will Cassius’s fear for his sister’s life prod him into revealing my location? Surely by doing so he would betray her trust, yet it might save her life. I cling to this thought, praying for salvation as Verity approaches, her skirts swaying against the floor.
“Why am I here?” My throat allows nothing more than a croak, to which Verity’s high-pitch laughter responds. She sinks down beside me. Her long black hair tickles my nose as she shakes her head.
“We both know you do not belong here, Roseline. You are weak, pathetic. You obviously wish to move on to a… a better place.”
“And I suppose you want to assist me.” I grunt as I try to shift, yet pain stabs at me from five different directions. I suck in a breath and hold it until the agony eases to bearable limits.
“I am not as cruel as you would think me to be.” She runs a finger down my cheek, pausing over my lips.
At first I think there is a hint of tenderness to her touch, though when she draws back her finger, I see my blood dripping from her sharpened nail. Her lips part and she sucks her finger into her mouth, closing her eyes at the taste of my blood.
“You drink from immortals too?” My lips curl with disgust and she laughs, slapping me across my cheek, leaving an identical palm print to the one she already gifted me with.
“I like blood. It does not matter from whom it comes.”
The floor is cold against my back and a chill hangs heavy in the air. Moonlight drifts brokenly through the grimy glass windows. There is no fire to light the space, making it nearly impossible to see beyond the scant splinters of moonlight that paint the floor.
I cannot see what lurks within the shadows on the other side of the cabin. Does it go on for several feet or come to an abrupt halt? What fiendish tools might that side offer Verity?
“Why do you loath me so?” I ask, straining to lift my chin so I can see her as she moves about in the shadows. Her steps are nearly silent. The swish of her plum skirts against the strewn hay is the only hint as to where she has gone.
I hear a clang of metal and tense. Although I have never seen Verity in battle, her affection for a broad axe is commonly known. Her affinity for decapitation gives me reason to pause. Perhaps if I knew why she captured me, I could bargain with her?
As she drags a silver double-edge axe into the moonlight, I swallow roughly. The sharpened blade is stained with the blood of a previous victim. Her eyes are wide and appear to glow silver in the light. Her long tangled strands drape to her waist, a stark contrast to her nearly transparent skin.
Some would call her beautiful. I would call her ghastly.
Her eyebrows dip severely, making her look menacing instead of sultry like Alamesia or Emeline. Her nose is broader than most and her lips so pale they hardly have any color to them at all. Her fingernails are long and chiseled to a severe point. She reminds me of a lynx that hunts in the mountains nearby. She moves with grace and ease, yet there is something altogether animalistic about her mannerisms.
Cassius is the better looking of the two. His black hair is curled in popular style about his face; his clothes fit his lean figure to perfection. His poise and manners are far more fitting of a lord than the commoner that Verity betrays herself to be.
It is difficult for me to tell by her speech pattern from where she came. Perhaps she is a native of a province bordering Transylvania. Her accent is far more clipped than my own, though different still than Vladimir’s.
“You think I hold you in low esteem?” She tsks as she spins the head of her axe against the ground.
It glints red and black in the moonlight. The hilt is inlaid with a blackened wood and bone, the wood flesh stained with blood. A skull perches between the twin blades. I realize as the axe slows in its revolution that the skull must have belonged to a small child, perhaps a baby, at one time.
Large silver spikes rise from around the skull. A single spike, the width of two fingers, protrudes from the top, digging its way into the earthen floor. It would not take much to sever an appendage with a well-aimed lunge.
This weapon was crafted for one thing: death.
Verity casts her gaze down upon me and I see nothing, save pity, on her beautiful face. “I do not detest you. I feel nothing for you at all.”
“Then why capture me? Why stake me to the ground?”
Her shoulders rise and fall with an indifferent shrug. The skirts at her feet rise to reveal bare feet, soiled from the filthy floor. That is how she moves without a sound, I think.
“A girl enjoys a bit of fun… from time to time.” She draws out her emphasis on the word fun with a hiss that makes my skin crawl.
“And you intend to part my neck from my head, is that it?” I twist ever so slightly to peer up through the window. The moon is on the rise, though it has not yet reached its full peak. My brethren will be feasting by now. With Vladimir gone, the blood will flow long into the night. No one will leave the festivities to take a midnight stroll. I am on my own.
Verity tilts her head to the side and appears to contemplate my inquiry. She surprises me by lifting her skirts and sinking down beside me. “Do you know what it is like to be ignored, replaced by a simpering little girl who does not know what great fortune has been given her?”
I blink. “You were with Vladimir?”
A cold smile stretches along her face. She reaches out and grabs my chin with enough force to snap a human’s jaw. “He was with me. I had everything I ever wanted. A bed to warm and a castle to rule. He took me in ways that would curl your toes and whiten your hair. It was a thing of beauty.”
Her voice fades as she slowly draws back from her memories. A deep scowl settles into the hard lines of her face. Her eyes darken and her grip tightens on the hilt of her axe. “Then Lucien sent him to find you and I lost everything.”
“Lucien?” I struggle to understand. “I never met him before the day Vladimir came to my home.”
Verity’s laugh is low and guttural. Stray hairs fall about her face, giving her the look of a mad woman. “You foolish girl. Do you really think you were chosen by chance or for your beauty? No. You were chosen for sport, and I was cast aside like a common wench by a girl as plain and timid as a mouse.”
She leans back and beats her breast as she barks out a laugh. Despite myself, I cannot help feeling wounded by her cruel taunting. Verity breaks off suddenly and thrusts her face over mine. Her hair tickles my nose. All hint of humor has vanished from her gaze, replaced by blackened rage. “Lucien took something that was mine, so now I will take something of his.”
