CHAPTER 2
Rue
The clicking gets progressively louder and my heart pounds in time with the rhythm, the pace never faltering. Suddenly, the sound stops as a shadowy figure emerges from a side tunnel I must’ve overlooked in my panic earlier. I can barely make out the figure of a woman under a long, black cloak.
She’s carrying a large walking stick, which she bangs on the ground with a loud thump when she stops a few feet away.
She doesn’t speak or move, only stands there, waiting, as if her presence is enough of an announcement. Which I have to say it is.
There’s a tingle of something that has every hair on my body rising, an air about her that’s oddly familiar even though I’m almost certain we’ve never met before.
With her face half hidden by her hood, and the other banked in the darkness of the tunnel, I can’t make out any defining features.
The vampire grunts, pulling my attention to his gaunt face. I quickly avert my eyes before my anxiety sucks me into a panic attack. That’s the last thing I need right now. I refuse to become feral food again.
The longer the silence drags on, the more my nerves feel like they’re attached to a live wire about to blow. “Who are you?” I finally blurt, my voice wavering. Those tingles move down my body and I get the distinct impression I’m being studied.
It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop as I’m ignored. Why does no one ever hexin’ answer me?
I’m about to open my mouth and ask again when my witchnapper interrupts.
“Do yoo want her or not?” the vampire demands. Or at least that’s what I think he says. Now he can barely close his mouth for his fangs. They hang over his lips, puncturing the skin. A small drop of blood runs down his chin before the wound heals.
“Disgusting,” a patronizing voice murmurs, followed by a sigh. “Won’t be long now.”
My nose scrunches in confusion, but I’m not left in the dark long because right after the last syllable leaves her lips, the vampire collapses to the ground. His body convulses like it’s trying to fend off an invisible illness. The veins in his neck bulge like they’re seconds from exploding.
Nausea makes my stomach churn as I take all of this in within seconds before my fight-or-flight response kicks in and, without any sort of weapon around, I flee.
My feet pound against the concrete, but with my hands tied behind my back, my movement is sloppy. One wrong move and I’ll go teetering to the ground.
Of course, thinking about it totally jinxes me, and I lose my balance. Try as I might, I can’t wrangle myself into a better position before my body meets the ground. I land on my side, namely, my shoulder, and a scream tears from my throat. All of a sudden the world around me fades away. Ice blue eyes fill my vision—ones I’d recognize anywhere.
Slade.
Even if his gorgeous face is a figment of my imagination, the comfort of his presence surrounds me, making me feel oddly at peace for someone I barely know. Someone who originally planned on kidnapping me and could easily kill me with a snap of his fingers. The same fingers that made me come undone, the ones I’ve been dreaming about since that night he thought I was in danger and found me with mine deep inside my pussy.
Surprise lights up his face, and the corner of his mouth tips into a grin, but then it drops, and his expression turns thunderous. His eyes darken with barely controlled fury.
Where are you, ma douce goutte? he barks.
A mental sigh escapes me. Does it matter? You’re my imagination running wild because it knows I’ll be dead soon. I want your face to be one of the last things I see. I take a moment to study his harsh jawline, wrought with tension, and every speck of gray in those icy blue eyes of his.
Where. Are. You.
It’s not a question.
When I don’t respond he mentally snarls, Tell me, Rue.
Why is the figment of my imagination so pushy? And when has Slade ever called me by my first name? I don’t like it.
Little witch, the mental version of him corrects softly like he could hear my internal rambling.
Oh, duh. Because he can. He’s in my head.
Some sort of concrete structure of doom. There’s no way out. Well, there must be somewhere because some lady showed up, but—I hiccup—my witchnapper is turning feral… When he wakes up, I’m gone. I won’t make it through another round of venom.
Mentally, I watch him suck in a sharp breath. Hold on, mon amour. I’m on my way. And I will kill every last fils de p?tes who dared to lay a hand on you.
I can’t help it. I snort. That’s silly. How could you save me? You’re not real. You’re an anxiety induced hallucination. But moons, I really appreciate the sentiment.
There’s no response, though I swear I feel a spike of fear, rage, and determination before Slade disappears and the real world reappears.
While I was lost in my own mind, the woman moved closer, examining me from under the darkness of her hood. I wish I, too, could hide behind something and conceal my emotions from her. They make me feel even more vulnerable than I already am.
It’s like I’m a butterfly, pinned to a board as we stare at one another. I swear for one second I catch a glimpse of her blue eyes, but when I blink, it’s gone, only darkness remaining. Hex it all. I can’t start hallucinating now. I have to stay alert—I have to get out of here.
A pained gasp rips from my throat as I attempt to roll onto my good side and push to my feet. I don’t make it far before returning to my fetal position on the ground. I can’t stop. I have to push through this. Divines, I hate feeling so weak…
The mysterious woman clucks her tongue. “Rue Delacroix. You’re an absolute mess.” Her hand latches onto my shoulder, and I’m deposited onto my feet. My legs wobble, and the twinge from my shoulder makes a bright flash dance across my vision. I force every ounce of strength left into my bones to stay upright and pant from the exertion.
