Blue Blood (Series of Blood Book 3)

by Emma Hamm

That voice was both her salvation and her annihilation.

  She breathed out, though she knew it would be the end of her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she opened her eyes.

  A figure stood before her. Great and burning, it stretched towards the sky. Heat blistered Mercy’s skin and made her back slick with sweat. But she knew what the being wanted. Mercy wanted the same thing.

  She furrowed her brow as she reluctantly rose and stood before it indecisively.

  “You know this is how it has to be,” the voice rasped. “Come, Mercy.”

  “What if I want it to end differently this time?”

  “Wants and needs are very different.”

  It had a point. That did not mean Mercy agreed with it. As much as she loved the feeling of grass poking between her bare toes, there was no point in fighting the creature before her. She would be fighting against herself.

  The great column of fire swelled as though it understood she had given in. Again. She would always give in.

  Mercy stepped forward, feet gliding over the ground. She hoped she would remember the feeling of the cool blades against her soles. She treasured every such memory. They were fleeting, and if she did not take the time to appreciate them, they would disappear forever.

  No clothing constricted her movements. She was naked as the day she was born, yet it did not discomfort her. Not even when she curled into the waiting arms of the fire.

  Burning. Aching. Agony. Tendrils of fire licked across her skin and peeled away everything that she was.

  And then she heard them. The mob.

  Angry voices screamed her name. They cried out that she was a monster. The only way to keep their families safe at night was to kill her. To kill the demon spawn.

  “I am no demon,” she whispered into the winds pulling at her hair. But she could not say for certain that she wasn’t. How could anyone say they were good, say they meant well, when they had done the things she had done?

  “You killed her!” the voices screamed.

  Ashes from the fire at her feet stuck to her face in a fine layer of grime. The heat was licking up her legs now, devouring her body. But he was healing her. He who was both her beginning and her end.

  “Please,” she whimpered, “please let me die. I just want to die!”

  “I cannot,” the crackling voice responded. “You know we are two halves of a whole. You will survive this.”

  “I won’t survive you!”

  “No,” he agreed, “you won’t. You will become something more. Something greater, more powerful than you can imagine.”

  “Something twisted,” she said through gritted teeth. The mob started pulling at her arms, yanking her towards the lake which would douse her fires and cause her immense pain. “We’re wrong, you and I. We’re both clay pieces fired far too long in the kiln. We will shatter!”

  He did not argue with her because he agreed. There were pieces of them burning away. Important pieces like compassion crumbling beneath the weight of betrayal, heartbreak, and insanity.

  Her toes touched cold water and her blood froze. “Please,” she begged, “don’t make me live this again. Not again!”

  “I’m sorry,” his voice sizzled like fire. “It is our punishment.”

  “For what?” Screams made her throat raw as she threw her head back and raged at the cruel world. “I have done nothing wrong! I have survived!”

  “And it is always the strong who bear the burden of the world.”

  3

  Jasper lurched up from the floor. He had fallen asleep in his cage, though it was rare that he found any rest here. Coughing, he raised his hand to his throat and wondered when his throat had become so parched. His tongue was like sandpaper.

  He tried to swallow but was unsuccessful. Rolling onto his side, he reached for the bucket of precious water. He was thankful they actually brought their prisoners something to drink. Perhaps they remembered that Malachi needed Jasper alive.

  Saving the life sustaining liquid was more difficult than he had originally thought. He plunged his hands into the cool water and lifted it to his lips. What remained on his hands he brushed through the long strands of his hair.

  Sweat drenched his body. All he could remember from the dream was heat. He was so hot.

  If only there was a cold wind to blow through this cursed place, he thought. He coughed again and scooped another handful of water. Never in his life had he dreamed of flames.

  “I’m scared,” Bluebell whispered. “This place makes us think terrible things.”

  “I know. But we’re going to be fine.”

  “You can’t know that. We don’t know where we are. Where we’re going. And you are dreaming of fire and ruin.”

  Her voice was tearful, and he did not know how to reassure her. She wasn’t just the creature that shared his head; she was also his sister. Jasper had grown up with her, but had also been caretaker, provider, and parent.

  “What did I used to tell you when you were scared?”

  She was silent for a few moments. “That if I was ever scared, all I needed to do was reach out and hold your hand.”

  “Exactly. And what are you feeling right now?”

  “Scared.”

  “Then go ahead.” He lay down on the cold ground. “Hold my hand, Bluebell.”

  She was capable of much, but his body was a foreign sex to her. Neither of them were entirely comfortable with their shared body and mind. He relaxed into the ground and let the Fairy take control over pieces of his body. His left arm went numb and rose of its own accord.

  His right hand was resting across his belly. Jasper knew what she was going to do. She had done it many times before. Softly, the hand she controlled flipped the other and tangled its fingers with his.

  It wasn’t much, but it was more than most creatures managed with their hosts. He would not go back to sleep, for nightmares waited in that dreaming place. Instead, he would lie on the ground and hold her hand.

  Because she was scared, and he didn’t want her to be scared.

  Jasper could not tell how much time had passed, but eventually he heard the sound he had come to despise. Clanging. Metal against metal and the inevitable cries of the fearful creatures awakened from their slumber.

