“Next, there is Põhjamaade Kiusatused from Narva, Estonia,” stated Jason.
Nordic Temptations, Rebekah thought, once again checking the translation on her pamphlet. That’s rather…different. While listening to them, she gathered that Katri Kross was fashion designing, Kristiina Meri was music, Liisbet Peetre was writing, Anu Saar was art, Kerli Klavan was cooking, Ivi Rebane was trivia, and Dagmar Vitsut was sports.
After they had taken their seats, Jason wasted no time introducing the next clique. “From Novosibirsk, Russia, we have Slovatskiy Litsa!”
Instantly, Rebekah recognized Tatiana and Natasha from the elevator in London. Tatiana introduced herself as music, and Natasha did the same with sports. Then, the rest of the participants followed: Oksana Radojevich was fashion designing, Mishka Petrova was art, Anzhelika Eltsina was writing, Viktoriya Ivanova was trivia, and Dominika Vasiliev was cooking.
“From Paris, France, here is Les Fleurs Cramoisies!” Jason introduced, and Rebekah instantly saw Jamie’s eyes narrow. The Crimson Flowers.
Following Jamie’s gaze, Rebekah traced it to a girl she deemed was Julie Duvall, who introduced herself as writing. Where have I seen her before? she wondered, instantly recognizing Julie. I don’t believe I’ve ever met her. Following Julie’s example, Marisa Marceau was music, Alice Babineaux was sports, Mallory Bertrand was fashion designing, Dominique François was art, Harriet Michelle was cooking, and Marie Girard was trivia.
“As our next clique, please welcome Eternal Division from Marywood, Florida in the United States!” Jason continued.
“That’s us,” said Jamie excitedly as if it weren’t obvious. For all to see, the group stood up. Jamie was the one who introduced herself first: “My name is Jamie Simpson, and I will be doing the fashion designing portion.”
“I’m Teri Olson,” Teri said, her eyes locking on Jeffery and offering him a smile, “and I will be doing the sports portion.”
“I’m Sabrina Adams,” Sabrina said next, “and I will be doing the cooking portion.”
“My name is Samantha Shea, though I would prefer to be called Sam,” said Sam. “I will be representing Eternal Division with the art portion.”
When Rebekah’s turn came around, she had trouble finding her voice. Her eyes found Jeffery’s, who studied her with curiosity, and soon, she brought herself to state her name and role: “I’m Rebekah Jensen, and I will be performing the music portion.” Then, she sat back down, instantly relaxing.
However, Holly seemed to be just as nervous but for different reasons, for Rebekah knew that Jason was more to Holly than just the ICW host. “M-my name i-i-is Holly White,” she paused briefly, stammering a lot, “a-and I will b-be participating in t-t-the trivia portion.”
As Holly sat down, Rebekah offered her a reassuring smile. Then, she turned her attention to Mandy, who introduced herself next. “I’m Amanda Palmer, but I go by Mandy.” She paused, her voice rigid. “I am doing the writing portion.”
“Finally, we have Las Reglas del Sol from Madrid, Spain,” said Jason, introducing the next clique. The Rulers of the Sun.
Soon, the Spanish clique stood, introducing themselves. From what Rebekah heard, Jade Vargas was cooking, Valencia Diaz was art, Felicia Castillo was music, Lola Alvarez was writing, Isabella Vasquez was fashion designing, Rosa Vega was trivia, and Alicia Cruz was sports.
“Congratulations to all who were chosen to participate,” said Jason. “Allow me to go over the rules. For each portion, you will be judged on a scale from one to ten or, in certain cases, one to eight—and whichever number you are awarded, that is the number of points you receive for that portion. Whichever clique has the most amount of cumulative points at the end of the competition is declared the winner. Do I make myself clear?”
A chorus of yesses sang from the crowd.
“Then, I hereby declare this to be the beginning of the ICW,” Jason concluded. “You all may return to your meal, and tomorrow is the day of the writing portion.”
CHAPTER
TEN
Rosalie: Greenwich, England
R
osalie was fast asleep on the cold, hard floor of her cell when Henri finally came for her. At first, she didn’t register his presence until he was kneeling in front of her, his fingers grazing the side of her face.
