Walking The Razor's Edge

by Ileandra Young

  Zoë shrieked as Lenina slammed into her, pinning her to the wall. With snake-like speed, Lenina shoved one hand beneath the other woman’s chin and pushed up. The other hand grabbed her shoulder and laid bare a long line of white flesh between Zoë’s ear and collar bone. She bit down. Blood flooded her mouth.

  Just like she remembered; the rich fluid was hot and sweet and burned all the way down her throat. Some of it slid down her chin. Bubbled from the corners of her mouth.

 

  Then Darryl was there, pulling, shouting, begging.

  She threw back one arm, shoving so hard he flew across the room. He struck something soft and the thud of him hitting the floor was joined by a second, softer grunt.

  Twisting sideways, Lenina stumbled along for the ride as Saar used her body to take his prize down to the floor. He cuddled close to Zoë’s bucking body, holding her on top like a shield.

  Suck and swallow. Suck and swallow.

  Lenina’s head buzzed. Colours swam before her eyes. It felt she had been drinking for hours but it couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds.

  ‘Okay, girlie, that’s enough.’

  She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Saar’s pleasure fogged everything, seeping into her ability to speak and soaking it with ecstasy. She groaned.

  Suck and swallow.

  ‘I said, enough!’

  A soft cry made her twist her head.

  Saar growled.

  Shawn lay on the ground, pinned beneath Darryl who had one hand wrapped about his throat. The other hand, complete with five black claws hovered inches from his eyes.

  ‘Let her go, girlie. Or I’ll pull his eyes out and feed them to him.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Lenina!’ Darryl’s voice quivered. His hands didn’t. ‘Let her go. You’ve made your point.’

  Lenina risked a few more gulps before she tugged that chain, yanking Saar back into his cage while he was glutted and unaware. By the time he realised what was happening, she had him trapped once more. Feeling returned to her arms and legs and she let go of Zoë, rolling off her body and to the side.

  The blood lingered on her tongue, so very sweet, so hot. Nothing she’d tasted before compared to the Nirvana on her lips. ‘You taste . . .’ She swallowed. ‘You’re different.’ Chest heaving, blood still tingling on her lips and tongue she braced herself for the onslaught of memories.

  She was still waiting when Zoë struggled to her feet, her palm pressed to the ragged wound in her throat. ‘Bitch.’ She stumbled forward. ‘I’ll kill you—I’ll peel off your skin—’

  Darryl glided into her path. ‘Don’t be stupid. You saw how fast she moved. Weak as a lamb and faster than either one of us. Threw me around like a doll.’

  ‘I’ll cut her. I’ll kill her! I want to see her bleed.’

  ‘Plenty of time for that.’

  ‘No!’ Her voice became more shrill by the second. ‘I’m Kallisto’s most trusted servant. To attack me is to attack her. I want her blood.’

  Lenina smiled. She couldn’t help it. Though she received no memories from the furious god-touched, she did enjoy a burst of strength as the life-giving fluid filled her body with that borrowed religious power. Her cheek prickled. Two of the stitches broke loose and fell away. Her thigh tingled.

  ‘Wow. Is it always like that from other god-touched?’

  Zoë opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her gaze darted back and forth, skipping about the room as if to find help. Her eyes narrowed to thin slits and the points of fangs showed in the gap between her heavily rouged lips. ‘It’s forbidden,’ she muttered. ‘Saar himself ordered that no god-touched should give tribute of another.’

 

  Lenina tittered. ‘Saar doesn’t like you very much.’

  Spinning on her heel, Zoë marched for the door.

  ‘Wait, did you come for a reason?’

  The red-haired woman clenched her fists, fine tremors coursing through her arms and shoulders. ‘I brought your gown.’ She pointed to the dropped bundle of white cloth. ‘Get dressed. You have half an hour.’ She stalked out.

  Only when the pound of her angry footfalls receded did Lenina relax. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the tingle of her various injuries knitting together. She hadn’t realised how much everything hurt.

  ‘Red Fang has gnawed off a bigger chunk then they know how to handle, ain’t that right, girlie?’

