Of the Blood Page 11

  Weak, I dropped to the bitter, rough ground, my entire body trembling.

  His words meant nothing to me. In my entire life, I’d never experience magic. Not a spark or flicker of any kind. And if I did have it—whatever it was—how the hell was I supposed to release it?

  Worthless. It was all meaningless words, and I was useless, sitting in a dingy cell, captured like a rat in a cage.

  Morbeth wasn’t a place someone could easily break into, especially with their infamous Red Wall. Hell, it wasn’t a place anybody in their right mind would even consider breaking into without regarding their lives. Even Melaina swore she wouldn’t step into this territory.

  Before Talbrinth’s Great War, Morbeth had been in the process of raising their wall. After its completion, the Red Wall was named for the countless bodies and blood spilled around it during the war. No enemy could penetrate the wall, and all those who tried fell to Morbeth’s army of archers and arrows. The soil around the wall, which claimed thousands of lives, was given the name Dead Man’s Land. Even years afterward, the area was still desolate, bereft of life, and every living thing ceased to exist as if it were cursed. I had no doubt it was cursed, as was the entire region of Morbeth.

  I searched for my pack, but it wasn’t there. I remembered throwing it over my back when Kylan grabbed me. Erro must have taken it at some point without my knowledge. The dagger Kylan gave me—Trystan’s dagger—was in it, and so was the flask. At this moment, the flask seemed like the only option. But it was gone.

  The cell was dark and bleak, the air stagnant. I could practically smell the fear and loneliness mixed with excrement, blood, sweat, and tears from the countless prisoners once held here. It was a fetid smell that would permanently tarnish the walls of these cells.

  I kicked the door several times, but it was made of solid wood and didn’t budge. So much for super vampire strength.

  I shouted from the narrow-barred window at the top, but my cries went unnoticed. It seemed the only sounds down here, wherever this was, were coming from me.

  I wasn’t sure what time it was, but I was exhausted. I curled up in a dry corner of the cell and closed my eyes, wishing to fall asleep and see Trystan . . . but sleep eluded me. There were too many questions in my mind, along with the strong, overwhelming anguish of the loss of my mother.

  I lost track of time when a latch on the door clicked, and a smaller door on the bottom raised. A small tray slid inside before the door clicked shut.

  “Wait!” I screamed, jumping to my feet and rushing to the door. “Wait! Come back.” I pounded on the door, but the footsteps didn’t stop and continued until I was left alone, in silence.

  Gods damned bastards!

  I crouched over and picked up the tray. On it were two small slices of stale bread that appeared as though they’d been sitting out for a few days. I picked up a cup of clear liquid and brought it to my nose, sniffing it. There was no odor. It must have been water.

  If the Prince of Morbeth was in the Whisper Woods, he knew Trystan had claimed me, and that I was now one of them . . . a vampire. By bringing me water and bread, he clearly wanted me to suffer. How long was I to remain a prisoner? I knew the decree. They were going to execute me, and eventually my father. We were the last of Nicolae’s bloodline . . . that’s what I’d assumed.

  The truth was, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  I could only hope Erro wasn’t assigned to locate my father. If there were other Wanderers out there like him, my father had no chance. There was no way he could run from the wind.

  Erro had found me and was able to break through Melaina’s wards, snatching me directly from Trystan’s cadre. I hoped they were alright. The look Kylan gave me before I disappeared made my stomach ache. At least he knew I was taken and not lost somewhere in the woods. And he had to have known I would be taken to Morbeth. I hoped.

  I exhaled heavily, pressing my back against the cold stone wall, slipping down it. Hugging my knees, the only thing I could do was wait.

  It felt like an eternity before my next meal arrived and it was the same crap. Stale bread and water. My stomach felt like it was devouring itself from the inside out. I knew if I didn’t get blood soon, I’d pass out. Which wouldn’t be awful. Sleep was a much better option than having my mind awake with too many emotions and unanswered questions stirring.

  Every time I closed my eyes, I hoped to see Trystan. But every time, that hope was shattered, replaced with recurring nightmares. Was the blood bond weak because I was weak?

