Dissension 1

by Katie Salidas

  He was toying with her.

  Mira righted herself and hopped up to her feet. If he wanted to play dirty, she’d play dirty. She held her sword up like a spear ready to toss. Mitchell halted, his stony scowling face contorted quizzically.

  “You like to swing at things. Then swing at this.” She jerked her hand forward but did not release the blade.

  Mitchell however, began to swing his weapon. Mira took advantage of Mitchell’s inability to stop the forward momentum of his arm and let loose her blade, throwing it like a spear. It hit Mitchell in the shoulder of his flail arm. Exactly what Mira wanted.

  Mitchell held tight to his flail but his arm had gone limp. Blood began to soak through his tunic. The smell of it taunted Mira. She knew his essence would be her reward and looked forward to sampling it.

  She gave Mitchell an impish smile. One she was surprised to see him return. With his good hand, Mitchell gripped the sword and yanked it from his arm. He dropped it to the ground at his feet and stepped on it.

  Not the reaction she was hoping for. Lesser vamps would have conceded defeat and hoped for the leniency of the Regent to allow them to live to fight another day. Not Mitchell; he swapped the flail into his good hand and resumed his taunting barrage of swipes in front of his body.

  Weaponless and without a plan, Mira bobbed and weaved, keeping herself loose and on the balls of her feet, ready to strike when she could. He’d make a mistake again, give her an opening, and this time she would not fail.

  Above her and all around, the crowd was a roar of noise. Some cheering, some yelling to get on with the fight, and still others calling for death. Mira wasn’t quite sure whose death exactly, but the humans clearly wanted blood.

  Mira couldn’t risk a look up at them or the fifty-foot screen displaying the fight; Mitchell’s flail was already coming too close for comfort. Each swing pushed her back a half step. She’d expected his arm to have tired out, but that man had stamina she hadn’t seen before. Even for a vampire, he was like a machine. Bastard must have had fresh blood before the fight, and not the meager rations she’d been given. She guessed he must have had a few pints, as energetic as he was.

  Mitchell changed direction and backhanded the flail in a wide arc, nearly catching her in the side of the head. She knew he was baiting her, pushing her exactly where he wanted her. Through his stony face she caught something of a curiosity – the dead gaze of his golden eyes told her that he was not enjoying this. It was all business to him. Nothing personal. She recognized the look as it was one she often had while fighting an opponent she knew she would best.

  That enraged her further. Not that she wanted to see Mitchell enjoying the fight, but that she was not worthy of his concern as a fighter. She was the best New Haven City had to offer! She deserved a little recognition.

  Mira snarled, wanting to rip that damn weapon from his hand. Show him what kind of a fighter she really was. Maybe take the whole arm with it. But she just couldn’t find a way in. He was relentless, creating a good six-foot barrier between himself and Mira, all while pushing her backwards. She understood now why he was such a renowned fighter. Who could get close to him? With his speed, stamina, and that weapon, he had all the advantage in hand-to-hand combat. Well, if she could get her sword, she’d have more to fight with than just her hands. She just needed a good opening.

  Her sword now lay behind Mitchell; he’d advanced on her enough to have left it behind him. She watched the movement of his arm and the pattern to the direction of his flail. Knowing that he was weaker and less able to react in the moments before a backhanded stroke, she waited precisely for that moment to strike.

  She bolted forward as Mitchell’s hand finished its cross in front of his body. She twirled as she neared him, bumping him with her ass as she rotated. Hoping to knock him off balance she threw her weight into him. Without waiting to see if she had accomplished her goal, she continued to twirl and then ducked when she reached her sword.

  The air broke above her head. She heard the fast whiz of the spiked ball, missing her by scant inches.

  Damn, he was a quick one! As fast as she could, she grabbed her weapon and brought it up defensively and not a moment too soon. Mitchell had swung his flail again. It caught her blade. He yanked back, but Mira would not lose her weapon again. She held firm. The chain of the flail had wrapped tight around her sword. Mitchell yanked hard again, but Mira stood her ground, gripping the sword with both hands.

