Chapter 16 Emanation The Offering
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EMANATION: THE OFFERING
The Bleeder comes for me after dinner. Maybe it makes me smell better—a full belly and an entire bottle of water gulped down to plump my veins.
Cole stands, and Manni touches his shoulder, keeping him from following me. An ache constricts my throat at the tears welling in his eyes. I look away, nodding to Manni, who smiles back. Emily can’t look me in the eye, and Jax just watches the Bleeder, eyes stormy and his jaw locked.
I’m led down a warmly lit hallway that sharply contrasts with the whitewashed corridors and fluorescent lighting I’m used to. At the end, drenched in what appears to be paint or the bloody remnants left by those who passed through, is a red door.
No one mentioned a red door.
Although I suppose no one has returned to speak of it.
Is this my end?
The Bleeder opens the door and says, “Make your offering.”
I look into the red-lit room, my hands balling into fists at my side. With a deep breath, I enter.
The door clicks shut behind me, and a ringing in my ear sharpens in the silent darkness. The room is completely cloaked in red, with a bed positioned like an altar.
Nothing else in the room matters now. I don’t bother to look around, my surroundings dissolving into shadows and jagged edges while I fix my gaze on the king-sized bed draped in silken red sheets.
I creep closer, trembling at the sight of the green dress splayed out on the bed. Picking it up, I find it’s made of silk and is luxuriously smooth to the touch. My frown deepens as I suspect this is what the Bleeder meant by my offering.
My hands shake as I strip off my gown and slip into the green dress. I wonder if this is part of their twisted ritual, and if I do it wrong, the nightwalker will simply kill me.
The green dress is puffed at the shoulders before tightening down my arms to my hands. A suffocating sensation constricts my bust in the black buckled corset, then the dress flares down like the gown I wore the day I met my Blessed.
I don’t have time for nightmares. Remember Jax’s instructions.
I rest on the silken bed that’s far too lavish—even for the Praised—and I stare up at the vent above me.
There are rumours about this room. Some say the vent entry point is so the nightwalker can instil fear in the Feeder.
Others say this vent is connected to an intricate tunnel system below, allowing nightwalkers to travel here from the Undercity.
I suppose tonight is the night I find out.
With my neck exposed, I wait, resting my hands flat on my stomach. The hard shell of the buttons on the gown feels so different. I explore the smoothness, running my fingertips over the tiny threads woven through the holes in the centre, looping from one to another to secure it in place.
I take a deep breath, tasting the sharpness of the bleach used to mask the scent of stale blood. As I breathe out, the air catches in my throat like sludge.
The vent swings open.
The nightwalker is agile, bleeding like a droplet from a loose faucet in the darkness. They land on the bed.
I close my eyes and bite my bottom lip as their silhouette sharpens. I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to give this nightwalker even the faintest reason to do more than bite my neck.
With a rip, the buttons on my dress pop open.
I wince at the clinking noise as they hit the tiled floor.
Fabric remnants and a frigid chill sink into my flesh like the fangs of a venomous snake.
My chest lies exposed. Panic courses through me as the nightwalker’s finger brushes against the softness of my breast and teases my nipple, pinching at the piercing and—
My body moves before my mind knows what’s happening. I snap my arm out, knocking the nightwalker’s hand away from my breast, but the nightwalker grabs my wrist, then the other, and they are suddenly pinned above me.
I suck in a breath, and my eyes fly open to stare into deathly dark red eyes.
Emily told me nightwalkers were beautiful. Enchanting creatures of the night that humans couldn’t help but fall in love with. That their mere presence was enough to compel any human to do whatever the nightwalker desired.
But this nightwalker is not beautiful. His flaccid skin makes the predator appear decayed. Loose and sagging, his skin hangs from his face like draped leather over hollow, weakened bones.
Starved. The nightwalker looks starved.
Desperate eyes stare intently at my neck. Saliva, thick and stringy, drips from pointed fangs as the nightwalker becomes fixated on my thumping artery while I thrash beneath him.
He is like fucking stone!
No. More than stone. An impenetrable, unyielding force of fucking nature. A mountain, while I am a mere leaf on the wind.
“You smell so rich,” he moans, sounding as though he just came in his fucking pants.
He leans towards my chest. A long, stiff, icy tongue slides between my breasts, and he groans as he uses his knees to force my legs apart.
