by E. M. Knight
The imp hops off. The flattening force remains.
He waddles awkwardly to Cierra, as if he is not quite confident in his body. For a being who radiates power stronger than any I’ve encountered before, it’s a chilling contrast.
“You know I do not like being outnumbered,” he tells her.
“Logan is hardly a threat,” Cierra says.
The imp’s lips curl up. “Logan, the great king of vampires from your world? Logan, who’s name strikes fear into all those who oppose him?”
Cierra only nods.
The imp throws his head back and guffaws an awful-sounding laugh. “This thing is the best the vampires of your world could produce? This feeble, pathetic, squirming disgrace of flesh and bone?”
The force increases its pressure on me. I am being crushed. My muscles tense, my body fights it, but I know it won’t be long until I break.
“Yrak, enough,” Cierra says.
The imp’s head jerks up. He looks at her, and in that single gaze is contained more influence than I’ve used my whole life.
Yet, somehow, Cierra withstands it. “We’ve known each other many years,” she tells him. “I would not bring another here if I did not think it safe.”
Yrak scoffs. I feel one of his eyes turn to me. He extends a hand and slowly moves the fingers down.
As they lower, the force over me becomes heavier and heavier, until I am certain I will be crushed.
Then, the imp snaps his fingers and the force is gone. I gasp in a sudden breath, then start coughing, unable to control myself. I turn over and spit blood.
As I’m trying to gather the strength to recover, the imp bounces over to my side.
“You are the strongest of your kind on earth?” he asks in a whisper.
I turn my head in his direction and try not to glare.
“One of,” I admit reluctantly.
The imp laughs again. “And yet I can crush you with my little finger!” it announces with great glee.
He rebounds back to Cierra. “Tell me, what good is this Logan to me?”
“He’s come to barter,” Cierra says. “He needs an army.”
“An army,” the imp repeats. “How intriguing. What for?”
“It doesn’t matter what for, you miserable imp,” I growl, unable to hold back any longer. Blood Magic is raging inside me, just waiting to be unleashed. “All that matters is, you give your price and I pay it. That’s how negotiations work.”
During my brief tirade the imp has remained neutral, not displaying any outward reaction.
When I’m done, he says softly, “What did you call me?”
“An imp,” I say, defiance roaring through me. “That’s what you are, by looks of it.”
He smiles that frightening smile again. “Yes, that is what my current physical manifestation looks like, isn’t it?” Before my very eyes, the imp starts to grow. “None before you have dared call out what their lying eyes told them.” The imp is now the height of my shoulder and continuing to expand. “However, not many have been as deep in the thrall of the corruptive miasma as you.”
The imp grows and grows, swelling in size until he’s double my height, triple, even more. The flickering on-off presence I feel from it, from him, as his body expands, becomes greater and greater, in the intervals that it comes.
Now, his head nearly reaches the height of the ceiling. I wonder if this is some sort of illusion, some trick being played on my mind, but instinct tells me otherwise.
The imp really is growing. Growing and growing, ever-larger, with no way of telling where he’ll end.
He cackles with mad laughter from above. “Do you understand?” he demands of me. “Do you see who you’re dealing with?”
Suddenly, such a strong blast of influence crashes into me that I stagger back. “I want to see you on your knees, worm!” the imp booms. “Bow down to your master. Offer your life, your soul, your salvation to me!”
I struggle against the effects of the influence, but it is much too strong. My knees bend of their own accord. I cannot withstand the blast of power being directed at me.
It goes against every cell in my body to kneel. But there I am, on my knees, submitting to the inflated monstrosity.
I have no other choice.
Being on the ground like this isn’t good enough. He wants me to flatten myself. Humiliation courses through me as I find my forehead touching the floor. There is no physical force pressing against me this time, only the overwhelming might of psychological influence.
I don’t know how long I spend prostate. I feel my will to fight weakening. It is not mere physical submission: it is spiritual and mental, too.
“Look at me,” the imp says.
I dare move my head up. I am cowering in something very close to fear. It’s not fear, I am not afraid outright, but the physiological response is the same.
The influence he is exerting over me manifests itself as a replica of fear. Fear forced onto me from an external source.
When I raise my eyes far enough to see, I discover the imp shrunk back down to normal size. But the flickering, secret presence I feel from him is as strong as ever.
“An imp, I am not,” he tells me, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “I am something that was once like you. But I transcended the limitations you have, the ones blinding you to your true potential.”
He snaps his fingers, and at that, Cierra bolts to the nearest cage—actually bolts there—and opens the gate.
The demon inside, sedated as it is, makes no move to get out.
“Bring it to me,” the imp commands.
Cierra steels herself, mentally preparing. That blue light explodes around her, and invisible forces take hold of the demon and float it through the air.
The body falls at the imp’s feet, inches away from my nose.
“If you drink the demon’s blood you will die,” the imp tells me. “Not even the vampire presence is strong enough to withstand the corrosive force of such a substance.” The imp reaches down and effortlessly flips the demon over, so that it is belly-up. “I keep them in a low-energy state. It makes them easier to control, you see. But the blood is no less strong. If you were to get even a smattering of it on your skin…” he laughs, “…the damage could take years to heal.”
