CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
47
Elara
Danger. Six little letters, yet they hang heavy in the air.
Here I am, dangling on the precipice of oblivion, my very lifeblood a precarious weight in my own shaky hands.
But enough air remains in these battered lungs to offer you one last bit of advice, dear reader: shut your yap. Explanations can wait.
A deep breath steadied me. Now, Elarabeth Vance – a name I despise with the burning passion of a thousand suns – might be taking her final bow. Who knows? Maybe the fickle Fates will intervene and grant me a reprieve. But this could very well be my last chance to utter my own oh-so-charming moniker.
Run. It’s what I do, what I’ve always done. And then, in the distance, a chasm of space unfolds before me, revealing a sight I never thought I’d see again – Morwenna.
Wait. What? Morwenna. What in the seven circles of hell was she doing here?
Here, in this desolate wasteland I’d christened Death with a bitter laugh. A battlefield where the very air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the chilling moan of the wind through shattered bone.
From afar, she resembled a wilting rose, the vibrancy drained, replaced by a pallor that spoke of a struggle beyond comprehension. Yet, against all odds, she kept pushing herself on.
With the remnants of vampire speed coursing through my veins, I propelled towards her.
I could hear it—the slow, thudding beat of her heart. Is she okay? Is she really doing well? the shallow rasp of her breath that carried a single, desperate word: “Draven.”
She’s dying, just from her voice alone.
Damn it. I felt sluggish, agonizing slow. The aftereffects of channeling my energy into Lady Jen’s barrier still clung to me like a spectral shroud. Years of abstinence from human blood had drained my reserves, leaving me a sluggish shadow of my former self. Trueblood, that potent elixir, would have fueled me across this vast expanse I’d christened “Death” in a sardonic twist. But such sustenance remained a taboo, a line I refused to cross no matter what.
Teleportation, a spell once as natural as breathing, refused to answer my call. It was as if my very essence mirrored the battlefield’s desolation.
But I wouldn’t yield. Not yet. Through gritted teeth, I pushed myself forward. I’m halfway to reaching Morwenna. Just a bit more speed and I’ll get to her, until the FATES decides to strike again.
Then I see it—a bolt of ebony death, a grotesquely elongated arrow with a dagger-like head. Its metal surface glints as it flies toward...Morwenna.
The demons, those foul creatures, had spotted Morwenna and were keen to add her demise to the mounting body count.
The laws of physics seemed to bend for this obsidian projectile, its trajectory aimed squarely at her heart.
A strangled cry escaped my lips.
Ignoring the searing protest in my depleted muscles, I surged forward.
The monstrous arrow defied gravity, its cold kiss inches away from claiming her life.
My vision narrowed, blurring with desperation as I poured every ounce of remaining strength into a final, desperate burst of speed.
“El... Elara!” It echoed in my head, Morwenna’s voice, breathless, as if she could barely suck in a lungful of air.
“Morwenna...” I whispered back, my voice ragged. “I’m coming!” I was already running, heart hammering against my ribs, senses sharpening to a terrifying edge. I’d never pushed myself this hard, this reckless, but for Morwenna, I would.
A giant crimson bloom marred the night sky, its meaning lost on me. All I knew was this: save Morwenna, or be saved myself. It was a brutal equation.
I was close, fingertips about to brush Morwenna’s, when time seemed to warp.
Memories, unwelcome and vivid, slammed into me.
“Elarabeth, take me to the sunlight!” Bethany’s voice, laced with desperation, echoed in my mind.
“No, it will burn you,” I countered, my voice thick with panic.
“I can always do it myself, you know. Two steps, that’s all it takes. Over, for good...” Her voice trailed off, heavy with self-loathing.
No. This wasn’t the time.
Memories of Bethany, succumbing to the bloodlust, feeding on a human. The guilt that choked her, the self-hatred that stained her tears. And me, trying to absolve her, to convince her it wasn’t a monstrosity, a betrayal of our vampiric nature. I, too, had succumbed, feeding to calm her, to ease her torment. I’d become a murderer for her, for my twin, so the blame wouldn’t fester, a constant reminder of the darkness we now inhabited. Anything for Bethhany. Always.
