Chapter 19 #2
Balthazar’s rotting mouth twisted into a grin—half his lip sloughed off with it. “Tell me, my love,” he rasped, voice wet and broken, “how did you convince Costa to give you the poison? That man demands payment for every drop he crafts. And no Timehunter offers poison for free.”
Heat surged through me at the memory.
The price I’d paid.
My thighs clenched instinctively, but I dared not speak the truth. Not with Balthazar like this. Not when a single maggot-filled glance could ignite his wrath.
I forced myself to look past the rot—past the slick patches of peeled flesh and the stench of death clinging to his monstrous frame.
His left shoulder remained mostly untouched, smooth and sinewed like the man I once craved.
I reached for it, my fingers trailing down the firm muscle as if trying to remember what it felt like to touch someone whole.
“I told him someone evil was hunting me,” I whispered, voice husky. “And that we feared for my life. That you were my protector.”
Balthazar’s one good eye narrowed. Or maybe it just twitched—his other lid sagged grotesquely, hanging like loose flesh over a socket that oozed at the corner. The sound of maggots writhing in his skull filled the silence between us.
“And did you tell him who the bad man was?” His voice was a rasp, thick with suspicion.
I shook my head, the lie dripping easily from my tongue. “No. He didn’t ask. He was just... eager to help.”
My hand trembled as I peeled away what was left of his bloody vest, the fabric sticking to his soaked shirt. Beneath it, muscle glistened with blood—some his, some not.
“Why would he care so much about your safety?” His tone sharpened, and a patch of rotted skin on his brow rose with mock curiosity. A writhing maggot slipped out and plopped wetly onto the floor.
I closed my eyes, stomach twisting—but not with revulsion. God help me; I could still feel Raul. His hands, his mouth, the sheer intactness of him. He’d made me feel alive, desirable… ruined.
But then I looked past Balthazar’s shoulder to the cell.
Malik lay crumpled on the floor, coughing blood, clinging to Layla’s corpse. The sight brought a diabolical smile to my lips.
Worth it. So fucking worth it.
“Let’s go upstairs, my love,” I said, slipping my hand into Balthazar’s cold, bony grip.
He followed without question, and I tugged him up the stone stairs.
As soon as we crossed the threshold, we collided—mouths crashing together, my nails digging into the warm parts of him that hadn’t yet decayed.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
There’s only Balthazar. He’s my true love.
But Raul’s image shoved its way back in—his mouth between my thighs, the way he pressed me to the wall and took me like I belonged to him. I gasped as the heat rushed through me again.
No. I used him. I used Raul.
And now, I’d use the memory of him to fuck the creature I truly belonged to.
I let the fantasy consume me.
I kissed Balthazar like I meant it—savagely, hungrily, like he was the only man I’d ever wanted. I wrapped my legs around his waist and let the ghost of Raul—his cock, his tongue, his fucking breath—invade every filthy motion. Every moan. Every thrust forced the breath from my lungs.
And Balthazar didn’t suspect a thing.
He thought I was coming for him. For us.
And I came hard.
Harder than I’d ever admit.
Swallowed by decay. Driven by lust. Ruined by both.
We collapsed onto the furs before the fire, limbs tangled in a grotesque ballet.
I writhed against the soft pile as Balthazar shoved his monstrous cock inside me, the remnants of flesh brushing mine like velvet dipped in rot.
I didn’t care. Not when the memory of Raul’s grip, Raul’s filthy mouth, Raul’s voice still buzzed behind my eyes.
I didn’t even know who I wanted more.
The man who made me beg in a candlelit lodge in Italy…
Or the monster grunting above me now.
Then, in the throes of his release, Balthazar groaned against my ear.
“Alina… I want to have a child with you.”
The words slammed into.
I nearly stopped moving.
A child?
Of all the sick, delusional things that could’ve spilled from his lips, that was the worst.
I forced a laugh, light and mocking. “Oh, my love. You’re just high on blood and death. We don’t need a screaming little parasite to complete us.”
But Balthazar wasn’t laughing.
He grabbed my hips in a bruising grip and stilled me, locking eyes with his one good eye. “Don’t you want that? A child with me? Think of it—we’ll live like kings when we find the blades. You’ll be the mother of my fucking legacy.”
I wanted to vomit. Right on his chest. Right down his fucking throat.
“Balthazar…” I started, lips tightening. “I don’t want children, EVER.”
“You’ll change your mind.” He began thrusting again, harder this time. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“No,” I said firmly, my nails digging into his back. “I won’t. I won’t bring a child into this cursed world. Don’t ask me again.”
His whole body tensed. The veins in his neck bulged, his skin darkened.
“You’ve always been a selfish bitch, Alina,” he spat, his breath hot and foul. “You’re right. You’d be the worst fucking mother in existence.”
His words hit like an arctic wind, slicing straight through me.
Then, without another glance, he tore himself away, storming off mid-thrust. He didn’t even finish. He left behind nothing but his loathing, and me—naked and empty.
I lay there on the cold floor, frozen in place. My limbs felt leaden. My skin prickled with shame. I’d been stripped not just of pleasure, but of power. And that burned.
Balthazar wanted an heir. A legacy. A child to carry his name.
But I—I wanted more.
And in that hollow silence, something inside me cracked wide open. A brazen thought coiled around my spine like smoke–I didn’t just want to rule beside Balthazar. I wanted everything.
All the power. All the blades. The world. The blood. The throne.
But I would never get it standing in his shadow. Not as a woman, not as a lover. Not as his queen. No, to take the throne of darkness, I’d have to rip it from his corpse.
And I would.
When Balthazar returned, his form was restored. The monster was gone, but the man was no better. He staggered in with a bottle of whiskey, drained it in great, greedy gulps, then hurled it into the fireplace where it exploded like a gunshot.
