Untamed: A Beautiful Nightmare Story

by L. C. Son

  “Lies. Deceit.” They both squeal, once more in unison.

  “There is no lie! I’m telling you I have never seen this man!” I shout back, swiping my hand through their shared ghastly veil. As I do, the image changes and I hear the man say my sister’s name.

  “They are just past that dirt road, deep beyond the tree line.” I watch as the man points the way to two men in carriages as they head toward Decaux’s private estate. Calida always said their place was such a secret, for fear of others she’d never take me or Victoria.

  “Who is this man?” My tone lowers an octave as my throat falls to my gut as I watch him run away, stuffing a paper in his pocket, wearing a wide smile.

  “Elias Peyroux. And he is the man responsible for your sister’s apprehension and Decaux’s imprisonment.”

  Tears fall to my cheeks as his image fades from my view and rage fuels my thoughts. I can’t imagine anything my sister could ever do to set his ire against her—yet and still, he betrayed both she and Decaux. Mother said the murderous towns people looked for Calida and Decaux for days and never found them. Now I know how they discovered their whereabouts.

  Heaving a gulp of air, I brush the back of my hand against my face, wiping my tears aside. “It doesn’t matter,” I begin, rising to my knees. “Decaux put a swift end to anyone who had a hand in Calida’s murder. They are all dead,” I answer firmly, swallowing down my doubts.

  “But are they?” The two question me in unison as newer images of a now older Elias form before me.

  “This one yet lives and Dalcour knows it so,” the second wraith adds.

  “Liar!” I snap back.

  “No foolish child, only Dalcour lies to you. He desires to control you.”

  “Protect you, he may. Save you, he cannot. Will not. Only you can save yourself. With this,” the first continues, now revealing a thick, black, slimy substance in the makings of its palm.

  “What is that?” I question as puzzling thoughts of Dalcour and this new information about Elias Peyroux swarm my mind.

  “Drink this and you alone will have the power to save yourself and protect who and what you will. It will bind to Marchand’s sire bond with you but will give you so much more. He will not be able to control you as he wills, but your desires shall be your own. You will be more than a vampire—more decadent than a Scourge, and your own will beyond your maker. When you turn you will yet have one last day of sunlight. You will be able to control your form, but with the same melody of mulberry and juniper trees, you will consume those against you.”

  “I—I don’t know if I should,” I stutter my words. I am both fearful of letting the moment pass and accepting such an offer.

  “Time is against you, child!” The second one lashes back.

  Cupping its hand closer to my mouth, the inviting scent of berries and molasses fill my nostrils, making me salivate with delight.

  “That’s it child, take this and save yourself.”

  “How do I know it won’t kill me?”

  “It will.” They answer in unison as my eyes fill with terror.

  What? I think to myself. Looking up at their ominous form, small, yet wicked smiles frame their ghastly faces and the thickening smoke fills the glass and cement encased room.

  “As you will also die to your mortality once Dalcour sucks the last drop from your body, so you will depart the life you once knew. But only when you take the life of the one who first breaks your heart will this blackness form within it. From that moment you will no longer be a mere puppet, but you will siren your own heart’s song, dooming any who shall come against you.”

  “And what if I no longer want this?”

  “Only when you destroy the one who has truly harmed you, shall you be avenged, and the darkness leave you. The longer you wait, the more it shall cleave to,” the wraith whispers back.

  “Is it Elias Peyroux? Am I to take his life?”

  “Only you know when that day shall come, for in their eyes alone, you’ll be undone,” they speak, once more in unison. “Now drink!” they command, lifting the thick liquid to my lips.

  Knowing that Dalcour’s secrets may inevitably cause my demise, my heart sinks and I know this is now my only recourse. Even his desires to tame me, fill me with both doubt and fear.

  This act may be my only assurance.

  That is why I do what I do now.

  I know with all confidence I will never allow my fate to become that of either Calida or my halfhearted mother. I also know I will never forsake my family like my wretched sister Victoria. It is clear I cannot rely on the salvation of men; supernatural or otherwise. Yet, I am required to still play their game. I must do more than match their parry. I will subdue them.

