by Lana Sky
And there was no time to hesitate. I slashed, unconcerned as the sharpened edge bit into my wrist. Deep. Deeper. Blood spilled, splattering the floor, but I didn’t matter. Only she did. I needed to save her.
But even the violence didn’t loosen my grip. The next cut went so deep that the blade scraped bone—but not deep enough. So I slashed again. Again. Still, my fingers wouldn’t loosen.
And she wasn’t moving anymore. She wasn’t moving…
“No!” I wailed, trying harder. Cutting deeper, slicing into any part of my arm I could reach. “No! No—”
“Eleanor!”
A cruel hand stole my weapon, struggling to contain my flailing, kicking limbs.
Teeth bared, I fought like hell, but I was no match. “Let me go! Let go! I can’t leave her!”
But when I looked down, she had vanished.
And in her wake: red, red, red. The floor became a sea of it, frothing beneath my feet.
Endless amounts of blood.
“No! I didn’t mean to.” I choked out the confession, my heart breaking as much as my voice was. “I did it. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to hurt her. I couldn’t save her—”
“What’s wrong with her? Eleanor! Eleanor, look at me!”
I barely recognized the sound of Dublin’s voice—ragged, distorted by a horror I couldn’t begin to fathom—but I couldn’t see his face. Though his words lashed at my eardrums, I barely heard him. Just darkness and noise. That goddamn noise.
You’re pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.
Desperate, I tried to claw at my ears, but with my body restrained, I could only scream, “Stop! Make it stop, please!” I didn’t know who I was pleading with. Dublin? God? Anyone? “I can’t take it. Make it stop. Make it stop! Make it stop—”
“Dmitri!”
“I have it. Shhh, my dear,” another voice crooned sweetly into my ear. “A little pinch… There. This will take the pain away, I promise.”
I was only vaguely aware of a burning sting along my arm.
And then…peace.
The Serpent’s Nest
“You are restrained,” a man warned as I floated on the cusp of consciousness. His voice served as a steadying anchor, drawing me back when I only wanted to drift.
Dublin? No. Someone sly, their accent thicker.
“Try not to panic,” he insisted. “You’re wounded, and frankly, I’d rather not have to bandage you again. So deep breaths and all of that. Prepare yourself, my dear. It isn’t pretty.”
I stirred, fighting to remember how to control my limbs. All senses felt cut off from my brain as if locked behind a wall with no key. In vain, I tried to flex my hands. Blink. Anything.
“You were poisoned,” the speaker continued as my thoughts spun, still hunting for a name. “With something known as Ergot—best to get that out of the way. It’s a rare compound known to inspire all sorts of nasty things in those who ingest too much of it. Paranoia. Hallucinations. Psychosis. It builds up in the blood, you see. Slowly, over time. Months. Years. Though, judging from your recent state, you’ve managed to receive a full dose in mere weeks. An impressive feat, I must say. Admittedly, I should have guessed from your rather thrilling reaction to my little lie that your mental state may have been exceedingly delicate.” He sighed in admiration.
An image formed in my brain of a handsome, angular face. Hair the color of blood. Shifting eyes.
“No bother! I’m not the only one who overlooked your symptoms. Helos may be an arrogant bastard, but I know he tested the blood he gave to you. You’re just lucky he caught on before you finished severing your hand. That might have made things a tad unpleasant.”
I finally managed to open my eyes. Blurred and unfocused, it took them several seconds to clearly interpret the figure before me. But that mocking grin required no introduction. Dmitri.
“Where…” My throat ached as I tried to speak. “Where is Dublin?”
“Off getting more bandages in case you reopen your wounds, I suspect,” Dmitri replied. He almost resembled a different person without his playful sneer. “You scared the hell out of him. Dare I say, that’s quite the feat, given the man’s rather fearsome reputation.” He didn’t even chuckle. Hell, as his eyes took on a wistful gleam, he almost appeared…impressed? “And yes, this is a lot of information at once—I apologize—but this is the fifth iteration of this damn speech I’ve delivered and I pray, for both our sakes, that you aren’t faking your sanity this time.”