“I’m a monster, El,” Bethany whispered, tears glistening on her pale face. “I hate myself. I hate that I couldn’t control it, that I had to feed, that I had to kill. And I hate that you… you had to feed because of me. El, you’re stronger than this. This hunger, it haunts me, a constant chorus urging me to end it all.” She took a shaky step back. We were in the woods, a tapestry of sun and shadow playing amongst the trees. Sunlight, the bane of our existence, beckoned on one side, a stark reminder of the ancient law – stay hidden. But Bethany, teetering on the edge, was about to break that very law.
Tears, hot and salty, streamed down my face, mixing with the bloody stains on my cheeks. My fangs were bared, crimson dripping from them, proof of the kill I’d made for her.
“Elarabeth...” Bethany’s voice, a choked whisper. A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a heartbreaking counterpoint to the tears staining her cheeks. “I’m so close,” she rasped, taking another step back. One more step back, and she… she’d be dust.
“Bethany!” My scream tore through the night.
“Sunlight. I wonder what it tasted like. Cool on human skin. Yet, a fiery kiss on ours.” She dipped her head, then met my gaze from across the clearing. “I need it, El,” she rasped. “The warmth, the burn. It’s how humans feel when we feed. It burns them, so let it burn me too.”
And then I was running. Running for Bethany. But I wasn’t fast enough. Not fast enough to catch her outstretched hand. Not fast enough to stop her from stepping into the unforgiving sun.
“Bethany, no!”
The light devoured her.
I knew the agony, the searing fire that scorched vampire flesh.
Yet, she held onto the pain, her laughter a chilling melody against the backdrop of her burning skin.
Blood welled in her eyes, tracing crimson tracks down her cheeks. Still, her hand reached for me.
“Let...go, Elara,” her voice, weak but firm.
That single word severed the fragile hope clinging to me. Twins. We shared a bond that transcended blood. If she burned, I’d burn with her. If she fell, I’d fall with her. That day, I was meant to share her fate... To fall.
The guilt still gnawed at me, a relentless echo of my failings.
I could have saved Bethany.
If I’d been smarter, startegic, faster…
A gasp ripped from my throat, jolting me awake from the clutches of memory.
In a heartbeat, I bridged the gap between us, my arms wrapping Morwenna in a fierce hug.
As I held her close, a chilling image of Bethany flickered across my mind’s eye. I couldn’t save her then, and in that moment, I embraced the cold, welcoming oblivion with her. But something shifted within. My skin became impervious to sunlight - a gift, a burden inherited in the final moments. Bethany, in a desperate act of selflessness, had initiated a transfer of power. Her outstretched hand, grasped in mine, became the conduit for this ritual, which is the third stage. The ability to trade souls, to bind oneself to another vessel. Yet, in a twist of circumstance, only her power flowed through me, leaving her body a smoldering pyre.
My grip tightened on Morwenna.
Her body was an anomaly – a living glacier.
The icy touch of her breath sent shivers down my spine, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through my own veins.
The coldness was a stark reminder of the arrow, the one meant for Morwenna, the one that was surely whistling its way towards us even now.
It was too late. The chill of death seemed to seep into my very bones, a voice whispering in the recesses of my mind, seductive and final. “Elarabeth Vance,” it murmured, “your time has come.”
A jolt of despair rocketed through me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, Morwenna clutched tight against my chest, a flimsy shield against the unseen arrowhead whispering death at my back. My muscles locked, a terrifying paralysis pinning me to the spot. Was it Morwenna herself, exerting some strange hold?
The thought sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over me.
My eyelids squeezed tighter, my hand twisting the fabric of Morwenna’s dress until my knuckles turned white.
The world narrowed to the horrifying inevitability of my demise until... a sickening WHOMP. Not the dull thud I expected, but a sound like the wet cleave of flesh.
Someone had taken the blow for me.
