It wasn’t even as though with each swing I felt better. I didn’t, far from it. With each swing, each punch from my flaming fist to his skin, I kept seeing what had happened. And with each memory…dear Lady, each one just made me feel even dirtier than the last. I just felt unclean, filthy, like something was crawling beneath my skin. And it was as if some part of me thought that if I kept this up, maybe, just maybe, beating the ever-loving shit out of him would make that feeling go away. If anything, it only seemed to be making it that much worse.
People began flashing onto the roof with us. I now had an audience to witness my mind completely shattering. Not until the gasps and sounds of utter horror finally broke through to my synapses did I stop and look down. What I saw shocked me to my core.
Bran lay there with his face resembling cooked hamburger meat. The rest of his body had fared no better. I had done so much more than just killed him; I had mutilated him like some sort of wild, vicious beast. My hands were a bloody mess, with a million lacerations…that began to heal before my eyes. My brain didn’t even allow me to marvel at the fact that never had I healed so quickly before. That fact meant nothing right then and there.
As people began to approach me, I panicked. Not just at what they might do to me for what I had just done. The simple thought of them so much as touching me made me want to vomit. I had to get away from them, from what was left of Bran, from everything. I couldn’t muster any sort of thought, certainly not enough to flash myself away. So I just jumped down off the roof and, without even breaking stride when I landed, I ran.
I sprinted faster than I had ever run before, faster than I had thought myself capable of. I wasn’t running to anything, or to anyone; I was just running somewhere, nowhere. No destination flashed across my mind’s eye. There was no focus on where I’d end up. I didn’t care. I just had to get away from what I’d just done, from all the things that had been done to me. From the question burning in my head. Had it been my own damn fault?
After all, it wasn’t as if they’d had me tied down, or even bound or gagged me. I had been a seemingly willing participant. Nowhere at any point had I said no. Granted, whatever I’d drunk had made me feel so wanton and out of control that stopping hadn’t even seemed like an option. Frankly, it had all felt so good at the time that I’d barely even registered how wrong any of it was. So could I qualify that as rape? Had it been? Had it just been me making bad decisions with no thought of the consequences or outcome? But Hel, I hadn’t even known those males, couldn’t recognize them by face if they were to leap out in front of me right now.
My thoughts also kept travelling back to Grimm. How had the meek Bran, the one who had picked me up at the beginning of that evening, managed to capture him? And where was Grimm now? If I was feeling like this right now, what must he be feeling? What could possibly be going through his mind? Was he even okay, safe and sound right now? I remembered seeing his wolves, but not once had I seen him. Where was he?
I continued to run. I must have passed a million beings, all of whom were probably thinking I was just some crazy harpy with nothing better to do, or who had lost her damn mind. I didn’t give a flying fuck what they thought.
Before I knew it, I was running into the Whispering Forest. Huge weeping willow trees loomed above, covered in moss, their branches pointing accusations at me. Some even seeming to be trying to grab hold of me. Jumping and leaping over fallen branches and shrubbery without even bothering to look down, I could hear owls and bats shrieking at me as the first moon began to rise and the sun set.
Finally I couldn’t go on any longer, and I stopped dead smack in the middle of nowhere, a space in the forest that seemed to hold little to no life, nor vegetation. I flat out collapsed to my knees and broke down into inconsolable sobs and tormented tears. I knelt there shivering, shaking, chills running up and down my spine.
How long I sat there, I had no idea, but finally I was in an almost comatose state. That was when I heard it. Unhinged, maniacal laughter that seemed to echo all around me—at me. The sound seemed to bounce off the trees.
“Who’s there?” I managed to croak out, my mind finally becoming alert. “Show yourself.”
No words, just more of that incessant laughter.
Then, “My foolish, foolish, naughty little witch. Bravo.”
I knew that voice, but I also knew it couldn’t be him.
