A fury bellowed forth, a mixture of emotions Sean had yet to place. Pain shattered through him like none he’d ever felt before. It crippled him into submission. It muted the world around him like a hollowed chasm of nothing but air and fog. Sean fumbled, absentmindedly, protectively, for the board, hoping Zane wouldn’t wreak anymore havoc on his insides. There was no telling how much damage had already been done, but his entire abdomen seemed to be twisting, pinching into a knot at the wound.
Zane’s focus seemed to shift, flickering past Sean to something he appeared to find perplexing. Sean could hardly focus himself, but through fizzling vision, he examined Zane’s expression as it piqued with interest. He swept across the others briefly, before turning back to Sean, and pulling him in close. “It’s the earrings, isn’t it? They’re protecting you somehow.”
Inside, Sean’s temperature rose, sweat bubbling from under his dark skin. At the same time that his upper body was in overdrive and overheating, the bottom half of him felt like it was dipped in ice. It was like he’d been cleaved in two, a chilled sensation slowly creeping down to his hips, then to his knees and feet.
No longer could he breath, for fear of puncturing his lungs or other vital organs. The rescue plan seemed to be crumbling around him.
He almost hated the smug look on Zane’s face as much as he feared what the world would be like if the Sanguinatores were victorious. How many more hundred—thousand—people would they slaughter unchecked?
With a tilt of his head, Zane signaled to one of his minions. “Take that hideous garbage out of his ear.”
The man did so without question. In a rush, Sean felt a wave of intoxication roll over him. It wiped away the sharp crack in his stomach, the pounding against his brain. So much blood was in the air, and he’d kept himself shut off for so long. The bloodlust was beyond intense. It was consuming.
He’d forgotten entirely about the nails scraping his innards until Zane tore the board from his side and hurled Sean to the ground.
The breath escaped him, a knee knocking the wind from his chest.
“You sneaky traitor!”
Another flash of white skewed Sean’s vision as Zane slammed his foot against the injury.
“Hiding blood from your own brothers like that. You oughta be ashamed.”
Feet and clouds of dust encroached around him as others descended. The stampede that rolled over his shoulder and back, breaking at least one of his ribs, left Sean certain that there were at least a thousand Sanguinatores, even if it were really only a handful ganging up on him. Each one pummeled a new bruise onto his skin while Sean just lay there in the fetal position.
When the feet stopped, the pain was only replaced with something worse. Sean’s heart faltered a beat, and the very essence of his soul felt like it was being ripped from the bone. He felt it over his entire body, a heat coursing within him.
A shrill whistle cut through the air, and with clarity, Sean understood.
It was the first time anyone else had commanded Sean’s blood, and it was the greatest violation he’d ever experienced. Those precious beads of red belonged to him. A blood guide always had them at his beck and call, day or night, awake or asleep. It came as a second nature to him now. How Zane had taken hold of his blood was beyond him.
Every ounce of him throbbed with urgency. The pull was still there, each molecule wailing to be released by the tyrant and returned to the rein of their natural leader. But something prevented Sean from relinking. The pressure caved into his chest, his stomach churned and knotted.
Lights sparkled at the back of his eyes, sifting his vision through splotches of purple and white and gray.
“Am I losing you already, Seany-boy?”
Sean struggled to blink. Everywhere he felt pressure, worst of all on his mind, his skull squeezing too tightly, eyes bulging. His body was a balloon and contained inside was a red ocean ready to explode.
Zane came into view, a joyous victory prancing about his gaze. Hands propped on hips, he stood over Sean’s convulsing body like a warlord. “You think I’m going to let you die that easily? All this buildup, all the men you just killed.” A string of spit splashed out as Zane laughed. “Sorry to devastate your reality, but we have so much more in store for you. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, but you’re so stubborn, I’m afraid the only way you’ll ever learn is to see it—to feel it for yourself.”
Somewhere, Sean knew Zane was talking, but the words were being drowned out. The vibration of his blood, at the command of someone else, shrieking on the precipice of containment and release, dulled anything else in comparison. Sean wanted to scream. He could’ve, were it not for the thought of the satisfaction it would bring Zane to see his misery.