  She might have smiled, but the expression on Shawn’s face prevented it. In that moment she understood that he didn’t want to die. Not really.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she murmured, stepping passed Darryl.

  Shawn backed off. ‘Is that what it’s like? Is that what . . . you would have done to me?’

  ‘I tried to tell you.’

  ‘You bit her. Like an animal. Your eyes were . . .’

  Lenina wiped a smear of blood off the side of her mouth. ‘She had it coming.’

  ‘Is that you talking, or Saar?’

  She froze.

  ‘I saw you.’ Shawn sat up. ‘You looked half crazed to begin with, but when Zoë came through that door it turned into something else. Like you wanted to murder somebody.’

  ‘I didn’t, I—’

  ‘So it was Saar?’

  ‘Only for a second.’

  He reached up to adjust his glasses, tutting when he remembered they were no longer there. ‘This is a dangerous game. What if you’d let him go and couldn’t put him back? What if he took over?’

  ‘He didn’t.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘You’d know if he was here. I’m a monster, Shawn. But if I have to be, I’ll do it on my terms.’ Lenina picked up the white bundle of cloth and shook it out to get a better look. ‘I’m not wearing this.’

  Darryl sidled up to her and tugged on the flimsy fabric. His grin flashed the golden teeth in the back of his mouth. ‘Kallisto seems to have a taste for the theatrical. Pretty though. I can help you put it on if you like.’

  She gave him a dirty glare and took the dress to another corner of the room.

  With nowhere to hide or preserve her dignity, she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and pulled off her torn, bloodied clothing.

  Ramona’s clothes.

  Thinking of friends made her wonder if she’d ever see them again. It almost made her grateful that her mother and brother were kept somewhere in the house. At least she would be able to see them again.

  When he saw what was happening, Shawn immediately turned away. He stared at his hands as if they were the most interesting things in the world. Darryl looked her straight in the eye then let his gaze wander. He smirked. She turned her back.

  The old clothes, she piled beneath the window, freeing her hands to wipe away as much sweat and blood as possible. With no water or clean cloths it would have to do. By the time she was done, her skin prickled with fresh sweat and her thigh ached. Peeping under the bandage showed only a spot of blood and a wound that looked three days old.

  Finally, something going right.

  More a robe than a dress, the white garment comprised of two lengths of fabric that fastened at each shoulder with golden clips in the shape of a fang. The rear neckline scooped to the base of her spine while the rest of the garment tumbled to the ground in a train two feet long. At the front, her modesty hid beneath another golden clasp which fastened between her breasts.

  ‘I look like a harem girl,’ she said.

  Darryl sauntered over and adjusted the fall of the fabric, his fingers brushing her neck and collar bone. ‘You look fine to me.’

  She glared.

  ‘You should have been one of us. Could have been a real queen bitch. Should I try? A bite or a scratch is all it takes. Might save you from Saar.’

  Lenina shoved his hand away. ‘I’ll risk it.’

  ‘Are you decent?’ Shawn continued to stare at his hands.

 
; ‘She is, more’s the pity.’

  A light tap on the door cut off Shawn’s response.

  Darryl yanked it open to reveal a man with his dark eyes and fangs already on show. He wore a linen wrap-around skirt with a fine collection of jade, amethyst and carnelian beads laced in several necklaces around his neck. A wig of short black hair topped his head, while dark smudges of blue, green and black coloured the space around his eyes. The style of dress sent a shiver of recognition down Lenina’s back.

  Make-up. Jewellery. Shendyt.

  He’s an Egyptian nobleman.

  ‘It’s time.’ The stranger pointed into the hallway. ‘Bring the human.’

  Lenina glanced at Shawn. He stood without flinching, straightening his shoulders and lifting his head. Though clearly exhausted, he walked with a steady step and a calm expression. She wanted to hug him, but didn’t know if that would break the rigid control he had on the panic bubbling below the surface. She could smell it, lurking beneath his skin.

  She crept through the door.

