by Hannah Pole
The High Lord smiled; cold, evil lips parting to reveal fangs.
‘You’re a vampire?’ Leyth choked,
‘Yes. How do you think I became so powerful? I can give the gift of eternity.’
‘So that’s how you make your minions agree to sacrifice their soul. You give them your blood, so they can live for ever?’
‘And, in return, they allow me to bind their soul and use their body as a vessel to do my bidding. Yes.’
‘That’s sick. How can someone live for ever when their body rots without their soul?’
‘They can’t.’ It was a simple answer that spoke of horrid deception and the promise of something that can’t be delivered.
A vampire was born, not made, and yes they had the infinite joy of a life that couldn’t end by any natural means, but this couldn’t be exploited.
Leyth had heard of a ritual that vampires could use to turn humans and other races into vampire kin, but it was dangerous, and if the body rejected it, it could kill the person they were trying to change.
It was only ever used in extreme cases, usually for love. Not to build an army.
That must be why the vampire-magi-whatever was so frail, giving his blood to every tomb he made.
‘Tell me this then,’ Leyth uttered. ‘Why bind their souls?’
‘Those with a strong soul can fight possession easily, those who have their soul bound to us cannot fight it.’ The High Lord moved closer still, drawing the knife out of Leyth’s arm and bracing a hand on the stone slab he was strapped to.
‘Don’t worry, wolf, you shall join your tuhrned kin soon,’ he whispered as he slowly bent down and latched his thin, cold lips around the knife wound, briefly drawing Leyth’s blood into his mouth.
As he drank it in, Leyth watched him visibly strengthen, his shoulders slowly straighten, his skin turn a lighter shade of grey.
Leyth shouted in rage and shook himself free of the magi’s lips, biting back the bile that rose.
‘You will never turn me, you sick bastard,’ Leyth spat.
‘Oh, but I shall. I’ve turned most on the Council already. We are close to taking over the Kingdom, wolf. Once we’ve turned you, we will have one we can control in the south-east pack, and an easy way to find your little friend. Tamriel will come to you.’
Leyth roared at the mention of his female’s name. He would not let them find her, even if it killed him. Though his shoulder screamed in protest, he ripped himself forward, the blood gushing from his wrist slicking his hand enough for it to slip free of the leather bind. He didn’t hesitate; he threw his fist forward, smashing the magi in the face.
The bastard staggered backward, losing his footing on the hard rock floor and fell backwards, snapping fragile bone as he hit the dirt.
Letting out an ear-splitting scream, Leyth could only gape as the High Lord literally flew forward, sinking his fangs into his arm, sucking everything he had left. As it took great pulls at his life source, he watched the broken leg heal itself, watched as his pale, gaunt skin thickened, becoming healthier by the second.
Leyth thrashed around frantically, trying to dislodge the bastard, but it didn’t work; his toothy mouth was well and truly attached to Leyth’s only good arm. Roaring in pain, Leyth ripped his arm away from the High Lord, snapping both fangs as he pulled away. The vamp-magi hissed, clapping a still bony hand over his mouth.
The High Lord’s right-hand man strode forward, wrapping an arm around his waist and dragging him backwards. Leyth felt that spark of recognition hit him again. It wasn’t just recognition from the meeting at Julian’s, it was something far deeper; he knew this man.
He didn’t recognise his features and his face didn’t actually seem to fit with his voice, his being as it were. But, god be damned, Leyth just could not figure out why he knew this man so well. Why those eyes of his sparked gratitude and the feeling of almost pack-kin closeness.
Though the thane was barking orders at the other three magi to get moving, Leyth was absolutely sure he caught the male grinning.
It was only then did he truly notice how completely different the thane was to the rest of the magi; each one of them was gaunt and grey-looking, the thane, on the other hand, was very much a picture of health. His golden skin was glowing, muscles bulging through his robe.