  With each passing moment, I found myself fading in and out. If I had Trystan’s flask, I would have drunk from it.

  Finally, after my eyes became so heavy they couldn’t stay open, I welcomed sleep.

  Darkness enveloped me, and as much as I searched, I couldn’t see a light or detect a way out.

  “Trystan?” I cried out, but there was no answer. “Trystan!”

  I could hear movement around me, but couldn’t see past the dense, pitch-black gloom. It sounded like there was something slithering on the ground around me.

  “Who’s there?” I wailed, hoping it wasn’t a snake. Gods, I hated snakes.

  There was no answer, but the movement was now behind me. Then to my side. And front. It was everywhere. I extended my arms, feeling, reaching for anything to grip onto. But there was nothing but empty space.

  The darkness was vile. It was heavy and humid, making it hard to breathe.

  I sensed I wasn’t alone in this endless black chamber and could feel the weight of ominous eyes observing me.

  Then something slithered across the floor and struck my foot. Screaming, I raced forward, slamming into something broad and solid. I whirled to run away, but powerful arms wrapped around me from behind. From the height and muscles, I knew he was male. My captor’s scent was foreign, a blend of leather and maybe oak—a heady, woody fragrance. It wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t anything like Trystan’s.

  “I’ve got you now,” a low voice spoke into my ear, sending a shudder down my spine. “You don’t have to fear the dark. I own the dark.”

  Fear gripped me, smothering me so I couldn’t move or breathe. “I despise the dark,” I replied, trying to fight from his hold. But those arms held me firm.

  A sudden flicker in the dark soon shifted into a ball of light hovering in front of us. I struggled to twist back, to look at the face of the stranger holding me, but he gripped me tighter against his chest, keeping me steady.

  “Let go of me!” I exclaimed, trying to free myself.

  An evil laugh rumbled against my ear. “Soon,” he breathed. “But right now, I have you exactly where I want you.”

  Terror filled every part of me. Who the hell was this bastard?

  “It’s such a pity you didn’t take the handsome Carpathian prince’s offer to seal the bond.”

  “Get away from me,” I screamed, trying to push out of his grasp. But I couldn’t budge. His arms were like steel.

  Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. I needed to get out of this nightmare.

  I snapped out of the dream, my wrists burning. I raised my arms to see thick steel manacles clamped around them, connected to heavy chains that were attached to the rock wall behind me.

  Sucking in a breath, I caught a whiff of a strong scent lingering in the cell. The same as in my nightmare . . . leather and wood. Whoever was in my dream was here now.

  It took a moment for my swollen eyes to adjust, but when they did, I gasped, looking at a tall figure standing at the far side of the cell. He was over six feet tall with muscular arms crisscrossed over a broad chest.

  “So, you are Calla Caldwell—granddaughter of the savage and elusive Nicolae Corvus.”

  I twisted over onto my hands and knees and stood on unsteady legs. It took some effort, but I finally straightened, my bound wrists hanging heavy at my sides. I wouldn’t show this bastard weakness, although I was a grand illustration of the word.

  I scowled at him. “And you must be the murderous bastar
d. The Prince of Morbeth.”

  He gave a devilish grin. He looked a bit older than Trystan, maybe in his early thirties, with midnight hair that fell past his shoulders. But his eyes were unlike any I’d seen before. They were dark obsidian rimmed with crimson. Eyes of the devil.

  “Yes, I am Roehl Tynan, Prince of Morbeth,” he said, stepping out of the shadows.

  I hated to admit it, but he was handsome, with sharp features. In those mysterious eyes, I could see something cunning, something evil writhing within. “You’ve been difficult to locate. You and your father. But lucky for me, I know the whereabouts of a few Wanderers. And I have no doubt your father will be accompanying us soon enough.”

  “Why are you doing this? We’re innocent. We’ve done nothing to you,” I roared, shoving against the shackles. If I weren’t tied up, I would have lurched forward and punched the pompous expression off his face.

