Chapter 41 The Poisoner
THE POISONER
Four men were bound on the floor of my lab, tied and naked.
The men were on their knees, bent over until their noses nearly touched the floor.
Their arms were straight by their side, tied to their ankles.
At the same time, their legs were in a bent position to negate the possibility of getting up, with an extra knot securing their legs to their torso.
The knots and position allowed for easier blood flow, as I did not want to harm them yet.
I needed them alive to collect. Phoebe had figured out after some experimentation with ropes that this was the easiest position to collect saliva.
While the image was no longer shocking to me, I was familiar enough to appreciate them properly now. Their tired bodies were bathed in the purity of dawn, unworthy of such beautiful lighting.
Their mouths were held open by a mouth prop, typically used for holding a patient’s mouth open during surgery or dentistry. Today they were used for a similar purpose, but the procedure was less complicated.
On the floor in front of their faces was a metal bowl to collect their saliva. All I had to do was spray their mouths every once in a while with a perfume bottle full of water and keep a close eye.
I knelt down before one of the specimens, lifting his head by my grip on his hair.
His eyes were dark and sagged from discomfort.
The prop holding his mouth open was making the skin around his lips turn pale and dry.
I gathered the glass perfume bottle and sprayed water directly to the back of his throat.
“Swallow,” I demanded.
The subject flinched and tried his very best to let the water go down without inhaling it. The same was repeated for the others.
A steady throbbing in my temple had begun, a slight thrum. My eyelids were heavy and puffy. Each breath felt like some extra labor. My day of rest was anything but. Nevertheless, work needed to be done.
“You have always been so creative.”
I spun quickly to face the dark and elusive man leaning against the doorframe.
“Would you like me to give you a personal demonstration? Don’t slither around like that,” I warned.
“If it means that I will end up like them—” Luka tilted his head toward the men on the floor, a slow smile making a dimple appear on his cheek, “actually, I would not mind it.”
“That is because you are a freak.”
“Says the woman who left thousands of teeth as a gift.”
“It was not a gift; it was a warning.”
“Is this how you get it? The teeth? The venom?”
I neglected to answer and turned to my workbench, beginning to gather the glasses and filing them on the cabinet beside the table. Not once did I turn my back to him in the time I pretended to look busy.
“I didn’t come to visit to be pleasant.”
“When are you ever?” I sneered.
“Alina.” His voice wavered. “Can we put aside our differences?”
“What differences? I’m fine with the arrangement as it is.”
“I want to eat.”
“You have one rule.”
“It’s unfair!” he snapped, slapping his hand on the edge of the table.
I paused, slowly looking up at him. “You are worried about fair?”
“I have bent over backward for you and your insufferable behavior. I’ve let myself become the sack you kick when you’re frustrated.”
“Is that not what you deserve?”
“It may be, but it is unproductive. When will you just admit that you need my help since Silas is entirely delusional with no knack for leadership? He doesn’t know what it’s like out there. We do.”
“We?”
“You’ve seen what it’s like out there. How these jokes of Nests function, how they act. Without any sort of order, a free-for-all is the last thing we need. You and all your girls are in danger if they suddenly decide they don’t want their food dictating the rules.”
“Hold your tongue before I let my shears do that for you,” I snapped.
Luka stepped forward, his shadow casting over me.
I refused to look his way, his shadow cast over the glasses as I handled them.
Then, a thud, and a hand on my calf.
I glanced down at Luka.
The view of him on his knees painted an intimate picture of his silent suffering, only now beginning to surface like ink bleeding through a page.
He looked unwell. The waterlines of his eyes were pale, making the skin around his eyes red and tired.
His skin was ashen and missing the tanned warmth he was undeservedly known for.
His hand on my thigh had a slight tremor, an anxious tick.
Not that I cared for his well-being, but he didn’t look like he was in any sort of shape to fight about anything.
The image of him looking this pathetic did brighten my mood, though.
“Alina . . .” He swallowed thickly, his voice a dry rasp. “You need my help.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
“Proshu,” he pleaded, looking as if keeping eye contact visibly pained him. “I need to eat. I’ll . . . do anything. Name it and it’s done. I don’t want to be your enemy.”
“I don’t want anything from you. Not your apologies, not your pleas, certainly not your performance.”
“Alina, you will only get this once.” His hand gripped my leg, his nails digging into my skin, almost enough to make a mark on my skin through my skirt and stocking. “I am begging you. Take out my tongue, break my knees, rip out my fangs monthly if it means we can move on.”
I tapped my foot, crossing my arms.
He moved his hands up my leg, bunching the skirt in his grip, clasping his hands above my knee. “Please, let me eat.” The words whispered against my leg, his eyes staring up at me through his lashes, a starved sort of depravity to them.
I stepped away without warning, and he stumbled forward.
I opened a drawer of the workbench. “You want to make it up to me?” A gleeful hum warmed in the back of my throat, a jump of excitement in the pit of my stomach.
He slowly rose to his feet, wary of the excitement laced in my words.
I plucked a small paper box from the desk, slapping the drawer shut. I stepped to the middle of the room, one slow step at a time. I opened my palm to look at the small box, sliding it open like a matchbox. Dozens of small nails were neatly stacked. I looked over to Luka. “Strip.”
“Pardon?”
“Clothes off.”
“I’m not—”
“Luka.” I shook my head slowly. “You don’t want me to be your trainer.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he glanced awkwardly at the other subjects before undoing his shirt, then his trousers, just the under layer, and then there was nothing left. At least he would have the comfort of not being the only unclothed thing in the room.
Fleetingly, I saw Viktor. Awkward, unsure, modest—but this time it was real.
He shrugged his shirt off those broad shoulders, taking extra time with the buttons before folding it modestly over the chair.