He started clapping. “Bravissimo. Such a beautiful, macabre display you created. The poor idiot never stood a chance, now did he?” He laughed again—just threw his head back and let it rip from deep within his throat.
I stood there, trying my damnedest to focus, to begin to add things up, to no avail.
“Oh my, I can practically hear the wheels attempting to turn in that magnificent head of yours. Need an oil change up there, my lovely? Perhaps you need me to help you put a spin on things, an extra little push?”
He stood there with that smug-ass look on his face. My brain was going a mile a minute trying to come to terms with who, or rather what I was looking at. It was Bran—the arrogant, egotistical one, not the poor, insecure, meek one. The implications behind what I was looking at were innumerable. “Who. The fuck. Are you?”
“Oh, my, my, my. Who do I look like? Bran, right? An exact carbon copy?” His laughter this time seemed to leave a nasty, oily feeling on my skin. “If you were guessing that, you would be both oh so right, yet at the same time so very, very wrong.”
“What are you talking about? What’s going on?” No sooner had those words left my lips than I started hearing Bran’s words, the ones I’d refused to listen to as I lay on top of him, beating him to a bloody pulp.
“Please stop, Tia… Listen to me, please. It wasn’t me, I swear to you. It may have been my fault, but it wasn’t me who did any of those things to you. Stop, oh gods, please just stop.”
I hadn’t listened; at the time I hadn’t been able to. I lifted a trembling hand to my lips. “What have I done?”
“What have you done? You just gave me one of the biggest hard-ons I’ve had in centuries! The way you singed the meat off of that buffoon’s face to the point where you could literally see the moment you broke his jawbone?” He shuddered. “Ooooh…that was enough to make any demon fall madly in love.
“Wait… Ah, there it goes. Is that the look of comprehension I see coming across your face, dear Princess? I think it is! Oh, what a lovely expression it is too. Think I may just bust a nut here and now in my breeches.
“Oh, come on now, go ahead. Ask. I just know you’re dying to.”
“What did you do?” I asked with a feeling of dread.
“Ah, there it is. Always blame the damn demon, don’t they? When the one they should be blaming is whoever summoned the demon in the first place. Everyone always looks at the price the demon makes them pay, yet not the ridiculousness of the conquest or object the poor, not-so-sweet demon is asked procure. Well, I simply take offense at that.” He actually had the nerve to put his hands on his hips while saying that last statement.
“What could Bran possibly have asked for that ended up resulting in all of this? With his own death, for Goddess’ sake?!”
“Well, since you ask so dirtily. You keep flirting with me, my naughty, naughty Princess, and we may just have to go for another round or two in all this not-so-alive grass right here.” When he saw I wasn’t going for that, he continued. “Fine, be that way. Take all the evil joy out of life, why don’t you? Bet I’ll change your mind eventually, the way both those sets of lips of yours wrapped and squeezed around my cock. Mmmm…”
He carried on as though we were having a completely casual conversation. “Where, oh where, should we begin? Dear, dumb Bran, instead of being the witch he was supposedly born to be, decided to summon moi for a…hmmm…for lack of a better term, to turn him into a charmer, into the ultimate ladies’ man. Dumb, insecure, idiot forgot to be specific about how I made that happen or what means I used. The only thing he was specific about was that yo
u were to be the main…object of his affection. Had I any scruples whatsoever, I might have told the fucktard to try using a simple charm as a confidence builder. But being the awesomesauce demon that I am, I just couldn’t let the opportunity put before me to go to waste like that. So I improvised to the worst of my ability. Being sure to stay within the parameters of what was asked of me, of course.
