Page 52 of Blood Ties (City of Blood #1)

Elina

Ilose track of the days and nights that pass.

Sleeping when they sleep, waking when they wake, I am fully immersed in Nicolas’s household.

The nights blur together, flashing between evenings of decadent parties and moonlit dinners, and those that are marked by blood dripping into floor drains and pain.

Two weeks at the mercy of Nicolas. I never know which version of him I will get. He has never laid a hand on me or hurt me, he reserves that for his henchmen. He uses control and manipulation to twist the knife of captivity deep inside me.

Last week, he brought me to him for another meal where he fed from and killed another person—a man this time.

He overpowered him, pressing his flesh against the man, forcing a moan from his lips.

I wasn’t able to tell if it was sensual or merely fear.

It doesn't matter either way, the man died all the same.

On another evening, he sent someone to my room for a ‘donation’, where I was forced, under Marc’s watchful eye, to fill a bag with my blood.

I, then, had to sit across from Nic as he sipped my warm blood from a wine glass.

I was expected to not only sit there, but also to eat the bloody, rare steak that was served to me.

I currently sit, attired in my black, sheath dress and barefoot, waiting for the knock that will bring me to Nicolas for the evening.

I know when I awake what sort of night to anticipate based on the clothing he provides.

Cindy has taken all of my other clothes, piece-by-piece, over the last few days, until I have no choice but to wear what she brings.

Tonight, a tight-fitting, silk, floor-length gown appeared in the wardrobe while I slept.

A party it is. Whether it’s the sort of party that involves me trying to placate Nicolas in private chambers, or the sort where I put on a show in front of the court, I do not yet know.

Not a single sound infiltrates my bedroom. It's a sensory deprivation chamber—I sit in complete silence.

A sharp knock on the door brings me to awareness. I know, based on the harshness of the sound, that Claudel has been sent to fetch me. There will be no allies, not even of the pseudo kind, tonight.

Standing, I approach the door just as he flings it open, the door knob banging into the wall, causing me to startle and flinch away from the jarring sound. Claudel wears a smug smile tonight as he takes in my outfit.

I am not provided with underclothes so my breasts are on display and I feel disgustingly exposed to his roving eyes. The expedited healing that has been developing also means that my skin does not betray the scars and bruises my soul bears from these weeks in prison.

“Prince Nicolas awaits.” His clipped tone, followed by his quick retreat, unnerves me as I rush to follow. The hallway outside my room is dimly lit this evening, and unusually cold. I cross my arms over my chest, rubbing them for warmth while trying to hide within myself.

I rush, on silent steps, behind his retreating figure.

We make our way down the stairs into the courtyard where there is a party already underway.

As we enter the open space, there are vampires everywhere.

They hang over the balconies and are framed and backlit in the doorways.

Sitting on the lounges and at the tables.

Humans, carrying trays of wine glasses and blood, intermingle with the vamps—the occasional feeding happening against a wall, or in the cleared space meant to be a dance floor in the middle of the room.

I follow Claudel closely. I am in danger here.

We approach Nicolas sitting in the large chair, with a high back, red velvet upholstery and a gilt inlay.

We pause and Claudel bows deeply and I affect a curtsey.

Nicolas smiles indulgently at me, love shining in his eyes.

I smile in return, doing my best to inject it with happiness I do not feel.

“Attention! Attention, everyone!” Nicolas calls out to the room as he stands, raising a goblet of red liquid—I can not yet tell if it’s wine or blood.

“My beautiful love, Elina, has arrived. Please all, pay her the deference she deserves.” A champagne glass is thrust into my hand and I am spun to face the crowd as they all lift their glasses in my direction.

“To Elina!” comes a chorus of cheers as I raise my glass in return, my cheeks pinking with embarrassment and anger at this display.

The bubbles in my champagne tickle my nose as I take a sip, immediately being warmed by the alcohol.

I would like something stronger, though, if I am to perform for the crowd.

I know what Nicolas expects now, and disrespect and flippancy will only result in more pain.

Turning back to Nicolas, I peer at him and he is gracing me with one of his rare proud looks, as though I am playing my part so well he genuinely believes the show he is directing is real. I stand in front of him, somewhat awkwardly, unsure of what I am to do now. I stare at him as he watches me.

“Sister!” I hear Genevieve at the exact moment she wraps her arms around me from behind, burying her face in my neck and inhaling deeply.

“You smell lovely this evening.” I feel the tiniest scrape of her teeth against my throat as Nicolas hisses in his chair.

“I was only smelling her, Nic. Calm down.”

“You aren’t feeding from her, have some respect.

” He gives her a disdainful look. “Soon she will be a vampire and we can all share if you want.” He wears an indulgent smile at this thought, as though that is something I would be interested in.

I know from Bash that blood sharing between vampire couples is used to deepen emotional and sensual connections, and is often a hallmark of sex between bound partners.

Offering this…ritual to his sister leads me to believe my previous instincts about the unusual relationship they have may be close to correct.

I do not respond to his leading statement.

He does not need me to participate in the conversation.

“Sit, my love.” He gestures to the stool next to his chair, low to the ground, at his feet.

His casual use of the word ‘love’ as a term of endearment pisses me off, and I am further degraded by the subservient position at his feet.

But I sit anyway. Sitting at his feet is the best case scenario in this situation.

Once I am uncomfortably perched, he rests a hand on the side of neck, a silent declaration of ownership to the room. A line of vampires begins to form in front of us. I watch, wearily. What is this party celebrating?

A tall, lean, dark skinned vampire, with even darker hair, is the first to approach. He drops to a single knee in front of Nicolas.

