Chapter 31 Sepulchre
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
SEPULCHRE
They say death is like falling into a dream. Serene. Even rotting and sinking into the earth to help something grow might feel otherworldly.
But what about rebirth?
I inhale, and a constricting ache settles in my throat, tightening as I exhale. I take another breath, and it sets my chest ablaze. After the third breath, my muscles start to ease, and I cough up dirt.
I am in a box. And it’s not a particularly wide box, granting me only a few inches of wiggle room on all sides, and about a foot from my face to the top. In the confined space, panic twists within me as I remember the times I was sent to the confession room.
The room itself was already small and cramped, and I’d be confined within a small dark box inside it. Once, I sat in the box while the elder tried to compel me to confess that I had looked at a man in a way that I shouldn’t.
So, I confessed that I like to imagine looking at my Blessed’s severed head in my hands.
I liked those thoughts.
Saya, stop. You need to get the fuck out of here!
With a shake of my head, I press my palms to the wood above me and push. Soil trickles through cracks as the box groans and splits like the fractured old bark of an oak tree.
“Shit.” I lower my hands and stay still until the creaking of the wood ceases, and I’m no closer to escape.
I sigh and close my eyes, collecting my thoughts.
I will rot down here if I do nothing. It doesn’t seem like this wood is meant to last. Was that intentional?
Did the nightwalker leave me in here to break through?
It had to be the nightwalker. Who else would it be? Jax?
Anger burns at the thought of Jax. He left Cole to die.
Love and hate walk a fine line—a reminder that the bridge we built was merely a parapet above a storm-tossed sea.
What we had was a lie. Every time I expressed how much Cole meant to me, Jax didn’t really care.
The promises he made were simply pretences to keep me happy.
To keep me under his control.
To keep me.
With an outraged yell, I slam my fist into the wood, splintering the panelling and burying my fist in the earth above. As I pull my arm out, soft, damp soil spills onto my stomach and starts to fill the box.
“Fuck!” I press my hands against the hole, and dirt still slips through the cracks and sprinkles across my chest. “I can’t do this!”
I screw my eyes shut, desperately trying to come up with a solution to being fucking buried alive, when I hear something. It’s a long-forgotten sound, but there it is.
Music.
Someone is waiting for me.
“Don’t make me wait long.”
I open my eyes and clench my jaw. My fingers curl around the edge of a broken panel, and I pull, snapping it apart.
More dirt bursts free, enveloping my body until only my head is uncovered.
My hands frantically sink into the mulch above, reminding me of the times I played in the garden with my feet sinking into the soil.
It’s fresh, loose soil, soft and nurtured by gentle hands, yet now it threatens to suffocate me.
Dirt coats my face, and with a final breath, I use my hands to scoop and push the soil down, crawling upward. Panic overwhelms me amidst the unexpected cacophony of sound as insects and other scurrying creatures move through the earth.
Past the sounds, my heart pounds against my ribcage, as though it’s trying to break through skin and bone.
Something small crawls into my ear, and I shudder at the twinge of an itch I long to scratch.
I let out a whimper, and soil fills my mouth, the earthy particles lodging in my gums and between my teeth.
I close my eyes, and my movements grow more frantic.
Kicking my feet beneath me urgently, I’m no longer sure which direction I’m moving. Maybe I’m burying myself deeper.
The throbbing ache in my bones surges as I reach up, and my fingers break free from the soil. With every bit of strength I can muster, I slam my hand into the earth, fingers digging into the dirt as I pull myself up.
My face breaks free, and the air trapped in my lungs erupts in fits of coughs as I spit out soil.
My cries fade, engulfed by the captivating sound of a harp.
Tears stream freely now, tracking lines of mud down my face, and I burn with frustration as I haul myself the rest of the way out and onto my knees.
Scratches carve across my body from the thorns, roots, and sharp rocks I swam through. I lean forward, resting my forehead on the mound of overturned dirt. White hair cascades over my shoulders, and as I run my fingers through the tips, I hear a throat clear.
I sit up to find three nightwalkers standing before me, their red eyes glowing in the night.
On the left is a pale-haired nightwalker with a long face, a hooked nose, beady eyes, and a sharp jaw.
He scans his black-painted fingernails with a disinterested expression, his white suit embellished with golden embroidered wolves glinting in the moonlight.
In the middle is a woman with dark skin, short black hair, piercing eyes, and vibrant red lipstick.
She is clothed in a long, black silk dress that hugs her soft, full curves, with a shimmering spider design that cascades down to her heeled boots.
When she catches me staring at her, she tips her red fedora with a smile.
“Kamai.” The nightwalker on the right. Dark circles rest beneath his crimson eyes, while even darker hair falls forward, casting a shadow over his face.
He is tall—the tallest of the three.
This nightwalker wears a black suit jacket that hangs from his shoulders, and the same frill-collared shirt I last saw him in, tucked into black pants.
Beauty isn’t a word I would use to describe him.
It simply fails to capture the perfection of this cold-hearted killer.
When his gaze locks on mine, something primal stirs within me, making my cold blood run thick with anticipation.
With undeniable hunger.
“Music often lures the easiest prey,” he says, and I flinch as he moves past the other two.
He leans closer, his crimson eyes on my neck.
“Or frightens the more skittish creatures.” He reaches out to touch me, but I shuffle back and slide down the mound of dirt behind me.
