2. Exsanguination
CHAPTER TWO
EXSANGUINATION
Saya Claymore
Raised voices from the undead set me further on edge. Countless glowing red eyes regard me with admiration, while some fix their gaze on Serun. He hasn’t budged from his casually slouched position, shielding his feelings in his shadows.
It would be easy to assume he doesn’t care, but I know that it’s when his shadows are motionless that he is most tense. Those very shadows stilled when I rejected him, as if an extension of the tightening of his muscles.
And then there was the time I visited him after Jaxton made me feel inferior. His shadows quivered, enraged, only to still a moment later.
Does he truly want me, or am I his property?
With a shake of my head, I stare daggers at Serun. Even from afar, his eyes lock on mine, the crimson in them softening into pools of running blood. And there, with minimal contact, I have the same rising urge to love him as I did when I first saw him.
My stone-cold heart cracks, like a chisel is chipping away at my barnacled heart.
“She has a heartbeat!” someone shouts from the crowd of nightwalkers.
“Is she human?”
“We are forbidden to love humans. We must convert them.”
“She has red eyes and pointed ears. She is one of us…but not like us.”
“A nightwalker from a human womb?”
“Can that happen?”
Voices worm into my ears as they speculate over what I am.
Funny, because I’ve been trying to figure out the same thing all my life.
Mum never told me who my dad might be, or even how she became pregnant.
Every time I asked her, she brushed my words away like smoke, telling me not to pose questions I wasn’t prepared to have answered.
Now here I am, far from home, desperate for answers. After I get out of here and find Cole, I’ll return home and try to find out who I am. My fingers twitch and my heart races as fear floods me at the thought. My Blessed will be there, waiting for me like a curse.
Serun’s brother brings his hands together in a sharp clap, drawing all eyes away from their ogling. “Would anyone like to challenge Lord Serun and bid on his dove?”
The room suddenly drops in temperature. Low hissing noises escape a few as they watch Serun, but none raise their hand in interest. It doesn’t surprise me. I doubt the Nightwalker Lord would let anyone try, and truthfully, if I must be sold, I’d rather it be to a nightwalker I know.
“No? A pity. Shall we start the rest of the auction then?” His words spark excitement that flits through the air like embers. “Wonderful. Bring down the next cage!”
The blond nightwalker folds his arms across his chest, a stone-cold glint flashing across his eyes as he descends and replaces me centre stage.
Nightwalkers in the audience speak in hushed voices, assessing his physique, and his firm arm muscles tense.
“Devan is a newborn nightwalker. His old master changed him seven months ago, yet saw little profit in him. He was from topside and a blacksmith in Belmore. He developed weapons to fight the slayers.”
“Slayers!” the crowd hisses, rage thick on their tongues for the bio-engineered humans who combat nightwalkers.
I thought they were a myth. Legends. I fucking wish they were.
It all changed the night Darkovish Feeding Ground fell. Not only are they real, but they are filled with malice towards me. A vegodian. As soon as one saw my moonflower tattoo, he saw red and shot me.
“Do you have a name, or shall I call you Serun’s consort?” I snap out of my thoughts and face the woman resting against her cage. When I don’t answer, she exhales a laugh and says, “Serun’s consort it is, then.”
“Sold!” The nightwalker in the dragon-adorned suit gestures towards the man in the front row. “I see Mister Martin now has a swordsmith apprentice!”
The crowd claps while Devan’s cage is placed next to mine. His gaze settles on me, and those tense muscles relax. “Hello again, heartbeat. We should get to know each other while we are in the Undercity.” He leans forward, resting his broad arms on the metal crossbar. “You may be of use to me.”
His cage shudders violently. Devan stumbles with a choked gasp when shadows creep up from the corners of his cage like clawed fingers. They inch closer, filling the bottom with a writhing, hungry presence.
I taste Serun’s rage as if it were my own. He could tear Devan to ribbons, and a bitter part of me wants him to do it if it means one less nightwalker for me to worry about.
