Maybe at the last cell, they stopped. His hearing had not been damaged. The clang of the cell door opening echoed loud enough to give him a migraine.
Forceful hands shoved him to the ground. He hadn’t the time to bring up his shackled hands, and his face slammed onto the cold, unyielding floor. His nose was busted now. He struggled to breathe.
Footsteps sounded, retreating, their echo growing softer and softer.
And then they stopped altogether.
He was alone. With the other prisoners.
The silence was harsh, oppressive, and heavy. He could not stand it any more than he could handle the darkness covering his face. Once upon a time, the hood had given him purpose, had promised him power.
Now it only brought him misery.
It pained him to try and raise his arms. The muscles were tight, locked up, on fire as he worked to slide the hood over his head. The cell was so dark he could not see anyhow.
Gradually, he shimmied to the back wall, scooting along the floor, too weak to stand and definitely unable to walk. His head hung so low that his chin nearly touched his chest.
Minutes passed. Maybe a half hour or even a full sixty minutes. His eyesight adjusted. The pain never abated.
He lifted his head.
Sergio Ortega stared at him, leaning against the wall opposite his cell.
He must not have left when the other protectors had.
Sergio. The youngest to be promoted. A killer already at nineteen years old. A staunch and loyal supporter of the queen. A fierce hater of the vampires. The protector who had begged to swing the axe. The one who had killed Marwin.
Antoine glowered at him, wincing at the pain caused by the downturn of his mouth.
“Let me guess,” he said, his lips screaming at him for trying to talk. “You’re to be—”
“Silence, Antoine. You don’t get to speak. You get to listen.” Sergio stalked over and squatted, staring at Antoine’s wounded body. “You will be killed tomorrow. You will die. Your axe is now mine. Your blade is now mine. I will be honored to kill you, to rid the world of your foul presence. How could you have grown to love one of their kind? Cathrin loved you. You could have married her. You two might not have had any children together, but you could have had a nice, normal life together.”
Antoine scoffed. A nice, normal life. When Cathrin would have asked what his day had been like, he would have told her how many vampires he had killed. And yes, chances were they would not have had any children, or if they did, most likely they would have been humans.
Fewer and fewer witches were born every year. Just like vampires were unable to reproduce more vampires through blood exchange as they had prior to the Rift.
It’s as if the Rift is punishing both species.
The human population would grow in every division across the world. In the ones where humans were slaves, wouldn’t they one day grow the courage to rise up?
Why couldn’t all three species learn to get along? Yes, vampires fed on humans, but so did witches. Humans did not need either vampires or witches for their survival. Humans might not have magic, but they had intelligence, and they had love. If that love was for war, they might try to reforge the weapons of mass destruction they’d amassed before the Rift. Guns alone, not bombs, could cause a great matter of difficulty for both witches and vampires.
If vampires could learn to control their hunger, there might be peace. If witches could use their magic for good and not ill, there might be peace. If humans could learn to be accepting, there might be peace.
If all three species could achieve this, there most definitely would be peace.
Would Ville de Liberté ever know peace?
“I will enjoy executing you,” Sergio added. “Just think of it. Your blood being shed will help ensure that no others rise up against our queen.”
A light shined in the young witch’s eyes, bright and full of devotion and also hope.
He loved her.
Antoine laughed. “I see you’re as ambitious as she is, but that won’t matter. The highest you can climb on her pedestal is to become the vampire executioner.”
“That’s what you think.” Sergio lifted his nose into the air.
Antoine guessed he was handsome enough. He had a flop of messy brown hair and darker eyes. A goatee outlined his cruel mouth. The witch might make more than few witches turn their heads… but not the evil queen.
“Pierrette Lyon will see how much I care for her and her reign. I will ensure no one else comes close to her. None will dare oppose her. She won’t need anyone else to protect her,” Sergio boasted. “She may never grow to love me, but that doesn’t matter. As long as she will have me, that is enough. I have enough love for us both.”
“The queen does not know love. All she has is hatred in her heart. Go ahead and assassinate me. She will kill many more. To rule by fear is to not rule at all. She will learn this the day she is murdered. The queen will not live to reach old age.”
“How can you be so sure?” Sergio asked with a cruel sneer.
“Because I have seen how she treats the people. I know how they fear her. Even the witches are beginning to grumble. Once she has me executed, that will be two witches. How many more will fall? It won’t be enough to kill only vampires. All those she thinks oppose her will be at the guillotine in no time. If she makes errs, she doesn’t care. Her reign will continue as one of chaos and bloodshed, devastation and brutality. It will be short-lived. Mark my words. If you stand by her, you will fall too.”
Sergio fake-yawned. “Your words mean nothing, and if you speak further, I will gag you. You will die before dawn.”
The protector and vampire executioner crossed back to the opposite wall, eyeing Antoine. He’s keeping his distance to make certain I do not try to escape or to lie in wait in case Seraphine shows up to rescue me.