“I am not his,” I stammer as she rises fluidly to her feet. Her grip tightens on the hilt of her axe. A terrified whimper rises in my throat. I cannot move, cannot defend myself. At least this death will be swift… just as I longed for.
She raises the axe overhead, staring down at me with unrepentant hatred. As I watch her prepare to end my life, I realize in the back of my mind that she does not hate me. No, hatred is not a strong enough word. Verity releases an almighty howl as she brings the axe down. I stare as the blade swings toward me, too shocked to close my eyes.
A clash of steel startles me from my shock. I blink and find the blade of a sword hovering scant inches above my nose. I follow the silver line up the hilt and blanch.
Lucien stands beside me like a malevolent demon rising from the shadows. His gaze is blackened, filled with cold fury. I am grateful it is not me that he looks at with such open contemp.
Verity screams as she is thrown backward, tumbling end over end until she vanishes in shadow. Her shriek rises as tools pelt down upon her, unsettled from the wall above. They slice at her skin before clattering to the ground. The scent of her blood calls to me as a black cloak sweeps past, its dusty hem brushing against my nose.
“I forewarned you the price if you made an attempt on her life, Verity.” Lucien’s voice is deep and without a hint of tremor. His steps are purposeful as he approaches her. “I do not make idle threats.”
His deadly calm as he stalks the girl makes me feel numb with terror. I have seen Lucien’s savagery firsthand and prayed to my mother’s God that I would never be handed over to him. Verity seems all too aware of her grave mistake as she tumbles backward over the pile of tools, leaving splotches of blood in her wake as she crawls away from his approach. Her axe lies upon the ground only a few feet away from me. The desire to snatch it up is maddening, yet it is well out of my grasp.
I stare down at the stakes driven through my wrists and know I am helpless. Verity made sure of it. The pain keeps me rooted in place, much as my mounting terror. I do not fool myself into thinking Lucien’s appearance is that of a knight arriving to rescue a damsel in distress. No. There is a reason he is here and I fear I am that reason.
“Peace, Lucien. It was only a bit of fun.” Verity cries out as her footing slips on a spilled cluster of bent nails and she tumbles back to the ground. I can hear the fabric of her dress rip as she snags it on the edge of the workbench. The pattering of blood grows more pronounced, though I cannot see her wounds in the shadows.
Lucien makes no attempt to attack, although he has the advantage. His movements are slow, calculated. He is toying with her and relishing every moment of her fear. “I am not a merciless man, though I do not forgive blatant attacks on my family.”
“She is not your flesh and blood,” Verity squeals as her head slams into the far wall. I glance toward the window and noticed the moon has gone behind a cloud, making it nearly impossible to see within the closed cabin. The whisper of boots to my right is the only hint as to Lucien’s whereabouts.
“That girl is worth far more than an imbecile such as yourself could possibly imagine,” he spits out, betraying his first true hint of anger.
My thoughts race as I try to understand the meaning of his words. Why have I been chosen? I am no one special.
A shriek from the corner of the room is quickly followed by a deeper growl. I hear the rustling of fabric as Verity resists, hear the sound of her fists beating against his grasp. Rolling my head to the side, my focus shifts to Lucien’s boots emerging from the shadows, just before Verity lands with a pained grunt in the center of the room.
Verity rolls over my torso, dislodging the spikes in my wrists, though not enough to be truly free. The wood piercing my stomach brings tears to my eyes as it shifts and a fresh ooze of blood seeps down my side.
Her foot connects with my cheek and whips my head about before she slams into the wall a few feet away. She rises slowly, her hair a tangled mess across her face, her skin ashen. “Vladimir will be furious if you kill me,” she snarls as Lucien steps toward me.
“No,” he says with a slow, sinister grin. “I do not think he will.”
Verity raises her hands to defend herself as Lucien steps over me and slams his boot into her face. The sound of her skull fracturing sends my stomach churning violently. My stomach heaves when I notice a lumpy gray matter seeping from the sides of her sunken face, her skull splintered into bloody chasms. There is little detail left recognizable.
I hear the sound of Verity’s axe slicing through the air. It lands with a thud against the wooden support beam before him. Her head tumbles past, rocking to and fro as it comes to rest with her nose pressed to the dirt. Blood drips from the neck wound, and I begin to choke on the bile in my throat.
Lucien turns and kicks at the stake in my wrist. It rips free, leaving splinters buried deep into the back of my wrists as I retch on the floor beside me. My stomach spasms several times before I am free to roll back and catch my breath.
/> “Thank you,” I whisper as acid burns my throat.
A dark face hovers over mine. I look up to meet Lucien’s murderous gaze. He smiles as he wrenches the stake from my side. My back arches at the sudden burst of agony. He places a hand to my chest, forcing me to lie still.
I only have a moment to wonder why Verity’s body has not slumped to the floor before Lucien drives the wooden stake back into my stomach, leaning on it to apply slow, steady pressure as it punctures my skin. I gasp against the pain, my free hand clawing at his arm as my mouth hangs in a silent scream of horror.
“Do not express gratitude just yet,” he whispers, dipping low to speak into my ear. The scent of blood and musk clings to his collar. A hint of a woman’s perfume resides on his neck. He has had another tryst with Alamesia by the smell of his coat. “Vladimir will expect payment for Verity’s death. He was rather fond of her.”
Lucien rips a stake from my other hand and drives it through my shoulder. I cry out as my vision begins to blur. “Her blood is on your hands,” I gasp, writhing beneath him as he begins to twirl the stake. I can feel him tearing through muscle and scraping bone.
“On the contrary, a blood debt must be paid, and I do so love to hear you scream.”
With one final push, the wooden spear pierces through the back of my shoulder and stakes me to the ground. My shrieks rise into the night as Lucien begins to painstakingly seek payment from my flesh.
FOURTEEN