Chapter 13 #2
A vicious grin forms on my face; I have all but forgotten about Mother: I’ll handle her later.
I first need to find my sister and give her my full attention, just as she had wanted when we were still children.
When I get my hands on Harlot, I’ll chop her into tiny pieces, carve her flesh, break her bones into small bits, and kick her to death.
A cruel laugh escapes me, jagged and cold, devoid of any warmth.
I sit down at one of the tables. How do I tempt the mouse to leave the cat that protects it?
Besides him, what else is her weak spot…
Mother perhaps? Should I spread a rumor that Mother has fallen prey to a vampire?
Maybe Mother needs her to attend to her wounds because she almost died?
Would Harlot be able to stay away from her doting mother, or would she bring her guard dog?
I growl lowly, anger taking root inside me as I realize it’ll be hard to persuade my sister to meet me by herself without that bloodsucker around her.
Even if Harlot wants to, I sincerely doubt that thing will let her roam unprotected.
I slam my fist on the table as my jaw ticks with irritation.
“Fynn?” her voice, a light that removes the dark, weighing thoughts.
I turn around in my chair, and those captivating golden eyes meet mine. I look around the inn, but the guy is nowhere to be seen. Not seeing him gives me solace, and I return my focus to those shining eyes, two little suns that look at me with delight. A lightness I didn’t realize I needed.
“Are you all right?” she asks cautiously.
She goes to place her hand on my shoulder, then retracts with a grimace on her face.
Panic courses through me; my atrocious thoughts likely heightened the protective barrier.
Shit. The idea that I hurt her with my magic is the last straw that erases all my dark thoughts and Harlot from my mind. I get up quickly.
“Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”
Without thinking, I take hold of her hand to examine it; she withdraws it instinctively.
Then, warily, she places it back, the block no longer there, our touch not hurting.
Relieved, I exhale the breath I was holding.
My liking, or perhaps love, for her and my unwillingness to wound her thankfully melt away the negative that casts up the blockade.
“I’m so, so, so sorry, Caria,” I whisper, still holding her hand firmly.
“Where were you with your head?” she asks, her voice filled with sadness.
“A place I’d rather not be,” I retort.
I give her a small, sad simper.
“Let's go,” she says, pulling me with her.
As we stroll along the enormous ancient city walls, Caria tells me about the wards she and the male witch built the other day to keep the humans out. She points them out to me. Silver glittering ripples cross the walls to prove her statement; they’re barely noticeable.
“What about my sister? Will she not be able to enter the city either?” I ask pensively.
Caria shrugs.
“Honestly, I don’t know how the bonding with that Umbra affected her if his being is infused with her. I could imagine he transferred some of his essence into her, making her no longer entirely human. Time will tell, I guess, when they try to enter the city.”
Not wanting to think further about Harlot and the atrocious act she performed, bonding her soul to some abomination of a creature of the night, I change the subject, one I’ve been meaning to ask her about.
“What about the fight yesterday? What happened? I heard so many stories and rumors.”
She gives me a sorrowful expression as she recalls the events of yesterday.
The reckless assault the humans unleashed upon the city, strutting inside the stone walls, marching toward the square at the busiest time of the day, and the attack that unraveled from the madmen.
How they leaped on vampires, stabbing them with oak stakes; hacked off hands like unhinged savages, and sprinted toward witches, slitting their throats, while others shot arrows from a distance.
The humans were well prepared for their attack.
None stuck out their necks to save anyone but themselves. When I frown at that, she continues.
What were she and the male witch supposed to do?
Let them kill without any repercussions?
Had they had an onslaught? Was she supposed to stand still while her kin were slaughtered?
When I don’t react fast enough, she asks: “Would you stand idle if your kind was being murdered in front of you, and you were able to put a stop to it? Answer that truthfully, Fynn.”
I shake my head. No, of course not. I would have done the same as they, perhaps even worse. I know I would have done worse.
“That’s what I th—” She falls silent mid-sentence.
Her eyes trail to a pair of figures, and I follow them, seeing the two people she’s staring at.
