Chapter 4 Watering Doubt #2
My head drifts from Caria to Harlot. If everyone's so determined to tear us apart… And it makes my mind reel as it does. I start to wonder if there’s a way I can separate Harlot from that Umbra.
Who can I use to plant seeds of doubt in Harlot’s mind?
I rack my brain, but nothing comes to mind.
The one thing that keeps coming back is my desire to destroy Harlot, to tear her apart.
I want to crush her until there’s nothing left to pick apart, just a bloody mess of torn organs and flesh, viscera everywhere.
I want to cut her arteries so deep that a flood of dark, warm blood will pour down on me.
I yearn to revel in her fear, her suffering, until she’s completely broken.
But that damn Umbra will never let me come an inch near her, never close enough to lay my fingers on her.
My growl turns into a furious scream as I pound my fists on the bench.
A witch nearby lets out a bloodcurdling cry and collapses to the ground.
Within seconds, her dark skin starts to steam, and blisters appear.
As she writhes in agony, her skin turns a dull gray, and smoke pours out of her mouth and nostrils.
She tries to crawl away, but her body is beyond her control.
In minutes, she's dead, burned alive from the inside out, all because I can't kill my sister.
But instead of remorse, a heavy energy fills me as I wait for it to wash over me.
Onlookers stare at me in horror, their faces fill with sorrow as they scrutinize me with narrowed eyes.
The corpse lies before me, and wisps of smoke still linger around the body, with blood pooling on all sides of her.
The stench of burned flesh hangs heavy in the air, and I breathe it in deeply.
I can sense that the vampires surrounding me are having difficulty controlling themselves.
Their nature urges them to consume the blood, while their instinct tells them to stay away from me—the one who killed a witch without ever laying a hand on her.
It doesn’t take long before I become the talk of the city, the human who ruthlessly murdered a blood witch, cooking her to death. Curious cats peek around corners and through windows, but none attempt to come near me. I remain seated, watching it all cautiously, noting their skittish behavior.
“Fynn!”
My head jerks up. Jodelle rushes toward me, and the dark creatures don't approach her—an unprotected human. I'm too stunned to get up and go to her, to protect her. Instead, I stay seated, watching as she jogs. Her breasts bounce with each step on the uneven cobblestone street.
I’m surprised the dumb bitch doesn’t fall. I wish she would. I'd love to see her twist her ankle and break her neck, her bones protruding through the broken skin. What a delicious sight that would be to behold.
I blink, and Jodelle's loud breathing fills my ears, her chest heaving.
“Fynn… I… need…”
“Please, sit. Catch your breath first, love.”
I pat on the bench, and she takes a seat as she steadies her breathing. After a few minutes, she can speak normally.
“Fynn, I don’t know what happened, but… I think I siphoned some of your power, your magic.”
Jodelle gazes at me with excitement, a big smile on her face.
“What?” That is all I manage to say. It comes out choked and harsh.
“Your magic, what you use to protect me. I think I have it, too. I accidentally hurt a vampire when I heard a noise outside the room. I thought it was you, so I opened the door and wrapped my arms around you, except it wasn’t you. It was a bloodsucker, and he instantly started to hiss and cry.”
She can hardly contain her delight, as a feverish gleam burns in her eyes.
“You hugged another man?” I whisper.
“What? No. Fynn, you’re not listening. I thought it was you, but instead it was a vampire… I burned his skin badly. Because of the magic…”
She smiles at me as she watches me with rapt intensity. I scoff at her; her words make no sense.
“Whatever.”
She shuts up, the words she just spoke hanging in the air, and she tightens her lips into a thin line.
I can’t help but feel an irrational fury toward Jodelle for touching another man, even if he was a vampire, even if it was unintentional.
I don’t care; it feels as if my mind is not my own.
I want to shake her violently, strike her so hard that her skin would instantly bruise from the impact, but I don’t.
I sit next to her in silence, seething. I focus on the air filling my lungs, the uneven stones before me, anything that will help me ground myself.
I realize there’s only one way to know if Jodelle is lying to me.
“Is Caria at work?”
Jodelle rolls her eyes at my question, not understanding what I’m trying to say.
“Of course, that’s the only thing you care about, that damn witch. I should have hugged her instead. Good riddance.”