Long, taloned fingers dip down from the top of the cage. Devan’s eyes widen, but he seems paralysed by fear. We watch as what I saw back in the delivery room—dripping shadows from the ceiling—extend from either side of him, a pointed fingernail a hair away from carving out Devan’s eye.
“What the—” the woman nearest us grabs onto the bars when her cage starts to move. Before we can fully process what is going on, the shadows dissipate.
“Fuck me,” Devan breathes, which I find odd because he is acting as if he has breath. Nightwalkers are dead. They don’t need to breathe.
Maybe as a newborn nightwalker, he hasn’t realised that yet.
From across the theatre, Serun hasn’t moved an inch—but his fiery eyes aren’t on me anymore. Serun’s violent focus is on Devan while everyone below is none the wiser.
“Next, we have Olivia. She was from Coven, near the sea. After the murder of her master, Reyes took her to await her new House. Since she is eleven months into her transition, she’s still considered a newborn and will need a master for her final month. So, would any of you like an apprentice?”
A nightwalker in the fourth row rises from his seat and says, “And what did she do to her old master?”
Serun’s brother bows, a wicked grin beaming across his face as he lifts his head slightly to the crowd. “Bid on her, and I am certain she will tell you.”
Another wave of murmured conversations unsettles the crowd. My ears twitch, listening in as they question Olivia’s reliability. But when the bidding gets underway, I watch Serun. He still hasn’t moved, but those dark eyes are back on me.
I let out a deep breath and ask Devan, “Why do newborns need a master?”
He dusts his shoulder with an unbothered sigh, but his focus doesn’t stray from the corner of the cage where he first saw the shadows. “Become my friend in the Undercity, and I will tell you all you need to know, heartbeat.”
Devan glances towards the gallery, but nothing happens.
“Sold!”
Olivia’s cage joins ours. “I already want to kill my master. He gives small-dick energy,” she mutters.
I follow her intense stare to a man wearing silk. Shiny red diamond eyes fixate on her, and I cringe when the man darts his tongue out to moisten his lips.
Disgusting.
Olivia sighs and slumps back. Looking between the two of them, I lean closer to her and say, “I will give you my name if you tell me more about why newborn nightwalkers need masters.”
“Done.” Olivia turns away from the auction and rests against the bars.
“It’s weeding out the weak. Newborns who break the rules aren’t worthy of living in Serun’s world, and newborns must be registered if they want to live in the Undercity.
I’m fortunate to get a second chance. If I hadn’t, Lucifer would have killed me. ”
I cock my head to the side. “Who is Lucifer? And what happens to newborns without a master?”
Olivia nudges her head forward. “Him. The one on the stage.” I stare at Serun’s brother—Lucifer—as he raises his hand to welcome another cage to the bidding. “As for newborns without a House, they come here and wait for the next auction.”
“And how often are they?”
“Annually,” she says with a shrug. “To keep us in check, and to prevent newborns from slaughtering senselessly. A master must teach them Serun’s Law.”
“But how do they know? Surely a nightwalker can change a hundred newborns topside if they want to. How would Serun ever know?”
She nudges her chin to the woman seated beside Serun. A spider crawls up the woman’s cheek and disappears into her hair. “Lady Maeve sees everything.”
Devan clasps his hands behind his head and leans back against the cage. “You’re feeding our heartbeat too much information for a name we will all learn soon enough.”
Olivia twitches an eye at him. “And she could learn this information from her Lord Husband if she wanted to. We made our deal to establish trust. Something you seem not to have learned yet, newborn. Fuck, why are men so useless?”
With an aggravated hiss, he pushes off from the iron bars and pointedly focuses on the auction.
“Your name, Serun’s consort,” Olivia says as the bidding continues below.
I rub my thumb up and down my sweaty palm. “Saya.”
“Last name?”
“I said I would give you my name, and I have.”
She nods, accepting this.
Time passes quickly. Some stay in the light unsold and without a master, while others join us. The nightwalkers left behind panic, clutching the bars of their tiny birdcages and rattling them. Some even bite the metal, and others try to press themselves between the bars to no avail.
