Rage

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

B y the night of the feast, two dozen vampires fill the cages. They huddle together to keep as far from the silver bars as possible, but there is no respite. Declan’s men and Stilton’s guards have taken to dousing our cages with holy water and cheering loudly when they scream. At the far end of the hall, a quartet of men play a game, guessing the number of blisters that will rise when the water touches a night sister’s arm.

She is brave, my sister, and does not scream, but blood wells in her eyes, drawing crimson tracks down her cheeks.

Lord and Lady Stilton sit on their dais with Declan lounging near their feet. Propped on an elbow, he absently twirls the silver-tipped stake in his hands. His dark hair falls loose and soft, curling against the collar of his vest, and stubble darkens a strong jaw. A goblet sits untouched beside him, and he stares down the center of the hall at me. Hunger darkens eyes that gleam a burnished gold in the firelight, and I can’t help but notice the bulge pressing against the tight leather of his trousers.

An unwilling shiver trembles through my body, and I tear my gaze away, studying the guests.

I recognize many faces from that first night, though most are new. Tourists come to witness the vampires in their cages and see the slaughter with their own eyes. I would laugh if I were not so hungry.

They feast and drink. The revels grow in volume. Lord Stilton’s face reddens red as he drinks and eats. Grease shines on his chins as he raises a goblet to Declan.

“To our hunter!” Wine spills over the rim, splattering like blood against the dais. Red drops bleed into Declan’s linen sleeve and collar. He raises a hand to his neck to wipe the ruby-red splatter away. All the while, his eyes never leave mine.

I cannot deny what the sight of that red wine on his throat does to me. How hunger claws as he lifts his chin, showing me the long tendons and flutter of his pulse. It has been more than a week since I last ate. More than a week since I stretched my limbs and fought.

More than a week since I pressed Declan Margrave to the ground, drove my knees into his sides, and turned that silver-tipped stake against him.

My fangs itch, and a deep, cloying need thrums my belly, demanding to be sated.

Soon.

“The hunter!” Men and women cry, raising their goblets to the dais. Lady Stilton subtly lifts a finger from her armrest, and servants flurry into motion. New casks roll into the hall and are quickly tapped. Red wine so deep it is almost purple flows freely, filling the goblets of every man and woman as a sharp, floral scent teases my nose.

She’s done it. I do not dare meet her eye, though I can feel her gaze on me as well as I feel Declan’s.

My night siblings stir in their cages, no doubt catching the same scent I do. They know, and they will be ready.

The tallow candles in the chandelier burn lower, the moon passes into view through the window at the rear of the hall, and Declan is the first to leave. He lingers by my cage, his hand gripping the hilt of his stake as he stares down at me. Those eyes burn with contempt and something else—something molten and hot, trailing my filthy skin and greasy hair.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says before striding away. I cannot help but watch him, drawn to the easy saunter and sway of his broad shoulders and narrow hips.

And then he is gone, and it is only a matter of time.

The women drop first, cradling their heads in their arms and falling asleep at the table. Then, one by one, the men fall—some beside their women, others to the floor. Lord Stilton holds on longer than I expect, drinking and eating from abandoned plates as he wanders the cages with an ewer of holy water. He pours it over my night siblings, guffawing as their skin bubbles and sloughs off, leaving them raw and bloodied.

“Watch you burn,” he slurs in a sing-song voice. “And then we’ll watch you buuurn.” He fills his goblet a seventh time, downing the contents and throwing his vessel to the floor. Gold clangs against the stone, dented from the strike, and Lord Stilton sways before my cage. He sets the ewer down and grips the frame, leaning close enough for spittle to strike my leg as he hisses, “I will save you for the last.”

I say nothing. He is drunk and more of a fool than I had reckoned if he thinks he can goad me to speech. I know better than to give weak men what they desire.

“Declan’s pet .” Stilton fumbles with his waistcoat and trousers. “The bait he never takes for the hunt. Useless bitch.” He pulls a stubby worm of a cock free, stroking as his watery eyes trawl my body. At this pathetic display, I remember the second failing of weak men: their predictability. “I will use you if he will not.”

He lurches for my cage on drunken legs, tripping and falling heavily. The bars rattle, and the ewer tips onto its side. Holy water rains down, and there is nowhere for me to run. My legs burn. The flesh on my feet bubbles and melts away to reveal bone and charred tendons. This time, I scream, letting the pain and rage shred my throat. Stilton fumbles for his keys, his eyes unfocused and movements slow and clumsy.