His torso appeared incredibly lean, the fibers of muscle rippling subtly under the skin.
A lethal build is of no use when malnourished and dehydrated, I suppose.
He turned his body away from me.
Isn’t fun being on the receiving end, is it?
I tipped my palm and let the small nails chime as they reached the floor, in a small, scattered pile.
The noise made him look over his shoulder, delaying his putting his trousers and undergarments neatly with his shirt.
“Come,” I said, no inflection, void of any emotion.
Luka knew what it meant, but he didn’t fight it. He knew why this was happening. It was only fair.
He took each step carefully, meeting me at the center of the room, awkwardly covering himself. He raised his chin in the air, with one last puff of dignity, of defiance.
When our eyes met, it was like a fire was alight within me, burning deep in my core, enough where I swore the smoke would cloud my vision. The rage, the excitement, my heart beating so fast. Restitution; something very few women gain.
My entire reason for poisoning in the first place.
My natural purpose.
I couldn’t help a sarcastic smile. “Kneel, Luka.”
Without so much as even a huff of disapproval, he lowered himself steadily to his knees, only wincing once he put his full weight on the nails digging into his skin.
He never once broke eye contact with me.
The determination was almost admirable. Unwilling to contribute to my pleasure, but willing to do what needed to be done.
The view could be better. I stepped back, reaching for my broom.
“I trust you still remember the rules.” I smoothed my hand over the wood, stepping to the side of him and leaning by his ear. “For your sake, I hope you do.”
He didn’t answer; he was determined to see it through.
His eyes barely regarded me. He was positioned straight on his knees, the skin around the edges dark from the blood.
He was fixated on the small window, I assume the one with the small crack in the ninth panel, the one with an old web collecting dust beside it.
A couple of dead flies rested on the sill.
I stepped back to grab my chair, letting it shriek against the floor as I dragged it to sit leisurely beside him, facing his profile. He was nice like this, still and quiet.
With the broom against my lap, I waited.
Soon, he leaned back.
Thwap!
The wood end of the broken broom came down on the back of his thighs.
He flinched, but not as much as I had hoped.
Thwap!
“I wasn’t leaning,” he growled through clenched teeth.
“Oh, you weren’t? Apologies.” I hit his front this time, and he nearly keeled over.
I stood, clutching the wood tightly in my hands. I wanted him to give me a reason. Just one reason to beat him until I couldn’t lift my limbs for the final strike. But I refrained. I wanted to know how long he would entertain me. How long I could play with my prey.
I slowly stepped behind him, glowering over him. My knuckles were white from just the grip on the handle.
As I looked closer, I saw a slight tremor in his legs, a small twitch of his head. If he could take any more, it wouldn’t be for long.
I tapped the right trapezius, then the left, then hovered the blunt end just a hair above his spine, all the way down. I know he could feel it, all too aware of where it was, the possibilities, the déjà vu.
I moved finally, circling to the front.
One would think that having a traitor in such a position would bring nothing but elation.
It is a natural instinct to want those who have subjugated you to suffer, to feel the pain you once harbored deep within your bones.
I looked at him now, and the power in my grasp was strong enough to make my very soul clamor.
Yet a puny mustard seed of sorrow was implanted deep within.
I used to see this man as a friend. I believed it with all my heart.
Despite my age, those years ago, a girlish wonder was alight the minute someone paid attention, truly took inventory of my person, acknowledged my mind over matter, and did not expect anything from me in return.
He was my laboratory partner, a peer, a friend.
It was my own stubbornness that kept me from letting him in again, I know that, but among his faults—he was right.
If I want to reach my aspirations, I need someone who knows the belly of the beast as well as his own appetites.
I can’t make it in their world without a professional.
The only question remaining was—will he yield?
“How do you test a dog’s obedience?” I hummed. “As a trainer, you have to be absolutely certain that they know they’ll never bend the rules again.”
Luka was silent.
“Look at me.”
He glanced up, glaring with a tense brow.
“Open your mouth.”
A spark in his eyes told me the request threw him, but he hesitantly opened.
“I’ve learned a lot about Vipera in my time here.
” I pinched his jaw, tilting it up. “I never expected vermin like you to be useful.” I laughed, feeling the roof of his mouth and pulling a fang forward, putting pressure on it once it was fully extended, watching the muscles of the gum stretch to accommodate.
“I could be rid of you now. According to legend, you are unattached. Now you have no Nest, no family, no kin. You see, you may think you are clever for figuring out the bit about my father, but I did some research on you, as well, in recent years.” I paused, pulling harshly on the large fang.
“Did you use venom on those orphans, or did you withhold that kindness from them, too?”
He flinched and tore his face away. “They don’t love you,” he spat.
A slow smirk rose across my lips. “Oh? Have you reached your limit, Luka?”
“They only follow you out of fear,” he spat, venom lacing his words. “You spin webs around them and pull the strings; eventually, you’ll pull too hard, and they’ll suffocate under you.”
I lowered myself forward, pinching my skirts neatly so I could see him eye to eye, “Did you know that a certain species of spider will eat her own kind, her kin, even her mates, to make sure she survives?”
Luka’s jaw ticked, staring with exhausted and strained eyes, the whites turning black, and a single drip of blood tearing down his cheek.
I cupped his cheek, smearing the blood across it, touching along the jagged scar. A gentle smile settled to accompany my words. “The arachnid doesn’t have to suffocate her prey for them to know she is dangerous; they need only believe she is venomous.”
I pulled a long hairpin from my hair and dragged it across my palm.
His eyes widened when I flicked my hand, splattering red across his face like throwing pennies for a beggar. “That is the last of my blood that you will taste. The next drop may be accompanied by your own.”