The tatted man snapped at another goon.
“You’ll know soon enough, Seany.”
A low wind-like noise broke the air, and Sean flinched, fearing the worst. Just because Zane had vowed not to end his life anytime soon, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t draw out the pain for as long as he could. But to Sean’s surprise, it wasn’t more pain that followed, but a respite of relief. Behind Zane, one of his Sanguinatores knelt. In horror, Sean watched as the Sanguinatore tilted his head to the sky in sacrifice. Blood streamed from every facial orifice.
A growing panic developed inside of Sean as he considered the reasons why Zane would be using one of his own people in this manner.
“The problem is, you haven’t felt the power for yourself yet. It’s in that moment, your first taste of the power of the blood, when you truly discover yourself and your purpose.” When Zane stopped, the blood flow halted in suspension, but the Sanguinatore still writhed, more than mere physical pain causing him his agony. Zane crouched beside Sean so that their noses practically touched, his voice a steady whisper. “We don’t just control blood, you see. It fuels us. It wants us. We own it. The blood is our destiny, the only way we will ever… Seany, I can’t let you continue living in ignorance. It would be an injustice to us all. Here, let me show you.”
Sean didn’t know what he was about to do, but something about the situation told him it wasn’t good. “No—” he rasped.
The ritual had already begun though. There was no coming between a Master of Blood and his vice. At Zane’s demonic song, the blood of the man solidified into arrows and shot straight into Zane’s heart. His eyes flashed as red as embers. His entire body was ablaze.
“You feel that, right, Seany?” asked Zane, his voice more thunderous than ever. “Consuming blood energizes us, heals us, and quite frankly, makes us better. It’s the true calling of a Sanguinatore. It’s how we will win the war to come. Join us! Leave these insignificant pests behind. For Morden’s sake, make them your first tribute to your new Sanguinatore lifestyle. Embrace the power within you.”
If Sean could’ve spoken, he would’ve had some not-so-pleasant words for him. As it were, he couldn’t even breathe a response. Almost certainly his lungs were deflated and shriveled. Sean’s vision had long since started to pixelate out of consciousness, unable to process anything else that came out of Zane’s mouth, but the man continued anyway.
“With the power that’s inside of you, you could crush anyone in a matter of seconds. And with the extra healing effects, well,” his voice raised an octave as he exclaimed, “Don’t you understand! You become invincible! You would never need to worry about your life again. Together, we could rule everything and everyone. What do you say?”
Sean hardly noticed he’d stopped talking. It wasn’t until he felt the electricity surrounding them that he regained enough energy and the ability to move his eyes, to be able to look back up at Zane. He no longer squatted beside him. Zane had jolted to his feet and pivoted west, a look of astonishment about him.
“What do you know,” he said. “The girl who just wouldn’t die.”
Sean caught her scent before he saw Graciela cross the battlefield. Bloodied streams trailed down either arm as she gasped a breath of bravery. She must’ve s
tolen it from Sean because he suddenly found himself more fearful than he’d ever been in his entire life.
“Graciela,” he sputtered, a fresh puddle of blood frothing down his chin. “G-get out of here!” Once he managed to get on his feet again, Sean lunged for his nemesis, preparing himself for another painful parry, a jab to the stomach, a blow to the face. Nothing came.
At the same moment, on Zane’s command, the victim’s blood rushed upward like a wave, a crimson wall separating the two of them. Though Sean tried to keep his eyes locked onto Zane, the ruby-red jewels before him swayed and cooed, yearning for his attention.
Once again, the familiar temptress of his past purred.
“Pleaaaase, Master of Krv, Master of Blood, save us.”
“Let us bestow you with our gifts.”
Each molecule of red antagonized his most primal needs. The sheet of blood folded, slowly wrapping itself over the space around him like a cozy blanket. It rested a mere centimeter away from his body in every direction. The static between he and it was tantric. His cheeks reddened at the thought of sticking out his nose to nuzzle into its comforting embrace.
