Chapter 26 Prince Sloth #2
In one vision I administered hours of sadistic torture to whoever had harmed Lore, mentally rehearsing step by step the extraction of pain I’d employ. Each joint and tendon would become a target in a surgical procedure of vengeance.
No methods of violence were off-limits; restraints, medical implements, and weapons, horribly successful techniques I’d gleaned from case studies and forensic texts I’d read, the sorts of cruelty I’d once dismissed as the purview of lesser men.
I would have her back unharmed, or I would make this realm pay in blood.
I inhaled and let my breath out with practiced calm.
My emotions were clearly being stoked by the Book of Nightmares; the tattoo ink glowed as it burned on my chest and in my veins.
But even being aware of that fact, I couldn’t extinguish the simmering wrath I felt each time I imagined Lore being hurt and alone.
It was primal, unhinged. And utterly foreign to me.
For once, instead of holding back, I unleashed myself.
I gave in fully to the dark fantasies plaguing me, letting my mind race with more twisted visions of vengeance. There was no scenario I dreamed up where I didn’t become the monster required to unmake a monster.
If anyone so much as touched a hair on the dreamweaver’s head, I would be the worst nightmare this realm had ever known.
I forced myself to breathe, to remember the rules I lived by.
Observe first, then act.
Behaving impulsively would only make things worse or tip my hand before I could plot the best path forward.
It took several moments, but I finally reined in my emotions, feeling the last vestiges of the dark magic release me.
My tattoo stopped burning and the ink slowly faded to a normal gold instead of the blazing glow it had been giving off through my tunic.
Gods-damned Liber Noctem. By the time the Trials ended I would intimately know each of my rival courts’ sins.
I breathed in again, probing the air for subtler clues surrounding Lore and her companion. There was no evidence of violence, no traces of the coppery tang of blood or the telltale sourness of fear or sweat.
Lore hadn’t run, nor had she fought the male.
Her scent was steady, the emotional undertones neutral.
Which meant whoever this male was, whatever his purpose, he hadn’t frightened her—at least not yet. I almost swore I scented a hint of annoyance lingering, but it was too faint to be certain.
The absence of blood should have been reassuring, but it made the situation more ambiguous, more dangerous. Lore might have gone willingly with him.
And that… that disturbed me more than it should.
My mind reeled, spinning out different possibilities.
A new fictional crush? Another gods-forsaken shifter with dimples?
I halted myself there. That was skirting the line of jealousy far too closely and I refused to be influenced by my brother Envy’s sin.
I calmed myself and focused. If not another character from her dreams, who would she have come across? A vampire, a recluse…
Or, worst of all, a predator from Nyantha’s twisted world?
That thought made me want to lash out, but I channeled that energy into action instead, lengthening my stride, recalibrating my hunt.
Some of the icy rage dulled a fraction, replaced by a determination that felt as old as time. There was nothing for me to do but to follow Lore’s scent, track it to its source, and deal with whatever waited at the end.
If I had to fight my way to her, so be it.
With newfound purpose, I pushed onward, my boots sinking slightly into the soft earth as the sound of rushing water greeted me through the trees.
The air carried the scent of wet leaves and moss along with Lore’s fragrance.
I reached the stream, the water gurgling over smooth stones, and noticed fresh boot prints pressed into the mud.
The edges were still sharp and defined, which suggested they hadn’t been left that long ago—perhaps just an hour or two at the most.
Some of my tension eased. My senses hadn’t deceived me.
Lore had been here and she was able to walk on her own. It was a victory worth celebrating.
We’d both survived the sea monster attack and capsized pirate ship, battered but breathing. Everything else we could deal with.
I continued to hike along the narrow, winding path through the dense forest, relieved to find Lore’s scent growing stronger.
I pushed aside a low-hanging branch and spotted a few broken twigs on the towering oak tree.
A faint smile crept onto my lips. Lore was clever. It seemed she’d been trying to leave a trail for me, subtle but unmistakable.
Knowing her, she probably pretended to trip and catch herself on the oak.
I moved with long, confident strides, ready to close the distance.
It shouldn’t be too much longer now.
Several moments later, an unsettling sensation crept over me.
Fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a prickle between my shoulder blades signaled the presence of something tracking my every move.
I refused to turn, not wanting to let whatever it was know I’d sensed it.
I subtly scanned the undergrowth on either side of me, my gaze sliding off shadows that seemed to thicken the deeper into the woods I traveled.
A new scent drifted on the air, different from Lore and her companion—or more likely, her captor.
The odor held a familiar yet foreign combination of scents: the sour stench of rotting leaves, the bitter tang that collected in an old root cellar, and the sickly-sweet top note that signaled a body left out in the elements.
It was the unmistakable scent of decay.
Death was stalking me.
I should have known it wouldn’t be easy. I braced myself for the telltale signs of the Book of Nightmares’ dark power to seep in next.
I maintained an even pace, deliberately unhurried, my senses attuned to any subtle hints that might reveal how many adversaries I was about to face off against.
As I continued down the path, I felt it again, closer this time, the pressure of a cold, malevolent stare pressing against the base of my neck.
Whatever they were—vampires or some other nightmare creatures inhabiting this cursed realm—they moved on near-silent feet. The faint susurration of the foliage they passed was the only hint at their numbers.
I approached the next bend in the forest trail and smoothly dropped to a crouch, feigning the need to tie the laces on my boots.
Most predators couldn’t resist easy prey.
I’d only just started silently counting when they lunged, swift and fierce like shadows come to life.
I spun around, my weapon poised for action, and stabbed my attackers with precision, taking one down instantly from the surprise burst of violence.
I drove my blade up and through its bony chest, piercing its unbeating heart in a clean motion, then wrenched my weapon out.
Unlike in fictional tales, the vampire didn’t burst into flames or disintegrate into ash. Instead, it crumpled to the ground, its limbs folding awkwardly beneath it.
It lay there in a motionless heap, the eerie red glow of its eyes fading into a dull, lifeless gray.
Black blood dripped from the tip of my dagger and splattered onto fallen leaves, the scent foul and pungent, as I took in my remaining opponents.
A dozen miniature vampires hissed at me like a disturbed nest of vipers.
Their faces twisted into a seething rage as they flexed their claw-tipped fingers toward me. Their talons were as bone white as the rest of their bodies.
Kensington had called them specters. Now I knew why.
Ghostly white skin and hair contrasted starkly with the dark foliage, and their piercing red eyes shone with an insatiable hunger aimed solely at me.
I wondered if they were more of a Somnia creature rather than something inspired by the original book. They seemed like they’d been born of nightmares.
These were not even close to the vampires I knew from Malice Isle, the outwardly refined Underworld royals and nobles who were human in appearance, except for their crimson eyes and thirst for blood.
These smaller cousins were more animal in nature, seeming to act solely on their baser instincts. They didn’t speak aside from the hissing and deep growls.
Which meant there would be no reasoning with them or threats I could make that would give them pause.
My wound from the sea monster attack probably drew them. Along with the assistance of the dark book. I swore I felt a faint echo of its power skirting the edges of the forest. It was hunting me along with these creatures.
For someone with such a sunny disposition, Lore certainly read a lot of dark fiction. It wouldn’t kill her to read some poetry once in a while.
If we made it out of this cursed story alive, I would pen her letters every day myself. The least useful documents of all.
I widened my stance and prepared for the onslaught.
The nightmare vampires clocked my fighting position, and as though a silent command filtered through their ranks, they lunged at me in unison.