  It is with such certainty I also know the allegiance I now form is one made from the pit from which all darkness is derived. But I see no other way. I refuse to be either captive or pawn. And it is with this surety I declare I will come on the other end of this darkness both unscathed and untamed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Darkness envelops me as I take in the thick black substance. It coats my throat as I do, clinging to my jaw, tongue, and every inch of my mouth, locking it shut. Slithering down my airway, it sucks oxygen from my lungs, suffocating me as I grab my neck, fearful my death is eminent.

  The two wraiths chant a haunting, yet lyrical limerick over me as I writhe against the cold concrete floor, gasping for air. The patois of their sonnet is wickedly beautiful, lulling my mind to a deep enchantment while my body thrashes and convulses beneath their shadowy form.

  “Misty meadows and cold-wrought springs live within these hallowed beings. In the dark and buried deep, beneath the earth our secrets keep. Until fate and fear rise with time and horrid quandary fill your mind. Sing with sirens, snare, and break. Earthbound men their soul to take. Maiden kind you may subdue, yet only for measure of mortal feud. The bonding sires and sirens must groom but binding hearts will seal your doom. Return to dust those who sadden thy soul, end with surety, and take them whole. Remove what and who grieves you most and changeling no longer need you to host.”

  My head throbs as the two wraiths harmoniously chant over me. Their words confound and intrigue me. While a deeper part of me seems to comprehend its meaning, I wrestle with the dark magic taking over me and I am unable to speak. My mouth is sealed. Whether it be the black liquid I ingested or the power they now wield over me, I am unsure. All I know is whatever questions I had, will have to wait.

  Stirring images of a golden white oak, lightning, and what appears to be earth splitting in two in a time since passed, fill my mind. Haunting flashes of a tribe of beings banished to a dark abyss while the golden white oak tree shimmers with such a brilliance the dark beings cower in terror, sting my heart. Feelings of pain, fear, and a sorrow too frightful to tell awake a melancholy within me I had not known.

  “Now she sees. Now she knows. The dark inside her forever grows. With new eyes now you shall wake. The world before you, in blood and death you’ll take.”

  With a closing ceremonious wail and cackling howl, the vise grip of the wraith’s power frees its hold on me, and I am left once more on the cold floor, squirming in both pain and fear.

  Before I have a chance to understand what just happened to me, the door swings open and the sight of Dalcour’s thick leather boot lands in my eyesight.

  “Chartreuse,” Dalcour begins, now kneeling beside me. “Are you okay?” He questions, lifting me from the floor and propping me in the cavity of his hold. “What happened to you?”

  “I—I’m okay,” I stutter, looking around the encased room for any semblance of the malevolent beings. “Just a bit off kilter,” I lie, pushing myself up from the floor.

  “Are you certain?” He asks once more, searching my face with an intense glare.

  “I’m fine.” My answer is stiff as I pull myself from his grip as the haunting words of the phantoms plagues my thoughts. “What abou
t you, my lord,” I begin, feigning concern. “Is everything okay? I’ve never heard such sounds. And—the—the way you left in such a scamper—”

  “Everything is under control,” he replies curtly, cutting me off. He keeps his gaze set on me, lingering a bit as his brows brush with frustration. Squaring his shoulders, he walks to the threshold of the door with his arms behind his back and looks down the long narrow corridor. “No interruptions!” Dalcour shouts down the hall to someone beyond my sight and the lights go dim. “Now, young one,” he says, turning on his heel, his face now brightened. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

  At his words, my heart falls into the pit of my gut, with everything that just happened with the phantom creatures and what I learned of this Elias Peyroux, I had almost forgotten why we came here in the first place.

  “If you’re worried about the wolves, there’s no need. We’ve taken care of them. I’ll allow no harm to come to you.” Dalcour’s resolute stance is clear as he stands before me now. Although the thought of wolves is the last thing on my mind, a part of me is thankful to him.