“Release yourself and we shall paint you red as the Morden himself.”
Nothing else mattered in her presence. There was nothing he had ever wanted more than to oblige her. “What do you want?” he asked inwardly, already aware of the strength of their connection and the unnecessity to communicate verbally.
“Open wide. Open it all: your eyes, your mouth, your soul.”
“We want to flow through you. Fill you with sheer ecstasy and power.”
“You deserve this happiness.”
“Let us please you, Master of Krv.”
Dazedly, he thought he heard himself say, “Yes.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Graciela
“Sean!” Graciela’s voice cracked, as did her heart. A sheer red curtain encircled Sean, and it wasn’t until Graciela realized the contents of it that she gasped. The floating gore stopped her dead in her tracks, blood like ice in her veins.
The odious man he wasn’t, Zane threw his head back in a fit of laughter. “That traitorous kid is going to lose his head when I find him.”
Graciela gulped. She knew instantly who he was talking about, and she couldn’t blame Bram for leaving her after helping her escape. There was no inclination that Zane was being anything but honest, despite his smiling demeanor. She’d encountered him enough times to know that Zane was erratic and confrontational at best. Bram had done the right thing.
Surrounded by dozens of Sanguinatores, lips moistened and eyes bulging, she suddenly wondered why she hadn’t joined him.
“L-leave him alone.” On the road at their backs, one after another, Sanguinatore and Hope citizens collided. Teeth crunched by force of fist. Bones cracked with every kick, punch, and heave. Blood spouted from every orifice imaginable. The streets lined themselves in red. She couldn’t stand the sight of it, all the hostility.
And then there were the bodies. The people who’d already died. All because they’d come after her. What had made her life any more valuable than theirs?
Scowling, Graciela gathered strength from her belly and said, “Leave everyone alone!”
No one stopped, the battle still raging on all sides. Graciela ducked just in time to avoid a hatchet as it whizzed past her, sticking someone else in the temple. “No…” The tears flowed with ease, with force.
Graciela returned her gaze to Sean, the tidal wave of blood arrested in free fall. Through its shimmers, she could just make out the outline of her friend, and while trapped inside, he was utterly spellbound. It was more like the ghost of the person she knew than the actual man. He was staring directly at her, but somehow not seeing her at all. After her own temporary experience as a blood guide, she couldn’t imagine the level of temptation he must’ve been feeling.
This time, weaker, she uttered, “No…” The word practically broke her.
A low, maniacal laughter mocked her misery. “You, dolly, are a rollercoaster of irritation and astonishment, and I’m not sure which is in the lead. I can’t even keep track of how many times I’ve tried to kill you now and somehow, you bounce back.” Slowly, intention in every step, Zane cut across the field. “Trouble yourself with this conundrum: the more orders you give, the less inclined I am to follow them.”
Knowing how dangerous Zane could be, she didn’t dare let him leave her sight. With each step he encroached, Graciela tiptoed backward in return. Jagged rock poked at the hollow of her back, suddenly nowhere else for her to go. Alarm hammered through her.
Their proximity left her woozy.
Their toes were touching as he leaned forward, the humid air from his lungs like a spritz of mist on Graciela’s neck. A low, guttural hum played at the back of his throat. “You’re not wearing an earring.”
Graciela tightened her jaw.
“I can hear your heart rate increasing.” If she had an aroma, he inhaled all of it before adding, “Do I make you nervous?”
“Yes. It’s impossible to trust someone with such little respect for human life.”
A thunderous laugh escaped him, the kind that brought his head back by the sheer force of it. “Depends on your definition of human life, and respect for that matter. Some might say I’m rather altruistic.”
Were Santiago here, he’d spout something about only deranged people viewing Zane in that way. For that reason, and so many others, his absence was fortunate. If Zane wanted to unleash his power, he could direct it toward her.
It dawned on her though, that he wasn’t. A Sanguinatore’s most prized possession was their power, the ability to control others by will, to drain others of their lives. But he wasn’t using that power on her now. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t using it on anyone.
