Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Bellonna
It’s time. I’ve been playing nice for far too long. It’s time they know just who they are up against. The air grows thick with the heady scent of burning herbs and something darker, unnameable as my fury builds.
They want answers. Fine. I’ll give them. When I’m done, I’m taking back control. They will rue the day they dared to interfere in my business. I step into the center of the room, stretch out my arms, and turn, creating an imaginary circle with my arms. Once it’s completed, I weave my hands in intricate patterns in the dim, flickering light of the room. A low, melodic chant spills from my lips, resonating with a power that seems to seep into the marrow of the three men that appear before me. All confused as to where and why they are here.
“Where are we? Why did you bring us here? We didn’t call you.” Warrick seethes as his eyes speedily roam the area, trying to take in his surroundings, searching for any possible escape.
He won’t find one. Not here. This is merely a dream world. A vision I created to speak to the three of them. But they are unaware of that tiny fact. To them, this is just as real as the world they live in.
“Somewhere, yet nowhere.” I laugh at my vagueness and the way Warrick clenches his jaw.
I push my power into the room, the warmth and electricity coursing through them, a blend of pleasure and tension that makes it impossible to distinguish where one sensation ends and the next begins. Flashes of themselves speed through their minds: hands touching, eyes meeting, emotions unspoken laid bare. Every glance carrying a weight, every brush of skin an unspoken question. As their pleasure and curiosity rises, so does mine. In this place, they can’t hide. All their vulnerabilities are exposed. Here they have no choice but to confront the heat that simmers between them, between us, the unacknowledged glances, the lingering touches. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once. These men do something to me that I can’t seem to explain.
“Fuck me,” Blackwell groans. “Mary, baby, I don’t know what kind of voodoo you just did, but can I have another dose? Just add yourself into the mix.” He winks as his tongue snakes out of his mouth, gliding across his lower lip, and I’d be remiss if I didn't notice the giant bulge in his pants.
“I know it’s one of your greatest desires.” I let my hands slide down my body, making sure to cup my breasts before letting them linger on my hips. “It’s your friends’ as well.” My voice echoes through the vast space surrounding them. “You cannot flee from the truth. Confront it, or it will consume you.” I move closer toward them, stopping in front of Warrick, who stands stoically. I reach out, tracing my finger down his cloth-covered chest. “It’s the answers you’ve been seeking, yet you look for them in all the wrong places. You choose to look in books, scrolls, and the vile electronic devices filled with lies all molded to fit the stories told by men long dead. I’m not ashamed of who I am or where I come from.”
“You left me no choice. If I recall, you had an opportunity to tell me everything when you were in my room, yet you didn’t. You break into my club and expect us to not try to learn all we can about you,” Warrick snarls at me, but mixed with the rage boiling beneath his skin is lust.
“Well, here I am. What is it you want to know?” I lift my hand, running the pad of my thumb over his bottom lip. “But be quick. My cooperation won’t last long.” I turn and walk away, tossing Blackwell a wink as I pass him. The longer I stand before Warrick, my hand touching him, the longer something inside me stirs for him, begging to break free. I can’t let that happen.
“Who are you?”
“Bloody Mary. If you had summoned me, then you could’ve asked me these questions.” I know what he’s asking, but he needs to learn to be clear with his questions. It takes everything in me to hold back laughter when he rolls his eyes. Clearly, he’s not fond of my humor. Good thing Blackwell is.
“Summon you, so that you can mark me like you did Varys without his consent?”
My eyes drift to the man in question, whose eyes linger on me with desire. “He seems to rather enjoy my mark. Don’t you think?”
“Fuck baby, if I want you to ride my cock, can I summon you? We can have a blood fest and fuck in a pool of blood.” Blackwell chuckles.
I move in front of him, reaching down, cupping his partially stiff cock through his jeans. “You can alway summon me and find out what happens.”
“Shut the fuck up, Blackwell, we need answers. Who were you before you became this? What were you? Why did you become who you are?” Warrick rapid fires questions in succession, sending my brain on a spinning ride.
“Here I thought you were smart, well, at least of average intelligence. What makes a woman become a raging force of anger? Betrayal!” I bark at him.
“A man made you mad, and you became a killer. A reaper of souls. It still doesn’t account for you being Bloody Mary.”
Turning, I move back across the room, putting some space between myself and them. My story is not one for the faint of heart. It doesn’t surprise me he thinks the betrayal that scarred my heart the most was a man’s.
“Silly vampire. While a man did play a role in my demise, it was not his betrayal that sealed the deal. It was my best friend, Rebecca Parris. You see, Warrick, true betrayal comes from those closest to you, those you consider a sister, not a man. But I digress. You came for answers.”
I walk around them like I’m bored as I begin to tell my tale. “Back then, people knew me as Bellonna Thorne. I grew up in a small village in Calverton. I led a good life; it was hard, but I enjoyed it. My parents had passed, and the bishop felt it was time I should marry since I was turning twenty. It would seem the most sought after suitor in town, William Chandler, was interested in me, much to my best friend's dismay.” I take a deep breath, fighting back the tears. It’s been a long time since I thought about that day.
“What did she do?” Varys asks, my sweet, gentle unicorn.
“I was alive during the height of the witch trials. All the townspeople were congregating for the town meeting, and I knew immediately that something was wrong. My friends wouldn’t speak to me, barely acknowledging my presence, while the men snickered behind my back. I should’ve run, but I kept my head high and entered the building. William Chandler arrived and instead of asking for my hand, he accused me of bewitching him. My best friend, her sister, and another then accused me of being a witch. They put on a good show. I imagine they’d make a killing as actresses these days. That’s all it took to sign my death warrant. They punished me in the most heinous of ways—pressing.” I go on, telling them detail by detail of my torture, making sure they understand every second of the pain that I felt.
They don’t say a word, listening to everything I have to say with rapt attention.
“That made you Bloody Mary? Stones? Betrayal?” Blackwell asks as he takes a step closer to me, then stops when I move backward. My eyes drift to Varys, who has tears sliding down his face, then to Warrick, his clenched fists at his sides.
“No, it was the catalyst. It’s what called to the person who made me. Who created the person before you. Lilith. She proposed an opportunity, my soul in exchange for doing her bidding as Bloody Mary. I wasn’t going to take the offer. I was going to leave this merciless world and join my family in the afterlife.”
“Then what happened? What changed?” Varys steps closer.
“Rebecca. Before I took my last breath and she set my mortal body on fire, she confessed it was all to get William. She was a cruel bitch, and I knew she needed to pay. So I called for Lilith and from that moment, Bellonna Thorne died, and Bloody Mary was born.”
“Did you make the cunt pay? Did you rip her heart out? Tell me you castrated the motherfucker and made him eat his limp cock.” Blackwell sounds as giddy as a kid talking about torture and for a moment, I envision him by my side as I seek revenge when I’m called.
“They died a few years later at my hand. It was bloody and gratifying. I gave them a couple of years, long enough to have children.”
“Why would you want them to have children?” Warrick asks, but there’s more in his eyes, a knowing. He must have found something in his research, not knowing until this moment how it linked to me.
“What’s more painful than knowing that your children will pay for your mistakes? I made it very clear to them as they gasped for their last breaths, pleading with me to spare their lives. Howard and Hannah. I came for them next. Not at the same time, but when they turned twenty. And the cycle continued. Each time someone in the line has a child, I make sure that on their twentieth birthday they pay for the sins of their ancestors, true to the promise I made to Rebecca and William that night. Kind of fitting don’t you think? Why should they live longer than I was allowed to?”