Chapter 9 #4
Do you think I care about anything, or anyone, but you, my love?
You are the thorns I willfully wrap around myself, even if that makes me bleed.
Old souls have a strange hunger, and only your soul satiates mine.
She’s nothing more than a mere pest, interfering and annoying.
I would crush her under my boot if you wanted me to.
I turn to Emrys and kiss him deeply, his mouth opening and welcoming me in as his tongue caresses mine.
I hear the gasps around us, the murmurs and whispers, as his shadows cast a protective layer over me.
If we are entering the pits of hell, I want him beside me, in the open, claiming me as his, for everyone to see and behold.
Instead of introducing him, I’ll show the whole world he belongs to me, and I with him.
I want all these creatures to understand that, and I want that bitch especially to understand that.
Mine.
Yours.
Satisfied, I look at Jodelle and see the glint of jealousy on her face.
The fading of her smile as her lips curl in disgust, and the quick widening of her eyes as she takes me in, give her away.
Our public declaration of love and affection caught Fynn’s interest, and disbelief is written all over his face.
“You are soiling yourself with one of those monsters?!” Fynn says, his contempt evident.
Fynn reaches out to me, his hand spread, ready to grab me, but Emrys interferes before he even touches me. His fingers dig painfully into Fynn’s skin, the blood vessels under his skin bursting, coloring his skin a deep purple, as Emrys holds him in place. His eyes blacken, the fury palpable.
“Touch her, and I’ll break your neck. I don’t care if you are her brother,” he says in a calm, icy tone.
Fynn’s eyes bulge from the pain as I hear his bones crushing. He cries out loud, stammering an apology. He immediately pulls back his sore and broken wrist the moment Emrys lets go.
“Don’t ever touch or speak to her as you have done before. The next time, I will not be so forgiving,” Emrys says, growling.
“How did you do that?” Fynn cries, referring to the fact that Emrys can take hold of him without hurting himself.
“I’m not one of those monsters... I’m not some vampire or Blood Witch, boy. I’m worse, much worse. I could tear you apart right now if I wanted,” he threatens with a grin, showing his pointed canines.
Emrys's ability to hold onto Fynn is a combination of his sheer will to avenge and protect me and the withering magic shielding us.
The humans building the fair are no longer the main attraction, and all eyes are glued to us.
An eager anticipation for this to explode, to erupt into a blood bath.
Fucking vultures, all of them. Emrys folds his arms around me, nuzzling my neck, then trails his tongue over my skin as I sigh in contentment and hold Fynn’s disgusted stare.
Every fiber in my body wants to jump at my brother, claw his eyes out.
I want to rip his flesh to shreds with my bare teeth.
I want to tear that stupid bitch of his to pieces, too, turn that shocked expression into that of agony.
It’s Emrys’s hold that grounds me, the feeling of his breathing in sync with mine, that prevents me from acting out on my beastly desires.
Emrys breaks the deafening silence as he speaks, a threat clouded as a warning.
“As long as you keep your distance from your sister and Harlot tells me to behave, you shall have no fear of me, neither of you.”
“Now, let’s enjoy the fair, shall we? And would you like me to heal that?
” Emrys says with a hint of amusement as he points at Fynn’s wrist, knowing damn well my brother will never accept such an offer.
Predictably, my idiotic brother declines it instantly; the idea of blood from those creatures existing in his veins, mingling with his mortal blood, is enough to make him feel sick.
Emrys shrugs, and when his hard, darkened eyes meet mine, they soften the moment our gazes lock.
I like how he looks at me differently than anyone else; those softened eyes are solely meant for me and no one else.
His vulnerability is a privilege that only I am destined to witness.
We leave Fynn and Jodelle behind. My scheme to befriend Jodelle is impossible now that I’ve seen her hankering for Emrys.
I’d rather eat broken glass than bestow a friendship upon her.
Emrys and I walk along the market stalls set up and the games available to play, although there is no activity.
The image that my brain conjures of a vampire and a witch biting into apples afloat in a barrel of water evokes a chuckle.
Emrys laughs with me at the envisioned scene.
Fynn and Jodelle trail us from a small distance.