“Get the fuck off me!” I scream, sending saliva spitting across his face.
The nightwalker stares at me without blinking. I use the heels of my feet to push myself up, but the silken bedsheets offer little grip, and I slip as if I were that thirteen-year-old girl who danced ballet on tiles instead of sprung hardwood.
Jax told me to do nothing, but I cannot. I would rather fucking have my neck snapped by this nightwalker than be defiled again.
Dark eyes suddenly lift from my neck to meet my gaze. Whatever defiance I possessed is paralysed. My body is firmly pinned to the bed, and the determination of a moment ago is completely numbed.
He smirks cruelly, wrinkles overlapping as he savours my inability to summon any strength.
“You’re a fighter.” His tongue traces a vile line along my tightly clamped lips.
“I haven’t had a fighter in a while. The last one thought willing sex would keep her alive.
Silly little human.” He shifts to grasp my hands in one of his.
“And the one before said he would become my personal Feeder if I let him live, but I know this place well enough to know they won’t let any of you go. ”
My jaw locks as the nightwalker pushes his tongue between my lips and along my clenched teeth.
When I seethe, he grinds his hips against me and laughs at my defiance.
“Can I tell you something?” He moves his hand between us.
A tear slips from the corner of my eye as another button pops from the dress.
“Nightwalkers can’t fuck unless we’re drinking the blood of a human.
” The sound of a zipper prickles my ears.
“You see, your blood excites us. Nightwalkers crave it—long for it—as it’s the only time we truly feel alive. ”
This creature believes I am wholly human. Either there is no intelligent life in his head, or my glamour is stronger than I thought.
The nightwalker roughly lifts my gown and yanks down my underwear. With a swift tug, he snaps the threads until they break. Afterwards, he leans towards my neck and breathes in deeply. “Hellsgate, your blood smells sweeter than the others. A fine, rich wine.”
A tongue as cold and violent as a blade prises my lips apart. As he deepens the kiss and his eyes fall shut, I clamp down hard.
Rotten, rusty blood fills my mouth as my fangs pierce him so fucking thoroughly that when he pulls away, a piece of his tongue remains in my mouth. Blood trickles down his jaw, and as he stares in bewilderment at the sludge pooling in his hands, the nightwalker becomes little more than a weak man.
With all my strength, I haul my body over and off the bed, landing on black tiles splashed with sticky red.
Spitting out his tongue, I push up from the ground and turn towards the door, when an icy hand grabs my ankle and drags me back.
Slamming back to the ground on my stomach, I claw at the tiles, my fingers scraping and finding purchase in a groove, only to slip as I’m dragged backwards.
He fists my hair and pulls me to my knees. A forceful hand lifts my gown while the other bends my head so far to the right that it cracks as he exposes my neck. My eyes widen, and my breath becomes rapid as his fangs inch closer to my skin, about to pierce the black ink of my tattoo and flesh.
I let out a guttural scream before falling forward and landing on my hands and knees. An icy shiver courses through my body, and the curtain of hair veiling my face as tears fall reminds me that I still possess parts of myself, that I can survive this.
He is no longer touching me. Only an eerie silence remains, occasionally broken by the faint sound of my tears hitting the tiles.
The nightwalker is toying with me. It’s what they do.
Soulless monsters that play with their food.
Taking pleasure in screams, only to leave us gasping when the blood flows as they siphon our lives away.
To him, I am simply something that bleeds.
With my eyes screwed shut, I press my fingers into the tiles until they start to tingle. I want to rise and stand against my enemy, but my body protests, my joints immobile.
Fuck. Why aren’t my powers—
A foreign warmth presses against my shoulders. Opening my eyes, I touch the warmth, and my fingers curl around silk. With it, courage flows through me, allowing me to turn my head.
A headless body lies near my tucked feet, age melting the remains. The nightwalker’s head is a few feet away, and flakes of ash from decaying bones peel away from his shocked expression.
It mirrors mine.
My gaze shifts to the bed. Blood trickles down the silk, pooling on the tiles below. Against the edge of the bed, shadows peel away from the flickering red light. From the depths of the darkness, vibrant red eyes watch me with intense focus.
Who the fuck is this?
“Are you wounded?” the darkness inquires. His voice is low and gravelly. Alluring. He must be a nightwalker, as I immediately feel a pull that makes me want to love him.