Chapter 13 #2
She jammed the hairpin inside, shimmying it with uncoordinated, awkward movements, feeling tingles in her fingertips, until, finally, she heard a click.
Rin did not let go of the bloodied hairpin as she threw the door open, any caution she may have had being thrown with it, as a long, dark hall loomed on the other side.
She stumbled out, bare feet tripping over lush carpet.
No windows, with paintings dotting the dark stone walls every so often, and candles flickering in burnished brass sconces—were the flames real?
Or were they merely for show? Even in her dazed state with thoughts drifting through her fingers like smoke, Rin somehow knew they burned true and hot.
Her chest jolted with a painful flutter, like her heart had skipped two beats and grown even weaker. She pressed a hand over her chest and grimaced, her fingers weak as they grasped the hairpin.
The flicker of the flames made everything hazier; the hall was steeped in shadows. Her breaths sounded loud, but no matter how desperately she tried to quiet them, she couldn’t.
Tripping and stumbling in the shadowed dark, Rin didn’t make it far.
She fell against a wall with a loud sound, the hairpin falling from her limp fingers.
"No," she moaned, eyelids fluttering. She had to make it out of here—or at the very least, get to Cyrus.
With that thought in mind, she pushed off the wall, leaving the hairpin behind as she forced strength into her steps. Through her blurry vision, she saw another door. Rin fell against it, weakly fumbling for the handle. Locked.
Her ears were filled with the sound of her breath as she spun away and searched for another door.
"Please, please, please."
Each plea was threaded with the harrowing beat of her erratic heart.
She couldn’t go any further.
Rin’s eyes raised, finding a small camera tucked in the corner of the ceiling, a red light blinking on it. She stared straight at it and said, "Valkar, please."
Rhyden whizzed past a blur of trees in the darkness, as his motorcycle roared over the plain dirt road in the thick forest on the edge of Lunar City.
Under his helmet, his headset buzzed, and he reached up with a hand clad in dark, leather fingerless gloves, pressing his index finger to the side of the helmet to take the call.
"What?" Rhyden snapped, the tinted visor of his helmet casting the approaching sight of his base in a shroud of darkness.
The warehouse he called his home was large and flat, with thick trees growing close to the dark concrete walls, concealing it from anyone who dared to venture this far into the Rogue-infested territory of Nullwood.
Daryk’s staticky voice came through. "She’s awake, and she’s left the room. Boss, I think you should get back soon."
"Fuck," Rhyden cursed. "Alright, I’m pulling in now." He ended the call with a press of a button, the sheer concern in Daryk’s voice propelling him onward. He revved the engine, flying past the gates, which had already opened in preparation for his arrival.
They slammed closed with a metallic clang, the electric currents firing up in a spray of blue sparks, there to keep the Rogues away.
The sensors picked up on his Stella levels and unique energy signature, reading him from a distance, and allowing the underground garage to open with a soft hiss of air. The tires squealed as he braked hard, not even engaging the kickstand as he got off and ran for the door that led inside.
The darkness in the plain halls was broken up by the orange glow of candlelight, but his vampiric eyes could see even through the thickest of shadows.
His boots thudded against the stone floors, turning into thicker carpet as he entered the wing in which his bedroom lay.
There, he saw her.
A small form wavering, covered in blood. Her skin was so pale that he froze.
Had Rhyden… Had he underestimated how much he drank?
Her eyes were half-lidded as he ran straight for her, and she made a soft sound of protest as they collided.
His hands steadied her, and she was as light as a feather against him.
"Rhyden?" she breathed, falling into his chest, hands weak as they curled into his leather jacket.
Her chin brushed against him as she looked up. She grew rigid, trying to back away, but he wouldn’t let her, hands tightening on her.
Her grey eyes were filled with fear and clouded with blood loss.
Oh. He still had his helmet on. He hadn’t taken it off in his haste to get to her.
Rhyden tugged it off with one hand, his white hair messy, red eyes wild as he stared down at her. Her neck bore only a trace of her own blood—the rest came from him, from the goddamn hairpin.
Her heart was a sluggish drone in her chest; he felt it against his own, heard it with his keen senses.
The leather of his gloves creaked as his hands spanned her shoulders, keeping her tight against him. "Vesperin…" The guttural sound of her name tugged from deep inside him, unbidden. A call to their life, the brief happiness they had found among opulence.
"Take me to Cyrus," she demanded, blinking fast as if to clear her vision. "Now."