  Finally the flail came free. Mitchell appeared to lose balance as his arm went back. Mira roundhouse kicked, aiming for his side, but caught him in the ass instead. Still, it was enough to send him, already off balance, toppling down to the ground. He fell in such a way that his body ended up covering his weapon. She’d hoped for the chance to grab it and show him a little of his own medicine, but she’d settle for kicking the shit out of him instead. She swung her foot hard again, and delivered a nasty, rib-cracking kick to his torso. He rolled over, bringing his weapon with him and tried to fling it with a wild backhanded stroke. She skipped back, away from the ball, and it landed in the dirt with a thud.

  Mira stepped on the chain between the spiked head and the handle, still in Mitchell’s arm. He tried to lift it, but strong as he was, he didn’t have the leverage to move it this way.

  She pointed her sword down at his face. “You’re beaten. Call the fight.”

  “You know I cannot do that.” He looked so much like he wanted to, but Mira knew better. She herself wouldn’t have called for any reason. She’d die trying to win. And so, it appeared, would Mitchell. He rolled forward, toward Mira, toward her blade, impaling his shoulder upon it as he threw his bodyweight into her legs and kept rolling.

  She was sent head over heels toppling to the ground. The hilt of her sword came up at her quickly as she somersaulted into the dirt.

  When she was able to make out up from down, Mitchell had his weapon at the ready and struck. The spiked ball embedded itself into her left leg first. Then, before she could completely roll away from danger, it found the fleshy part of her right thigh.

  She bit back the cries of agony that wanted to escape her throat. She didn’t want to give the crowd that satisfaction. A third strike, though, made her bellow as hot salty tears flooded her vision. Her ribcage was shattered, or at least that was how it felt. Every nerve in her body had been sent the same signal: sharp, stinging, pain. She looked up, wanting to meet the eyes of her killer before he laid the final blow. But he was not looking down at her, nor was his weapon cocked and ready to deliver her death. Instead, he was gazing up at the Elite box.

  The roaring crowd silenced. Tears blurred Mira’s normally acute vision, but she did not need to see to know what was happening. Realization that she’d lost began to sink in. Her flawless record had been broken, like her body. She was unsure of what hurt worse, the sting of her pride or what felt like an endless wait for her death to be ordered.

  “And now we come to the end of another glorious battle. Wasn’t it exciting? What shall we do, my people?” The Magistrate’s thick voice boomed over the loud speakers.

  The answering response was not unanimous. Some screamed for death, while a few others, it sounded like, were calling for leniency.

  “With great respect, Magistrate…” Mira heard the voice of her Patron over the loudspeaker. “She’s our favorite here in Iron Gate. I think we should spare her for the sake of future entertainment.”

  The crowd cheered again. Some chanted Mira’s name.

  Mitchell turned his head down toward hers. She blinked away the tears, but they would soon be back. Every ounce of her being was on fire.

  “I’m glad to spare you,” Mitchell whispered. “You’re my favorite as well.”

  “Thank you.” It was all she could manage to say. She was done, body spent. They might as well kill her. With the little rations she’d be given, it would take weeks to heal properly.

  Weak and beaten as she was, Mira was glad the fight was over. She closed her
eyes and let unconsciousness claim her body. If she woke up again, she’d deal with the aftermath of failure then. For now, peace.

  Chapter 13

  Mira awoke with a start, expecting the cold darkness of her cell, but found harsh lights glaring down at her. She’d never been in such a bright and sterile-smelling room before, but she could guess at its purpose. Had she really been hurt badly enough that she required medical assistance, instead of just sleeping off her wounds? No, certainly not. She was a vampire. Nothing short of losing her head would permanently harm her.

  “Regent, she’s waking up!” a soft yet frantic female voice called out above Mira.

  She tried to turn her head, but a hard, thick metal barrier prevented her from turning in any direction.

  “What?” Lucian responded, but she couldn’t quite gauge where he was in the room. “Her body must be metabolizing the drugs faster than we can administer them. Bring me another round of sedatives… now.”