Startled, Rosalie woke with a jolt—and her first instinct was to lash out at whatever startled her. As her fist swung out at Henri, she could feel the momentum behind her punch—at least until it collided with his shoulder, and a searing pain engulfed her hand. As her vision cleared, that’s when she saw Henri’s bemused expression, as if her punch had hurt her more than it hurt him.
“How to properly throw a punch,” Henri said to her just then, and his voice was just how she remembered it, cold but also oddly caring. “That will be one of your lessons.”
“What lessons?” Rosalie asked, but her question went unanswered as Henri yanked her to her feet. Then, he led her out of her cell and ascended the stairs that led out of the dungeon. “Where are you taking me?”
“I figured it was time we got to know each other better,” Henri explained as he led her through various rooms and hallways. It was then when Rosalie realized just how big the castle was, and soon, she was no longer able to tell which way led back to the dungeon.
“You know who I am,” Rosalie said coldly, still on edge. The immortal warlock confused her, and she wasn’t sure whether to trust him or run far, far away.
A smile coated Henri’s lips. “Is that wariness I detect, Rosalie?”
Rosalie stiffened. “Why wouldn’t I be wary?”
“I hope with time, that wariness will disappear,” Henri said as he pushed open a door with ease, which led to what appeared to be a huge master bedroom complete with a king-sized bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and a small, round table with two chairs. “We’re here.”
Henri let go of Rosalie as he shut the door, and she took a hesitant step forward, surveying her surroundings. “Whose room is this?”
“Mine,” Henri replied as he brushed past her and claimed one of the chairs, motioning for her to do the same.
Slowly, Rosalie approached the other chair and took a seat. “But you’re immortal,” she said. Do immortal beings even sleep?
“Beds have more than one use,” Henri said by way of explanation as he leaned forward, wavy, brown, chin-length hair spilling in front of his face. “Now, what do you want to know?”
Rosalie froze. “About what?”
“The wonders of immortality,” Henri began. “For instance, we don’t sleep or consume nourishment, and yet, we are still living.”
Rosalie shook her head. “No, you’re not. You’re…undead or something, but not…living.” She still couldn’t comprehend how all of this was possible, how immortality could actually be real and not just a fictional thing she read about.
Suddenly, Henri got up from his chair and strode over to her within seconds. Once he reached her, he held out his hand to her. “Give me your hand.”
Rosalie’s breath hitched as she gazed into the eyes of the towering immortal warlock. She knew she should be scared—and she was—but she was also curious as she was faced with something she otherwise presumed to only exist in fantasy. “What for?” she asked in a small voice.
Henri’s lips thinned, his palm still stretched towards her. “I want to show you something.”
Hesitantly, Rosalie gave him her hand, and the sudden coldness of his skin made her jump in surprise. He guided her hand towards his chest, where his heart rested, and she was fully prepared to feel nothing, like the non-beating hearts of the immortal, undead vampires she’s read about. And yet, when Henri placed her hand in the place nuzzled just beneath his collar bone, she felt it. The rhythmic beating of his heart.
“You’re alive.” Rosalie gasped, and she quickly drew her hand away. “But you’re…”
“Immortal, yes.” Henri returned to his seat, and within a moment, a knife appeared in his hand.
“But I still breathe, same as you. And I still. Bleed. Red.” As each punctured word left his lips, Henri dug the knife into his arm and cut downwards, creating a thin, clean line that instantly welled with blood.
Rosalie watched the very real, red-tinted blood collect on Henri’s arm as morbid curiosity overtook her. The sight of blood never fazed her, not like it did some people. In fact, she felt drawn to it, drawn to the deep cut Henri created, and she stretched out her hand, a silent question brimming in her gaze.
Henri regarded her curiously, but he made no move to relinquish his wound to her. Within a moment, his eyes swept to the cut, and the skin miraculously began to stitch itself back together. Soon, not a trace of the wound, not even the blood that poured out of it, remained, and Rosalie’s eyes widened.
