Chapter 21 Olivia #3
More laughter. More anticipation.
A dark, twisting sensation coiled in my stomach.
This was not going to be good.
“As you all know,” Raul bellowed, his voice ringing through the ballroom, “the society I belong to is dedicated to rooting out the threats to our world. The Timebounds and the Timebornes.”
Gooseflesh erupted across my skin. Sweat prickled at my forehead.
Shit.
Raul pumped his fist into the air. “We will destroy them! We will protect you!”
The audience erupted, a cacophony of cheers, whoops, and applause.
“Bring in the entertainment!” Raul shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth.
Several fire dancers pranced onto the stage, twirling batons engulfed in flames, creating an ominous backdrop of flickering fire. The heat rippled through the air, warping the space behind them.
Then, two guards emerged, dragging a man and a woman between them.
Both captives had black bags covering their heads. Both were naked, their hands bound cruelly behind their backs.
Bile shot up the back of my throat.
Raul’s voice rang with amusement. “Remember, everyone—these two are actors! This is just a show demonstrating how we keep you safe.”
The guards yanked the captives forward and shoved them onto the stage.
The woman crumpled to her knees. The man staggered but barely managed to stay upright.
Raul reached down and ripped the bag from the woman’s head.
Her mask was askew, a rag stuffed into her mouth. But nothing could mask the sheer terror in her eyes.
“They’re not actors,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the flames.
Roman tightened his arms around me.
“This is real,” I choked out. “This is as real as it gets.”
A sickening dizziness overtook me as the ground beneath my feet crumbled away.
The woman made a muffled, keening sound.
Raul gave a satisfied nod to the nearest guard, who swiftly sliced through the bindings at the woman’s wrists and tore the rag from her mouth.
She sucked in a breath—then let out an ear-piercing scream.
At that exact moment, the fire dancers unleashed streams of fire from their mouths, the flames licking through the air like serpents.
“What a performance!” Raul exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. “Isn’t she wonderful?”
The crowd erupted into applause, cheering, “Brava! Brava!”
Raul reached down and ripped her mask away.
Tears streamed down her face, her wails growing frantic. “Please! Please don’t hurt me! I’ll do anything—just please, don’t hurt me!”
Raul tsked, stroking her arm as if she were some pet. “Child, this is all in good fun.” His voice was almost gentle, a sickening mockery of comfort. Then, with a flick of his wrist, a small knife appeared in his hand.
Before she could beg again, he sliced across her wrist.
Blood welled instantly, spilling in dark rivulets down her arm.
Roman tensed behind me, his breath hot against my ear. “We have to help her.”
“No.” My fingers dug into his arm. “If we try to help, we’ll both be up there.”
Tears burned my eyes, my chest heaving as I watched in helpless horror.
Raul made a small gesture, and a guard stepped forward, presenting a gilded goblet. Without hesitation, Raul positioned the chalice beneath the woman’s bleeding wrist, catching each crimson drop.
“What marvelous sleight of hand!” a man in the audience called out.
“It looks so real!” a woman exclaimed, laughing.
Raul raised the goblet to his lips and drained it in one long gulp. A satisfied groan rumbled from his throat as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The crowd cheered.
I pressed a shaking hand to my mouth, bile rising fast.
The fire dancers seized their batons between their teeth and cartwheeled across the stage, their bodies moving in mesmerizing arcs of flame and shadow.
Then, Raul tossed the goblet into the crowd.
A frenzy erupted as people screamed and scrambled to catch it, clawing at one another as if it were some priceless relic.
I turned to Roman, barely able to choke out the words. “Oh, God, I—I can’t stand this. I think I’m going to be sick.” My mouth flooded with saliva, my stomach twisting violently.
And then, Raul moved behind the woman.
He stroked her damp hair.
Then he fisted a handful of her hair, yanked her head back—
—and slashed her throat.
A wet, gurgling gasp tore from her lips. Blood poured down her chest, her body convulsing—
—and then she collapsed.
The audience cheered.
The fire dancers tossed their flaming batons high into the air, their bodies spinning in effortless precision as they caught them again.
I doubled over. Dry heaves racked my body, but nothing came out except strings of saliva.
Roman’s hand pressed against my back, steady, grounding. “Let’s go,” he murmured. “I don’t care what the rules are. We need to get out of here.”
The moment I straightened, the guards dragged the woman’s limp body offstage, leaving behind a slick smear of crimson.
Raul, grinning like a man who had just sampled fine wine, sauntered toward the remaining prisoner.
“Now,” he declared, “let’s have some more fun, shall we?”
The deafening roar of the crowd drowned out my pounding heartbeat.
Roman tightened his grip on my hand, weaving us through the throng.
Then—
Raul ripped the hood from the prisoner’s head.
Roman stopped short. His entire body went rigid.
“Oh, fuck.” His voice was low, seething. “It’s Tristan. I told that damn fool to stay put.”
My stomach dropped.
Raul sliced through the gag and wrist bindings, stepping back as Tristan stumbled forward.
Still masked, Tristan’s eyes darted frantically around the room before he began thrashing. “I’m not who you think I am! You have the wrong person! Let me go!”
Raul’s smile was pure satisfaction.
“Oh, we have the right person,” he crooned, gesturing lazily. “Just look at the necklace hanging around your throat.”