  Weak muscles made Mira feel as if her body had been submerged in quicksand. Every small movement seemed to pull her further down into a dark abyss, but still she tried, futilely, to rise. Through the blessed numbness brought on by the drugs they’d given her Mira still felt the annoying sting of silver around her wrists. She tried to move her arms, to break free of the restraints, but couldn’t overcome the weight of her exhaustion and sedative medication. Looking down, Mira tried to focus on what she could, looking for some way to escape. Her entire hand up to her elbow was trapped inside a large cylindrical cage. A tube, either red or filled with her blood —Mira couldn’t quite tell— ran up from her wrist toward the ceiling. There it disappeared, probably into another medical room above. But why? What were they doing to her? Was this what happened to those who lost in the arena? And why was her Patron, of all people, standing above her with a clipboard, wearing purple medical scrubs?

  “Relax, Mira, everything will be okay.” Lucian’s voice was chipper, a little too much so for the circumstances. She’d no doubt lost him and her Owner quite a bit of money in that fight. Perhaps this was a new form of punishment and he was happy to see it in action. If that was the case, she’d much rather take her final death. The humiliation of losing was already more than she wanted to bear.

  “No, no. Don’t try to get up,” he said.

  “Not that I could if I wanted to.” Her throat dry, Mira’s voice was barely a raspy breath.

  “No. I doubt that you could. Even so, save your strength. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  “Then why are you taking more?”

  Lucian bent down low, inches from Mira’s face. “You’re going to have to trust me. Whatever you hear, hold your tongue. I’ll explain later.” His tone brooked no arguments, and Mira understood that.

  But why was he warning her? That man was more of a puzzle every time she saw him. Where he should have been livid at her for losing, he sounded calm. Where he should have ordered her to be quiet for asking too many questions, he simply told her to wait. And most of all, why did he lobby for her to live when she had clearly been defeated, disgraced in that last battle?

  She nodded, wondering what was in store for her next. Having never lost a battle before, she could only assume the fun that awaited her.

  A door opened somewhere to her left, and the whole feel of the room changed. Even without seeing what was happening around her, Mira picked up on the sudden anxious shift of everyone in the room.

  Lucian stood suddenly and folded his arms behind his back. Mira smelled the new arrival before he spoke. His odor was that of one who had bathed in the sewer and then tried to cover the stench with a variety of citrus scents. The effect only served to give him a sour milk stench. How no one else in the room picked up on it, she did not know. Even with their weak sense of smell, the other humans in the room should have been repulsed, but no one showed any signs of it. That could only mean one thing – this newcomer was a man of great power, as was also evidenced by the stiffness in her patron’s posture.

  “Magistrate,” Lucian said with a salute, beating his left shoulder three times with his right hand, then held it out in greeting. The Magistrate slowly took the offered hand and gave it a quick two-pump shake. Lucian continued. “As you can see, she survived. Her wounds are healing, slower than we had anticipated, but not out of the question, considering the blood loss.”

  “And how much have you collected?” The Magistrate’s voice was thick, much like his body. The stench of him made Mira want to puke, and again she wondered how those around her were able to hold their gag reflex.

  Lucian smiled congenially. “We’re taking it slow. Only two pints today. We encountered a slight problem with the dosages of anesthesia required to sedate the patient but not taint the sample we’re collecting.”

  Cold unfeeling eyes gazed down on her disdainfully. Clearly Magistrate Mathias had no love for her kind, but the disgusted look he gave her told Mira that he wished he could have had her executed. “You should have had this sorted out before my arrival.”

  “I’ve had my best scientists and doctors on this for weeks, sir. I have personally overseen every aspect of this project to ensure….”

  Now she knew why Lucian was so interested in learning more about her and vampire kind. Anger welled within her, but she lacked the strength to act on it. It all made sense. Medical experimentation. A fate worse than death. She should have killed him that first day she met him. She’d be dead, sure, but so would he – and his experiments.