He collapsed beside me, reeking of liquor and old rage.
I shifted slightly, trying to slip away, breath held tight in my chest.
But then his hand clamped around my ankle like a vice.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he growled, not even bothering to open his eyes.
I swallowed my fear. Smiled sweetly.
“To the chamber pot, my love,” I whispered, syrupy and poisonous. “Don’t worry… I’ll be right back.”
His fingers flexed around my ankle once, possessive—and then, after what felt like hours, he let go.
I exhaled softly and crept away, my bare feet ghosting across the stone floor.
As I passed through the formal living room, the memory of drugging Malik and Layla surged up like a specter.
I remembered where Balthazar kept his potions—I’d seen him stash them in his study.
And then, like lightning, inspiration struck.
I wouldn’t run. Not yet.
I would drug him.
Slip from his grasp in silence. Leave the monster dreaming while I hunted the blades myself.
If I stayed, we’d never find them. We’d spiral endlessly in our reckless, obsessive dance of sex and slaughter. I needed more. I wanted everything.
My pulse quickened. My fingers tingled.
I tiptoed to his study.
The room opened like a secret—rich crimson walls, candlelight flickering over ancient tapestries, shelves sagging laden with forbidden tomes.
His desk sat like a throne at the far end, littered with open scrolls, broken quills, and glass vials.
The scent of ink, parchment, and something darker filled the air.
A crystal decanter glinted atop a nearby table, red liquid swirling inside like blood caught in a spiral. Above it loomed a portrait—long ears, curved horns, crimson eyes. A demon. Or perhaps a mirror of Balthazar’s truest self. It watched me, silently judging.
I turned away and opened the cabinet doors beneath the bookshelf. There it was—belladonna. A small vial of crimson glass. Smooth, cool, deadly. My fingers closed around it like a lover’s grip.
I returned to the bedroom. He was sprawled across the furs, naked and unaware, moonlight painting silver over his monstrous form. He didn’t stir as I knelt and uncorked the vial.
Carefully, I tipped a few drops onto his lips.
He frowned. Licked them.
Then rolled to his side, sighing like a spoiled prince. My heart stopped.
Was it enough?
He shifted again, arms outstretched.
“Get me another fur, Alina,” he mumbled, eyes still sealed shut.
I complied, tucking the fur around him like a mother would a child. His lips curved into a dreamy smile, and he sighed contentedly.
Then I poured a few more drops onto his mouth.
But my hands, traitorous, trembling, fumbled.
A thin stream of liquid splashed straight onto his tongue.
His eyes flew open.
He coughed. Spluttered.
“What did you—?” he snarled, but his words slurred, his eyelids drooping. “Bitch,” he mumbled, before sleep dragged him under like a drowning man.
I stood frozen, heart hammering. How long had Malik and Layla been out after their dose? An hour? Thirty minutes? Fear fogged my memory.
No time to guess.
I bolted upstairs, hastily gathering a small satchel of belongings. I needed to hide until the next full moon—to vanish through time. But where?
I turned impulsively and crept back down, unable to resist checking on Malik. As I passed Balthazar’s collapsed form, I hesitated. His mouth hung open, and his snores vibrated the walls like tremors.
I leaned close, letting vitriol lace every word.
“I’m sorry, Balthazar. You’ll never have the blades. I’m done with your obsession, your false love, and your pathetic talk of children. I want power. Real power. And now I’ll have it. You made me embrace my wickedness—and now I’ll show you what that means.”
With that, I turned and descended into the dungeon.
I opened the small viewing portal to Malik’s cell, safely shielded behind thick glass.
He was slumped against the wall, cradling Layla’s lifeless body. They are entwined like tragic sculptures carved from blood and shadow.
A small pang twisted in my gut. He did love her.
But then I shook it off.
Good riddance. This world didn’t need another tragic love story.
Then, his eyes snapped open.
I flinched.
“You’re still alive,” I whispered, stunned. “How is that possible?”
Malik shifted slightly, his movements sluggish, pained. “He’s using you,” he rasped.
“Who?” I asked, though I already knew.
“Balthazar,” Malik rasped. “He raised me. I know him. Better than you ever will.”
His words sliced through me, jagged and cruel.
But I didn’t flinch.
“I know him intimately,” I replied, cold as ice. “I know what makes him bleed.”
A faint, broken laugh slipped from his bloodied lips. “Keep telling yourself that. You need to get away from him. Find the daggers.”
My pulse stuttered. “Do you know where they are?”
His eyes fluttered shut.
“Malik!” I hissed. “Malik, damn you!”
I was ready to slam the portal closed when a hoarse whisper crawled through the crack.
“Find John James. In the Americas. Seventeenth century.” A pause. Then, “He can help you.”
His head sagged. Layla slipped from his arms like a broken doll. His chest stilled. The final breath left him, and he joined her in the void.
But I had what I needed.
I tore up the dungeon steps, my breath ragged, footsteps echoing like war drums. At the landing, I froze. Listened.
Balthazar’s snores rumbled through the silence—deep, monstrous, content.
Good.
I darted across the foyer, grabbed my satchel, and slipped out into the first blush of dawn. The horizon bled pink and gold, painting the sky like a promise. A soft wind kissed my cheeks as I crept through the courtyard toward the stables.
With shaking hands, I threw a saddle on Balthazar’s prized stallion, tightening the straps. My dagger, journal, and a sliver of my soul were tucked into the satchel at my hip.
I mounted.
The horse surged beneath me, its hooves pounding the earth like a heartbeat. My heartbeat. Furious. Wild. Free.
I didn’t look back.
This was my time. My path.
And no man—no lover, no monster, no god—would take it from me.