SUNDERED
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Saya Claymore
Every nightmare that plagues me is another rock thrown in my mind of glass. The horror of what happened—everyone I have lost—threatens to shatter me.
I knew it wouldn’t pass quickly. Took me ten years to face talking about my Blessed, and even now, his name lodges in my throat.
Exhaling a breath, I run my fingers through sweaty hair, pulling the wet strands away from my nape. It was a long day attempting sleep, tossing and turning—but before that, I thought everything was going okay.
For most of the night, I listened to Serun, and he listened to me. We moved a distance away, afraid to keep leaning into each other. We thought it would ease the tension, but it didn’t. It was like an electrical circuit sparked, a live wire whenever I looked at him and that hint of a half-smile.
When night ended, Serun retired to his room first, and I soon went to my own to sleep. Though I didn’t think trying to sleep would be so difficult.
I emerge from the tiny room. Is the day already over? It’s hard to tell. Metal shields the windows, and the candles in the lamps aren’t burning. Trapped in darkness, it’s not until I reach Serun’s door that it starts to take shape.
Shadows ooze from the cracks around the door like hair caught in the wind. Thin tendrils lower as I raise my hand and knock on the metal. The clang rings out, stinging my ears. “Serun, are you awake?” Darkness quivers, trembling at the sound of my voice.
“Yes. Do you need something?”
I open my mouth, wanting to tell him I don’t want to be alone. But I don’t want to tell him about the nightmare—ghosts of my haunted past. I’d rather leave it alone.
I pick at the skin around my fingernails, and my focus shifts to the door leading to the other carriage. Pir Avacen whispers in my ear. “Did you bring food for me to eat? I’m starving.”
“It’s in the fridge.”
I scan the room.
“Chest fridge beside the door, but it may look like a bench to you.”
Lowering my focus, I nod when I find the wooden box by the door, then face his room again. “Is everything okay?”
A breathy laugh comes from within. “Fine, kamai. I’m just…thirsty…” he says in a grainy, low voice.
Hair prickles across my neck. I cup my hand against the nape, where he once bit me. The memory of his fangs returns, sinking into my flesh like butter. His toxins made me high. Submissive.
Lustful.
“Oh, did you need me to uh…get you…something?”
“How motherly of you—but I am fine,” he says, and I sense the smile on his face.
“I will leave you be then.”
My ear twitches at a disappointed sigh, but I step away and to the fridge. Wisps of frost appear as I lift the lid, only for my skin to glow red. On one side of the compartment is full of blood bags, and the other has a few cans of human food.
Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I ignore the blood and grab a chilled can, twisting it around to see the label: chopped fruit. I can’t recall the last time I ate fruit. The Bleeders usually gave us a high-protein diet.
Closing the lid, the carriage rocks and I stumble, grabbing the door for support. It clicks and slides open as I fall to my knees, the can rolling away into the darkness beyond Serun’s carriage.
Fuck that.
I reach to close the door, abandoning the lost can, when another door deeper in the carriage opens and light spills out.
Olivia appears, her brown hair a mess, pulled in different directions.
She grabs at the sleeve of her torn shirt, disgust curdling on her face as she storms into the room opposite, slamming the door behind her.
My eyes narrow at the laughter coming from the room Olivia just left.
A hollow sigh escapes me and I enter the darkness.
The canned fruit doesn’t matter anymore.
I should keep to myself. Should stay inside the carriage with Serun and not interfere in problems that aren’t mine. But I’m reminded of all the times I prayed for anything, even Mother, to save me when the hand of my Blessed was raised high.
My feet are light on the floor as I creep into the carriage.
On my right, next to the door Olivia went through, there’s a clear, oval glass window.
She is in a sort of balcony area, leaning against the railing, overlooking the murky ocean.
Tendrils of smoke swirl near her fingers.
Olivia tips her head back, puts her fingers to her mouth, and takes a long drag on a cigarette.
A bandage covers her arm. Rust coloured blood already seeps through the fabric.
“Why did you bid on her if you hate everything she does? You could have let Lord Serun kill her,” a voice speaks with a disinterested drawl from the room to the left.
“I wanted a barista, but she spilled every drink, and A-negative blood doesn’t come cheap. Few Feeders topside have it anymore. I hope more breed together to keep the trait alive.”
“Then use her for something else. You have a month before she is no longer a newborn. Entertain yourself until then. It is what I am doing with mine, and he does not complain…much.”
This is what I assumed nightwalkers were like—monsters. All they care about are themselves. Everyone else doesn’t fucking matter.