The realization slammed into me with the force of a battering ram. Who? Images flickered in my mind: Draven, ever the protector of Morwenna; Viktor? Unlikely. He wouldn’t. Xulin... no, it couldn’t be Xul.
Then, a strangled cry, a sound that ripped through the desperate hum in my ears.
My eyes flew open, recognition dawning like a horrifying sunrise.
Aric.
He stood crumpled behind me, a crimson blossom blooming on his chest where the arrow had pierced him. Blood trickled from his lips, his face contorted in pain.
Aric?
Aric, the sarcastic, self-serving rogue? He’d taken a blade for me?
“Elara!” His voice was a strangled rasp. As he began to crumple, I lunged back, one hand still wrapped around Morwenna, the other reaching out to snag Aric’s arm. We hit the ground in a tangled heap, my mind reeling. Morwenna, Aric, the weight of two lives suddenly thrust upon me.
Suddenly, Viktor reappeared beside us, a flicker of blue light marking his arrival.
Draven and Xul materialized a moment later, their faces grim.
Draven, with a snarl that spoke volumes, scooped Morwenna into his arms, his gaze flickering between her and me.
My focus, however, remained fixed on Aric, his life draining away with every ragged breath.
A choked sob escaped my lips, a strangled plea for something I barely dared to believe. “My prince...” The words were thick with disbelief and a raw, wrenching grief. Aric, the self-absorbed rogue, the notorious narcissist, had taken the blow for me.
The demon-vampires, once a teeming horde, had fallen silent, their unnatural vitality flickering with the prince’s. Aric, one of their own, had fallen. And with him, their resolve seemed to crumble.
Their numbers had dwindled already, reduced to a mere fraction of the swarming mass they once were. But victory felt hollow.
Aric’s eyes fluttered open, glazed and heavy-lidded. Blood smeared his face, a gruesome mask marring his usual arrogant smirk. “My prince... You weren’t supposed to take that for me.” I rasped again, watching the poison from the arrow work its cruel magic. It wouldn’t allow him the solace of a quick death. It was designed to linger, to sap his strength until his heart finally gave out. No healing magic, not even Viktor’s, could counteract its insidious touch. Except a powerful true healer.
A strangled laugh, wet with blood, escaped his lips. “Elara...” he rasped, even in the clutches of death, a flicker of his old mockery remained. “Don’t get mushy on me now. We both agreed, remember? No entanglements.” His words were breathless echoes of a past conversation, a memory from within the cold, imposing walls of his castle. “But as always, you had to defy the odds.”
Tears welled in my eyes, hot and insistent. But Bethany’s voice, a ghost from another life, echoed in my mind. They wouldn’t change the situation, she’d say. They wouldn’t bring back what was lost.
But tears, I knew, were a release, a purging of the soul’s burden. Even if the shards of grief remained, the raw ache might lessen, just for a moment.
“Viktor!” I cried out, my voice sharp with urgency. Viktor, the golden-haired mage, knelt at Aric’s side, his face etched with a stoicism that threatened to crack. I hadn’t realized I’d addressed him by his first name, forgoing the customary title. But emotions have a way of stripping away formalities. “Do something! Please!” I pleaded, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood, the metallic tang a stark contrast to the welling tears.
Viktor, ever the composed one, simply muttered, “Brother,” his voice thick with a barely concealed tremor. The situation was a cruel paradox. Removing the arrow meant unleashing the full force of the poison, a swift but agonizing death. Leaving it lodged meant a slow, agonizing demise. Watching Aric struggle to breathe, his face contorted in pain, was enough to break even the most stoic facade.
A strangled cough wracked Aric’s body as he rasped, “Vik...” His gaze flickered to the arrow that pinned him to the cold earth. “Is it... is it bad, brother?” His voice, a mere whisper, held a tremor of fear that belied his usual bravado. “Tell me... am I going to...” the word stuck in his throat, a choked sob escaping his lips.
“Do you want to live?” he asked.
A harsh laugh, more like a wheeze, escaped Aric’s lips. “No! What’s the point? This is my penance for defying Draven.” He closed his eyes, his face contorted in pain.