“For starters, he was indeed turned into a charmer, just not within his own body or in his own flesh. I turned myself into him, just a better version, and I’m sure we can both agree that I was indeed quite the ladies’ man, now wasn’t I? Come on. Admit it. Oh, and I made him completely irresistible too. That drink you had? Was actually an elixir created by a sorcerer who was mucking about. Don’t fret—the elixir only made you do what you had been longing to do on your own anyhow. Anything more would have meant me going against the rules. While I pride myself on bending them, I make sure never to outright break them. What I hadn’t anticipated was how insatiable it would make you; I had to summon up a couple of friends just to tamp down your needs. Though that did make for so much more fun, wouldn’t you say? Well, even if you don’t admit to it now, you sure as shit did then. Though after going for nights on end like that with you so out of control, I had to call in yet another friend, and alas he had to add to things in more ways than one. Can’t wait to see the outcome of that.”
That last statement he mumbled so quietly I almost missed it. Not that it mattered—everything else he was telling me was almost too much to take in all at once.
“No, I don’t wanna hear any more. Just stop. If what you’re saying right now is true, then that means…” What had I done?
“That you killed—no, brutally murdered an innocent? Yes, it means exactly that. No worries. I think it just makes you so much sexier. Rawr. You sexy little minx, you. Seeing you in action like that gave me quite the boner. I had to quickly wax on whack off—good thing no one could see me.”
“I’m glad to see you’re so happy right now. What I’m not understanding is just what you get out of all of this? Besides getting your rocks off.”
“Don’t you get it? I am now a free demon. The one who summoned me died before he ever had a chance to send me back, never had a chance to banish me from this realm. Granted, I’ll have to stay in this body, but it does look soooo much better on me. Its original owner never did wear it to its full potential, now did he?”
There went that damn laugh again. To say I was sick of hearing it would be a truly drastic understatement.
It was all too much to take in. Not only had I lost days of my life to lust, but I had just killed an innocent witch. Granted, the idiot had had no business summoning a demon, especially when he’d apparently had no idea what he was doing. A demon is so much worse than a djinn. Much worse. The level of magic it had taken to bring a demon through the barriers into this realm had to have been astronomical. All that power that Bran must have possessed. Now it was all gone to waste after one dumb-ass decision. What had he even been thinking? It wasn’t like he’d needed to win me or anything; he’d already had me, whether I wanted him or not. Whether he wanted me or not, for that matter. So this need to make me want him made no sense whatsoever.
“And you my lovely, will now be my bride. We are betrothed, after all.”
“Wait, what?”
“Oh yes, with all the commotion and a little bit of smoke and magic, I made it seem as though Bran were at least somewhat alive. Now all I have to do is use my own demonic powers—which, yes, I do still have in case you were wondering—make my face look like so much charred meat—you know, the state you put the poor fool in—lay up for a while, then voila! An all healed-up Bran!
“No one will be the wiser. I mean, really, who’s going to tell? You? That would just make you a murderous bitch who committed treason against the would-be king. Bran was an innocent, after all, his palace under siege, a captive right alongside you.
“Well, I’d better get going, I do have my death bed to get to and all. And no worries, when I do ‘come to’, I’ll just reassure them we were merely having a lovers’ spat that got out of hand. I do rather like it rough.” Laughing, he flashed away, leaving a trail of sulfur in his wake.
And I was left standing there like a deer shifter caught in the headlights. This time, I wasn’t stupid enough to ask whether the day could get any worse.
10
Reasonable Doubt
“Somehow, the dumbfounded look is quite cute on you.”
Closing my eyes, I tried desperately to gain some type of composure, though I probably failed. It was at least worth a shot. “How long have you been standing there? And how did you, of all people, find me?”
“I take offense to that. The bloody demon found you too. As to how long I’ve been standing here? Long enough to know I won’t be truly happy until I cleave that demon in half after forcing him to eat his entrails with a side of his very own chopped-up cock as a final meal.”
There he stood, my mysterious vampire, leaning up against a weeping willow tree, looking for all the worlds as though he were getting ready for a photoshoot. No, he wasn’t all clean and pristine, far from it. He was still covered in grime and blood from the battle, a look he somehow pulled off quite well, even the rips and tears in his well-fitted leather. Leather pants that hugged in just the right places while still allowing for movement in a fight; a leather jacket that fit the same, with a zipper up the front that was halfway undone—from this angle I couldn’t tell whether there was anything underneath—and shit-kicker boots to make a girl’s wet dream complete. And though sex was the very last thing on my mind, I could still appreciate what a work of art he was.
