CHAPTER 18 AILEEN
CHAPTER 18
AILEEN
Atalon led me toward a large metal door at the far end of the kitchens, where Isora was probably. “Before we go in, a word of advice,” he said, voice serious suddenly. “Whatever you’re about to see is not as bad as it seems.”
Immediately alert, I waited as he opened the door and led me through, toward manual stairs leading down to yet another metal door, this one requiring a code or a handprint. Using his hand, he opened the door, revealing a sight I never thought I would see deep within the Atalon League, of all places.
At first glance, it looked like some sort of underground techno club, eerily similar to the last nightclub I’d been to back in my human life, the Hole. But then I realized that, aside from the fact the lights were awfully dim, nothing about this place resembled a dance club.
Across the circular room, dozens of cushions were spread out, creating a few cozy stations like in traditional Japanese restaurants. At each station was a person whose gender I wasn’t quite sure of—wearing the oddest piece of clothing I’d ever seen. It was black, for starters, and it covered the entire body, leaving only the wrists, neck, and a bit of the shoulders naked. There was nothing sexy about this clothing; in fact, it seemed suffocating, considering the cloth also covered their heads, eyes included.
All seven stations were occupied by vampires I’d seen in passing. There was only one common thing about them all.
They were Gifteds.
And they were all sucking the covered people’s blood, using the small patches of skin that were offered.
Sick to my stomach, I slowly turned to look at Atalon. He trained his eyes on me, seemingly waiting to hear my thoughts.
But I couldn’t. There were no words that could describe what I was thinking right now. Because only one thing mattered—“Where is Isora?”
Without a word, Atalon led me across the room, to a station that had only one person. That person, I realized with a jolt, was Oz, my fellow new purchase and breakfast company. What the ...
Raising his head from the covered person’s neck, Oz turned to look at Atalon and me. His silver eyes showed no emotion. He seemed as completely apathetic as always, like I hadn’t just caught him doing something that, aside from him, only Gifteds were doing.
Did it mean ...? But Oz had been Auctioned, just like I was. Only Common vampires could be Auctioned. So what the hell did that mean?
“Oz,” Atalon said quietly, “please pause for now and resume after Aileen and I are done here.”
Oz wiped his mouth and rose to his feet. “No need, my Lord,” he said flatly. “I’m done.”
He gave me an acknowledging nod before he left, leaving the covered person—a woman, I could tell by the elegant slope of her neck—slumped across the cushions.
Atalon now took a seat to the right of the woman, whom I realized must be Isora, and hesitantly, reluctantly, I took the left one. Then with a tap on her wrist, Atalon murmured, “You have a guest.”
Weakly, the woman raised her hand to the cloth hiding her face, but just before she reached it, her arm fell, as if she lost all power in her body. The sickly feeling in my gut grew when Atalon gently took the cloth off for her, revealing a face that was familiar yet belonged to a stranger.
Isora looked as though she’d aged ten years in the two days since she’d been gone. Her blue eyes, normally so alight with mischievousness, were now sunken and empty, no spark to be seen in their depths. Her hair, which had been healthy and pretty, was lying down her shoulders like a muted rag. Her cheekbones were jutting out, her lips wore a blueish tint, and her skin was ghastly gray and full of spots.
Her eyes were now staring ahead, as if she didn’t see us. Didn’t see me. I turned to Atalon, feeling a surge of brilliant rage consuming me whole. “What the hell is going on here, Atalon?” I asked in a barely contained growl.
Atalon gave me an almost haughty look that made a chill run down my spine. “What you see here is necessary for the existence of vampires.”
I was shaking now. “Explain,” I bit out.
His black eyes gleamed warningly at my order. “I’m going to give you a pass now because you’re highly emotional,” he said coolly, “but if you try to order me again, prepare to suffer the consequences.”
Finally, Atalon was showing his true colors. Gone was his little act of the friendly, flirty man. Now he was acting like the asshole vampire Lord I knew he was.
He turned to look at Isora, and when he ran his knuckles against her sunken cheek, I felt the urge to slap them away. “All vampires require blood to survive,” he said quietly, eyes on Isora’s face. “For Commons, you can simply be satisfied with human blood, and, to a certain extent, animal blood. But this is not the case for the Gifteds and, of course, the Sacred.”