It hadn’t struck Leyth as odd before, now however it made him re-think the purpose of this magi. He clearly hadn’t given himself over to the allure of eternal life. He wasn’t bound, as the other magi appeared to be.
As Leyth watched him, their eyes met for a split second, and he could have sworn the thane winked at him as he hefted the High Lord onto a stone chair at the foot of the slab Leyth was strapped to.
‘Start the ritual,’ the vamp-magi spluttered, casting a bony finger at the thane. All the magi rushed to their stations, lighting various candles around the room, sprinkling what looked like salt and herbs over the floor and chanting manic words in a language Leyth couldn’t understand.
Agony hit him in the chest with the force of a hammer. The silver in his veins had sped up its course, the pain burning his shoulder rippled its way across his collarbone, sinking towards his chest. The roaring pain made his ears ring and his skin burn.
Tears and blood were streaming down his face. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t open his eyes. Didn’t dare move.
This was it. Here and now. He was going to die.
Leyth’s distinctive scent hit her nose in a second. She couldn’t help the grin that practically split her face in half as she recognised the scent. She noticed the various tunnels leading out of the cave-like space she was in. Tam was deadly sure that the vampire hadn’t been the only one down here. Logic suggested she should pick one route and stick to it, but her curiosity was piqued, making her want to check each and every tunnel out, picking those bastard tombs off one by one.
Hatred fuelled her, anger heating her blood.
Bloodlust roared to the surface, making her canines lengthen and the wolf at her core roar to the surface. She sternly told the animal to put a cap on it.
Heat rushed from her core, her wolf telling her she wanted in on this violence. The heat was quickly chased away as a roaring pain rolled through her, making her fall to the floor in a heap, barely containing a scream.
It was Leyth. What the hell were they doing to him? The searing pain seemed to be coming from her arm, but quickly spreading throughout her shoulder towards her heart. Her wolf soul howled, and retreated quickly. It must be silver. Shit, shit, shit.
The pain roaring its way through her temporarily immobilised her; she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It was all she could do to remain conscious. And, Christ, this was only an echo of what Leyth must be feeling.
Tears rolled freely down her face, but Tamriel shoved the pain aside, focusing instead on the determination heating her veins. As her male’s scent hit her again, and a renewed sense of urgency ripped through her, Tam pulled her phone out to call the others.
She would no doubt need help here; she needed Doc and the djinn and, hell, she was going to need minotaurs too. She needed to let them know where she was. No signal. Goddamn mobiles were useless.
Sternly telling herself to get a grip, and shoving the pain she was feeling away, stuffing it in a proverbial box at the back of her mind she followed her nose. She crept to the tunnel on the far left, listening intently. There were no sounds coming from it, which was no surprise; if anyone had heard her struggle with the vamp, they surely would have come running by now. She tugged the darkness around herself, and moved forward. The tunnel was dark, the only light coming from the flickering torches. As it began to widen, the metallic scent of blood overrode her senses and she saw that carved deep in the walls of the cave were cells barred with thick metal. It looked like a large dungeon.
Most of the barred holdings were empty but for a corpse or two; she cast them a quick glance, hoping like hell one of them might be alive, but no such luck. Finally her nose led her to a cell w
ith an open door. Leyth’s scent was all over it. Gulping down bile, she slowly came to the door of the cage. It was completely empty.
Sadness gripped her as tears rose to the surface, threatening to spill. Like it would be this easy.
She scanned the empty space. There was blood. Everywhere. It lined the walls and pooled on the floor. There was just so much of it here. She crouched down as tears stung her eyes and dipped her fingers into the wet pool, sniffing it.
It was Leyth’s, without a doubt. The tears came again, this time running down her cheeks. There was too much blood here, far too much. What had they done to him? He surely couldn’t survive this.
She knelt down, not caring that her jeans were soaking the stuff up like a sponge, and reached to the dull roar in her chest; by the constant ache she knew without a doubt that it was Leyth.