  In the hallway, several more god-touched stood in a small cluster on the left. When they saw her, they formed two lines and Darryl ushered her into the space between them. Then the lines compressed, shifting at either end until they formed a square, with her at the centre.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she whispered.

  ‘Your honour guard.’ Darryl positioned himself behind Shawn in single file. ‘Perhaps they’re worried you’ll make a break for it, but as far as Kallisto’s concerned, Saar requires an entourage.’

  Lenina looked at the men and woman surrounding her. All god-touched, but they felt . . . different. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Elders.’

  The word fired another chill down her spine. ‘Seekers, Watchers and Soldiers. These are the ones with special additions to the Xamesh?’

  Darryl cocked his head at her.

  ‘I know more than you think. Tristen is an Elder. His power is in Shalat.’

  ‘Mind control? That explains a lot.’

  None of the vampires surrounding her carried weapons. Instead they wore matching tattoos across their backs, arms or shoulders; a water lily. She frowned as the symbolism hit home. ‘Seekers.’

  Another curious look from Darryl. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Water lilies represent death, rebirth and regeneration in Ancient Egyptian culture.’

  ‘Saar tell you that?’

  ‘Leicester University.’ She studied the cluster of god-touched. Many gazed back with vague curiosity, others with outright fascination. One woman near the front literally trembled with excitement, her hands balled into fists.

  Kallisto arrived at the top of the stairs. She wore a shendyt of her own, coloured red. More necklaces of semi precious minerals clattered about her neck and wrists. Behind her stood Zoë.

  When their eyes met, she snarled and rubbed the side of her throat.

  Kallisto positioned herself outside the square of Seekers. ‘It is forbidden to drink from The Blood. Their blood belongs to Set.’ Her gaze drifted to Shawn. ‘Was the meal I provided not to your satisfaction?’

  Lenina bit her tongue. ‘Wonderful. Didn’t she tell you? She tasted great.’

  Another snarl, then Zoë hurled herself into the formation of Seekers.

  The shaking woman on the left reacted with lightning speed, dropping low and swooping under Zoë’s advance. She cut up with her hand held out like a knife. Her whole body provided power as she surged up into the jab. An instant later, Zoë hit the ground gagging, clutching her throat.

  Without a word, the Seeker kicked her twice in the ribs, then returned to her section of the square.

  Shawn gave a low moan. Darryl smacked him in the back of the head.

  Though she knew how he felt, Lenina kept her disquiet to herself.

  Kallisto stepped over her groaning servant and continued as though there had been no interruption. ‘You’ve had your fun. Now you serve your purpose. Your only purpose. Come.’

  #

  In the parlour, upward of fifty men and women stared as the procession approached. The intensity of their stares prickled against Lenina’s skin like cheap wool.

  God-touched, every last one, from the short, sandy haired specimen in jeans and a scruffy t-shirt, to the six foot black woman in colourful African dress, to a broad shouldered, coffee-skinned man in a white, elaborately wrapped turban. Most wore casual clothes; jeans, shirts, skirts and trousers, but dotted throughout the crowd were some who clearly held fast to the time of their Kiss. One man wore a suit of fifteenth century Russian armour, well used, but clean. Near the back, a woman in tiny wooden sandals and milk-white face paint resembled the geisha of classical Japan. At the front, a figure draped head to foot in a wide black cloak and hood showed nothing but the very tips of a pair of plain, brown shoes.

  Amongst the group, the first two men and the tall woman stood out not for their physical attributes but for their power. It brushed against Lenina’s senses, filling her nose, her ears, her sights with the very feel of them.

  Saar shifted within his prison and purred.

  Shawn gulped. ‘All vampires?’

  ‘Stay calm,’ she said. ‘You’re not important to them. Keep your head down and they’ll ignore you.’

  To the right, Tristen slumped between a pair of Seekers. His clothes resembled shredded leaves and his once lustrous hair hung lank and matted with blood. One eye was so bruised the lid no longer opened. As she approached, his split, puffy lips drew back into a smile. He straightened. ‘You’re there . . . I know you are.’