And then, the imp rips his head down and sinks two fangs that suddenly appear in his top row of teeth into the demon’s neck.
He drains the demon in seconds. All that’s left is an empty husk. I cannot fathom how so much blood could be contained within a body of the imp’s current size—but I’ve already seen how different the rules are in this plane.
The imp kicks the empty shell aside. The leathery skin of the demon collapses in on itself. It makes for a pitiful sight.
The imp looks at me and grins. He gestures absent-mindedly for me to stand.
“If you think yourself up to task,” he taunts me, “you are more than welcome to try. Go ahead.” He nods to the other cages. “The demons are all under my control. None will attack. You may find your victim amongst any of them.”
I eye the imp, calculating. The thing must be a vampire, that much is obvious. But is it of my world, or this one? How did he build the capacity to drink demon blood? How did he build the strength?
“We’re waiting,” he says, giving me a thin smile.
I know the challenge to be a false one. My body cannot withstand demon blood.
Or… can it?
What if all the strength I’ve built over the years drinking from The Ancient has hardened me enough? What if my recently-unearthed abilities with Blood Magic give me an edge?
I have never been so badly one-upped, never felt so humiliated. Cierra is watching with a carefully neutral expression on her face. The imp, with that taunting grin, is edging me on.
I take a step toward the cages.
“Foolish, proud vampire,” the imp says. “Are you really going to try?”
I take another step, trying hard to shake off th
e lingering after-effects of the influence so that I can walk freely, once more.
All of my determination focuses on a single point: get to the nearest cage, get to the demon, and sink my fangs into its flesh.
One more step. This one’s easier.
The imp starts to laugh. “You walk to your death,” he warns.
“We’ll see about that,” I growl, and I finally feel myself break free of the residual influence. My steps pick up, my back straightens, and I approach the nearest cage with full determination.
“Open the door,” I command, looking at Cierra.
She narrows her eyes, tilts her head sideways. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” she says.
“OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!” I scream. My body quivers with rage. Even though I am not channeling magic, I feel the miasma flow across my eyes in an enormous torrent.
Cierra clicks her tongue. “Fine,” she says. “Remember this was your choice.”
She takes hold of the Elemental Forces and pops open the lock. The demon inside, which looks like a vile combination of lizard and fish, sighs out a deep breath. Otherwise, it does not move.
I take hold of the cage door and pull it open. The iron is cold under my hand. I feel the eyes of both the imp and Cierra on me.
I walk up to the demon. All my instincts are screaming at me, warning me of great danger. But I have already faced the imp and survived.
What could a creature weaker than the imp threaten me with?
The irrational drive to prove the imp wrong guides my every move. I know, logically, what attempting this feat would do. But logic has been swept aside by psychopathic madness.
And madness compels me to show my strength.
I stop before the demon. One of its eyes flickers open. It looks at me.
I show it no fear.
Then, in a flash, I extract my fangs and whip my head down toward its neck.
At the exact same time, I take hold of the Elemental Forces given to me by Blood Magic and coat the inside of my mouth, my throat, anywhere inside me that the blood might go, with a protective film. I will drink the damn blood and prove myself once and for all to the imp—and to Cierra.
My fangs hit the demon’s skin. They do not pierce it. In fact, I’d attacked it with so much force that one of the fangs snaps.
My head rebounds back, confusion and humiliation and anger all raging through me. The imp’s sudden outburst of laughter sounds in the background.
Determination such as I’ve never felt before washes through me. It’s laced with venomous anger. I have to do this now—there is no other choice.
On a whim, I strengthen my one remaining sharp fang with a mix of Blood Magic. I sink my head to the demon’s neck again, but this time, I prime and weaken the spot I’m going to bite into with the Elemental Forces.
The trick works. I break through. Blood gushes into me, but I cannot feel it, cannot draw any strength from it—cannot have my insides ruined by it. The protective film made courtesy of Blood Magic does its job.
But I only get a few milliseconds to draw the blood before the demon comes to life. It roars and flings me off, writhing with rage.
I hit a cage wall. The demon rolls over to its feet and growls. Its eyes dart from the cage opening to me.
It readies itself to pounce. I steel myself for impact. The thing launches itself forward—
But it does not go at me. It leaps to freedom. It lands outside the cage and gives another ear-piercing screech.
After it emits that sound, the ground, the walls, the ceiling start to shake.
“Idiot!” Cierra curses. Blue light explodes around her. She tries to catch the demon with the Forces. But the fish-lizard thing slices through them with its body, evaporating them into thin air.
The imp is there a second later. He reaches out with one hand and touches the demon on the neck. Immediately, it goes limp. The imp pushes it over, still exerting that slight pressure on the neck. He runs his other hand over the spot I’d penetrated. The small wound instantly closes.
In the time it takes all that to happen, I’ve gathered my wits enough to get out of the cage. Not a moment too soon, either, as the imp flings the demon effortlessly through the open door, and then, through what must be an advanced manifestation of the Mind Gift, slams it closed.