Even if they escape, I doubt they will get far. Lucifer eyes them before announcing the next newborn. “Cage seventy-two, Amber!”
Murmured conversations increase as a caged mountain of a man descends.
Silver scars shimmer against his bronze skin, one of them running from his eyebrow up and across his shaved head.
The man folds his arms across his chest, muscles on top of muscles tightening, while veins thicken under blood splatter that speaks of recent violence.
“Huh…” Devan grunts. “That guy again.”
“Care to elaborate?” Olivia asks, looking at the already enthusiastic crowd.
After a swift glance in my direction, Devan clicks his tongue.
“Screw it. Wherever he went, death followed. They called him the Death Spirit. No newborn wanted to be on his shit list. So, the streets quieted, and the death toll lessened. Some believed masters were hiring him as a mercenary to keep newborns in check.”
Hands greedily shoot up when the bidding starts.
“He’s popular,” Olivia says. “Cute, too.”
My throat tightens, the words sounding just like something Emily would have said.
Devan curls his lip, flashing a fang. “He will pose a threat if he sees us step out of line. They don’t call him the Death Spirit for nothing.”
“Why would he care?” I ask, mildly interested.
“Not in the Under—” Olivia is cut off by shocked gasps from below. Lady Maeve is standing with her hand raised. The bidding quickly ends there, and the Death Spirit’s cage is moved to join ours.
“Fuck,” Devan spits, spiralling further.
“Lady Maeve has claimed him, and rumour has it she is Lord Serun’s informant.
” He suddenly grabs the iron bars, his brows knitting as he adopts a pleading expression.
It does absolutely nothing for me. “Let’s join forces in the Undercity.
The three of us can have each other’s backs. ”
“I don’t make deals with weak men,” Olivia huffs out.
I grip my gown as I take in the huge nightwalker at the end of the row. Cold and unfriendly eyes watch us, his ear twitching as if hearing everything this moron says. “And why would I need you when my Lord Husband is Serun himself?”
Ash settles in my mouth at the words. Even though it’s true, the idea of using this to assert power has bitterness thickening on my tongue.
Lucifer claps his hands sharply, drawing the attention of the crowd back to him. “The auction is over. Whoever claimed a newborn, please make your way to the entrance. Everyone else, enjoy the show.”
Some of the crowd make their way to the exit, while the others turn to the still-lit cages of nightwalkers who weren’t claimed as they cry and plead for someone to save them.
“Lord Serun, care to cull the weak? Repast on undead souls?” Lucifer purrs, straightening his stance. His eyes flash to me, smile curdling. “Or do you fear your dove will be frightened to see what you truly are when the lights are out?”
The crowd grows silent as Serun stands. Darkness pours from him and over the gallery like a thousand snakes. Through the hood of his cloak, neon red eyes flare in my direction before he raises his clawed hands high. The theatre drains of light, sending us into complete, obsolescent darkness.
My breath sharpens, magnifying in my pricked, pointed ears. I shuffle back when the cage trembles and the chains rattle. I tip my head up, straining to see anything, when ice caresses my cheek, and I suck in a sharp breath. On an exhale, I whisper, “Nightwalker?”
“Close your eyes if you don’t want to see,” he murmurs, the taste of nightshade so potent I could choke on it.
Serun’s claw grazes my cheek, and I cringe away from his touch. “No,” I say through a locked jaw. “Show me who you truly are, nightwalker.”
The icy bite on my cheek fades. In the next breath, a beam of red flashes across the theatre like an electric pulse, illuminating everything.
Then, darkness slices through the cages of the unclaimed like jelly.
Torn flesh, gargled cries of agony, and weeping sounds of begging echo in my ears as Serun levitates, arms outstretched at his sides and his head tipped back.
Inky shadows sweep out to form a thousand blades, and in the blink of an eye, more flesh hangs from sinew and crimson petals flutter down like ash.
Saliva thickens in my mouth, pooling at the sight of so much blood, as unclaimed nightwalkers fade into eternal night.
And below, nightwalkers raise their hands to worship their devil.