Bubbling cauldrons, if I’m dying, I’m damn well dying on my feet.
“Ah, there’s your backbone. Much better,” she says before half hauling, half dragging me toward the eerily still vampire.
“No!” I dig my heels in, but it’s no use. It certainly doesn’t stop her movements.
Hell’s bells, she’s incredibly strong.
“Prove you are what I think you are,” she orders, not an ounce of give in her voice.
The vampire’s eyes snap open, revealing bright red irises identical to the ones that belong to the not-so-feral and haunt my every dream. For one brief second, there’s a moment of clarity within them, then it’s as if the last string of thought leaves his head, leaving only a shell—a husk of a man.
His nose twitches as he scents the room and eventually trains his sights on me. This feral is now a pure predator running only on instinct.
Terror, unlike any I’ve experienced before, floods my system as he lunges for me. Time seems to slow. My eyes widen, my heart rate spikes, and I see the horror in my eyes through the reflection in his as he gets closer.
This feral enforcer will drain me dry like the first one almost did, and the wolves aren’t here to save me this time. I’m going to die.
As if something deep inside me recognizes the life or death danger I’m in, a pulse of power floods through me. It’s as if my senses sharpen and there’s a hazy glow to everything that wasn’t there before. Then it vanishes and everything returns to normal.
The cloaked woman lets out a heavy sigh like she was expecting more from me. What, though, I have no idea.
Thankfully, right as the feral is about to grab onto me, she bursts into action, stopping him from ripping my throat out. The barest brush of her skin slides against mine as she steps between us.
Immediately I’m hit with a rush of emotion that’s not my own: trepidation, bitterness, a smidge of glee. And the biggest of all—the need for utter destruction. Somehow, I know right away that the feelings belong to the woman. That touching her did something… allowing me to feel her intentions. Although, I have absolutely no idea how.
Flashes of a man grinning from ear to ear before sinking his fangs into her and her need flood into me before it changes to him falling to the ground and turning into a mindless feral. A sickening feeling wraps its way through my body, digging its talons into my stomach as the image fades. What the hex was that?
I blink a few times, trying to get my eyes to focus on the room around me. Later, I need to analyze the fact that I think I was in someone’s head, but right now isn’t the time. Although, it does ignite a spark of hope in my chest. Could my magic finally be manifesting?
The feral lets out a ferocious growl and lunges once again, except he goes nowhere. That’s when it registers that she has her walking stick around his throat, and I realize it isn’t a walking stick at all. It’s like one of those rods they use to catch feral dogs. The wire surrounding his throat hums with power and a soft, silvery glow.
The feral’s fangs snap wildly as his gnarled fingers claw for me, but there’s less force behind his movements than there was before, like the rod is zapping him of his strength. How is this possible?
I take an involuntary step back and then another, hoping she won’t notice.
She sighs. “I won’t ask again, Rue. Show me you can heal him.” She brushes the cloak aside and a glint of silver catches my eye as she reaches for a dagger at her belt. With one swift motion, she cuts the binds off my wrists, not giving me a second to think before tossing the weapon at me. It clatters to the ground, the sound echoing in the tunnel.
Her meaning is clear. She wants me to give this feral my blood. The last one almost drained me, but what if it doesn’t take that much?
I pick up the dagger and the hilt fits nicely in my palm. As soon as I prick my fingertip, the feral starts thrashing harder. He says something, but it’s spoken too harshly to make out. I have a sinking suspicion it was something like “beacon,” which is what the other one called me.
Hex being a “beacon” if it means I’m a metaphorical bright red “eat me” sign for ferals. I’d much rather be the darkness that consumes the sinking ships than the light that draws them all to me. I value my life way more than that, thank you very much.
As the woman forces the feral to his knees, it takes every ounce of my willpower to stand over him, prick my finger, and allow a drip of my blood to fall. It lands on the corner of his mouth and he makes an awful keening noise, but freezes as the next drop hits his tongue. I allow a few more to land in his gaping maw, and it sounds like he’s swallowing nails when he finally does so.
“Good. Now we wait,” the woman says before ramming him into the wall so hard, I hear his head cracking the concrete echo for what I swear feels like a full minute. Bile rises in the back of my throat and I turn my head as the contents of my stomach leave me.
The mysterious woman jumps out of the way, but I suspect some of it lands on her by her horrified shriek. A small part of me is pleased with myself, despite feeling like the forgotten melted wax at the bottom of a spell candle.
When I stand to wipe my mouth, her hand snaps out and she places her open palm against my forehead. Her hand glows a bright gold color and for the first time, I get a glimpse behind the hood. Blue eyes, the same shade as mine. My mind has to be playing tricks on me, right? It’s the pain. Has to be.
“Lights out, little beacon,” she sneers, except, I’m not exactly sure they were spoken out loud.
My vision goes dark exactly like she said, my last thought being, well, at least she didn’t slam my head into the concrete too.