Even though none of that looked like it required much effort on the imp’s behalf, he is breathing heavily. He directs those pure black, shimmering eyes at me.
I can tell they are filled with murderous rage.
The imp takes a step toward me. But then the cavern shakes again. The imp goes still, listening…
A black, impenetrable shadow rips to form in front of him. He jumps through and disappears.
Another tremble of the cave. Cierra scowls at me. “Now you’ve done it,” she says.
“Done what?” I demand.
“Your demon’s screech was heard the world over. It’s disrupted this demon’s slumber.”
She stomps the ground to make it clear what she means.
“You don’t really expect me to believe that tall tale,” I hiss. I feel the film inside me start to roil in protest of the demon blood it’s keeping sheltered. “I—”
“Where do you think the demon master went if not to calm it?” Cierra explodes. “You bloody idiot, you have no idea what you’ve done. Drinking demon blood? Do you know what that’s going to do to you?”
I glare at her and gesture to my body. “Here I am, aren’t I?” I demand. “Still standing, soon to be strengthened as the imp is strengthened.”
The Blood Magic inside me keeping the demon blood at bay strains and strains and strains, fighting to keep the corrosive substance away from my insides.
“You call him imp another time and he’ll kill you,” she scoffs. “Your arrogance would have you die here, in a large artery of an immense beast?”
“We are inside a mountain, not a goddamn demon,” I fire back. “If this is an artery, where is the blood? How has all of this been allowed to remain?”
“The blood is pooled in the demon’s heart,” she tells me, as if explaining to a five-year-old. “The demon uses the energy in its blood to fuel its hibernation. When it wakes—” the ground gives another shake, “—it will go on a rampage, devouring whole worlds, until every artery, every vein, every capillary is filled to the brim with blood. And then it will lie to rest again and work through the reserves it has stored until it comes time for it to feed again.”
“And how long does that take?” I question.
“I told you already,” Cierra answers. She is very calm. “Millennia. The only saving grace we have against your blunder is that this beast is not yet ready to wake. The blood vessels near its heart still are full. Yrak went to assure it of that fact.”
“Yrak,” I sneer. “The way you speak of the imp, one could think—”
I do not get to finish my sentence. The roiling battle inside me of Blood Magic versus demon blood gives out. The magic coating fails, I lose hold of the Elements, and suddenly, demon blood is burning through my insides.
I gasp, gripped by tremendous pain. I clutch at my stomach.
“Help… me…” I croak, and then fall, face-down, into the earth.
The world turns black as consciousness ends.
Chapter Twenty
Raul
The Haven
“Wait,” I tell Rebecca as we re-emerge from the tunnels and start back to the apartments. “We should go to the stronghold first. I want to see how the excavation is going.”
“Fine,” she says.
I turn the other way and start walking. Rebecca trots obediently at my side.
Every time I catch her figure from the corner of my eye there’s a strange sensation in my stomach. I just can’t believe that she and I might have something between us. It seems all kinds of wrong, because for the longest time I had thought she and I were related…
Well, back when she was part of the Elite, that is. For much longer than
that I had simply considered her dead.
But there she is, looking even more beautiful than I remember. She always had that look, and I suspected it was what made Mother most jealous.
She catches me looking and quirks an eyebrow. I force a cough.
“You don’t have anything to hide, you know,” she tells me. She reaches over and twines her fingers between mine. “All your fears are unfounded, based only on lies.”
“Lies I’ve spent my whole life believing,” I mutter. I pull my hand out of hers. “Until I know for sure, we can’t,” I say.
She pulls me to a stop by grabbing my arm. “What does your instinct tell you?”
She gazes right into my eyes.
I look back at her, trying to make sense of all the tumultuous feelings.
Finally, I answer her. “It tells me I have to be sure.”
“Liar,” she accuses right away.
I grimace. “Was it so obvious?”
“I’ve known you from before you were turned,” she tells me. “I saw you grow up. I know when you’re being dishonest, Raul.”
“Maybe it’s all I’m capable of now,” I say.
She sighs and turns away. “Don’t undersell yourself. You always do it. It kills attraction.”
“Wait.” This time, I grab her arm. “I’ll tell you what my instinct says.”
She looks at me expectantly.
“It tells me you are too dangerous to be trusted. It tells me you manipulate everybody you meet as easily as breathing. It tells me I will get in great trouble with you.”
She smiles and bats her eyelashes. “And what do you make of all that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Knowing all those things… how does it make you feel?”
I search inside for the proper answer. “Excited.”
She gives a marvelous, shining laugh. She moves to kiss me, but again I step away.
“Not yet,” I warn.
She huffs in fake indignation. “They do say good things come to those who wait.”
“And you’ve waited how many years underground?” I tease her.
She hits my arm.
“None of this when we reach the stronghold,” I tell her. “Not even a hint of it, Rebecca, do you understand? We cannot have others see and give the seed for rumor to spread. Not until you and I are certain of what comes next.”