His eyes turned to me as he let his hand fall. “The Gifteds, and especially the Sacred, have far more Lifeblood to maintain than Commons. I assume you know that.”
Ragnor’s fangs grazed the skin of my neck before sinking into me, sucking my blood in the small cupboard closet with no room to move ...
The memory flashed through my mind, making me grow cold. Was that why Ragnor drank from me?
Lifeblood was basically the metaphysical energy that made one a vampire. Commons had a speck of it, while the Gifteds had more, and the Sacred had about five times what the Gifteds had. I knew that blood intake was related in one way or another to Lifeblood, but I didn’t know that it was to this extent.
Atalon gave me a smile that made me feel cold all over. “This is why the Gifteds and Sacred require not just human blood—they need additional Lifeblood in their blood diet. Thus, we also drink from the Commons.”
He motioned toward Isora. “Blood slaves are necessary for our survival. It’s a monitored way to ensure us Sacred and Gifted, of course, get the supplements we need and also give the slaves a safe environment removed from any form of abuse.”
There were so many wrong things in what he’d just said, I didn’t know where to start. “Blood slaves.” I repeated the term, feeling so sick, I was sure it showed on my face.
Atalon cocked his head. “Is there a problem?”
So fucking many, I wanted to snap but swallowed my tongue instead. I turned to look at Isora, feeling bile rising up my throat. “Why Isora?” I gritted out.
“Slaves are used for many things, depending on the League,” he said quietly. “Here, I use slaves to do the menial tasks no one else wants to, such as housekeeping. But before I appoint slaves to such tasks, I first check their Lifeblood.”
What?
He smiled eerily again. “As a Lord, just one taste of someone’s blood allows me to determine how much Lifeblood a vampire has—Common, Gifted, and even Sacred alike. Some rare Commons”—he jutted his chin toward Isora—“have just a tad bit more than others. Those of them who were unlucky enough to become slaves, like Isora here, I make into blood slaves. Their blood is more decadent and nutritious for the Gifted and Sacred, you see.”
I didn’t see. I didn’t see anything at all. This was madness. This was sick. I didn’t know where to even start with how fucked up this whole thing was.
“Aileen.”
My eyes snapped to Atalon. “What?” I barked, unable to control myself right now.
His eyes narrowed. “Isora knew what she was signing up for when she chose to become a second-timer,” he said coldly. “The three-month grace period is only meant for her to tie up any loose ends before she lets go of her freedom.”
“But you didn’t give her three months, only two,” I said, my voice shaking, “and instead you made her hope she might be okay after all. That she didn’t sign up for another hell.”
Atalon shook his head and tsked. “She should’ve thought about it before she attempted to go on a nightly adventure with you,” he said coolly. “A woman with her low status shouldn’t have taken such a risk.”
What a fucking snake. “Say I follow your logic, and she’s now a ... a blood slave,” I said, still finding it hard to believe. “Then why the hell does she look like this after only a couple of days at the job?”
His face was sealed when he replied, “Blood slaves don’t have long life spans, I’m afraid.”
No.
No, no, no—
“Eventually, they run out of Lifeblood,” he said, shrugging—shrugging!—as if he was simply talking about the weather. “Then they unfortunately meet their end.”
I tried not to feel, tried to focus on what really mattered, and it was so hard, I felt myself dying inside. “How long?” I asked, grinding my teeth. “How long does she have?”
“Well,” Atalon said, “the Gifteds seem to like her blood more than others, so I assume ... one month? Perhaps two?”
This was beyond cruel. This was inhumane.
He shrugged now. “Either way, keep this quiet from your friends . I don’t need them sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”
I heard the threat in his voice. I heard the disdain and condescension he had for my friends. How he saw them in reality.
How he saw Isora .
This was so much worse than anything else I’d encountered so far in the vampiric society. Throwing the weak vampires’ lives away for the gain of those at the top.
It was no different, really, than human society. In both cases, those who had power used the powerless until they had nothing left to contribute.
Vampires were exactly like that. In some ways, we were even worse.
Just thinking about what was happening below the kitchen of the Atalon League, under all the Commons’ noses, like what was happening in the Renaldi League, according to Eleanor’s stories ... it made me wish, not for the first time, that I hadn’t been given the Imprint to begin with.
And also, it made me realize how lucky I’d been so far. Luckier than I’d thought.
While Isora had been anything but.