We halt at a show announcement: knife throwing.
Both of us join the group of onlookers who have already gathered during the call.
It’s the only activity that manages to pique the interest of the dark creatures, the possible spilling of innocent blood too delicious to pass up.
A woman is tied to a wooden wheel, with her wrists and ankles secured to the platform.
A rope fastens her waist to it, keeping her body in place.
She is blindfolded, her hair braided loosely, and she has an apple in her mouth, preventing her from speaking.
A young human man stands before her, his short brown hair tousled, whispering something in her ear; the sight sends a shiver down my spine.
Something about this whole scene feels terribly wrong.
Some witches begin to walk away, their faces showing angry scowls. I observe their disgust.
“Emrys… she’s a witch, isn’t she? The one tied up? What are these humans doing?” I whisper, horrified.
“It looks as if the humans are trying to make a point, to show everyone here they do not fear them. I assume they caught that witch, just like how humans are trapped and used as well,” he responds.
Screaming erupts from the crowd as the young man throws a knife straight into the witch's thigh, a curdled, muffling cry releases from her throat.
“Now that I have your full attention. Welcome, everyone, welcome to our fair and this show in particular!” the young man says powerfully.
He takes another knife from his belt and, with lightning speed, hurls it into the girl's chest. Another cry, her teeth clacking loudly as she bites through the apple; it falls on the floor with a soft thud. She spits out the piece of apple. Tears are streaming down her cheeks as she pleads to him to let her go. I can’t imagine the terror she must feel, not being able to see when the next shot of pain arrives, only hearing the sounds of excitement and disapproval.
The young man does not relent as he launches knife after knife into the witch, her body slowly coated in red, the air changing.
I feel bile rising in my throat as I stare at the sickening display.
Emrys stands beside me, collected, looking at the ordeal before us.
The man walks up to the witch and places his finger against her neck, checking for her pulse.
“Show’s over, folks,” he laughs. “Do come back tomorrow for more. We are just getting started.”
His eyes land on mine, and recognition flashes in his hazel-colored eyes. I feel a slight pull toward him, registering him as kin.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I murmur.
“My love, I think he is the one, my cursed mate, the knife thrower,” I whisper to Emrys.
Instantly, his shadows swirl around us, marking their territory.
A low growl comes from losing his calm nature as he scowls at the young man, who’s blatantly eyeing me up and down.
The nerves on this one—a part of me feels impressed by him, but another part of me wants to claw that smugness from his face.
Go to him, introduce yourself, and know for sure.
“Emrys,” I breathe as I cup his face.
“Do it,” he responds.
I reluctantly let him go, a coldness seeping in as our bodies no longer connect.
My soul yearns for his, not ready to be torn in two.
I disregard my broken heart as my brain wills me to move away from Emrys.
I blink away the tears welling up in my eyes.
It hurts, but I stay silent, my silence being the most powerful scream of pain, as my feet carry me.
“I was hoping you’d seek me out, especially with that guard dog next to you. Would have made it a bit harder for me to say hi to you,” the knife thrower says with a cocky grin.
He unbuckles the shackles the witch is locked up with; her limp body folds over as the rope holds on to her waist. He pulls out a bloodied knife from her thigh and cuts loose the rope. With a loud smack, her lifeless body falls onto the stone street.
“My name is Elijah; what’s yours, pretty girl?” he asks as if he has not just dumped a corpse in front of me.
With a parched throat, I speak while he kicks the lifeless body onto its back. He squats down and starts pulling out the other knives.
“I’m… Harlot.”
“Interesting name. Are you with that bloodsucker? Or are you just… friends?” Elijah inquires without restraint, going straight for his target: me.
“With him. We’re together.”
The words coming out of my mouth feel foreign as I force them over my lips.
Emrys had warned me about this. The curse wants me to embrace this person before me, with his boyish smile, my doomed destiny—one I refuse to follow.
The bond I forged out of my free will with Emrys is constraining me, relief washing over me as I feel it tug at me; my heart is willing me one way, while my mind demands to go the other.
“A shame he got to you first, but I’m always up for a good hunting game, as you can tell,” he smirks as he throws the knife up and catches it again.