  “But will I be safe?” My words are mumbled as memories of Elias’ betrayal of Decaux and Calida ring through me.

  “Of course, young one,” Dalcour says brightly, walking toward me with his arms outstretched. “I’ll never let harm come to you. In all the ways that matter, you will become my family. Do you understand?” He adds, now resting his hands on my shoulders.

  “But what about Elias Peyroux?” I blurt my words and a pang of fear pierces through me as I do.

  “What?” Dalcour answers quietly, stepping away from me, his face is marred with both shock and concern. “Wait—where—what do you know of Elias?”

  “Does it matter? You know of him. And you know what he did to my sister and yet he still lives!” I snap.

  “Catherine must’ve told you,” he mumbles under his breath, revealing my mother’s knowledge of this fact. While I shouldn’t be surprised, it still boils my blood to hear it. Rubbing his hand across his forehead, he sighs and turns away, pacing back and forth between me and the doorway. “Listen, Chartreuse, you must understand things are not as they seem.”

  “But aren’t they? How could you keep such secrets? Why does this man yet live?” I demand.

  “Contrary to what you may believe of my world—your soon-to-be new world, young one, not everything deserves the punishment of death. I know you may not understand that now, but you will.”

  “How can you say that? Because of him my sister is dead. And what about Decaux?”

  “No! It is because of pathetic, bigoted, and worthless souls that your sister died. Not Elias. He was a mere rook—not even a pawn. Leveraging a man’s freedom is not quite the payment you’d expect of betrayal. But alas, despite all your contrite experiences in this world you’ll never know what it means to be treated poorly because of the hue of your skin.”

  “Perhaps but—”

  “But nothing, Chartreuse! You need to see,” Dalcour says, palming the sides of my head as he transfers flickers of his memories to me, jolting me into a trance-like state. “Unlike me or Decaux, wolves like Elias cannot roam the world free. A wolf’s supernaturality only extends at the parting of the moon—unless he is an alpha. Otherwise he must live his life just as any man of color. In bondage. How can you comprehend such depravity? They gave him freedom papers for knowledge of my brother’s whereabouts. But did Catherine tell you that Elias also told my brother in advance? Yes—he warned Decaux that they were coming, but my brother in his haughtiness thought himself untouchable. It was my brother’s hubris that allowed both himself and Calida to be taken. Elias did right by both my brother as he also did right by his family in securing their freedoms. For that, he will never receive a punishment of death from me. Nor shall he or his kin ever receive such a punishment by your hand—swear it to me!” Dalcour’s condemning and demanding words pierce me straight in my gut and my feet once more feel bolted beneath me.

  “Yes, my lord,” my words are contrite, and the thought of Elias’ predicament stabs my heart.

  “Listen to me,” Dalcour begins in a now softer tone, strumming his fingers through my hair. “I do understand that your life was no easy stroll through a garden. I am well aware of how poverty held your state, taking you into unfathomable circumstances. Circumstances no one of your beauty and charms should ever experience. Now imagine, being denied the freedom to live as other mortals simply because others think you inferior.”

  “I understand, my lord. I just miss her so much!” I cry, plunging my face into his chest. While this overtaking of raw emotion may be new for me, it feels necessary. To date I only recall feeling like this two other times in my life—but this is different.

  “It’s quite all right, young one. Let it all go. Now the bonding can begin.” Dalcour’s dark and throaty tone reverberates through his hollowed chest. Laying my head against his muscular frame, I am surprised I hear no heartbeat.

  Then I remember. Vampires don’t have hearts.

  “Begin?” I question, looking up through tear-laden lashes.

  “Shall we begin?” He asks once more with darkened eyes as his fangs slowly protrude from his mouth before me.

  Everything in me tells me I should be afraid—that this is wrong—that I should run. But I cannot. Will not. My soul feels anchored in this repose and I know this is what I want.

