Chapter III #2
Color is returning to Nicolai’s face too quickly.
Before he can consider an escape, I flip him onto his stomach and yank his hands behind his back.
His hands are as fucking small as the rest of him.
When the vampyre’s hiss turns to one of pain, I know I’ve wrapped the chains around his wrists tightly enough.
As soon as I pull him to his feet, I twine the chains around his waist, across his chest, over his shoulders, and another circle over his wrists.
Nice and snug. He’s not getting out of that.
They’re meant for lycans, so he isn’t about to turn docile with them on, but they’ll keep him contained just fine.
Nicolai staggers, eyes glazed over. He’s only gotten enough of my blood to keep him on his feet. Good. Him being well-fed isn’t in my best interests.
Now to get the fuck out of here with my prize. The real fun will begin once I get him back to my pack.
“Pay attention because I’m only going to say this once. You cooperate, or you die. Try to escape, you die. Try to fight me—”
“Let me guess: I die,” he interrupts sarcastically. His Romanian accent is lilting and pronounced. More pleasant than I would have guessed.
“And they say all vampyres are stupid.” I shove him forward. “Move.”
The catacombs narrow as we walk, the large open cavern disappearing in our rear.
I have no idea if we’re heading toward a dead end, or if there’s an entrance somewhere.
Dropping in from above sure got us down here quickly, but neither of us can fly, so we’re not going back that way.
Neither would anything down here, including whoever built it. That means there has to be a way out.
Somewhere. I’m not getting stuck down here forever with my mortal enemy. I’d rather rip out my own throat. Besides that, he can’t survive on my blood alone—not once I die of starvation. I guess I can eat him when I get too hungry. Meat’s meat, at the end of the day.
We aimlessly walk for what feels like an eternity.
All the passageways look the same—time-weary stone covered in strange black lines and arched sections where one passage meets another.
A rat maze. We’re probably walking in circles.
The vampyre is surprisingly quiet, walking ahead of me with shoulders drooped low.
If he’s trying to fool me into thinking he’s some docile doe, he can stop wasting his energy. I playfully tug on the chain, yanking him back a step. He unbalances before righting himself and then shoots me a dark scowl over his shoulder.
I’m awfully curious about his eyes. There are hints of red leaking into the vibrant blue of them.
On a younger vampyre, it would make sense.
The original color fades over time as they age.
Full blood-red eyes are a sign of a very powerful and old vampire.
Ones that poses more than a challenge even for alphas like me.
Killing them requires catching them by surprise and doing it quick.
We warn everyone to stay away from any vampyre with red eyes and to run and hide if they do encounter one.
Nicolai isn’t there yet, but he has to be fucking close. I know that he’s older than me, and I’m just shy of two hundred and fifty years. It means that Nicolai’s color should be almost completely faded. Why can I see so much of it?
I don’t voice my silent question. I’ll lead up to the hard questions. “Who sent you to kill me?” No answer. “If you want me to get creative asking you, I’d be happy to turn this into a bonding session you won’t like.” I’ll like it though, and that’s all that matters.
Another glare. Doesn’t like being at my mercy with no hope of escape, does he?
It doesn’t even begin to make up for what he’s done to my species.
The height of the vampyres’ power will come crumbling down soon, and they’ll get to feel what we have all these years.
Hopelessness. Terror. Pain. We’ll hunt them down and kill every single one of them.
“Someone like you,” I say conversationally.
“I bet you get orders from high up. Maybe the head royal guard.” That’s too easy.
“The prince?” King Auden even—if there was ever a vampyre that needed to die the most. Nicolai moves among the worst of them, the “upper echelons.” The “elite” of the vampyre world.
What a fucking joke. As if any of them are better than shit on my boot.
There’s no indication whatsoever that I’ve hit any mark. His heart rate remains steady, and his gait doesn’t falter. Nothing for me to sniff out. Damn, he’s good.
That’s alright. I like a challenge.
He stops abruptly, and I almost run into his back, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck to hold him in place and steady myself. “What are you doing? Keep moving,” I tell him through gritted teeth. Did I tell him that he could stop?
Instead of doing what he’s told, he moves closer to the wall, shrugging off my hold and peering at something on it. All I can see over his shoulder is the same black shit on the stone as there is everywhere else. “What is it?”
“Symbol,” he surprises me by answering. “Under the black.”
“I don’t see anything.”
“Animals aren’t particularly good at details.”
With a growl, I shove him out of the way. “Watch your fucking tone. Where is it?”
Silence. Doesn’t matter. I can find it myself. A well-aimed punch against the black cracks it. Partial shifting so my claws come out, I scrape at the wall until what he’s talking about is revealed.
A vampyre symbol. An old one. I haven’t seen one like this for a long time. It’s from a coven that no longer exists, because we killed them all an age ago. We never had to come here to do it, though. Did they abandon this place first when they were running from us?
My claw loudly scrapes around the symbol, and Nicolai winces. “We’re in a vampyre lair.”