I grasp her arm. “Answer me.”
“Ouch, yes, Fynn, she was there when I left. Let me go, you’re hurting me.”
Ignoring her pleas, I tighten my grip on her arm, pressing my fingertips into her skin.
Part of me hopes she’ll have the marks to show for it later.
I stand up and drag Jodelle off the bench.
I yank her along as she cries and begs me to let her go.
The witch's corpse is no concern of mine; I will let it rot as the human bodies have for weeks after the night creatures brutally slaughtered them.
I stop, halting Jodelle in her tracks as well.
I turn around and bellow, “No one touches that corpse. If anyone does, you’ll be the next one to decay. I’ll know exactly who you are; I can smell it. Spread the word.”
My words linger, and I continue to walk, maintaining my pace, as Jodelle attempts to match my speed. She keeps tripping and falling. I don’t let go of her arm despite it dragging her right back to her feet.
She belongs to me and may be used as I please. She deserves to be hurt.
I crack my neck, trying to dispel the thought. We enter the inn, and I push Jodelle against the bar. She grunts from the impact, and I splay my hand on her back to keep her in place.
“Caria!” I yell.
The death witch glances at us with furrowed brows, uncertain about what is happening. She slowly dries a cup, puts it in a cabinet, tucks the towel into the back pocket of her pants, and approaches us wearily. Caria stops mid-stride.
“Fynn…” she says.
“Come closer,” I beckon.
“I can’t when you’re… like that… Fynn. You know that,” she replies with a grimace on her face.
I feel the rage swirling inside me, and I don’t know how to control it. Jodelle whimpers softly, and I see Caria staring at her in confusion. Her staring at Jodelle triggers me.
“Can you smell it from over there?” I ask, my voice laced with anger.
“Smell what…?” Caria’s eyes don’t leave Jodelle as she answers me.
“Damnit, my magic, the Aurum, Caria. Can you sense it on Jodelle? Is it stronger than before?”
I am seething now, my body visibly trembling from the restraint I manage, and I want to pin Jodelle’s head to the bar with a dagger.
“I don’t know, Fynn… your smell is exuding and pretty overbearing. It burns into my nostrils. I’m not your personal sniffer,” Caria replies, slightly irritated.
She folds her arms as she stares me down.
I let go of Jodelle. Relief ripples through Caria.
I see it on her face, and I storm out of the building.
I stand outside, my impatience growing as I wait—five minutes, then ten.
I bare my teeth at anyone who crosses me, while vampires and witches shrink back in fear.
The Aurum courses through my veins, its power intensifying.
Then I go back inside. Jodelle is sitting at the bar, her body shaking, tears and mucus covering her face.
It’s disgusting, and I wrinkle my nose in dismay.
Caria catches my eye and gives a slight nod that confirms Jodelle’s words.
Jodelle spoke the truth when she said she siphoned my powers, even though she didn’t know how.
Instead of happiness, rage courses through me, and irrationally, I begin to interrogate Jodelle, demanding she tell me how she did it, how she stole my magic.
Instead of answering, all she does is cry, and I notice even Caria is uncomfortable with how I’m handling Jodelle.
I take Jodelle by the arm once more and drag her upstairs, away from Caria and other curious onlookers.
Back in the room, I keep firing questions at her, but she is unable to answer any of them.
“I don’t know!” she screams. “I thought you’d be happy, no longer needing to babysit me!”
My fingers itch, my mind no longer my own as villainous thoughts claw their way into my subconscious. Visions come into play not only of killing Harlot, but also of Jodelle and even Caria.
“You can’t imprison me in this little room anymore, Fynn,” she bites. “Finally, I am free.”
“As if I would ever let you go. You’re mine. You belong to me, and only me,” I snarl.
With force, I grab her chin, those ocean blue eyes defying me, willingly trespassing into peril, like she always does.
Her arms display the bruises of my fingertips, and to erase the violent thoughts from my head, I crash my lips onto hers.
She fights me at first, but eventually, her body submits to me, melting into me, and so does her spirit as a moan escapes her lips.
I am unable to make love to her, and neither is she to me. Instead, we claw at each other, pull at hair, and I spank her ass a bright red, as I fuck her roughly, precisely the way she likes it.