“I want to be a doctor,” Rosalie suddenly blurted out, as if that fact could justify her previous fascination. She met the immortal warlock’s gaze, goading him to say something.
Henri pulled his lips into a thin line. Somehow, he knew she wanted to practice on him. “Maybe next time,” he said. “That is, if you behave.”
Rosalie shrank under his scrutiny. “Though I suppose people like you don’t need human medicine.”
“And neither will you once we’re done,” Henri said, reminding Rosalie of the fact she was to become like him, to become like Melissa, the person who killed her best friend.
Something in Rosalie’s expression must have alerted Henri to her thoughts, for he looked at her with something she didn’t think he was capable of: compassion. And that look was enough to embolden her.
“Why do you hate them so much?” Rosalie questioned so softly, she thought for a moment Henri didn’t hear her—at least until his lips twitched slightly in acknowledgement.
The immortal warlock leaned forward in his seat, and something in his expression told her he knew exactly who she meant. “Melissa told me some interesting things about you,” he said. “She told me of your sad, mortal life, of the people who wronged you.”
Rosalie froze. Instantly, Jamie came to mind, the esteemed leader of the atrocious clique, Eternal Division.
“The mortals have wronged us, Rosalie,” Henri continued, softening his expression further. “Surely, you can understand that.”
But Rosalie couldn’t understand, not in the way Henri wanted her to. “You tried to kill Rebekah.” This time, she stated it as a fact, devoid of the bafflement she exhibited previously. Rebekah, Holly, and Mandy had always been nice to her, even when Jamie and her posse weren’t. “How has she wronged you?”
“She still exists,” Henri said as if that were explanation enough. “But let’s not talk about me. It’s you I’m interested in.”
Rosalie’s mind was still brimming with unanswered questions, but she knew Henri wouldn’t answer any of them, at least not properly. But the biggest one she had was why the mortals were so wrong and the immortals were so right.
“You have been given another chance at life, a better chance,” said Henri. “It’s time you started your training.”
Rosalie’s eyes widened. “I can’t wield magic yet.”
“There are other things to learn.” Henri paused, and soon, his magic touched the surface her mind in a gentle caress. “First, we must prepare your body, both physically and mentally.”
His magic soon vanished, and Rosalie sagged in her chair, for once at ease. Somehow, she was confident Henri wouldn’t hurt her, even though he had done unspeakable things to those he considered his enemies.
Henri reached across the table and gently brushed his fingers down Rosalie’s arm, sending chills down her spine. Heartbeat or no, his skin was still unbelievably cold, and she had a hard time believing anything that devoid of warmth was actually alive.
“Tomorrow,” the immortal warlock promised, “we’ll start with your mind. Today, I want you to enjoy yourself.” And then, he stood up and began to stride towards the door.
“Wait!” Rosalie said, which made Henri pause. “What do you mean you want me to enjoy today?” What she actually wanted to know was why she wasn’t being led down to her cell.
Henri gave her a bemused smile. “This room and everything in it is mine,” he began. “As my official guest for the foreseeable future, I am giving it to you in the hopes you will return the favor and cooperate with your training.”
Stunned, Rosalie said, “I’m not a prisoner?”
“You are no more my prisoner than the rest of the witches and warlocks that frequent these halls,” Henri said. And then, he left, closing the door behind him.
And that’s when Rosalie heard it. The click.
Frantically, Rosalie went to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. Rosalie deflated as realization set in. Henri lied to her, the first of many lies to come.
Cell or no, she was still a prisoner, no matter what promises the immortal warlock made.
~~~
Ava: London, England
In front of Ava, Dimitri Andreivich’s corpse was spread out like a painting meant to be admired. It was nighttime, a couple weeks after he was killed, and his blood since has long dried over his fatal wounds. His skin still maintained that lackluster appearance all immortal magic users had, and for a moment, Ava feared he wasn’t actually dead. At any moment, she thought he would open his eyes and lash out at her.
A weak breeze rustled through the trees, though Ava couldn’t feel it. As much as being dead had its perks, there were also a lot of things Ava missed about being alive, like being able to feel the slightest breeze caress her skin and breathing in the fresh air that came with it. She closed her eyes and relished in the sound of the breeze and soft voices that came with it.