My breath hitched.
A Timebound necklace.
Tristan froze.
Raul grabbed his arm, yanking it high as if declaring him the victor in some grotesque battle. Then, with that same wicked blade, he slashed Tristan’s inner arm.
A fresh stream of blood spilled down his skin.
A guard wordlessly stepped forward and handed Raul another goblet.
Raul positioned it beneath Tristan’s bleeding wrist, catching every drop with ease.
Tristan’s lips parted—garbled, unintelligible words spilling from him, a mix of pain and panic.
Raul lifted the chalice to his lips—
—and drank.
He smacked his lips, savoring it. “Ah, this one is better than the last.”
Then, he tossed the goblet into the crowd.
Hands clawed for it.
And before the next breath could be drawn—
The entire room plunged into darkness.
The fine hairs on my arms rose as fear swept through me. My grip on Roman’s hand tightened like a lifeline.
Screams and shouts rippled through the crowd, confusion erupting in frantic voices.
Then, when the darkness lifted—
Balthazar stalked toward the stage.
His expression was pure fury, his presence alone enough to make the ground tremble beneath us.
“What the fuck are you doing, Raul?” he bellowed, his voice a thunderclap of rage. “Why is my son on stage while you drink his blood?”
Raul’s face visibly cringed before he schooled himself, straightening his spine. Then, in a ridiculous bravado, he clapped his hands together.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s back in Italy.” His voice dripped with mockery. “It’s been far too long, Lord Balthazar.”
Balthazar sneered. “And you’re the same bloodthirsty vermin as always.” He seized the collar of Raul’s crimson doublet with effortless strength.
Raul jerked back, shaking him off.
A thick silence smothered the once-rowdy crowd. They felt the shift in power, the weight of the danger looming between these two men.
“How interesting,” Raul mused, though sweat glistened along his upper lip, betraying his thinly veiled bravado. “Imagine my luck—catching your son. Destiny, wouldn’t you say? I didn’t even know you had a son.”
Balthazar’s voice dropped into something low, lethal. “I’m going to burn your house to the ground and kill every last Timehunter here.” His words echoed through the chamber, a death sentence spoken without hesitation.
A flicker of unease passed through Raul’s gaze, but he recovered fast. “Who gave birth to this spawn?” he asked, tilting his head. “Was it that bitch Alina?”
The room held its breath.
Balthazar’s expression remained unreadable as he uttered flatly, “I killed Alina.”
Raul flinched—the rare shock cracking through his usual arrogance.
His mouth parted slightly. “You killed her?” He let out a laugh, incredulous. “But I thought you were in love?” His fingers fisted into Tristan’s hair as he dragged him closer. “Yet you killed her?”
Balthazar didn’t so much as blink.
Raul, suddenly grasping for control, edged behind Tristan like a shield. His grip on his hair tightened. “Take another step,” he warned, “and I’ll release the belladonna. Then everyone in this room will suffer.”
Balthazar exhaled through his nose, unbothered. “Childish threats,” he murmured, shaking his head. Then, his voice carried. “How about I spare you and your men the bloodbath? You walk away. You live.” His head tilted slightly. “All you have to do is hand over my son.”
The room stilled.
A wicked sneer curled Raul’s lips. “Why should I? I have your son. You killed mine long ago, so I will destroy yours. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.”
And to prove his words, he carved a blade around Tristan’s eye.
Tristan shrieked, thrashing in agony.
A thunderous roar erupted from Balthazar’s throat, shaking the very air. His hands shot into the air, and the entire villa quaked.
The marble columns splintered, fractures running like veins through the stone before they crumbled entirely.
Flames erupted from the demon’s palms. Exploded outward. Devouring.
The fire leaped across the walls, raced up the curtains, and swallowed the lavish furniture. The heat burned so fiercely that the very air warped.
The audience’s screams were no match for the roar of the inferno.
Panic detonated. People ran, shoved, tripped, and fell into the flames.
The villa became a hellscape.
And in the chaos, Balthazar vanished.
Tristan was gone with him.
Roman grabbed my hand, yanking me toward the exit.
“Run!” he commanded.
I kicked off my shoes, the delicate silk hindering me, and sprinted behind him.
Outside, the cool night air, thick with smoke and screams, hit my face.
A man sat in the driver’s seat of an elegant carriage, horses already restless.
“Roman! Over here!” another man called from inside the coach.
Roman sprinted, yanking the carriage door open and practically throwing me inside. Then, he leaped in after me, slamming the door shut.
I gasped for breath, my pulse hammering. Across from me, a handsome, elegant-looking man studied me, his gaze sharp with curiosity.
“Hi-yah! Hi-yah!” The driver’s whip cracked against the horses’ flanks.
The carriage lurched.
The horses reared.
I screamed, clinging to Roman as the carriage shot forward.
We hurtled down the driveway like a wild stampede, the thunder of hooves drowning out the anguished cries from the burning ruins.
Thick smoke coiled behind us, swallowing the villa in darkness and fire.
The destruction clung to us, an inescapable stain on our souls.
The ghostly screams lingered.
Etched into memory.
Branded into fate.
It seemed impossible that we could recover from this night.
We had left behind nothing but pain. Sorrow. Destruction.
And I had never felt so powerless.