Faking? I eyed the room beyond him, increasingly uneasy. It wasn’t mine. And the rich, golden décor didn’t resemble something Dublin would own, either. It boasted of more exotic tastes, far beyond typical elegance. Above me, a vaulted ceiling sported a gruesome fresco—a horde of angels slaughtering an opposing army.
I swallowed hard, tearing my eyes from the chaotic scene. “Where am I?”
“Hell,” Dmitri replied. Sitting on a gilded chair near the bed, he snatched a book from a nearby table. With a casual flick of his wrist, he flipped through the pages. “I never thought I’d ever see a day when Dublin would willingly return to the enclave, to be honest.” He eyed me with a thoughtful frown before turning yet another page. “Then again, I never thought I would join him in said enclave. You, my dear, have provided quite the adventure.”
Enclave? I tried to sit up, but my arms resisted any movement. Literally—not for lack of trying. The harder I strained my wrists, the more I felt the weight of resistance. Something encircled each one, rendering them immobile.
“Manacles,” Dmitri admitted. “Or at least silken ones. Your Dublin refused to let me use the metal pair after you tried slipping out of them.”
I couldn’t remember anything he’d mentioned. Panic bubbled out of me on a single word. “W-Why?”
“To keep you from killing yourself, of course.” Sighing, he set his book aside and propped his chin on his fist, sitting forward. “Ergot is a powerful poison. It lingers in the blood and renders the mind susceptible to all manner of disturbing hallucinations. For instance, when you had no luck cutting your hand off, you tried clawing out your throat. As you can imagine, it made for quite the mess. You’re lucky that I happened to arrive in time,” he added smugly. “There is only one antidote for Ergot, and I happen to be among the few in the world skilled enough to make it. Which reminds me…” He tutted with his tongue and stood, smoothing his hands along his suit, a brilliant indigo. On the same small table as the book rested a teacup, which he lifted by the handle and lowered to my lips. “It’s time for your next dose, my darling. Do drink up.”
I clenched my jaw shut.
He sighed heavily. “Come now, Eleanor. I really don’t want to force-feed you your medicine.” His eyes flashed a menacing green. “Again.”
His words were too much to process all at once as a million realizations washed over me. Tried to kill yourself. Ergot. Blade. Poison. Dublin. Gone. Gone.
When he lowered the cup to my mouth again, I squirmed helplessly, resisting my binds. “Get away from me—”
“It’s all right.”
That voice… I turned toward it, my heart aching—but when I finally spotted Dublin advancing toward me, he looked…
Haggard.
Hollow circles swallowed his eyes, though he didn’t require sleep. The unusual color enhanced the planes of his face in gaunt relief. For a horrifying second, he looked every bit his age. Centuries of pain and exhaustion clinging to a human form. Then his eyes met mine and his entire expression softened.
He became my Devil again, wary and distant.
“Drink it,” he said, nodding to Dmitri. “It’s all right.”
A part of me wanted to rail against the commands. It wanted to shriek and scream and demand answers.
Why was my skull on fire? Why was I shivering even beneath mounds of blankets? Why did my throat taste like dirt?
And why, oh why, was my arm throbbing like hell?
My throat provided another dose of agonizing pain. Th
e skin burned with every breath as if rubbed raw. Or, if Dmitri was to be believed, clawed at by a madwoman with brittle nails.
“Eleanor,” Dublin rasped. “Drink.”
For the moment, I chose the safety of his baritone over questioning. As Dmitri returned the rim of the cup to my lips, I obediently pried them apart. The liquid within smelled pungent, as if tinged with a million different spices. With the first sip, I realized where the gritty taste in my mouth had come from.