I soundlessly slide the door open. The two men face away from me, seated on rich maroon chairs, a television screen holding their gaze.
My focus settles on Olivia’s master. I step closer, then stop when movement in the corner catches my attention. A man is balancing a bottle of thick red wine and two glasses on a serving tray. Dark brown eyes look away, his lips pressing thin and his grip tightening.
As I creep closer to the masters, I breathe, “Ardulgyu prus urot.”
The leather caresses my palms, and the steel blade shimmers forth. In one fluid motion, I adjust my stance so the blade is flat on its side, and I slash it towards them.
There is a blur of movement to the left as my blade glides through one nightwalker’s neck, decapitating him. Blood spurts for only a moment before his body becomes cinders.
The man holding the serving tray steps back with a choked gasp before he drops it and flees the carriage.
Hunger is a turbulent sea inside my mind, and a thousand emotions collide. Wisps of light emerge as I exhale, and the air around me glistens.
My blade shatters. “Fuck,” I mutter. “I need to control my magik better.”
“Saya?” My back stiffens, and my shoulders jerk. I turn away from the flaking ash to see Olivia at the door. Cigarette smoke clings to her clothes, sharp and pungent. “What the—”
Rough hands grab my shoulders, spinning me around to face them. Wide, fury-filled eyes lock onto mine. A long cut now marks him from eyebrow to ear, splitting the tip. Ash flakes from the wound along with thick and clotting blood.
Rage fills Olivia’s master’s bloodshot eyes.
“Who do you think you are?” Fingers tighten, digging into my shoulder blades. “What are you doing, mut—”
His hold slackens, and as I fall back, I see blood spray from his now severed arm, shimmering like cinders from an open fire.
The shadows near him retract.
The nightwalker splutters in disbelief at the solid black form now leaning against the leather sofa. Dilated red eyes are on the man, long claws twitching, hungering for flesh.
Serun moves deliberately slow, and with every step he takes, a ringing pulse drums in my ear. “You dare touch my consort, scum?” he drawls, precise, controlled, like the eerie calm of a storm before lightning strikes.
Olivia squats beside me and pulls at my arm.
I mechanically rise to my feet, the man’s detached arm rolling off my lap and splattering near where he now kneels before the Lord of the Undercity.
Olivia pulls me over to the door, and when I look at her for a fleeting moment, there is panic flickering across her bloodshot eyes.
“N-no! Never, Lord Serun,” the man squeaks, and I draw my attention back to them. “I did not know that she—”
Serun crouches until he is at eye level, his shadows broad, suffocating the room and crawling up the walls.
His long, clawed hand curls around the severed arm, and there’s a cruel glint of bloodlust in his eyes.
He pushes the limp, flaking-ash fingers underneath the nightwalker’s chin, forcing him to lift his head and meet Serun’s eyes.
“My consort has white hair. A heartbeat. Icy blue skin and starlight freckles that glow in the dark.” Serun slaps the man’s hand across his face. “Your liar’s tongue won’t work on me. It’s pathetic.”
The man whimpers, his ears bending back and his eyes glistening, on the verge of tears. “Forgive me, Lord Serun.”
A dark chuckle comes from within the shadows, and the gruesome severed hand pats the top of the master’s own head. “It is not my forgiveness you should be seeking.”
The master suddenly crawls towards me at a sprint, blood splashing and whimpering sobs with every movement.
Serun rises, darkness penetrating every inch of the walls and clawed hands breaking from the ceiling, reminding me of the time in the delivery room. Hunger comes from within, his eyes starved. He looks sadistically at the man grovelling near my feet.
“Forgive me, Lady Consort!” he cries. “I swear never to touch you again. I swear it on my House!”
Olivia shuffles away from me. She inches out the door while I rest on my knees, my dress soaking in the pooling blood.
“Your newborn isn’t a plaything. They are to learn the ways of a nightwalker, and that is all. There will be changes moving forward for all masters.”
“Yes, of course! Of course. I will no longer touch the newborn.” The man bows his head, resting his forehead in his own muck.
“Pir avacen,” whispers in my ear.
“And you will lead by example,” I say. “With your death.”
The nightwalker’s body stops trembling, and he lifts his head. What’s left of his arms tenses, wrapping around his body as he struggles to rise.
Serun stands behind him, shadows wrapping around the man’s body, coiling tight like a snake around its prey.
“You fucking mongrel,” the master spits, baring his fangs. “You will be the death of us all!”
“Let’s just start with you,” I say, smiling as the master’s body is dragged into the shadows with a squelching scream.