“Draven is willing to forgive,” Viktor interjected, his voice laced with a desperate hope. “If...”
“There’s no ‘if,’” Aric croaked, his voice cutting through Viktor’s like a rusty blade. “Draven doesn’t forgive. Mercy isn’t a word in his vocabulary.”
Hope flickered and died in Viktor’s eyes. “You could beg his forgiveness, Aric. It could save you.”
“My prince,” I interjected, a flicker of desperation igniting in my own chest. “Beg him, Aric. Just this once. I know Draven can sway the Fates, the witches’ council... anyone. They’ll spare you if the poison doesn’t claim you first. Please, Aric, beg him!”
But my hope died a quick, brutal death. Aric’s next words were laced with a bitter defiance. “I’d rather face oblivion than grovel at Draven’s damn feet. Vorax was right about him. Draven uses everyone, discards them when they’re no longer useful. But if you stand against him, like I have, you gain double his power! You can overthrow him, Viktor!”
Aric’s words were laced with the fervor of a zealot, a man utterly convinced of his own twisted truth. Vorax, that manipulative serpent, had him well and truly under his thumb. But even on death’s doorstep, Aric clung to his warped sense of pride. “I know you crave power, Viktor, perhaps even more than Vorax. But Draven will never relinquish the throne. You have to oppose him to take it for yourself.”
A fresh wave of coughing wracked Aric’s body, a crimson stain blooming on his once pale lips. The poison was coursing through him, stealing his strength with every ragged breath. “That’s why I’ll never beg,” he rasped, his voice thick with defiance even amidst the coughing fit. “Never.”
Aric’s words dripped with the unmistakable influence of Vorax, as if his mind had been thoroughly manipulated by him. It was Vorax whom I held responsible for his chaotic state.
My gaze darted between them, a silent plea for Viktor to ignore Aric’s ravings. Aric, in his stubbornness, was as immovable as a mule facing a brick wall. Even death couldn’t shake the hatred he has for Draven.
Viktor released a heavy sigh.
While not entirely loyal to Draven, a sliver of respect remained, enough to keep him from actively participating in his brothers’ schemes.
Viktor craved stability – the lifeblood of a kingdom, the anchor in a storm. War or peace, it mattered little. Stability was his north star.
“You’ve made your choice, Aric,” Viktor said, his voice flat. It was a death knell, a clear message that Aric was on his own. “I can only hope Mother finds solace in your decisions, wherever she may be.”
Before I could react, Viktor did the unthinkable. With a swift, practiced movement, he ripped the arrow from Aric’s chest. The crimson stain that blossomed instantly turned a sickly black, spreading like a spiderweb across Aric’s pale skin. The arrow clattered to the ground, a testament to the fatal deed.
“No!” My scream tore through the air, a ragged cry laced with disbelief and horror.
Aric, his face contorted in a mask of agony, threw back his head and laughed.
It was a horrifying sound, a broken, manic cackle that sent shivers down my spine.
It mirrored, in a horrifying way, Bethany’s final laugh – a desperate release in the face of the sun’s searing torment.
Aric’s laughter, however, was short-lived, dying in his throat as the blood in his chest deepened to the color of obsidian.
Black blood, a chilling omen in our world – the life force draining from a body, leaving behind a hollow shell.
Aric... he began to fade.
It began subtly, his form dissolving at the edges, turning to dust motes that danced in the dying light.
“Elarabeth,” his voice, faint and wavering, reached me even as his form became translucent. “Don’t mourn me. No tears. No vulnerability. I was nothing. I’m just a nobody prince who dared to defy the king. Don’t waste your grief on me.”
His form continued to disintegrate, a slow, agonizing erasure.
My eyes widened, my body wracked with tremors.
In a single, horrifying moment, I had witnessed death twice. Bethany, consumed by flames. And now, Aric, reduced to dust on the wind.
My hand hovered in the empty space where Aric had been. A desperate attempt to grasp at something, anything, to feel a trace of his presence. But he was gone, vanished on the wind. Dead.