“It was a very clever method,” Dmitri mused as I gulped at the tea. “Slow. Sustained over multiple hosts. He must have started not long after you began supplying her fresh blood.” He eyed Dublin, smirking. “I used to muse which one of you two might best the other when you eventually did resume your trite little war games. Believe it or not, Dublin, but I always had my money on you. Mero could be cunning, but he had his boundaries. Even if he is using the other Gray girl as a pawn, like I suspect, I doubt he’s killed her. Yet. You, on the other hand, were ruthless—”
“Enough.” The growl lacked any of the intensity I was used to. In its absence, Dublin resembled a mere shadow of his former self. A specter on par with Raphael—a hollow soul, somewhere in between the man and monster. But as he turned his attention to me, some semblance of the Devil I knew returned again. Namely in his eyes as they flickered with an unreadable mixture of emotion. “How do you feel?”
“Tired,” I rasped, my voice breaking.
“You should be right as rain in a few more days,” Dmitri insisted. “Ergot is resistant but not infallible—”
“I need to speak to her alone.” Dublin didn’t even look at him, expecting his will be obeyed.
“Fine.” Dmitri shrugged and headed for the doorway. “Though perhaps now isn’t the best time to mention that you shouldn’t trust all you see or hear, Eleanor,” he told me with a playful wink. “The Ergot is still in your bloodstream, after all.”
His laugh echoed in his wake, but Dublin’s voice easily overpowered it.
“Tell me what happened.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me, but his hand settled over my hip, palpable even through the heavy blankets. “From the beginning. Everything.”
“I was hearing voices,” I admitted. My throat felt sore from disuse. Just how long had I been beneath the spell of the drug?
“What did they say?” he prompted.
I hesitated, swiping my tongue along my dry, cracked lips. “That… That you hated me. That you didn’t want me.” I realized now just how insane it sounded out loud. “I think I knew I was being irrational, but I couldn’t help it. It felt so real. I could hear it—”
“Telling you that I couldn’t love you?” He didn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he eyed the far wall, his jaw clenched. “You screamed that line the most.”
I closed my eyes, hating the vicious memories as they teased the edges of my psyche. “How could this happen? Dmitri said—”
“You were poisoned,” he said over me. “Right under my nose and I didn’t even see it until it was almost too late.”
As my eyes reopened, I found him watching me, lingering over my face. “Why?”
“To punish me.” He sounded more resigned than vengeful. “I suspect that was his design all along, as far as you were concerned. Punish me.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He laughed, shaking his head as if unsure how to even phrase the answer. “He… I loved him like a brother once,” he admitted softly. “I trusted him above all others. Always. And you are his vehicle to punish me.” The hand he rested over me withdrew, becoming a fist he slammed onto the mattress. “But he’s overplayed his hand, and if he tries to hurt you again, I will kill him.”
“Dublin…” I’d forgotten how formidable he could sound. How dangerous when confronted. Blazing silver eyes cut me to the bone as he held my gaze. “What about Georgie? Dmitri said she might be—”
“You need to focus on yourself for now,” he warned. “Trust me on this.”
It was as close to begging as a man like him might ever come—and despite his nearness, I sensed he could drift from me farther than ever if I pushed him away now.
And I wasn’t the only one who needed him.
“I saw things too.” The words almost hurt to say, conjuring a memory sharp with a pain I’d never ever felt. Longing. Fear. Guilt. “I saw… She was so beautiful…and I killed her.” Panicked, I flexed my fingers, grasping at nothing. “I killed her—”
“It was a nightmare,” he said, but it wasn’t the truth. A nightmare was comparable to what I’d witnessed, but I’d rather burn alive than feel that pain again. “The drug should help you sleep without any more dreams. Get some rest.”
I steeled myself for him to leave, but he found my hand, still bound to the bed, and grasped it tightly. He remained like that for only God knew how long.
Long after I surrendered to unconsciousness again.
Contaminated
The vicious specter of doubt chased me through a nightmarish maze. I couldn’t escape it, assaulted by its cruel taunts. You’re pathetic, Eleanor. Pathetic…
I awoke, gasping as panic formed a noose around my throat more restraining than the binds still pinning me in place. Straining my shoulders, I struggled to sit up, blinking my eyes open to the morbidly decorated ceiling above. A twisted sense of relief slowed my frantic heartbeat by a fraction. I was still in that room.
And someone remained beside me, brushing the sweat-soaked curls from my face.