  Ella whimpered in her sleep. Bluebell instantly withdrew her command of his body, and Jasper slowly sat back up. He wanted to protect everyone in this place. He wanted to tear it down, stone by stone.

  This time it was only the Troll wandering down the lanes of cages. Ugly, brutal, and putrid green in coloring, the creature stopped before his cage.

  The Troll grunted.

  Jasper arched a brow. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  “Get up.” The Troll’s voice was surprisingly high pitched.

  “No.”

  “Get up, or I will tell Malachi you decided you do not want his deal.”

  That was enough to force Jasper to his feet. He wanted to get out of this place nearly more than he valued his own life. There was nothing that was going to stand in his way at this point. Leave, collect the valuable object, and return it to Malachi. Get Lyra, go home, and forget all this happened.

  The mission should be simple. He hoped it would also be quick.

  With another grunt, the Troll reached forward and unlocked the iron padlock on the gate. Gloves covered his hands, so he did not have to touch the iron. Curious, Jasper thought, that they would use a cage none of them could touch. It was certainly effective, but to all of them. Not just the prisoners.

  The Troll stepped forward and grabbed ahold of Jasper’s arm. Its hand was larger than he had expected. There were only three fingers upon its hand digging into his flesh.

  “Is that natural?” he asked.

  He was guided from his cage without response.

  “Oh come on, there’s no need to be so touchy about it. We’ve all got our oddities from being possessed.”

  That got a reaction, though not the one Jasper had hoped for. The Troll whipped
him around and slammed his face against the bars of a cage. Mashed into the iron, his skin immediately began to burn.

  Pain trickled down his spine as the Troll grabbed his wings and viciously twisted. Jasper gritted his teeth, refusing to give the Troll any kind of response.

  Ella was in this cage. He knew it as surely as he knew his wings were being crushed within the Troll’s three-fingered grip. He made himself calm and opened one of his eyes.

  Of course, she was staring at the scene he was making in the middle of their prison. Still, he didn’t want Ella to be frightened. At least Bluebell had retreated to a safe place deep within their shared mind.

  “Easy there, big guy; I was just trying to be friendly,” he grumbled.

  The Troll slowly eased his grip, and Jasper winked at Ella. She watched him with wide eyes as he was led away.

  Jasper wasn’t foolish enough to speak while they walked through the darkest pits of the prison. He didn’t want to get another rise out of the Troll now that he had the information he wanted.

  This creature was very similar to its companions. Anger made it thoughtless. It would lash out at a big-mouthed man like Jasper because it considered itself to have been slighted. That was something Jasper could work with. Insults were easy when he was given such a large amount of material. Fighting came naturally after that.

  Jasper was too tired to confidently say he’d beat the Troll in close quarters, but he would damn well try if it came to that. A Fairy didn’t have many magical skills. But he had trained his entire life for battle, even locked in a cell. Not to mention he had a lot of his own bulk to throw around.

  They paused in front of a door. The Troll fumbled in a pocket at his waist and pulled out another key.

  “What are we—” Jasper did not get to finish his question as the doors were thrown open, and illumination blinded him.

  Grunting, he threw his free hand up to cover his eyes. He hadn’t seen bright light in weeks. Or was it months? He did not know that existing in near darkness for such a long time could cause pain like this. His eyes felt as though they were melting.

  Malachi’s voice cut through the pain. “Shut the door, Grimm. For pity’s sake! You know the rules here. I don’t want to see the dank living quarters we keep these poor bastards in any more than necessary.”

  Jasper’s eyes hurt, but he forced his hand to his side and blinked rapidly. Sight came back to him then. He was standing in the middle of what appeared to be a rather plush living room. The Troll disappeared into the dungeon, slamming the door behind him with a resounding clang.

  He looked down at the warm, hardwood floors beneath his bare feet and flexed his toes in an oversized polar bear fur rug. Leather furniture was arranged around the room with a crystal chandelier hanging above it. The bookcases lining the walls were filled with cloth bound novels, a collection of antique clocks, and decanters brimming with what Jasper assumed was some kind of alcohol.

  This wasn’t a dungeon at all, he realized. This was Malachi’s home.

  “Am I in your living room?” he asked incredulously.

  Malachi smiled from the overlarge recliner he sat in. A smaller white skin was thrown over the top of the chair and cushioned him from behind. “You are indeed.”

  “You keep your prisoners in the basement?”

  “I find that the closer you are, the faster I can find replacement magic. Should I need it, of course.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  Malachi nodded his head towards the chair opposite him. “Please, sit. What are you having to drink?”

  “Water.”

  “Oh no,” Malachi tsked. “We do not drink such plebeian things here. You shall have single malt whiskey, or perhaps hundred year old wine? It’s quite a good vintage.”

  He hadn’t thought it possible, but he found himself hating the man even more. “Water.”

  “Fine, fine. I see you wish to be difficult.” Malachi released a long drawn out sigh and held out his hand. A wine glass appeared within it, dangling in his loose grip precariously over the expensive carpet.

  Malachi offered the glass to Jasper as though it were an offering of peace. Jasper highly doubted it was, but took it nonetheless.

