Chapter 28 Nyx
Nyx
“More blood,” I growl.
My body is coated in blood. There is still a mouthful of blood that I haven’t swallowed, and yet, I know it’s not enough. I need more. Desperate for more, more, more. I can’t stop. Not now. Not ever.
Another body is tossed into the cage. A male already dead, but I can scent the smell of warm blood—a fresh kill.
I grab the body, almost ripping his head off as I try to get to it’s neck. I sink my fangs into the thin skin and drink.
Ecstasy floods my body with each pull—intense, overwhelming, unlike anything I’ve felt before. I drink greedily, like I’ve been starving for this my entire existence and this is the sole thing I’ve needed this entire time.
And maybe I have.
For most of my life, I’ve treated blood like a curse—something to fear, avoid. A single mistake could be my end.
It’s too late now—now I’m going to die.
I’ve had too much this time.
Good, death will feel like a warm welcome to me.
Kill, kill, kill…
Die, die, die…
I hate that they tossed the body in already dead. I wanted to be the one to kill. I want to kill as many as I can before I die.
I drain the body too fast.
It’s not enough.
“More,” I growl.
The witch grins, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “You’ve had enough.”
“No, more.” I lunge at her, but the chains snap, biting into my wrists and ankles, jerking me back. I can’t even reach the metal bars that cage me like a feral animal on display.
Pain slices through me, sharp and insistent—reminding me of everything I have endured. But it barely registers compared to the fire raging in my throat. It consumes everything.
I need more blood. It’s all I can think about.
I need it or I’ll die.
But death is what I want. I want to die.
I don’t remember why. Just that death will be a welcome escape.
From the pain. The world. The torment.
Pain, death, blood, kill.
The words float around in my head until I can’t remember which one I want more or which one I’m supposed to care about.
Blood, no death…I want death. Please, let me die.
A vial of clear liquid is held out to me, “Drink this.”
I stare at the container. “Why?”
I can sense others here, other than the female witch who has been with me day and night since I arrived. But I can’t make out their faces, their scent, nothing about them. I know I have family, friends, people I used to care about, but I can’t remember any of them.
“It will cure you.”
Cure—the word bounces around in my head with very little meaning. Cure isn’t possible. Even if it was, I want death. I choose death.
I swat the drink from the witches hand. Magic catches the glass vial before it hits the ground. The witch waves her hand and the vial floats back into her hands.
Pain radiates through my back as a whip controlled by magic strikes me, splitting my back open.
I fall to my knees, bracing myself for the endless strikes that I know are coming.
One lash…my body twitches.
I brace harder.
Two…I grind my teeth together to keep the growl from escaping.
Three…it erupts out of me regardless.
“Why are you doing this? You can just force him to drink the cure,” comes a female voice, one I recognize in the deepest part of my brain.
I should care about her. I know I should, but I don’t. I don’t care about anyone anymore.
My life is pain, kill, blood, death. Those four words are all I care about anymore.
“What fun would that be? Besides, I need him to agree to taking the cure when this is all over. It’s not a one time thing. I need his cooperation,” the witch says.
I laugh at the next strike.
Yes, keep striking me, bring me closer to ending this. Bring me to my death.
“He’s enjoying this,” comes a shrill voice.
“He’s losing his mind. The vampire curse is taking hold in him. I give him hours left if he doesn’t take the cure,” the witch says.
My sense of time is gone, but hours seems too long. Hours feel like days.
I want this over.
Something heavy hits me, knocking me onto my back. My back screams in pain as the body hits me.
A person.
A woman.
My brain can process that much.
I grin when I listen to her heartbeat.
Alive.
They gave me a live one.
Kill, kill, kill…
I tangle my hand in her long silvery white hair, bending her head to the side to expose her neck to me. My teeth brush against her silky skin, ready to devour her, when a soft, cool snowy scent hits my nostrils. Like the fresh fall of snow.
It shocks my system.
She’s not warmth like all the other bodies.
She’s is cold.
She is winter.
She is snow.
And she calls to me in a way no one else does.
I hesitate.
Screaming echoes around me. Ordering me to do something. But I can’t hear the words.
Or maybe they are screaming at her. She’s somebody, not just a warm body. She means something to someone, maybe even to me.
Kill her, the words flash in my head again. The scent of her blood taunting me with every beat of her heart.
Her blue eyes hold no fear. Her mouth doesn’t beg for me to spare her. She remains on top of me, unmoving.
She’s as prepared to die as I am. And yet, she doesn’t fear me. Doesn’t believe I’ll kill her.
“Run, fight, if you stay here, I’ll kill you,” I whisper.
“You won’t, Nyx.”
She’s wrong. Stupidly wrong.
I snarl at her with all the viciousness I can summon, baring my large, blood-soaked fangs—fangs that have already torn through and drained no fewer than a dozen humans today.