Soft voices?
Ava’s eyes instantly flew open as she concentrated on those voices, which were most certainly not a part of the breeze. She darted upwards and hid herself amongst the thick canopy as the voices became louder and louder. Dimitri’s corpse was still on full display, and Ava prayed that whoever was hiking through the forest wouldn’t see it.
Soon, she could see silhouettes through the trees, both lean and female. They strolled through the forest with purpose, and as they neared, Ava could barely make out some of their words.
“…sure this is the spot?” the taller of the two said.
“Yes,” the other one answered. “…should be here…saw him…”
The voices became too muffled after that as they quieted. They were only a few feet away from the corpse now, and Ava had a bad feeling about the situation.
“Here!” the shorter one shouted, and Ava barely got a glance of deathly pale, white skin as the figure darted to where Dimitri had fallen. Immortal witches, Ava quickly realized, and a shudder wracked her spine. She didn’t know what was worse: potential humans coming across the corpse accidentally, or immortal magic users trying to purposely find the corpse for some sick purpose.
“Rhiannon, wait!” the taller one shouted before she as well took off running. By that point, the one named Rhiannon was already kneeling over the corpse, her head bent over Dimitri’s still form.
The second witch slowed down before coming to a complete stop as she watched her companion. “Rhiannon?” she tried again.
“What?” Rhiannon snapped, which made the other witch flinch.
The other witch took a tentative step forward. “I know you guys were, well…a thing, but don’t you think this is a little much?”
Rhiannon met the other witch’s stare. “Elyse…” she began, but soon, her expression hardened again. “Forget it. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re talking about necromancy!” The one named Elyse hissed. “Even Henri refuses to practice it!”
“And why is that?” Rhiannon spat. “Maybe our own ruler is too afraid of a little resurrection.”
Elyse shook her head. “Necromancy isn’t resurrection. True resurrection is impossible. He wouldn’t be the Dimitri you knew!”
“But it’s a step,” Rhiannon said before
taking out a knife and slicing it cleanly across her palm.
“No!” Elyse bellowed, and right before Rhiannon clasped her bloodied palm over Dimitri’s mouth and nose, a sudden gust of wind slammed into her, knocking her back.
“What the hell, Elyse!” Rhiannon snapped as she shot daggers at her companion.
“I can’t let you do this,” Elyse said. “I’ll help you take him back to Greenwich, but I won’t let you reanimate his corpse.”
Rhiannon snarled. “Andre killed him. Did you know that?” she said as her eyes glowed yellow with rage. “Our own brother’s student killed him!”
Elyse soon replaced her cold demeanor with sympathy. “Then, we go after Andre. Hell, we can even go after Aaron, if you want, but this isn’t the answer, Rhiannon!”
And then, just like that, Rhiannon’s anger faded. Yet, unlike any mortal, she didn’t shed a single tear, even though she looked defeated.
“Henri will know what to do,” Elyse said as she reached her hand towards her sister. “Trust him to make this right.”
And though Rhiannon still didn’t look convinced, she allowed Elyse to help her off the ground. Then, she turned back towards Dimitri. “Did you mean that? You’ll help me take him to Greenwich?”
”Of course!” Elyse chirped. “It’s the least I can do.”
Rhiannon sighed as she strode back towards Dimitri. Then, she said something that chilled Ava. “I know you’re there, spirit.”
Ava froze, and if her heart still beat, she was sure it would be pounding out of her chest.
“I know what role you played to free Roseway,” Rhiannon continued. And then, she raised her head and stared directly at Ava as if she knew where Ava was all along. “Your fight is over. Stay away from Munich.”
And then, the two witches disappeared in a plume of black smoke with Dimitri’s weight distributed evenly between the two of them. Ava shook with both fear and rage at how calmly Rhiannon addressed her, but she couldn’t overlook one crucial fact. The way Rhiannon mentioned Munich made her believe that was where Henri was planning on staging another attack. And if that were the case, that meant Rebekah and Holly were also there and were once again in danger.
Bleeding Misery (Threatening Souls Book 2) Page 14