  “This isn’t poisoned, is it?” he asked.

  “I do not poison people I have use for.”

  Jasper didn’t ask again. He drank the cool liquid and let it slide down his throat. The entire glass was emptied in mere seconds, and he sighed in relief. He wasn’t certain that a single glass would ever be enough.

  The soft sound of trickling water brushed against his senses, and he looked down at the glass. It had refilled itself. Or perhaps it had been Malachi’s doing.

  Jasper now knew what stolen magic Malachi used. “You’re currently using an Illusionist’s magic?”

  It was the same power Wren had seen him use. This seemed strange to Jasper, as Malachi was known for swapping his powers as often as he changed his clothing. That was what the Five had been told by informants, at any rate.

  “Oh no.” Malachi laughed. “That was yesterday’s face. I’m using a Summoner’s magic now.”

  There was very little known about the Summoners. They were a secretive bunch who were cousins of the Illusionists. They were known to steal things, as they could will objects from anywhere in the world to their fingertips. Whatever they wanted, be it human, creature, or object, a Summoner could have.

  Jasper began to sweat. Suddenly, angering Malachi had become an entirely different kind of game. An Illusionist’s powers were easily repelled if one knew that it was an illusion. A Summoner was very different.

  “Can we get on to the mission? I assume you dragged me out of my cell to send me on my way.”

  Malachi looked disappointed. “Come now, Jasper. You have no need to be so serious! Enjoy the small things in life. I’m giving you a chance to relax, and you want to disregard that gift?”

  “I want to get this over with, so I can go home.”

  Malachi’s expression darkened. “Fine then. Let me tell you how this is going to go. You’re going to sit right there and listen to my every order. You’re going to follow those orders to the exact wording. Then you are going to come back here and hope I am in a good mood when I see you.”

  “I don’t think so.” Jasper shook his head. “I’m not your puppet. I’ll do the mission as I see fit. You have a Summoner inside you, not an Oracle.”

  “I don’t think you were listening to me, Jasper. When I say jump, you’re going to ask me how high. Then you’re going to jump to the specified height without complaint.”

  “And if I don’t?” Jasper growled.

  “Then I’m going to go pop your girlfriend’s head off her shoulders. She might be a feisty little thing, but she is very small. And for all her screaming, Sirens aren’t particularly intimidating.” Malachi knew that he had Jasper by the heart strings.

  Jasper wasn’t going to do anything that endangered Lyra, whether the other man truly had her captured or not didn’t matter. He couldn’t take that risk.

  Though it hurt his ego immensely, Jasper slowly nodded in response.

  “Perfect.” Malachi leaned back in his chair and took a sip of the blood red wine suddenly in his hand. “Now, the retrieval process is going to be difficult to say the least. You’re going to have to follow my men’s every order.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Classified.”

  “What am I retrieving?”

  “Even you couldn’t miss it. I won’t spoil the fun.” Malachi toasted him with his wine glass before taking another large gulp.

  “Does it have a name?”

  “I’m certain it does. Most things have names. But no, before you ask, I do not know what its name is.”

  Jasper raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as a headache blossomed. “Do you know anything about this thing you want?”

  “It’s in the center of a maze made out of thorns and other kinds of disgusting plantlife.
I’ve never precisely liked nature. I’m a creature who prefers a cement jungle, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean.” Jasper pushed the words through clenched teeth. “I am to go into this blind then? All you’re going to tell me is to follow your men’s orders to the word?”

  “It’s more fun that way.”

  “Can you at least tell me who you are sending with me?”

  Malachi leaned forward with a wide grin. “That I can. I have procured a Dragon, a Hellhound, and a Wisp to accompany you on your adventures. They should be able to provide enough protection to return you to me before nightfall.”

  The words were surprising. Jasper couldn’t help but arch a brow. “You’re expending energy to keep me alive?”

  “Not you, my boy.” Malachi chuckled. “I couldn’t care less if you died. They are there to protect what I want, not you. If you manage to kill yourself before our deal is up, that’s not my problem.”

  He didn’t want anyone he didn’t know watching his back. It was easier to be on edge than it was to trust someone else. That was reserved for Lyra and Burke alone. Even Wren was too green for him to truly trust her instincts in a fight.

  “Fine. When are we leaving?” Jasper asked.

  “Now, since you are so insistent upon being difficult. You could have enjoyed a few hours of revelry before going out into the dark world. But that was your choice.” Malachi shrugged and waved his hand.

  Jasper smelled the armor before he felt it. He recognized this scent. Armor enchanted by an anti-venom potion and reeking with the acrid sting of heated garbage. He hated anti-venom potions. They had to be made with the opposite of the venom itself, which always resulted in some kind of nasty concoction.

  He ran a hand over the well fitting leather. This was decent armor at least, he reflected as he patted himself down. Fitted to his body, there were no curves of fake muscles or unnecessary padding. This armor was meant to be practical and nothing more.

  Yet again, he found himself appreciating Malachi’s choices. That was the worst part about the villain seated before him. Not only was Malachi intelligent and charismatic but he was also extremely good at reading other people.