Before dawn. Antoine could not help a shudder of fear and worry that Seraphine would witness his execution.
Maybe then he could shout out his love to her.
That alone was his only hope. He did not wish to be rescued. He did not deserve salvation. Perhaps it was only fitting that one who swung the axe should die by it.
Antoine did not deserve freedom or a new tomorrow.
Yes, telling Seraphine the depths of his feelings was all he could hope for before losing his head.
I’m sorry I failed you, Seraphine. Forgive me.
24
Rumors and whispers had spread far and wide. Seraphine had heard it a thousand times already, and still, she could not bring herself to believe it.
Antoine had returned to the castle. He had engaged the queen and was now rotting in a dungeon cell, awaiting execution.
The tales of the engagement with the queen differed. Some accounts said it was merely a war of words. Others claimed there was a full-scale battle. Regardless, all agreed on the end result.
Why had he returned to the castle? Why hadn’t he been strong enough to fool the queen?
Did the fault lie with her?
She had drunk his blood. Not enough to affect him. Not enough to make him dizzy or even lightheaded because she’d been extremely careful about that.
But still, she had taken from him. His life force. And worse, he had to use magic while she drank to maintain the spell preventing her from succumbing to the poison in his blood.
His magic had caused every nerve within her to tingle in a most pleasing way. The taste of his blood had been intoxicating, the most delicious she had ever drunk. Because he was a witch? Or because she cared for him?
Seraphine had begged him to be careful, to not get himself killed. Had he attacked the queen? Had he tried to kill her? Why? That had not been a part of the plan!
Yes, she had been motivated by fear. Worry. Doubt.
But also because of love.
Did Antoine know this? Had he suspected? Was it his belief that she was too weak to be willing to do what must be done? Because Seraphine herself did not want to hide
underground. It was the other vampires, humans, and the few witches on her side who’d chosen that. They thought there was too much violence in the world as it was.
She could not deny that, and she was not their queen or their leader. Their group had no true leader. They were not a dictatorship. Any one person in charge would have his or her own agenda, personal thoughts, and individual opinions. They were all struggling to overcome their prejudices, some of which had been instilled since birth. She had no right or place to dictate that they risk their lives to bring down the witch queen.
Seraphine had given in and accepted their wishes and tried to make them her own. Did Antoine think her weak? Was that why he faced the queen alone? If only she had been there!
He would not die as a spectacle for all to see. She would not allow that. Somehow, someway, she would save him without endangering the lives of anyone else.
The task might prove as suicidal as braving a venture to another division, but still, she must try.
She had already carried him once across the division. If she could only get near him, she could do that again.
But he would not be alone. Surely, the queen had measures in place to ensure he could not fight against his captors. Who knew what condition she might find him in? She had to assume he would be helpless and unable to assist in his own rescue.
The queen’s protectors were strong and fierce, a collection of the most powerful and loyal witches. How many would be guarding him?
Should she attempt to save him from the dungeon cell? Or wait until he was being transported to the main platform? The idea of him being mocked, ridiculed, and humiliated by the queen before thousands of witnesses only served to increase her fury.
But she must not give into anger, worry, or fear. She must remain calm and levelheaded. Otherwise, whatever plan she chose would be doomed to fail before she even began.
Another option was to wait until Antoine was on the death platform. How many protectors would march him from the main platform to the awaiting guillotine?
The cell would be her best bet. Even if it was beneath the castle. Even if it would probably have spells against vampires entering.
Then again, she could not enter without an invitation. Pubs, restaurants, and other public institutions were all fair play. To enter a house, however, a vampire must be invited in.
And the queen had to be the one to invite anyone into her castle.
She would never do such a thing.
“Unless I can goad her into it,” Seraphine mused out loud.
She was sitting on the roof of The Mean Gladiator, trying to desperately formulate a feasible plan. If she died in the attempt to save Antoine, so be it. Maybe she was selfish, but she still hoped for a brighter tomorrow, one where she and Antoine could be together forever.
Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. She could not contemplate the happiness of a possible future that might never come, not when the future seemed so bleak and depressing.
Seraphine could face the queen herself. She could, but she would fail. The best chance for survival in a confrontation between them would be on neutral ground. The castle must have all kinds of magical traps within it. Who knew how many talismans and charms the queen had stashed around to protect her or increase her powers.
The chances of having the queen meet her outside the castle were not likely. No, her best chance was to focus on saving Antoine alone. The queen could be a matter for another day when she and Antoine could face the queen together.
To save him during transport seemed too risky. Escape from inside the dungeon cell remained her best option.
But how could she gain entry?
From beneath the castle?
Yes. If she could burrow her way underground to the dungeons, she would never have to step foot inside the castle. Without a doubt, she would remember the sound of Antoine’s heartbeat.
If he was still alive.
What if they’d killed him and made a show of it on the stage?
She must go and save him at once!
Her fury gave her added strength, but she couldn’t risk it until she recharged with more blood.