“How the fuck did they come in?” she hisses. “This shouldn’t be possible… how are they here?”
Two humans stand in front of the large stone gate inside the city, their hands roaming the air, not paying us any attention as we stare at them.
They frantically examine the invisible wall between them and some humans on the other side.
It is like watching a mime play, almost comedic, if I weren’t aware that these two poor souls are now captured inside the city.
They are sitting ducks. Poor might not be the right choice of words, but they will not make it to the night's end if they cannot pass through the wards. Still, I feel some sympathy for them. Yes, they have murdered without cause during the brazen attack that took place, but I can’t help but feel some appreciation for their bravery.
They must have escaped the carnage somehow and wanted to flee tonight.
Caria and I watch as some humans, wearing uniforms similar to those inside the wall, on the other side, throw a pebble through the wards; the stone passes the test without a scratch as it falls to the ground inside the walls.
Murmuring ensues as they fail to follow the pebble.
A large, broad figure steps into view, and Caria stiffens beside me at the mere sight.
“Fuck. It can’t be. It’s the Dhampir. Reiner was right,” she whispers, barely audible.
The pale, tall figure stalks to the entrance and trespasses without difficulty, entering through the gate. His bright, alert, unnatural green eyes snap to Caria, who’s standing transfixed—a wicked grin on his pale face.
“Smart little witch. I know it was you, youngling. I can sense the magic of death oozing from your skin,” he says, his voice deep and thunderous.
Caria’s shadows sweep protectively around her, but also me, as if I’m part of her, in need of shielding.
He explodes in a burst of roaring laughter at the sight of her defensive stance and coiling dark masses.
It is as if her shadows cannot kill him; the shadows are only a source of entertainment for him.
His unperturbed demeanor sends a wave of dread crawling up my spine.
Goosebumps prick my skin as unease settles in, and I swallow carefully.
“No need to worry, witch. You’re not on my menu tonight; all I’m asking is for them to pass through. Your permission, please.”
He bows mockingly toward her, a false act of courtesy as if offering her a pleasantry. His piercing eyes never lose sight of her; despite his indifference, he is wary.
“I can’t, not by myself,” she says, a slight tremble in her voice.
“How did you pass the blood hunt so quickly?” she inquires.
“You think that would stop us? Stop me? A bit of outraged blood?” he snickers.
“I decapitated them all that same night, then drank the blood, darling. It put up a fight, but I’ve handled worse.
I forgot how tasty fresh blood can be. I must say I do enjoy your rather creative approach to all of this.
The wards, the necromancy, the blood hunt—all of it—is…
entertaining. I never knew that Death Witches could be such fun; I would have sought you out sooner. Your little games make me feel… alive.”
He laughs at his own joke. The Dhampir looks smug as Caria pulls her lips into a disgusted smile.
I’m unsure what they're discussing, but her rigid reaction and clenched fists indicate it’s not a positive outcome.
She maintains a calm demeanor, but her breathing is just a bit too shallow, and her shoulders are too stiff.
The Dhampir questions her about me as if I am not standing right next to her and why I, a human being, am with her willingly, noting the absence of any restraints on my free will.
Irritated by the dismissal, I step forward; a slight twitch in my jaw betrays the tension underneath.
“The Death Witch is my friend; this place, Valorya, is now my home. Stop attacking this city; go play elsewhere with your human puppets,” I shout.
Caria’s eyes widen from shock. Her lips part in a silent gasp, and she instinctively steps back, her body stiff with apprehension.
Again, the Dhampir bursts out laughing, as if I'd said something incredibly entertaining.
“Pretty love-smitten, aren’t you? Mark my words, son.
Listen closely. A Blood Witch like her will never associate herself with a human unless she has some interest in the blood they’re carrying.
Witches rarely partner outside their own kind, let alone let themselves be courted by a mortal human.
That in itself is a humiliation. She might let you fuck her, perhaps even a few times, but she will not give up her coven for you, a decision she’ll be forced to make, you or her coven, if she decides to mate outside her own kind.
And, son, leaving her coven also means giving up the majority of her power. A death sentence in itself.”