A hint of a smile settles on his face, and as he straightens, shadows cling to his shoulders. “I wonder, kamai. Which are you?”
My brow twitches. With a sudden flash of anger, ribbons the colour of moonlight break from the dirt, wrapping around the nightwalker’s wrists and pinning them above his head. Red eyes look on without concern until the other two step forward, and he says, “Suna.”
The other two nightwalkers withdraw, leaving me alone with the one who bit me.
Serun.
Energy pulses in the palm of my hand, and a surge of power rushes out of me at the words, “Ardulgyu prus urot.” A sword of rot materialises in my hand, blooming with red moonflowers, and I press the blade to the side of his throat, breaking the skin.
A delicious fragrance wafts up my nose, and my mouth waters. Nightshade with a hint of lemongrass.
My gums ache, and thirst claws at my throat, the desiccation working its way deeper the closer I draw to him. Whatever heart I have left beats erratically at the memory of his blood flowing into me.
“Thirsty, Saya?” he says, the sound closer than expected. Even tied up, my ribbons holding him in place, it’s not his actions that become tangled, but mine. My mouth brushes his, and an undeniable lust burns to the surface.
Closing my eyes, I breathe, “Look at you, nightwalker. Prey caught in a dove’s nest.”
Serun’s lips trace a path across mine. “What if my intention was to be caught?”
Opening my eyes, my focus catches on his lips, and I move. Our mouths press together, and heat flares, like kindling right before it catches alight. I open wider, and he does the same, matching my rhythm.
Here, I am in control.
His tongue glides like liquid metal across mine, and a hungry rumble begins in his throat. A whimpering moan escapes me before I capture his bottom lip and bite down, tasting him. After a final slow lick, I suck in a sharp breath and thrust my blade into his chest.
Serun grunts, and as I step away, I watch as blood inks a wet path around the protruding blade. Those crimson eyes soften as he looks at me, and says, “Your not-lover has a way with words, I see.”
My eyes narrow as I take another step back. “It’s nothing personal, Serun, Lord of the Undercity. I just need you to die to know if this curse I was born with will break.”
With a sigh, he nods behind me and smirks. My ear twitches, and as I turn, my heart sinks. Serun stands there unharmed, head tilted and crimson eyes crinkling with amusement.
I turn back to the nightwalker I stabbed, and my jaw locks as darkness melts away, falling like ash, and the blade drops.
An illusion.
“You were never really there?” I ask as I face him. The urge to kill him is still palpable, but my powers waver, and my blade shatters into sparkling dust.
Shit, using my vegodian powers is still new to me. They come alive with anger, but fade too quickly.
“Part of me was,” he admits. In a blink, he is gone, and I whirl around to find him behind me. “But part of me also knew your intentions the moment your mouth found mine.”
“What do you want from me?” I demand. Serun breaks away into shadows, a low chuckle of amusement stirring in the air as he appears behind me yet again. “Am I a game to you?”
An icy chill burns the bite mark on my neck. As I rest my hand against it and turn, my heart stirs at the sight of him standing before me, his pointed ears pulled back and his softened eyes on mine. “All I want is for you to accept who you are. All parts light and dark. The moon and the night.”
My eyes narrow, and my lip curls in disdain. “Then I hope you’re ready for disappointment, because I decide who I am. How can my brother ever accept me without my glamour? All he will see is a monster.”
Serun raises his hand, and instead of pulling away, I stand my ground as he touches my cheek and his thumb brushes along the dirt streaking my face. “You are perfect, consort.”
My eyes narrow further. “What does that mean?” I say as I push his hand away from my cheek. “Is it Daryun?”
Serun’s eyes widen a fraction, and he breathes a laugh as he steps away. “It means wife, Saya. You are my wife.”
I shake my head violently. “No. I’m not.”
He gestures towards me. “You tasted my blood, and I tasted yours.”
With a touch at my neck, I say, “That was days ago. It should have…”
The memory of my finger in his mouth surfaces, and I hiss out a shallow breath. “You tricked me!”
Serun’s crimson eyes glimmer as he smirks. “Nightwalkers have a liar’s tongue. I said that at the very beginning, no?”
With a deep breath in and out to expel my anger, I storm towards him, but iron bars materialise in front of me, wisps of shadows rising from the metal. I step back and spin around, only to find myself trapped like a bird.
I’m in a fucking bird cage.
The cage moves, and my legs buckle, so I grip onto the bars. It’s rising.
“Serun!” I shout, looking down at him as he makes his way to a lone door that has suddenly appeared from the ground. “Serun, let me out!”
He stops and turns as the door slides open, and fierce red eyes shimmer when they connect with mine. “This is my world, and until you accept that I am not your enemy, you will merely be living in it.”
I grip the cold bars tighter and scream, “Serun!”
Shadows break away from his body, and as he steps through the door and it closes behind him, darkness smothers me. The higher I go, all that is left are harsh breaths as I try in vain to find a way to escape this damn cage.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Slipping my arm through the bars, I feel around for some kind of latch—there must be something I can do. With my vegodian powers untapped, I need to—
“I smell a human…”
I freeze. Looking up, a vibrant set of red eyes meets mine in the dark. As more glowing eyes come into view, I see they are in cages just like me—dozens of them.
Waiting.
Watching.
Hungry.