But he shoves the key into the lock and manages a half-turn. I shrink back, ignoring the hunger that grows in my belly as his rapid pulse pounds in my ears. The pain is unfathomable, drowning out all thoughts beyond blood, drink, drain .

If he gets in, if he gets closer, there is a chance I can override the pain and sink my teeth into his pale, fleshy neck—a chance I can strike a vein.

A loud thunk tears me from my hunger. Lord Stilton gurgles a wet, pained sound, and his mass collapses in front of my cage, revealing Lady Stilton with the ewer in hand. The base is dented, and her face twisted in rage.

“Him first.” The ewer flies from her hand, clanking against and rolling across the floor. She twists the key in the lock, hesitating before she opens my cage. “Drain him until his body is as dry as winter wheat.”

I nod, lips curled in a grimace—blood thrums in her veins, close enough that I can smell the tang of unpoisoned iron. My fangs descend, and her eyes widen as she sees me for the monster I am. For a moment, I fear she will prove as weak as the man lying on the ground, but then resolve settles on her thin, pinched face.

“Him first,” Lady Stilton repeats, jerking the door to my cage open. “And then you and your siblings will kill them all.”

“All of them?” I let my surprise show on my face, casting a glance at the unconscious bodies around the hall. “What have they done?”

“Does it matter?” she hisses. “They locked you and your siblings in cages. They reveled in your capture and would witness your death. Take your revenge. Kill them all, and I will shelter you from the sun.”

Disappointment overtakes my shock as I see Lady Stilton for who she truly is. Not weak, like Lord Stilton and Declan, no. She is something worse. She is what happens when weakness prevails.

She is cruel.

“Promise me,” Lady Stilton presses, blocking the door of my cage. My only way out is to treat with her, and my body craves what she offers—a chance to feast, to fill my belly with life-giving blood, and heal.

“I promise,” I rasp. “I will drain those who sought advantage in my capture. I will take my revenge.”

A slash of a smile creases Lady Stilton’s cheeks. She rises, leaving a clear path between myself and Lord Stilton, and without a moment to spare, I launch from the cage.

Her shoulders are thin and bony in my grasp, her body creaking as we collide. She claws and scratches, kicking her legs, but I am faster and far stronger than this pitiful, cruel human will ever be.

I tackle her to the ground, and her skin tears like crepe at the gentlest press of my fangs. Lady Stilton shrieks, but anyone who could help her has been drugged by her hand.

Blood bursts from her veins, splashing against my tongue. I groan as the hunger overwhelms me. I have no memory of the taste of wine or meat. No ability to recall the sweetest sugars. There is only the decadence of metal and blood. Filling my mouth, coating my throat, warming my belly, and filling my veins.

This is the tricky part. It is easy to get lost in the bloodlust and become the monsters they think we are. Her body slows, the fight in her limbs overwhelmed by the pleasure of my bite. Soon, her screams become moans, her scratching nails softening until they caress my arms and hair. Ours is a soft death. A lovely death, granted by the venom in our bite, but death all the same.

When her hands fall away from my body, and her pleasured moans turn to sighs, I tear my fangs from her throat. Any pain in my body is a distant memory. My blistered flesh regrown as I feasted; my body returned to its full strength by the gift of her blood. Slowly, I rise, wiping blood from my chin and licking it from my fingers.

Lady Stilton gazes up at me, her small body fragile as porcelain. She lies next to her husband, his putrid mass burbling for every wheeze that escapes her.

“Why?” Her voice is less than a whisper, but no sound is too small for my ears. Not after I have feasted.

“Because you are cruel,” I answer. Sweeping the keys from where they fell, I unlock my sibling’s cages, greeting them each with clasped hands and soft words. Many nights have passed since I saw them last, and again, they have trusted me to lead them to this moment.

Bait , Declan called me. The lords and their wives never question his choice of words. They let me sit in their hall night after night, blind to the threat I pose.

I am no more bait than I am the trap set to ensnare greedy lords who place themselves above the people and the land. And in every hall we visit, in every manor where I sit in my cage, there is always one who takes the bait.

“Strip the tapestries from the walls and cover the windows,” I announce, striding across the hall to stand over Lady Stilton. “The poison should wear off by dawn, and then you may feed. Until then, the silver is in the forge. Melt it down and cast coins using the molds in Lord Stilton’s treasury.” A handful of my brothers and sisters nod and depart. I do not doubt they will follow my orders. They have for years.