  His presence trickled down the sire-childe bond, giving her a glimpse of the wounds hidden by his clothing. She shoved it away, alarmed at how easy it was to block all traces of him.

  Kallisto swept through the gathering, pausing only to nod as those in the crowd whose power matched hers.

  The black woman pushed to the front and shot out one hand to snag her elbow. ‘I came only because I was nearby on other business.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You really believe you have found the Vessel?’

  ‘I do not believe, I know, Bomani. This girl is the one.’

  Lenina froze as the hawk-like gaze swept over. She straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin.

  The eyes narrowed. ‘Neeva.’

  ‘Yes, and all other signs have been given. I wouldn’t call unless I were sure. Now step aside.’ Kallisto glared at the taller woman who refused to give ground. ‘I am still First Majestic. This is my home. Move.’

  Bomani stepped back, adjusting the red and blue fabric wrapped elegantly around her head. Her matching tunic and billowy trousers rustled as she stalked away.

  With a triumphant smile Kallisto kept walking, leading Lenina and the procession of Seekers out the front doors and down a set of steps. Tristen with his double guard came next, followed by the crowd of curious others.

  Though dusk approached, the soft glow of natural light loitered on the horizon. Despite that, the path around the large mansion seemed to dance in the yellow-orange light thrown by tall torches.

  Mud and cool green grass squelched beneath Lenina’s bare feet.

  Shawn spoke again. ‘You have a plan, right?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Well?’

  She stumbled over a sharp stone, hissing when her sole caught the rough edge. The dull ache brought the full weight of her predicament home with startling clarity.

  There was no way out. Not for her.

  Her steps took her off the path and onto the longer grass at the rear of the house. Her gaze fell on an altar, carved of stone and tall as her hip. Familiar glyphs decorated the sides. More familiar was the woman strapped to its surface, pulling impotently against a glittering collection of chains. She wore a similar gown with the same revealing cut, though this one was red and sheer.

  ‘Mum?’

  On a second altar, Jordan wore a version of the gown that left his chest bare, shaped like a shendyt bu
t twisted up around his legs.

  Between them, forming the last side of a loose triangle, a third altar awaited the last sacrifice.

  Lenina sighed, a guilty twinge of gratitude that her father was no longer alive.

  Kallisto stopped walking. Pointed to the empty space. Her lips curved into a cruel smile. ‘Bring the human.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Silence. A stunned moment of shocked dumbness as the meaning set in. Then Darryl closed his hand around the back of Shawn’s neck and thrust him forward.

  Saar laughed.

  Kallisto stepped back to let the werewolf through.

  Shawn yelped. ‘No, no, wait. I’m not the one. I can’t help you.’ He thrashed from side to side. ‘No, please, don’t. Don’t. Let me go!’

  Lenina darted forward but the square of Seekers closed ranks in one smooth motion. When she kicked a man in the back of the knees, three others grabbed her arms. Another, her waist. ‘Please, he’s not family. You can’t do this. Let go!’

  Still Kallisto smiled, sharing her triumphant stare between Lenina and the altar.

  ‘Darryl? Please, Darryl, you must know this won’t save your pack.’

  At the stone slab, Darryl shoved Shawn into place and pinned his wrists while three more Seekers arrived with handfuls of chains. Looping the links through four metal rings driven deep into each of the four corners, they secured Shawn to the slab with shackles about his wrists and ankles. A rough tug pulled the links tight and stretched him out like a frog on a dissecting board. He screamed at the rough treatment to his injured shoulder.

  Darryl backed off, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t look up as he retreated to the outside of the circle. His shoulders hunched high around his neck, drawn towards his ears.

  Shawn heaved and bucked his hips. Chains rattled. The rise and fall of his bare chest escalated. He craned his neck. ‘Lenina? Please, what are they doing? Stop them!’

  She couldn’t look at him. ‘Kallisto? Don’t do this. You said he didn’t mean anything to you. He’s human, remember? Not worth anything.’

  The god-touched shook her head, stalking up a short set of steps to a raised platform draped in red hangings. ‘Then why did not you kill him?’