“You’re safe.”
I turned toward the sound of his voice.
He hadn’t moved from his position on the side of my bed, even though I sensed I’d slept for hours at least. “Eleanor?” He sounded worried.
Should he have been? I wasn’t sure. I needed to move. I needed to think.
“I…I think I just need to use the restroom…”
The corner of his jaw twitched, betraying his thoughts in a way I’d never been able to interpret before: suspicion. He didn’t trust me.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve woken up seemingly lucid,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. His eyes narrowed over my hands as they grasped at the sheets, yet he made no attempt to free me. “How do you feel?”
I took my time answering. He was cautious for a reason, and I sensed a need to make my reply as coherent as possible.
“Sore,” I admitted finally. “And my arm hurts. And my throat.”
Some of the tension constricting his brow eased. “Your wounds need to be healed, but you’ve been refusing to drink my blood. Dmitri’s had to rebandage you at least four times. It’s a miracle you haven’t bled out. We couldn’t even inject you because you fought like hell every time, even while sedated.” His mouth softened further.
Was my Devil impressed?
But his words only emphasized what Dmitri himself had hinted at. This is the fifth iteration of this damn speech I’ve delivered…
“I still feel strange,” I added hoarsely. “Like my thoughts are scattered and… But I don’t want to hurt myself.”
His gaze flickered to my right arm, tracing the length of bandage wrapped from wrist to shoulder, but the pathetic note in my voice must have been enough to overcome his concern. For now.
He approached the limb closer to him. With some sleight of hand I couldn’t make out, he undid the manacle—a strip of thick, black silk—and placed it on the nearby end table. I flexed my fingers carefully, hissing as blood returned to them. But I kept the rest of my body still, avoiding any sudden movements. Watching me like a hawk, Dublin circled around to my opposite side and did the same.
Freedom hurt. I groaned as I stretched my limbs and attempted to sit upright. Dublin assisted me, utilizing his touch where I lacked the strength. Despite how my muscles were throbbing, it felt good to move. Even while being observed with an intensity most men might reserve for a lab rat.
Unnerved by his concern, I decided that my best option was to utilize it. “Help me up.”
&nbs
p; I extended my uninjured arm, allowing him to pull me to my feet. From this angle, the rest of the unfamiliar bedroom unfolded before me. With every detail, the unease within my skin grew into an itching dread. It was large, as cavernous as Dublin’s cathedral. Dark walls lacked a window, instead sporting exquisite macabre paintings depicting images of war and violence.
Marble floors were adorned with Persian rugs woven with intricate designs composed of gold and ebony threads. A fireplace—black stone carved into the open maw of a serpent—yawned against the far wall and the fire roaring within basted my skin with what little heat I felt.
“Come here.” Dublin approached, his hands raised as if to ensure he didn’t startle me.
Once satisfied by my reaction, he lifted me into his arms, and within seconds, we were in an adjacent bathroom, the interior of which was no less extravagant than the bedroom. And just as imposing.
A large sunken tub had been cut within the center of the marble floor. Dublin set me down near the edge of it. His touch lingered along my arm as if to gauge whether or not I’d suddenly try attacking myself. Then he withdrew to the corners of the room, fetching various supplies.
Overall, the layout resembled how I figured an ancient Roman bath might. Golden columns accented the space at various intervals, and a large mirror consumed an entire wall alone. Once I saw my reflection on its surface, I failed to muster up the energy to even gasp. My skin lacked definition, my cheeks sunken and hollow.
I looked more dead than alive.
No wonder Dublin seemed unwilling to leave me unattended for very long. He returned to my side and guided me into the basin of the tub. There, he stripped my thin nightgown and ran the water.
The nuances of his expression eluded me once more, so I observed my skin instead. A thick length of bandages covered my right arm from wrist to shoulder. Crimson splotches betrayed signs of fresh bleeding, but I wasn’t brave enough to check the wounds underneath. My throat was another matter. I ran my finger over it, sensing uneven, inflamed skin that matched the violent array of scratches my reflection revealed.