The pain she’d felt but moments ago had died down, to a slight pulse of pain. It was so weak now, so distant. Was he dead already? Was this pain a manifestation of her own hope? Was she keeping the memory of him alive when he really was no more? Sobbing freely yet still quietly, she gripped the wall with her hand and gave herself over to grief, if only for a moment.
The ache in her chest flared to life, her shoulder began to ripple with pain and her left arm tingled.
Was it him? Surely it had to be. As the dull thudding pain ran across her chest, she staggered to her feet, fresh hope coming to the surface. She could feel him dying. Unrelenting fear rode her hard, but she didn’t give into it. He was alive for the moment. She just needed to find him.
Battling to keep the pain at bay, she drew his bolo from her jeans and staggered forward. Keeping her eyes ahead of her, she followed the length of the dungeon. She didn’t bother checking the other cells. She knew anything that might be in them would be dead.
As she crept forward, a whisper hit her ears.
She stopped, listening intently.
Someone was up ahead.
She moved slowly forward, straining her ears. Two heartbeats.
Though it was dark, she could make out the wall at the end of the dungeon; it held a heavy, barred door. That wasn’t where the two heartbeats were coming from however; they were coming from the cell on the right.
Tam tightened her grip on the darkness cloaking her, and silently moved towards the cell.
It could be prisoners. She wasn’t going to chance that though. As she reached the edge of the small, carved-out space, she held her breath and silently peeked around the edge.
Two women were sat on chairs, feet up on the table in the middle. One of them appeared to be sleeping; the other was reading a magazine. Neither knew she was there.
The door was propped open with a stone that had obviously come loose from the wall somewhere. Tam couldn’t help the irrational stab of jealousy that came with the women spending time in a dungeon with her lover. Her male. They best not have touched him.
She knew she was a decent fighter and, yes, she had been well trained by her father. But she wasn’t going to chance being overpowered by two of them when she didn’t necessarily have to be.
She palmed one of the knives strapped to her belt, and carefully weighed up her options. The brunette reading the magazine was the obvious target; she was awake and would react faster than the shaven-haired sleeping girl.
If she took the conscious girl out first, it would take longer for lady-sleep-a-lot to wake up and realise what was going on, giving Tamriel more time to attack. Having said that, brunette was much smaller and skinnier than shaven; her arms were bony where shaved’s were bulging with muscle, her hands dainty where the other’s were thick and calloused.
Sleeping Ugly was clearly a well-trained fighter, whereas brunette looked gaunt and zombie like.
Tam would put money on who was more likely to put up a good fight.
Acting quickly, she aimed her knife and, without hesitation, threw the thing at the brunette’s head. She would need the time it took for Shaven to wake up to shut her in the cell.
Fear leapt to the surface as deadly cool concentration took her over.
She didn’t flinch as the knife thudded into brunette’s skull; her eyes fluttering up to meet Tam’s own eyes for a brief minute before closing for all eternity.
She didn’t feel guilt or sorrow, even as the shaven-haired girl woke with a start, a hand reaching up to her face as if it was in pain.
Only then did Tam notice the almost hand-shaped bruise running the length of shaven’s face.
To her credit, the woman came to her senses quickly, she whipped around, her eyes widening as she took in the knife sticking out of her friend’s skull. She was on her feet in seconds. Tam reacted hastily, slamming the barred door shut and hefting the stone against it, readying the three knives she had left on her belt.
The woman tested the door briefly, giving it a little kick. The thing would take a greater force to open, and she realised this quickly, diving behind the small table to avoid Tam’s first knife, that went flying towards her head. It hit the wall behind with a clap before it clattered to the floor.
The shaven-haired bitch dived forward to grab at the knife, but it was too far away. As she reached out, she exposed herself, allowing Tamriel to aim quickly with her second to last knife, throwing the thing hard and fast.
It caught her right in the side of the stomach, sinking deeply into her abdomen. The shaven-haired woman outright screamed, lunging quickly back behind the table, and using brunette’s body as a shield.