  My trembling legs were threatening to give by the second, but I held my ground. “Whatever Nicolae did to you is not our issue. I’ve never even met him. He left my father on the doorstep of a parish, and I was told he was dead way before I was born. So, why are we being hunted for someone we don’t know or couldn't care less about?”

  His head inclined slightly to the side. “It’s complicated.”

  I could feel the heat building inside me. “Complicated?” I stepped as close to him as the shackles would allow. “You murdered my mother and many more innocent lives!”

  “I didn’t mean for your mother to be killed. All those on the ship were collateral damage. If your father hadn’t made such a huge fuss and come voluntarily, they would all still be alive.”

  “You bastard!” I wailed. I lurched at him, swinging, but he seized my wrist.

  In a blink, Roehl pushed my back against the rough wall behind me, pinning me up against it with a force that slammed the air from my lungs. His eyes went completely black.

  “I’m not the bastard,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Nicolae is.”

  I fought him with everything I had, but he was too powerful. Looking into my eyes, he simply spoke the word, “Stop,” and my body froze. I couldn’t move a muscle.

  He’d cast a spell on me.

  Another sly smirk, and Roehl took a step back. From his pocket he removed an object, then brought it up between his fingers, shaking it a few inches from my face. It was an ornate, golden flask with Trystan’s crest on its front. My body ached at the sight, and he recognized it. The bastard was tormenting me.

  His darkened eyes tightened. “You should have taken his offer and sealed the bond. Then things would have turned out much differently.” He slowly began to unscrew the cap. “If you did seal the bond, I would be holding a prince’s mate prisoner, and that, my dear Calla, would not be beneficial to me or my kingdom.” Sniffing the blood inside the flask, his nose crumpled, like the smell was repulsive. But I caught the scent, and my entire body craved it.

  One sip. That’s all it would take to seal the bond with Trystan. One sip and this could all be over. It was so close, but utterly unattainable in his grasp. I knew there was no way he’d let me touch the flask now.

  “It’s a shame, really, what your stubbornness to remain free has cost you. Look at you now. Look where your freedom and strong will have taken you.” He took a single step closer, holding the flask inches from my face. The smell of Trystan’s blood was potent, causing my incisors to lengthen. The thirst so intense it nearly knocked me to my knees.

  He scowled, drawing another step back. “You will no longer be free, my pet. And now, he will never have you.”

  He walked toward a small drain at the center of the cell and poured Trystan’s blood down it. I collapsed to my knees, watching every drop of hope fade.

  When the flask was drained, Prince Roehl screwed the cap back on and tucked it into his pocket.

  In another flash, he was on his knees in front of me, inches away. His lip curling above long, sharp incisors. Then his broad frame pressed against mine, fastening me back against the wall as his hands seized my cuffed wrists, forcing them above my head.

  “Since you declined to bond with the Carpathian prince, you are now free to claim.” In one swift movement, Roehl’s teeth punctured my flesh—the area where my neck and shoulder met.

  I screamed out in pain, trying to thrust him away, trying to stop him, but he wouldn’t budge. When he finally pulled back, my blood dripped from his lips and chin.

  His tongue licked the wet crimson on his lips. He closed his eyes. “So unbelievably delicious. Now I see why Trystan couldn’t resist you.” He leaned forward and ran his tongue across the skin he’d just bitten. “Consider yourself lucky. If I didn’t have a better use for you, I would have drained you dry.”

  I sealed my eyes, not wanting to look at his face. I despised him. He was wrong. His scent, his feel, everything about him. He was vicious and vile, the cause of my mother’s murder, and it was simply a matter of time before my father and I were next.

  Being in his presence caused me to wonder if Nicolae was really to blame. If Roehl’s brother was anything like him, I was glad he had performed a service and rid Talbrinth of him.

  I was helpless, tethered to a rock wall, in a dingy, cold cell somewhere in the bowels of Morbeth’s dungeon. My chest ached, knowing all hope of sealing the bond with Trystan was gone. I couldn’t turn back time. All I could do was figure a means to survive the future and whatever horrors lay ahead.