Lots more blood.
Enough to dig quicker than anyone ever had before.
And then to run faster than she ever had before.
Seraphine dropped through the roof opening to enter the pub. The Mean Gladiator was not as full as it had been lately.
To her dismay, they were serving that pathetic excuse of watered-down wine.
She grabbed the next vampire who went behind the bar to get himself some wine. Her fingers clutched his shirt so tightly it nearly ripped.
“Why isn’t there any blood?” she demanded, speaking through her fangs.
“The vampires who went out to find a willing donor haven’t returned.”
Seraphine released the vampire and grimaced. They had been captured. She was certain of it.
“If you want to find one yourself…” the vampire said, shrugging as he poured wine from the decanter.
“I know where blood comes from,” she snapped.
In a flash, she zipped out of the pub. Even though she could cross a great distance in a matter of seconds, the crunch of time weighed her down.
She returned to her dwelling, hoping the humans who aligned themselves with her had not gone underground to sleep. For once, luck was on her side, and she roused them by slamming the door shut.
Immediately, Carlos jumped to his feet. “How can I serve you?”
She scowled. “I am not your queen. You are my equal. Understood?”
The humans all nodded, Carlos last.
“I’m here to ask for help. I need blood. A lot of it. I ask for you to trust me. I know when to stop. But I need as much as you can spare.”
“Why?” the tall female, Lucie, asked.
Carlos was already offering his neck, and the others extended their wrists.
She smiled at Lucie. “You haven’t heard. Not surprising. You’ve been sleeping. Antoine…” Seraphine swallowed hard, not wanting to voice it aloud. “Antoine has been captured.”
“Do you need more than blood?” Carlos asked.
“No. Only blood. I will not risk your lives. If you give me the amount of blood I need, you will be weak. Not dangerously so but weak enough that you cannot come along. I must save him by myself.”
Carlos shook his head. “Take blood from the others but at least allow me to come with you.”
Seraphine appreciated his enthusiasm. “You will come with me. All of you will join the rescue attempt by giving me your blood.”
Lucie stepped up. Seraphine drank and drank and drank. When she could tell the human was near unconsciousness, she released her. She then helped her back onto her bed of blankets before drinking from the next and the next.
She saved Carlos for last. He grumbled but did not begrudge her.
“Do not die for him,” he said once she pulled away from his wrist.
She had refused to accept his offer to drink from his neck. It would have been far too intimate, and the last neck she had drunk from was Antoine’s.
“I do not plan on dying, but it remains a possibility,” she said. “I will do my best.”
Nadine, the short-haired female, clasped Carlos’ shoulder. The woman nodded to Seraphine.
Seraphine smiled at them all in turn and left. As she closed the door, she overheard Nadine.
“I’ve told you a thousand times. She loves Antoine. Deal with it. You’ve helped her. That’s all you can do.”
And then Seraphine was off to the races. She couldn’t waste another moment.
The bulls seemed especially ferocious today as she hurried from rooftop to rooftop. Some even slammed into buildings to try to reach her. One attempted to climb the side of a wall.
But she moved too swiftly, wanting to get as close to the castle as possible before beginning the next phase.
Digging.
The witches in charge of pumping and siphoning water
must have finally started. While the roads were muddy, they were not covered in a foot of water. Good. But where to start digging?
Lightning flashed. Fire rained down along with the water. The sky was a blanket of black that shielded stars and moonlight.
More lightning. With each flash, Seraphine surveyed her surroundings. The castle stood before her, terrible and foreboding.
There. A tree that must have roots fashioned from steel still grew, firmly entrenched into the earth.
Despite the bulls, she had to get to the tree. If she jumped, she might not reach it.
Then again, she would land far closer than if she descended at her current location.
She backed up to get a running start. As she leaped into the air, she realized the house where she’d stood had been Antoine’s.
His scent stayed with her as she landed on her feet on the back of a bull. She jumped from one to another until she reached the tree.
The bulls roared, attacking each other in their attempts to get to her. She dropped down onto the ground and immediately began to dig.
Pain barely registered. A bull’s horn had just touched her. Thankfully, it had not pierced the skin. While a slight wave of fatigue washed over her, the amount of blood sloshing within her counteracted it.
Seraphine dug, her claws churning through the earth, shoving the soil behind her. The bulls would not be able to follow. She would have to re-dig a tunnel for her and Antoine. Damn. That would not be easy.
Oh, well. She would somehow manage if she was able to help him escape the dungeon.
Somehow.
On and on she dug. How long she had no idea, and she could only hope she would not arrive too late.
Every few feet, she paused and listened. Her heart beat so furiously frantic, frantically furious, that she could at first hear no other sound. Eventually, she heard hearts pounding.
And then, the sound of Antoine’s pulse, dangerously faint, reached her ears.
She altered course, and on and on she went, never daring to stop.
Dark Hunt: Division 4: The Berkano Vampire Collection Page 17