  More than repaying vengeance, I must ensure my own safety. I must protect myself from perils known and unknown. I alone must look to my own interests. For truly not even Calida cared for what would be my fate when she entangled herself with Decaux. Father died and mother lost all parental sensibilities—if there were ever any. Victoria ran off and Chalmette is a new wife. I and I alone am left to secure my own protection.

  “Yes,” I whisper my words in response.

  A low, guttural growl rumbles through Dalcour as he widens his mouth, showcasing rows of razor fangs. But something happens I did not expect, slowly, he raises his arm and tears into his own flesh. As he does, a stream of glistening dark crimson runs down his forearm.

  Lifting his wrist to my mouth, he commands me, “Drink.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to comply when he presses his arm to my mouth, allowing the sweet warmth of his blood to flow like a fountain into my mouth.

  Not in my twenty-seven years have I ever tasted anything as sweet and succulent as this. It bears a liking to that of honey and wild berries. I have never tasted its likeness. The more I taste the more I want. My mouth clings to his wrist like a suckling child to his mother’s breast.

  I don’t want to let go.

  The sweet taste of Dalcour’s blood implodes my tastebuds, bursting like tiny grains of sugar on my tongue. Unlike the dank flavor of the phantom’s curd, Dalcour’s blood flows through my mouth like a sweet water fountain and I do all I can to savor every drop!

  As I continue to suck at his wrist, a warming sensation ripples through me and a golden hue emanates through Dalcour’s aura. Throwing his head back, Dalcour moans and whispers an unknown tongue and the sound of a thousand voices echoes through the small room. A feeling of weightlessness overtakes me, and I notice we have lifted from the ground as Dalcour’s strong arm now rests around my waist.

  “That’s enough, young one,” he whispers, tugging his wrist away from my yearnful lips.

  Cooing, I whine as he pulls himself from me and I reach out and try to pull his arm back to me. Everything in me wants just one more taste!

  “No more, my dear Chartreuse. You’re not quite ready for a second helping. At least not until your turning,” Dalcour says softly, as we drift back to the concrete floor.

  “My turning?” A waft of inebriation rolls through me and I feel like a tipsy saloon congregant. If I didn’t know better, I would think there was more than one Dalcour in the room. The room spins and I topple to my knees, working hard to get my bearings. “Dalcour!” I shout, reaching out for hi
m. Grabbing my wrists he laughs and says something back to me, but his speech is incoherent to me. “Dalcour! What is happening to me? I feel—I—”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Once more, darkness swathes my sight as both the sound of a thousand voices rings through my head as does the incessant and cackling cry of the phantom pair. Only the sweet taste of Dalcour’s blood lingering on my tongue soothes the anxiety bubbling beneath my brim.

  Horrid sights of death, murder and malice build in my forlorn mind, tormenting me as the duality of Dalcour’s blood and the phantom’s offering surge through my veins, like toxic venom. Writhing in agony, I want to scream but I cannot. I want to cry but I cannot. Some other force now holds my state, and it is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before.

  Reminiscent of the wraith-like boot, something or someone is holding me down, willing me into their submission. Still, I continue to fight. I will not be subdued.

  “I told you she’s a fighter,” I hear a familiar and distant voice say.

  “No surprise here. That’s exactly why I chose her.” A closer and deeper voice replies. “It’s okay, young one. You are safe. You’re among family. Now it’s time to wake up.”

  “Dalcour?” I question, blinking my eyes hard, forcing them open. My view is blurry, but I can make out Dalcour’s large frame seated next to me.

  “Yes, it’s me. Come now, open your eyes,” he replies in a gentle yet slightly parental tone.

  “Please, Red! You’re starting to scare me!” I now make out DeLuca’s crackling voice from afar.

  “DeLuca?”

  “Yes, poppet, it’s me! Please tell me you’re well,” DeLuca responds, coming closer.

  “And I told you she is fine, Sincade. She took in a bit more than a mortal should that’s all,” Dalcour lashes back.

  “Perhaps it would be best if you two left her to Armando. She surely doesn’t need to hear your grumblings back and forth.” Although I’ve barely gotten my bearings, I’d know Armando’s brash tone no matter my state.