There was a hum in the air though, buried, almost concealed on the edge of every word he spat. Humming was something Bram had done to draw her blood from her that first time in Mexico. It was how Fintan had drawn her blood back in the torture tent. It was the key to their blood control, she was quickly realizing.
Graciela peered around his bald head to assess the chaos around them. With so much blood, it was difficult to tell what added damage Zane could be contributing to.
And then she saw him.
Sean.
The waterfall of blood rippled around him, but he hadn’t budged or tried to break free. It was like it was more than just a physical barrier. There was something else going on in there.
When Zane noticed her looking, he shifted his weight, blocking her view. “I’m sorry, am I boring you? Should we spice things up?”
It was the first time she’d allowed herself—or rather, was forced—to look directly into his eyes. They crackled like shifting icebergs under her gaze, and Graciela was reminded of her earlier discovery: she was Awakened.
Spicing things up actually didn’t sound too bad to her.
Despite the sparks of ice running down her back, Graciela chose to focus on his intimidating gaze and challenge the fear barking inside of her. She stood, transfixed, motionless in the pale blue glow of his eyes. What seemed like a daunting task at first was rapidly put to ease by the beauty of what she was discovering in those vessels, what she was learning all that eyes possessed: the soul.
His was rotted in darkness. Between the misleading bright cuts of blue, a gnarled bundle of branches dwelled within the cracks. It was there, she was sure of it, the place where she’d find entrance inside. The jagged limbs of black juddered as her focus intensified.
But unlike with Fintan whom she’d accidentally possessed, no whooshing and whirling of color, shape, or sense of being followed her intense gaze. Her world never pinholed into his. The quaking fizzled until she found herself merely staring deeply into the tyrannical eyes of Zane.
“Whoa, I didn’t mean spice it up like that,” he winked, a spike of embarrassment igniting Graciela’s cheeks. Zane took the opportunity to turn around, severing thei
r eye contact, and snuffing her only hope at survival.
Effectively useless, she felt herself deflate. The one advantage she had, she couldn’t actually use. The meager attempt had left her gut in a fit of bubbles. She wondered if, like many other Awakened, it would be a muscle she’d have to train to use more frequently.
“Hang on.” Zane spun around so fast it caused Graciela to jump, and the rock she was backed up against stabbed her low back. Like a snake, he slithered back to her. “You were trying to lutkar me, weren’t you?”
Although Graciela had learned English in school and considered herself fluent, she found herself puzzled. “To what?”
“Just a second ago.” Excitement rose. “By the After, you really were!”
A fresh mist of red painted his face as someone slayed a Sanguinatore beside them. It made Graciela’s blood run cold, but Zane seemed to neither notice or care.
“I knew it. You’re a baby lutkar, so new your attempt didn’t even work. It’s a shame you didn’t stay put. Your ancestral blood will prove invaluable. I’ll just have to hope to find more like you later.”
She didn’t have time to ask what he was talking about when she saw the length of a concealed knife puncture her stomach. Every muscle went taut. Her abdomen swallowed the blade to the hilt, and Graciela didn’t know whether she should try defending herself, run away, or stand still. She tried remembering her training. Considering all she could feel was little more than pressure, there was a decent chance she was going into shock. That, or being stabbed wasn’t as bad as everyone made it out to be.
Just warm, a throbbing kind of heat that pulsed outward from the wound, and on each pulse became a littler hotter. As the temperature rose, so did Graciela’s discomfort, a slow incline, but an incline nonetheless. Considering the humidity back home, it took a lot to make her sweat, but she found her armpits and lower back covered in a layer of slickness already.
A sharp pain quickly swallowed the disillusionment that being stabbed wasn’t painful, the tendrils of which carved through the rest of her stomach until she was no longer sure where she’d been stabbed. Everywhere hurt and twisted. It hit Graciela in one swift wave of intense, deep agony, deeper than she thought her stomach even went. The knife seemed to be constricting everything.
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