She stares, looking at my fangs. She’s humoring me. But her expression doesn’t change.
No fear.
Either she truly believes I won’t hurt or she doesn’t fear dying. Or both.
Slowly, I release my grip on her hair, letting her pull away. I don’t know how I have this control. Anyone else I would have already sunk my teeth into them.
I’ve never wanted to taste blood more. Never craved it so intensely.
Yet, somehow, my body freezes in place. Fangs hovering but not daring to scrape against her skin.
Who is this exquisitely beautiful creature that controls me so completely?
Maybe she is right. Maybe I won’t kill her.
I don’t know why. I’ll probably die before I get my answers, but this woman whose name escapes me means something to me.
I’ve gone savage.
I can’t remember a single name in my brain.
Can’t even remember who I was before this.
A killer.
A monster.
Death.
The words remind me, over and over. But I had to have been something more at one point. Something softer, kinder maybe, someone who meant someone to this woman.
She reaches forward without hesitation, she cups my face until I’m looking at her—searching my eyes for something. Her hand feels so soft, so gentle that I lean into her touch. Her lips thin as she sees whatever she’s looking for.
But her examination doesn’t stop at my face. She quickly scans my entire body as horror spreads across her sweet face.
“What did they do to you?” she whispers, anger punctuating ever word. No answer is expected—just her fury building at what I’ve endured.
I don’t know who she is, but the witches have made a catastrophic mistake using me to hurt this woman. I’m not a seer. I have no ability to see premonitions. But I know this—she will burn the world down in the name of revenge for me.
That terrifies me and thrills me, what this woman is capable of. The devastation she would unleash without hesitation.
But I don’t want her to lose herself because of me.
“How interesting,” the witches voice breaks through. I’m sure she’s spoken to me before now, but this is the first time I hear it.
It seems to register with the woman now too.
She stands, and I see for the first time how magnificent she really is.
Beauty doesn’t do her justice. No clothes cover her body.
But she doesn’t cower. Definitely not from me as she extends her hand to me, letting me view every curve, muscle, and piece of resilience in her body.
I gently take it, unsure of what else to do, she helps me to my feet. I’m unbalanced on my feet and brush up against her body as I do. Her soft welcoming curves hit me, but as she steadies me, she sees the gruesomeness that is my back.
Rage floods her eyes and she glares at the witch. “You will die for this.”
“Not before you and your vampire lord,” she says back.
“Nyx won’t kill me,” she says so sure again.
“Maybe not, but you love him. And he’s dying. Will you die from heartbreak? Or in a killing rage after he’s gone?”
She stills, her hand clinging to mine as she intertwines our fingers together.
“He. Will. Not. Die.”
The witch laughs. “Two hours. He’ll be dead in two hours time. Tonight isn’t a full moon. You have no power to break his curse. You can’t stop it from happening.”
She glares at the witch. “But you can, can’t you?”
The witch’s lips curl up in a wicked grin as if the woman played right into her hand. As if she planned for the woman to fall out of the sky and land on top of me. Maybe even used her own magic to plop her here.
Except I know she didn’t. The witch didn’t use her magic. I don’t know how I know that. Some new fact buried deep inside me tells me that I know exactly how the woman landed on top of me when I know this place is spelled to keep everyone out and me in. But that fact will stay buried with me.
“Yes,” the witch answers simply and then holds up the vial.
“I won’t drink it,” I say before the woman has a chance to speak up.
The woman turns her head to me. “We made a blood deal—a promise that you wouldn’t try to kill yourself. You don’t get to die when there is a cure.”
I scoff. “A blood deal with a man who wishes to die is pointless, love. When the consequences for breaking a blood deal is death.”
Her entire face lights up. I don’t know why when I said I wouldn’t honor her deal and would rather die. But something I said meant something to her.
She holds out her hand to the witch who hands her the vial.
“Drink, Nightfall.”
I shake my head. I won’t drink it, not even for her.
“If you don’t drink, I’ll die.”
I frown. “You won’t. You’re far too strong and stubborn to die from a broken heart.”
She leans in, invading my space, taunting me to kill her.
I freeze, my muscles tightening up. Realizing that her hand is still in mine and I’m going to crush it.
She doesn’t flinch away. Doesn’t react. She just stares me down like she knows how this is going to go, that she’s going to win.
And then her lips brush over mine so softly that I don’t realize what she’s doing until her tongue pushes between the seam of my lips. Her kiss devours me—consuming, insistent, challenging.
It doesn’t ask, it demands everything from me.
I know she can taste the blood on my tongue, but she doesn’t care. Doesn’t faulter. She keeps kissing me.
Despite who I am.
What I’ve done.
Who’s watching.
She doesn’t care.
Slowly, she pulls away and her name floats into my head
“Lumi,” I whisper, testing it out loud.
She smiles at me gently.
Without another thought, I take the vial from her hand and down it.