He stepped away from the tree, taking his time walking towards me, like he was getting ready to approach a wounded bird or an unstable, ferocious beast. It wasn’t until then that I realized I was crouching down like I was getting into attack mode. As I straightened into a standing position, he held his hand out to me.
“I think it’s high time we had proper introductions, don’t you? But of course, I already know exactly who you are. I, on the other hand, must be quite the mystery to you. I think it’s past time we remedied that. The name is Chandler.”
As he grasped my hand in his, I felt that instant connection once again, though even that wasn’t enough to completely pull me out of the aftermath I was still facing—the snippets of memories bombarding my mind, the implications of everything I had just been told. The fact that I’d killed Bran when he hadn’t deserved to die. What that connection did do was allow me to feel something other than abject horror and shame. So when he pulled me in to him—not for any type of romantic embrace or anything of the sort, just giving me something solid to hold on to, to cling to—that’s precisely what I did. No tears or anything. I just allowed him to hold me up as I tried to hang on to what was left of my sanity.
We stood like that for a while, until we ended up sitting beneath the tree he’d been leaning against. Sounding genuinely curious, he asked, “So what’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“Setting your entire body aflame the way you do.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. Not an all-out hen cackle or anything, but a small chuckle under my breath. The question was so out of the blue that I knew for a fact he was just trying to veer my mind away from less-than-pleasant issues, and I liked him all the more for it.
“I don’t know how to describe it. No one has ever just come out and asked me that before. It just is. It’s something that comes as second nature to me, and when I do it, it feels freeing, exhilarating, like a release. It’s hard to truly put it into words. It doesn’t burn me or anything. I guess you could think of it like stepping into a hot bath that’s at the perfect temp. You know how when you first step in, sit down, lay back and relax and let out that sigh of relief? It’s something like that. What about you, Mister Necro? Since we’re on the subject, what’s it like for you to turn into an honest-to-goodness corpse?”<
br />
He let out a snicker himself. “Opened myself up for that one didn’t I? Fair enough. It isn’t the same as the day when I truly died and was brought back. I guess you could think of it as lying down for a deep sleep, only you don’t have to be lying down to do it. I pull on that piece of myself that was once truly dead, allowing magic to take over, letting go of all feelings of being alive. It isn’t exactly exhilarating or anything of the sort—it just kind of is. I see what you mean about something like that being hard to explain, ’cause I’m having quite the time trying to put the experience into words. But let’s just say it’s not something I tend to do on a regular basis. It is done only when necessary; reliving one’s death isn’t what one would call a walk in the park. And unlike your fire, it’s a coldness that reaches down deep into the very bottom of your soul.”
He shuddered at the end of that; so did I.
“With me being second-generation, I don’t know for sure if my experience could be described as the same as what my parents experienced, or worse. My first death happened during my True Turning, something other vampires need to go through as well. But the way my sect was created makes us more different than most.”
He looked me in the eyes before he continued. “You realize you are going have to get up from here and deal with everything that has transpired, right?”
“And just how do I go about doing that? Tell them Bran is really dead and there’s a demon lying in his bed instead? Oh, and by the way, just try to forget about the part where I’m the one who killed him? Yeah, don’t think that’ll go over too well.”
“If you told the entire truth of it—”
“No way, no how. Only thing anyone needs to know is that I was held as a prisoner. The events that took place while I was there, I plan on never uttering a word of, to anyone.” Just the thought of all the looks, all the gossip that would ensue if I did let people know what had really happened… No way in Hel’s name was I taking that route. I would not only be seen as weak, but as less than weak. All the ridicule I would no doubt be forced to face…not happening.
Witch Wars: The Underlayes, Book One Page 6