It was a monstrous truth, a suffocating weight on my chest. He could have lived. If only he hadn’t broken the laws, the ironclad rules that governed this damned estate. I’d warned him, pleaded with him, but he’d seen it as defiance, a challenge to his authority. Now, he was a cautionary tale, a whisper of dust carried on the breeze.
A primal rage simmered within me. Blame gnawed at my insides. I blamed Vorax, that serpent who’d poisoned Aric’s mind with lies. I blamed Viktor, the supposed savior, the slayer of demons and monsters. He could have saved his own brother, his own flesh and blood. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. If there were to be any killings, it would be at the hands of my own vengeance. Vorax, especially, would feel the sting of my fury.
“How could you just let him die?!” I screamed at Viktor, who was already at his feet, a few paces away, his gaze fixed on Draven; who clutched Morwenna like a lifeline. Her breaths, shallow gasps that scraped against the atmosphere, filled the air. Xul, one knee grounded, his hands glowing with an otherworldly light, scanned Morwenna’s forehead, searching for a flicker of life, anything to pull her back from the brink.
Selfishness clawed at me. I worried for Morwenna, of course, but the raw anger at their neglect of Aric was a fresh wound. Here they were, scrambling to save Morwenna, while Aric, forgotten, had crumbled to dust.
“Viktor!” My voice cracked with fury as I tore my gaze away from Xul’s desperate ministrations. “We weren’t exactly friends, him and I, but he was your brother! You just… let him fade away!”
Viktor finally turned his head, his expression unreadable. “Correction,” he said, his voice low and tight. “He was already dying. Pulling out the arrow wouldn’t have saved him. It was too late.”
I scoffed, a harsh, disbelieving sound. “Is that your excuse now? Because just moments ago, you were telling him to beg for Draven’s mercy! Now you say it wouldn’t have mattered?” My voice trembled with a mix of grief and accusation. “If it had been me, pierced by that arrow, would you have just watched me die?”
Viktor’s icy gaze cut into mine. “The Fates decide life and death,” he said, his voice a cold rasp. “Not me.” He looked away, his jaw clenched. “And yes, you’re right. I would have saved Aric. Blood is thicker than water, after all.” He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering back to the scene swirling before us. “But I did it to save your friend.”
“My friend?” I sputtered, confusion momentarily pushing back the tide of anger.
“The girl,” Viktor muttered, pointedly avoiding Morwenna’s name.
“What about her?” My annoyance at him lingered, a venomous coil in my gut. The urge to rip Vorax limb from limb was a constant thought thrumming in my veins, but Viktor’s cryptic words sparked a fresh wave of curiosity.
He took a deep breath. “When Aric was fading, I sensed it. A spirit, restless and hungry, yearning to break free of its bonds. She yearned to possess the girl, but Xul’s protection spell held firm. She craved a new vessel, something warm and alive. She wouldn’t settle for the desiccated corpses of the fallen vampires. No, she desired a soul… Aric’s soul.” He faltered, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “That’s why I… I didn’t save him.”
My breath hitched in my throat. Rewinding his words, a single detail snagged on my attention. He’d used “she” to describe the ghost. That could only mean one thing...
“It’s the ghost,” I breathed, turning to face Viktor, my voice barely above a whisper. “Victoria?”
A curt nod confirmed my suspicions. “Yes,” he conceded.
“She’s free. I thought she was contained, trapped within her cage. But somehow, she… escaped. How?”
A million questions swirled in my head. This revelation explained why Viktor hadn’t saved Aric. There was more to his magic than he let on, a power reserved only for mages who had crossed the perilous threshold of the fourth stage – the power to sever the very threads of life.
He’d sacrificed Aric, not out of indifference, but to ensure Victoria’s soul wouldn’t infest him.
And the sudden paralysis I’d felt just before the arrow found its mark – that too, was Victoria’s doing, a ghostly hand tethering me to the spot as I’d rushed to shield Morwenna. The pieces fit together with a horrifying clarity, leaving me breathless and utterly terrified.
