Chapter III
Tarryn
We’re falling too far. We should have hit the ground already.
Cold hands grab at me, and I have no choice but to let them.
Pain brackets me as we hit the water, bones breaking from the impact. I’ve had some gnarly falls before, but this one is going right to number one.
The vampyre’s body floats beside me, surprisingly not quite dead.
They’re strong but pretty damn brittle, all things considered.
Lycans are bigger, and heavier, and able to withstand greater impacts.
It fucking hurts, but my bones are already mending, and I can fight through the pain to get to the edge of the water.
With a long-suffering sigh, I grab the vampyre’s hair and use it to drag him with me. There are more creative ways to kill them than leaving them to drown. It’s so dark in here I wouldn’t be able to watch the show, either.
What I really want is to leave the vampyre here to die in the dark pits of the catacombs. Let him starve here and waste away to nothing. It’s the most painful death for those of his kind and nothing less than what he deserves.
Good fucking riddance. My mission in life is to see every single one of the bloodsuckers turn to dust. I’ll crush their hearts with my bare hands and tear them into pieces, taking joy in every ripped tendon and broken bone.
I would have left this one here, with zero regrets.
Except that I know that face. I’ve never met him face-to-face, but he’s well known in every lycan circle.
The hunter made of nightmares: the royal vampyre’s most prized weapon.
The one we warn them of and use to scare our children into being safe.
He’s enslaved more lycans in the last century than any other, racking up kills and captures in the triple digits.
Nicolai Vasilciu.
The fact I’m alive after that encounter is nothing short of a miracle. I wasn’t prepared for him. It doesn’t look like he was prepared for me, either. A stroke of luck. I’ve learned never to rely on luck. She’s a fickle master.
He’s completely vulnerable, laying in the dirt. Unconscious and badly wounded. It would be too easy to rip his throat out and leave him here to bleed out.
Except that Nicolai has secrets that could be pivotal in changing the tide of the war that’s decimated my species for too long.
He’s privy to intelligence we’ve never dreamed of getting our hands on.
Capturing someone like him has never been attempted.
It’d be a suicide mission, and unlike the vampyres, we don’t use our own for fodder.
There aren’t many of us left, and we value our lives.
It’s the only way we’ve survived free this long.
Having someone this important here, helpless and within reach? I can’t pass that kind of boon up. Even if it means a temporary pause on murdering the piece of shit.
Making him wish he’d never been turned—or born—can wait until later.
I’ll find out what he knows, and then I’ll kill him. I won’t deny myself the satisfaction. If I’m patient, I can have it all. No instant gratification but ultimate satisfaction. It’s not usually my style, but I can make an exception.
Until then, I need to keep him alive. Considering the damages, and the fact he’s not healing, even in such a deep slumber, means he needs fresh blood. Otherwise, he’ll die here anyway, and all my plans will go with him.
Well, fuck.
The space around us is pitch fucking black, and if I didn’t have night vision from being a lycan, I wouldn’t be able to see a thing.
Even with the enhanced sight, I can’t find anything remotely useful.
Unless the vampyre has suddenly become a vegetarian, he’s out of luck.
Hell, not even that’s gonna save him. There isn’t anything at the water’s edge.
There’s no way I’m going back in there even if by some miracle it had some reeds or something.
I can’t see how far the water goes or how deep it is.
There’s a vibration in the air that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Who knows what’s under the dark surface?
I’m not about to find out. I’d rather put some distance between it and us.
Besides, I don’t trust anything that might be down here. What kind of magic would it take to make something grow down here? The only thing as bad as vampyres are the witches that simper and fawn over them.
No. There’s only one option available, much as I hate it.
Nicolai moans and twists without waking. Too bad I can’t watch him squirm and pass slowly. Painfully. It’s the only way any of them deserve to die.
Crouching beside him, I consider my options. He looks so much smaller like this than he had in the fight above. I’ll be paying him back for sticking that fucking dagger in my thigh.
First things first, I need to find his chains. The same ones they use to bind lycans for transport. Filled with magic that can’t be undone, rendering those wrapped in them useless and ripe for the picking. With the right ones, even I can’t fight them.