“Sire.” He addresses him with a light French lilt to the word. “I’ve come to report on the progress in Ville de Sang this week. We have recruited seven vampires who are unhappy under their current leadership and want to join our army. I have provided a list to Jon.”

“Thank you. Please continue to swell our ranks.” Nicolas waves a hand in dismissal.

Next up is a short brunette wearing a red dress so tiny, I am unconvinced it is a dress at all. She also drops to the floor but on both knees this time. She widens her knees, sitting back on her heels. I look toward Nicolas and there is a pleased smile on his face as he watches her from his chair.

Leaning back slightly, she exposes herself to him, running her hands down her body provocatively.

“Prince.” She draws the word out suggestively, Nicolas’s hand tightening ever so slightly around the back of my neck as he watches her. “I was hoping for the opportunity to meet with you to discuss some issues.” As she speaks, she runs her hands up the inside of her thigh, her sex on full display.

Glancing at Nicolas again, I see that his pleasure has turned to hunger.

He tears his eyes away from her body, her thighs, and looks at me.

Running his eyes down the column of my throat to my breasts, clearly outlined in the tight fabric, his hunger intensifies.

I shrink beneath his gaze, willing him to look at her, not me.

“Come here.” He motions to her with two fingers.

She approaches him slowly and he pats his lap, never removing his hand from me.

He relaxes back in his chair and indicates to her to straddle him.

She climbs onto him, pressed tight against the bulge at his zipper.

He wraps his free hand around her hip and she slowly begins to grind against him, throwing her head back and exposing her neck.

The hand he has around my neck tightens again until I can feel the flow of blood slow, a slight haziness clouding my vision, as she continues to gyrate and press herself against him.

Her breaths come faster and he releases the pressure on my neck, allowing the blood to return to my brain.

He rubs soothing circles against my racing pulse.

Planting her hands on his chest, she moves faster, her breaths coming out in pants and moans.

He resumes his squeezing of my neck, and the unfocused quality of my vision returns.

I can hear Genevieve breathing heavily from behind me, and feel her swaying slightly as her leg brushes against my back.

It's erotic and overwhelming, but also terrifying and violating. This display feels like a specially designed torture by Nicolas to keep me on edge, uncomfortable. I have grown used to, however uneasily, the free sexual nature of this court but this feels like I am exposed, and the entire room is watching me. The woman’s ministrations start to become erratic as she gets closer to orgasm, Nicolas giving every indication of being unaffected, but I can feel the slight tremble in his fingers on my neck and see the erection under the woman humping him.

I drift somewhere outside my body, watching it all from above, where nothing can touch me. Where I am still whole.

She climaxes on his lap with a shout, calling out his name as though he were God.

He wraps his hand all the way around my neck to the front and tilts my head back, forcing me to make eye contact while the woman grinds through her orgasm.

As soon as she stops moving, he pushes her off his lap with a look of dissatisfaction.

“That’s the only audience you’ll get from me.”

I fight the revulsion I feel in my body, the need to vomit almost overtaking me, but I force it down. I can not show any more weakness than I already have.

“How are you feeling, love? Did you enjoy the show?” I know he is trying to goad a response from me and I can’t bring myself to formulate anything to say.

This has crossed a line tonight and I feel dirty and used.

His methods, his manipulations and psychological torture have gotten more painful to endure with every passing day.

He must catch sight of the hate written on my face, despite my placating attitude.

His own face morphs into a terrifying look, one I have come to recognize.

I try to fix my response to something he will accept, but I fear the damage is done.

He releases my neck suddenly, my skin cold from his missing touch.

I loathe the feeling of his skin on mine, but it brings a certain amount of comfort knowing his wrath is hidden away when he is trying to be kind. He can’t keep it hidden for long.

“Nic-Nicolas, please. I’m sorry.” I beg him because I can feel the disappointment and coldness rolling off him and I know my night is going to get worse.

Casting me a glare that makes my knees tremble, he raises his hand for Claudel who immediately appears from the crowd.

“You may take her now,” he tells him quietly before standing again.

“Please wish my lovely Elina a pleasant evening, everyone.” Fifty eyes turn in my direction, but the only one I see is Marc’s as he looks at me knowingly.

Claudel grips my arms and leads me from the room and down the hall, to the room with the concrete floor and the shackles. I hang my head and cry.

It could be minutes or hours later. I stand tethered as I watch my blood drip from my body into the floor drain. Today, I think I last longer, I don’t collapse as quickly. My vision doesn’t blur as easily. The blood slows faster. I feel stronger.

Marc, Jon, and Stephan gather around to watch me, restraints at my hands and feet.

My dress has been removed and I stand naked and exposed, chained to the wall for them to watch.

The nudity is more mental torture, the vulnerability, the helplessness of being unclothed.

The same way that my shoes being taken was in the beginning.

Stripped down, I can’t cover myself. I can’t protect myself.

Breathing heavily, my chin resting on my chest, my arms above my head, I allow myself a moment of escape.

I focus on my breathing, on my heart pumping, and know that this is not the end.

He can’t win. The room is silent except for the drip drip of my blood and the breath whooshing from my lungs.

Tonight, I can hear the blood as it drains away, the water below the drain rushing by.

I can smell the metallic scent and the dirty mixture flowing through the drain below us.

Marc has left me alone, killing the lights on his way out.

It’s an extra layer to his torture—the silence of the soundproof room. The absolute darkness of no windows.

The silence is so profound that I think I can hear the blood pumping in my heart, moving through my body, feeding my muscles.

Faintly, I hear a rustle and a whisper. I perk my ears, turning my head to try and listen harder. Something below me—beneath the floor—rips loose followed by a scream. Raw. Furious. Agonized. I catch a faint wisp of whiskey and smoke before I am alone again, in silence.

Bash?