  Chapter Eleven

  With my blood still wet on his lips, Prince Roehl unsheathed a dagger from his side, then slit his left wrist, holding it inches from my face. Bright red blood spilled from the wound, down his forearm and dripped off his elbow onto the ground. The coppery scent, the color, and the fact it was offered to me freely, virtually drove me to the edge of insanity.

  Gods, it’d been days since I’d fed, and every cell inside my body urged me to drink. But I knew the consequences of drinking Roehl’s blood, and there was no way in hell I’d be bound to that monster for the rest of my immortal life.

  “It’s simple,” he said coolly, his obsidian eyes narrowing on me. “Drink, and all your pain and suffering will cease. Drink, and your father will survive. Drink . . . and you will become a queen.”

  As his blood spilled, my mind reflected to the site of my mother and the blood pooled around her head. Her lifeless body slaughtered on the deck of their merchant ship, along with Brynna’s parents and the rest of the crew. All dead . . . because of this monster.

  “Never!” I wailed.

  The look in his black, vicious eyes was terrifying, causing my insides to shudder. The crimson rim around his irises were pronounced. A wild look emblazoned within them.

  I barely saw him move, but felt a blast to my side, followed by a snap. Crippling pain exploded through my rib cage, doubling me over. He moved again, kicking my legs out from under me. I hit the ground, the back of my head slamming into the solid floor.

  Roehl kneeled at my side. His long fingers clasped tightly around my neck, cutting off my air. “Ignorant fool. You’ve been living as a mortal, under a veil of darkness all your life. You know nothing of our world, or the powers immortals possess.” His face appeared within an inch of mine, his breath brushing against my face. “I advise you tread lightly. You will learn who is master in my kingdom. Resist, and you will perish. Submit to my authority,” his expression somewhat relaxed, “and you will discover how reasonable I can be.”

  He then had the audacity to sweep a stray hair from my cheek before rising, gesturing to a figure outside of the cell to enter. “Clean up the mess,” he ordered. “Talk some sense into her. Tell her how generous I can be when one surrenders.”

  Bastard! My body screamed out in agony and fury as he left. I could barely breathe. The pain was agonizing.

  A young woman stepped in, bowing her head as he left, then quickly shuffled over to me. She was young and beautiful, around my age, with flawless chocolate skin. Her eyes were almond-brown, borde
red within the longest lashes I’d ever seen. But it was the worry etched in her eyes and crumpled on her brow that made me wonder what I truly looked like.

  In one hand, she carried a small pail and in the other a rag, like they’d already planned for something like this to happen. She pulled a pouch dangling from her side. Kneeling next to me, she picked up the rag and soaked it into the pail of water, then wrung it out and lightly wiped my forehead.

  I couldn’t take a full breath, or even half a breath, without shooting pain. I was nauseous, my head throbbing and my eyes a bit blurred. I wondered if the fall caused a fracture to my skull.

  “I’m sorry,” the girl whispered so softly I could barely hear her.

  I lolled my head to the side, which caused pain to shoot through my eyes. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

  She cautiously raised her skirt and under it, belted to her thigh, was a small pocketknife. From her pack she plucked a miniature wooden bowl that fit in the palm of her hand. I watched, bewildered, as she tugged up her sleeve and created a narrow incision right below her bicep.

  As her blood started to flow, she placed the dish under her elbow to catch it. When it was filled, she carefully set it down and immediately tied a bandage around the incision and tugged her sleeve down.

  “You need to drink,” she said quietly, scooting closer with the bowl cupped in her hands. “You’re too weak and won’t heal unless you do.” She slipped her right arm under my head and gently raised it. I gasped as pain shot through my side. But she didn’t pause. She set the bowl to my mouth. “Drink,” she urged, and I obeyed.

  Her blood was heavenly, as sweet as honey, and as soon as it hit my throat, I could already feel it working. By the time I emptied the bowl, I could breathe a little easier, the pain in my skull and chest had dulled. It wasn’t gone, but it had become tolerable.

  “What’s your name?” I exhaled, laying my head back down on the hard floor.