Tam used this brief pause in combat to reach for her bolo; she’d slid it away when she’d gotten her smaller knives out, but now she had just one remaining, she would need the bolo.
As she bent down to grip the handle, something shuffled in the cell. She realised her mistake but a second too late.
The shaven-haired bitch had picked the knife up from the ground and aimed it directly at Tam; she jerked her body sideways, rolling to the floor, but it wasn’t fast enough and the knife thumped straight into her shoulder, ripping through flesh and hitting bone.
Tam threw her one remaining knife, the metal landing solidly in the bitch’s thigh. She let out another scream, and lunged for the blade sticking out of brunette’s skull, with a tug the knife came free and she didn’t hesitate; she hurled the thing straight at Tam. There was nowhere she could move to, she was already on the ground against the wall; the knife was coming straight for her chest.
Out of options and nowhere to go, she threw up a hand, roaring in pain as the blade went straight through her palm and into her chest.
She gulped down a few breaths and tested the wound. Her hand was agony, the cold metal contrasting horribly with the heat of her skin. She kept her eyes closed, and forced herself to calm down. To play dead. Shaven had calmed down somewhat, and was carefully shifting her way out of the cell. She likely thought Tam was dead.
Thankfully, her palm had stopped the speed of the blade, though it had caught her chest, it had only sunk the tip into her boob, nothing fatal.
Tamriel sent a prayer of thanks up to whoever it was in the heavens that she had a heavyish chest.
Otherwise, the injury may have nicked something vital.
The shaven-haired bitch was out of the cell. She threw a heavy kick at Tam’s legs, spitting on her as she did it.
What kind of person kicks and spits on a supposedly dead person? That’s just disrespectful.
The shaven-haired bitch was clearly a tuhrned, mind you, did she really expect anything else? They were infiltrating the Circle turned Council’s headquarters, after all. But there was something else, something she recognised. A scent that made her heart sing. Leyth’s scent. She could smell her male all over that bitch; she smelt of fear and hate. Of sex. The sickly stench filled her nostrils, making her stifle a gag. What the fuck had she done to her male? She just couldn’t imagine Leyth would willingly sleep with a tomb.
Disgust and hatred raged through her, making her see red; it was all she could do not to launch herself at
the bitch and rip her apart. Tam forced herself to stay still, to remain ‘dead-looking’. She was waiting for the right moment, until the girl reached down – presumably to search her pockets – before she opened her eyes, swinging the bolo up and slicing the bitch’s head off in one clean sweeping movement.
Apparently it was now a reflex to decapitate. What had her life come to? As bile rose, and her stomach heaved, Tamriel found herself utterly relieved at the reaction. She hated the idea that one day she might be comfortable with killing; the disgust and gag reaction was what she needed, she needed to be scared of the consequences of her actions. She needed to regret the loss of life, no matter how zombie-like or terrible the people she fought with were.
She staggered to her feet, her body screaming in pain, and slid the knife out of her hand which was still pinned to her chest with one of her own knives. Her arm throbbed and her chest ached. She couldn’t tell at this point which pain was hers, and which was Leyth’s.
Going into the cell she looked at the table and gagged again. It was covered in trinkets, necklaces, rings and pictures. All from the dead in the cells, she had no doubt. There were several bloody items of clothing scattered about, some of which were Leyth’s. She picked up the bloody T-shirt and hugged it to her chest, inhaling his scent. Something hard nudged at her foot and she bent down to reach it. A vial? The glass jar was huge and the shimmery contents sparkled in the light. Her stomach dropped. Liquid silver.
She hadn’t been a wolf all that long, but she sure as hell knew what silver would do to one. Injecting this would surely kill him! Fear struck her as she remembered the tingling pain working its way up her arm, from her shoulder to her chest. Leyth.
With a war cry, Tamriel launched herself out of the cell and towards the barred door at the end of the dungeon. He had to be there, she had to find him! She shook the metal door; it was locked though and wouldn’t budge.