Where the fuck can he even be hiding them?
Vampyres are smaller by nature, their strength more subtle than us, but I’m surprised by how delicate this one seems, given his reputation.
The corset he’s wearing is tight and flat against his stomach, fastened with six black metal buckles.
One is cut. The sight of it has my lips curling in a smug smirk.
My handiwork. His dark undershirt is torn in multiple places, sticking to his skin from the blood and water.
Leggings cling to surprisingly shapely legs and calves and black buckled boots.
There they are. Around his slim hips, the chains hang between his thick black belt and the corset.
There are too many places for hidden weapons in that outfit. I’m gonna need to check him, pat him down and make sure he has nothing that’ll bite me in the ass later. The chains might physically hold him, but they weren’t made for vampyres.
The obvious blade strapped to his thigh comes off first. Has to be a decoy.
Still functional but designed to distract.
The bow on his back is too broken to serve a useful purpose.
I could use the arrows as weapons, except they’re fucking broken too.
The quiver and arrows go in a pile to be left here with the bow.
No reason to carry around useless shit. Another blade is snug against his inner thigh, and another is at his calf.
A third is in his boot. One is tucked into the gauntlet covering his hand and forearm.
For fuck’s sake. How much more can he fit?
He’s a tiny slip of a thing; where’s he finding the room?
I spy something else as I unwind the chains. A tab that, when I pull on it, reveals another blade, tucked under the corset. Custom made. Nice, I can appreciate that kind of craftsmanship.
I almost miss the last one at his back, hidden beneath ribbon lacing pulled tight. What the fuck? Sitting at his lower back like that, how would he even reach it? Seems kind of pointless.
Since I’m naked, I can’t take them with me. Good thing I don’t need to; my claws will rip through anything that these weapons can.
Using those same claws, I cut across my wrist to let my blood flow. I’m not giving my throat to this thing. Even in his weakened state, he’s still a threat.
Cradling the back of his head, I lift him, bringing him closer.
He has nice curved lips. An overbite from his fangs and a thicker bottom lip.
A shame such a pretty face belongs to such a dark, disgusting creature.
He looks like an elf or one of the fae rather than a monster stalking the night for easy prey. Hiding his true nature too easily.
I angle my wrist, blood pouring into his mouth.
A drop spills on his chin. He frowns, and a tongue slips out instinctively to lap at the thick red liquid.
Then a second, longer lick. A third. He moves impossibly fast, an arm swinging up to grip my forearm and pull me down.
My canines lengthen on a hiss when fangs pierce the skin above my wrist.
My veins light on fire as Nicolai sucks hard.
I brace myself for the pain that I grew up hearing about.
Vampyre feedings and the agony and terror live on in the voices of the few free survivors.
Nightmares brought to life, giving me more than enough reasons to hate all of them. As if I needed any more.
I’m wholly unprepared for the stirring in my groin and the pleasure that sinks deep into my bones.
Fucking hell. It feels good? No. That’s not accurate enough.
It’s incredible, my soul soaking in warmth and thrilling tremors.
Lightning pleasure lances through me like it’s been injected directly into my bloodstream.
My hand fists in the vampyre’s hair, urging him on, silently ordering him to take more.
More. Lust and euphoria replace the blood Nicolai is draining from me.
I can’t feel any agony, and if there is any, it’s swamped by the desperate need for more.
I want to rub myself all over him, mark him as he empties me.
No.
Fuck. I can’t let him take too much. I need him weak, helpless. Reliant on me. He would be too hard to control, fully healed. His fangs rip out of my flesh, tearing it open, when I force myself to pull away.
Nicolai collapses back against the hard earth with a hiss. His movements are sluggish now, but it won’t take long for my blood to pump through him. I have to contain him now before he regains enough strength to fight back.
I yank the remaining length of chains from his body. They’re too light. He plans to use these to keep me contained? Is he fucking kidding me? Why would he jump into battle with me with these pitiful chains? This is the creature that instills nightmares in my species? An idiot?