I am a harsh mistress, but I am fair, not cruel. They know a feast awaits them. They know I would never let them languish the way Lord Stilton has allowed his people to flail.

I bend low and tear Lady Stilton’s skirt, using a length of cloth to gather the ewer and pass it to a night sister. “Stoke the fire and fetch me a blade.”

She nods and departs, knowing what happens next. One of my brothers appears with a leather satchel from Declan’s horse. I waste no time stripping off the filthy shift I have worn for the last week and stepping into my leathers and a soft, linen blouse. My knife belt is a comforting weight around my hips, and my fingers deftly lace the corset.

Another sister braids my hair, weaving it into a crown on my head. Once Stilton and his wife are dealt with, there will be time to bathe. For now, there is work to be done.

Lady Stilton whimpers at my feet. I crouch beside her, running my fingers through her thin hair.

“Do you want to know what happens next?” I ask. “Or have you figured it out?”

“Kill me,” she wheezes, eyes drifting closed.

“No, no, none of that.” I pat her cheek, jostling Lady Stilton to wakefulness. “Stay with me, Lady Stilton. Just a moment longer. There is much to be done.”

“The fire’s ready,” my night sister calls from across the hall. A blaze fills the hearth, burning brighter than all the torches.

“Use the cauldron to melt the ewer,” I order, reaching for my knife. “Now, this is the tricky part, Lady Stilton.” I show her the blade, wickedly sharp and finely oiled. “I won’t lie to you, not when you’ve been such a gracious host.” Leaning close, I grab her jaw, digging my fingers into her thin cheeks to force her mouth open. “This is going to hurt.”

Her arms twitch against the floor, eyes rounding like marbles. Fear makes her body tremble, but I am stronger, fueled by her blood and my undying rage. My blade slices cleanly. A garbled scream tears from her throat, and the fat end of her tongue falls away. My mouth waters as blood wells, teasing me with its rich scent. I toss the thick muscle aside, and two of my brothers grab Lady Stilton’s arms, holding her down as a sister approaches with the cauldron from the hearth.

“It took us a few tries to perfect the process.” I rise to give my siblings room to work. “Lady Beenleigh was our best work to date. She was hardly recognizable by the time we finished. Your own neighbor, and neither you nor your husband batted an eye when we dragged her out. The trick, you see, is to make the alterations before we change you. It is the only way to ensure they stick.”

I grab a handful of her hair, shearing it away with my knife. Tears stream down Lady Stilton’s cheeks, but all fight has left her. She sobs as I work, cutting her hair and nails, carving a wild creature from the lady of the hall. When my sister approaches with the cauldron, I rise and step away, allowing my siblings to do their part.

Silver caps her tongue, the molten liquid burning her lips and vocal cords. Just as Lady Beenleigh before her, I have rendered Lady Stilton mute and left her hovering on the edge of death. She will not be able to speak her story or warn the next hall of the trap they welcomed with open arms. The wretch I have made of her is the vampire she will become.

She will live until her purpose has been served, and her final death will not be in vain.

When the silver cools, I tear my wrist with my fangs, dripping blood into Lady Stilton’s mouth. For a moment, she lies still, her chest barely rising and falling, and I fear I have gone too far. When her eyes fly open, they are wild and ravaged by the pain I have inflicted. Her throat works, swallowing my offering, and I see the instant her body awakens to the need. Her limbs tighten, back bowing as hunger hauls her upright. Thin lips latch onto my wrist, and the blunt stump of her tongue prods the wound as if she could tear it wider and drink faster.

My head grows light, but I push her away only when my vision dims around the edges. Lady Stilton reaches for my arm, and a brother moves me out of reach, helping me to my feet while two sisters bundle her in a heavy wool blanket.

“Put her in the cage,” I command, thanking my brother with a nod.

When he is certain I can stand, he lets go, attention drifting over the humans in the hall. Some groan in their drugged sleep, while others snore. “And the rest?”

I survey the hall and spy the faint orange glow along the edge of a tapestry covering a window. “The sun rises. Feed, allow no more than fifteen to flee with their lives, and interview the servants. Pull aside those that may be a good fit for our family.”

Frowning, he drops his gaze to Lord Stilton’s mass. “What about him?”

“The boar drank enough poison to fell a herd.” I sneer at Lord Stilton’s mass. “Spare him until nightfall. He can be the feast for our newly turned siblings.” He smiles at that, fangs glistening in the torchlight. I clasp his shoulder. “We leave before midnight, brother; use the time well.”

A smirk pulls his mouth. “You as well.”

“I intend to.”