Her demand solidified his fears. "Why should I?"
"Because if you don’t, I might die."
Rin could barely see straight, let alone think straight. Maybe that was why she said those words to Valkar, her eyes imploring him as she held onto him for dear life.
Everything was spinning. The walls, her limbs, the carpet under her bare feet.
She pressed her nose to his chest. "You smell nice. Like peppermint."
His hands stilled against her shoulders, and she felt his sharp intake of air from how closely she was pressed against him.
"Too… bad you want to kill me," Rin added.
He huffed a dark laugh. "I don’t want to kill you, wife. Just some revenge." His voice grew harsh. "Why do you think you’ll die if you don’t see the incubus? Is this another trick?"
Rin didn’t respond. Because she couldn’t really think of anything coherent to say.
"Ah, fuck it," he spat, then she felt his strong arms under her thighs, hoisting her up against him until her legs were wrapped around his waist and his leather jacket was pressed against her cheek, the zipper digging into her skin.
Her nose pressed to the side of his neck, and she melted into him, a small voice inside her screaming at her to get away and that he was dangerous and wanted to hurt her—to get revenge, the words echoed in her mind.
Her vision blurred as he all but jogged down the halls, every footfall making her core rub against his hip. She tried to lift her head to see, but when everything was a blur and she wasn’t sure if it was from her heart and the blood loss, or his speed, she flopped back against him.
She hated the warmth she found in his arms, hated the way her body relaxed when every instinct screamed to recoil.
She was ripped away from his minty scent as a voice roared through the haze, sharp enough to tear her open, "Get your fucking hands off her! What did you do to her? Vesperin? Ves?"
Her eyes blinked open, chest jolting with a painful skip. Panic clawed at her as she whispered, "Cyrus?" She lifted her head with effort to see that Valkar had brought her to another room, dark and empty. Smoke burned her lungs with every inhale, and she coughed. "Is there a fire?" she murmured.
"Less than I should have. I only took what was owed to me," the vampire said. "She’ll live. She just needs to rest." But even to Rin’s ears, he sounded concerned.
"Put her down. Let her go," Cyrus called, voice strained. Whispers of smoke tickled her nose, and she coughed again, eyes watering. She could barely lift her head to see where it was coming from, and found the red glow of flames encased against a wall, thick dark concrete, with two chains secured to it, the links wrapped around Cyrus’s arms, keeping him imprisoned.
Cyrus’s red hair was askew, the chains around his wrists, fingers wrapped in them as he pulled, muscles straining. The incubus was no match for iron, however.
The glow of the fire hurt her eyes, and she squinted as she stared at the flames, mingling with the iron, a thick circle on the floor around Cyrus, not allowing him to go any further.
Rin weakly pushed at Valkar’s chest. "Let me go," she rasped.
The vampire’s red eyes flashed as he bared his teeth. "Fine." Then, he dropped her.
Rin made a sound of protest as she fell to the concrete floor, warm from the fire’s nearness.
Her knees banged against the ground, palms scraping it as she tried to push herself up.
Her hair hung around her face as her eyes tracked up, up, up from Valkar’s dark boots, to the strong line of his muscles, thighs wrapped in leather pants, to his leather jacket that she knew smelled of peppermint.
A muscle fluttered in his jaw, and those red eyes bore holes into her where she sat at his feet, nearly eye-level with his crotch.
Rin swallowed, blinking to dispel the wave of dizziness that befell her.
"Ves, you have to get out of here. Leave me!" Cyrus implored, straining against the chains.
Valkar barked a laugh. "Like hell I’ll let her go now that I have her."
While the vampire taunted Cyrus, Rin pushed herself up to a wobbling stand, heart cracking in a thundering rhythm.
She drew in a painful breath, placing a hand over her chest, rubbing the ache.
She had needed Cyrus—a want so pressing that it had consumed her from almost the moment she had awoken tied to the bed, and now he was here, and Rin felt the vestiges of adrenaline seep from her body, leaving her dizzy and sick.
"I’m not leaving you," she said, each word punctuated with a ragged exhale.
She stumbled forward, and something warm caught her wrists, snaking around her waist and keeping her upright before she could fall back down.
Fire.
Threads made of glowing red and orange flame shot out from Valkar’s hands, wrapped around her waist like a silken tie. It wasn’t hot. It didn’t burn her. It was pleasantly warm, like a blanket just pulled out of the dryer.