Chapter 35
Emmy sat rigid on the raised dais, the best seat in the house, flanked by Felix and Toby.
Everyone who’d been poisoned was on the dais, everyone else seated in rows on the theater floor — every vampire, shifter, and human in both the silo and the town of Mordnik.
The only people not in attendance were the security personnel keeping watch aboveground and in the control room.
The theater was jam-packed, the air thick with anticipation.
She heard Felix take a shaky breath in and blow it out, and she turned to see him looking at the torture implements hanging near the edge of the stage.
She reached for his hand, gave it a small squeeze, and reminded him, “They deserve everything they’ll get.
They’d have kept going until people died, or until Zander was forced to close the season and send everyone home. ”
Felix nodded, and Toby, on the other side of her, said, “I’m looking forward to seeing them punished. Fuckers didn’t care about the pain they caused us. I see absolutely no reason for us to care about their pain.”
“Exactly,” Emmy agreed, “but this is about more than simple justice, it’s about making an example of them, so no one else will dare harm so much as a hair on the head of someone under Zander’s protection.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Felix said. “I’d have been happy to just hear about it afterward, though.”
“Zander wants us to tell people about it,” Toby said. “Wants this gossiped about for years. Centuries. Longer.”
Security brought two black steel boxes out, and Emmy’s nerves fluttered a little.
Common knowledge about the boxes lived in the realm of vampire myth — spoken of in hushed tones, but no one really knew the true facts.
But Emmy knew everything about them now, because Spence had answered every question she’d asked.
Once strapped into them, movement inside isn’t possible because cuffs are built into them, holding their wrists at their sides, and ankles as far apart as the narrow box allows.
Also a strap over both thighs, hips, chest, and forehead.
When the lid is closed, they’re in complete darkness, and once it’s plugged in, it becomes a Faraday cage that blocks them from getting energy from anyone who belongs to them.
It also blocks any telepathic communication.
In the four days since Vladislav and Svetlana’s capture, they’d withered in there — the time it took the four poisoned reptiles to heal enough to attend the punishment rite.
The men tilted the boxes upright before opening them to reveal Vladislav and Svetlana trapped standing, completely naked, their gaunt faces contorted to show the evil that resided in their souls.
And Emmy didn’t believe for a second that vampires don’t have souls.
Zander strode across the stage, holding a steel collar unlocked and open. He stopped in front of Svetlana and, without ceremony, snapped it around her neck.
Her scream shattered the silence — a raw, guttural wail, as if her soul were being ripped out. Her body convulsed, veins bulging.
Spence had explained the collars, too. Zander had received official permission from both the Concilio and Senatus to kill or enslave these two.
His choice. He was choosing the latter, and the collars were part of it.
Slave drain spells were woven into them, and once on, the majority of the wearer’s power would be directed to his or her owner, currently Zander.
Spence had told her that Zander would also take advantage of this surge to wrap his willpower around theirs, taking away their ability to make decisions different from his orders and wishes.
And he’d said the pain of having it put on would make the new slave feel as if they were dying. The more powerful the vampire, the greater the pain. It would be intense for hours, though they’d feel it as an underlying, painful reminder of their new status for months.
A security guy dressed in black brought a second collar to Zander, who moved to Vladislav and promptly locked it on.
Vladislav clenched his jaw, appearing at first to refuse to show his pain, but he lasted less than two seconds before his screams joined those of his wife in a duet of torment that reverberated through the theater.
Zander was handed a long stick with a cord running to the edge of the stage.
He pressed a button, and the end of it flared red-hot within seconds, drawing a gasp from the crowd.
The electric branding iron made a sizzling sound on Svetlana’s cheek, the crescent moon with a vertical line searing into her flesh, smoke curling up as her skin blistered and blackened.
Her piercing shrieks echoed through the theater, but the fact her head stayed perfectly still was a testament to the control Zander held over her willpower and her body.
He mirrored the branding on Vladislav’s cheek, then shaved a patch on Vladislav’s chest before branding the right side with the same mark, and the stench of burning vampire flesh filled the air.
Svetlana’s turn came again, the iron biting into the top of her right breast, her cry a jagged sob, her fingers and feet jerking, but the rest of her body completely still.
Emmy took a good look at the symbol. Spence had explained it, too — a multi-cultural symbol that denoted the person was a slave. It held roots in the Roman Delta, Viking Thurisaz, and Mesopotamian wedge, and was a symbol that anyone older than a couple of hundred years would immediately recognize.
And now, a whole lot of young supernaturals knew what it meant.
It gave her satisfaction to see them publicly, permanently marked with this ancient symbol.
Attendants unshackled them from the boxes, put cuffs on their wrists, and hoisted them from chains dangling from the ceiling, their feet inches above the stage, bodies swaying like broken dolls.
Zander continued with the device, branding each of their asses and both forearms, each press a symphony of sizzles and screams.
Finally, he turned to the audience and spoke with power that made his voice boom unnaturally, like distant thunder reverberating off mountains, and goosebumps rose on Emmy’s flesh.
“In a rare instance of both the Concilio and Senatus agreeing with each other, I have authorization from both to make these two permanent slaves with no hope of release. This means the branding iron is a silver alloy, and they will live with the marks I’ve placed on them for the rest of their miserable existence.
The marks can be seen from any angle one views them, so there will never be any doubt of what they are. ”
The crowd murmured, and whether they approved of his actions or not, the weight of his authority was unquestionable.
He looked to the side of the stage and then back to the audience. “And now, I hand them over to Kendra, who will handle the public portion of their punishment. Let all who might consider harming one of mine take note.”
A massive screen to the side of the stage came on, focused on their faces, and then Kendra emerged onto the stage, her presence a storm of menace that rippled through the theater.
The rumors of what Zander’s feared Exsequor had done to his enemies were legend, the sort spoken only in lowered voices.
The crowd tensed, and yet, she moved with a casual elegance that defied the terror, her lithe form draped in flowing lavender pants with a matching gauzy blouse, the fabric catching the stage lights in soft waves, a stark contrast to the gore-soaked lore.
Her hair and makeup were flawless, her expression serene as she crossed the stage in elegant stiletto heels — a jarring juxtaposition to the terror her mere presence evoked.
Zander retreated to stand beside Spence, and Kendra advanced on Svetlana, growing her talons.