Viktor’s response was terse. “Through the rift,” he muttered, a clear reference to the crack in the fabric of the Shadows of Styxfall, the name he clearly preferred to avoid. A sliver of understanding wormed its way through the fog of grief clouding my mind.
“So where is she now? This… Victoria?” I strained to sense any malevolent presence around me, a prickling on the back of my neck, anything. The battlefield at the other hand felt different now, charged with a new, unseen tension.
Viktor shook his head, his focus shifting from Xul to the remaining demon-vampires who were attempting a desperate escape at the sight of the three powerful mages. “Can’t sense her. She must be flitting about, seeking a new vessel.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Does Xul know about this? Should I tell him?” I started to turn, but Viktor’s reaction was swift. He shot out a hand, grabbing my wrist in a vice-like grip.
“No need,” he said, his voice clipped. “He’ll discover it soon enough.” He released my hand as though it burned him. The lingering touch, the reminder of our strained past, sent a fresh wave of irritation through me. Viktor, ever the control freak, wouldn’t let go of how I’d exposed him to Draven.
His gaze returned to the fleeing demons, his face hardening into a mask of cold fury. “No demon leaves here alive.”
The words hung heavy in the air, followed by a low incantation that rolled from his lips.
Then, a shimmering blade materialized out of thin air, appearing in his outstretched hand.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the sword streaking through the air. It cleaved a fleeing demon in two, the wet sound of the slice echoing across the battlefield. The sword then pirouetted gracefully, returning to his grasp.
Viktor’s eyes blazed, a mirror image of his now luminous hair.
Every strand shone with an otherworldly light, an ethereal mix of gold and white. It was a feature shared among the brothers of sin, their hair a cascade of power and danger.
Viktor’s hair, usually worn loose, was now braided back in a warrior’s knot at the nape of his neck, the rest tumbling down his back in a luminous waterfall. He levitated then, defying gravity as he strode across the battlefield.
The air sang with the clash of steel and the desperate screams of the damned as Viktor unleashed his fury upon them. He was a storm of vengeance, a warrior forged in fire and rage.
He was a contradiction, Viktor – a powerful mage cloaked in an armor of pride. Hard to read, his personality layered with a stubborn streak a mile wide. Yes, I hated him. But right now, suspended in mid-air, raining death down on the battlefield, there was no denying the terrifying beauty of his power.
Gross, why did I even said that.
The air hung thick with the stench of sulfur and fear. Viktor waded through the carnage, a whirlwind of steel and fury.
Demons lay broken and lifeless in his wake, their demise a symphony of gurgling throats and the metallic tang of blood.
Across the battlefield, Xul and Draven huddled over Morwenna, their combined magic a flickering beacon in the encroaching darkness. Her shallow breaths rasped against the stillness, a fragile melody that tugged at my heartstrings.
The other Princes – Vorax, Cassian, Malek, and Rafael – had vanished like rats down a drainpipe. Probably crapped themselves when they saw their brother decorating the floor.
Aric, ever the pragmatist, scoffed at the notion of mourning. But mourn I would, in my own way. An eye for an eye, a brother for a brother. Vorax, the one who had twisted Aric’s mind, the one who had driven him to defy a king, a god – he would pay the ultimate price. And I’m sure of it.
Then there was Victoria.
A shiver danced down my spine.
I could hear her, that insidious whisper.
It had started subtly after Bethany’s death, a voice laced with guilt, twisting the knife in my already wounded soul.
Now, it was a crescendo, a symphony of chaos that echoed in my mind, tormenting Draven, Xul, and Morwenna as well.
The chaos wasn’t just Victoria’s thirst for a twisted resurrection, though that was a terrifying prospect in its own right. The chaos was the haunting itself, a slow, insidious rot that threatened to consume us all.
But I, Elarabeth Vance wouldn’t succumb.
I wouldn’t let the ghost that took Bethany win.
I, too, would hunt.
I would hunt the very entity that reveled in our misery, and I would send it screaming back into the abyss from whence it came.
After all, as the prophecy goes: when one rises, one falls. And Victoria… she would fall.