  “I don’t need excuses, Stavros. I need results… now!” Magistrate Mathias slammed his meaty fist down on the side of her bed.

  “Yes, of course, sir. If you’ll just have a look…”

  “We’ll need at least five before we can begin the first trial, am I correct?”

  “Yes. And then we’ll need another five to transfuse during the experiment.”

  “Then get me ten pints. How hard can that be?”

  Mira’s eyes went wide in shock. What the hell were they going to do with her blood?

  “Understood. But, we cannot bleed her dry if you wish for a successful outcome.” Lucian sounded almost concerned about Mira’s safety, but surely that couldn’t be the case. Not with the Magistrate breathing down his neck. No. His concern was for his own skin. And apparently, that was in jeopardy.

  “You should have had the initial collection done before I arrived.” The Magistrate sounded more than annoyed. His spittle flew and he jabbed a sausage-like finger toward Lucian. “I don’t wish to stay here any longer than I have to. “

  “Sir, yes, I do apologize,” Lucian was practically tripping over himself to calm the Magistrate down. “But you must understand, vampire blood is volatile. It only remains stable for so long. It must be used immediately. After our last candidate failed to withstand the collection, we decided Mira was the best candidate for this experiment. She is strong and vital. You’ll see. Her blood will prove worthwhile.”

  If he hadn’t been selling her qualities for his experiment, Mira might have been happy to see him come to her defense. As it was, she knew whatever it was he was selling, she didn’t want to be a part of it. Not that she had a choice.

  Unimpressed, the Magistrate shot a deadly glare at Mira. “She’s a loser whose head should be adorning the spikes at the entrance of the arena.”

  “With all due respect–”

  “Don’t think I am ignorant to the fact that she is your play thing.”

  “That’s not why I am–”

  “Silence. Increase collection. I want the trial started tonight.” The Magistrate turned around and headed back the direction he had come from.

  Mira was glad to hear the fading footsteps; if he’d stayed any longer the stench alone might have done her in. Though, from the sound of things, that was exactly what was in store for her.

  Lucian looked down at Mira, his face filled with sadness and regret. “I’m sorry, Mira.”

  “You say that like someone about to pronounce my death sentence.�
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  “I may have.”

  “Go on, then, kill me. Make it quick, though. Slit my throat and let me bleed out. Quit toying with me.”

  “I told you – whatever you heard, you must trust me.” He lowered himself and whispered. “I know how bad this all sounds. I cannot imagine what must be running through your mind. It is bad, yes, but my motives are not.”

  “Can you tell me what the hell is happening?”

  He put his hand over her mouth. “Shhhh. Not so loud. It’s best we keep things quiet until I can talk with you privately. Too many ears around.”

  When were there not too many ears around? Privacy was not a luxury anyone could afford. “So, what then? You drain me dry and hope I live?”

  The nurse returned with a tray of what must have been the meds Lucian had ordered. She quietly set it down and turned to leave.

  Lucian looked at the chart in his hand and sighed. “I will do all I can for you. But you have to understand I am under scrutiny.”

  Oh, sure. Her life was hanging in the balance, but she had to understand his position. The audacity of it enraged her further. Good intentions or not, he was still treating her like a lesser creature. Hardly endearing, and definitely not a way to earn her trust – but Mira had no choice but to endure.

  She caught the familiar clip-clop sound of stilettos on tile floor, heading in her direction. Great, just what she needed now. Of all the visitors to see her.

  Lucian, however, did not appear to notice the new arrival. He had returned to scrutinizing his charts. Mira might not have seen her, but she could smell the familiar cloying perfume of her Owner.

  “Getting friendly with the slave?” That shrill voice came from behind Lucian. “Patron or not, I will have my time with her. Do you know how much gold she lost me?”

  Lucian turned on her with a speed Mira had not thought possible in a human. Gone from his posture was the worry and stress he’d shown in the presence of the Magistrate. He stood straight and tall as he addressed the pompous blonde. “Do not forget who you are talking to, Ms. Preston.”