Page 37

CHAPTER THIRTY

ISOLDE

The hunger is a beast with claws that tear at my insides.

Time stretches like elastic in Blackridge’s evaluation chamber, with seconds becoming minutes, and minutes becoming hours.

Or perhaps it’s only been moments. I can’t tell anymore.

The stone walls beat with the same rhythm as the blood dripping from Blackridge’s wrist, a hypnotic tempo designed to break me.

He hasn’t moved. Hasn’t spoken. Just sits opposite me in his conjured chair, watching with those bottomless eyes while his blood pools on the floor between us. The scent fills the chamber, rich and ancient and impossibly alluring.

I hate him for this. For separating me from the others. For testing me when I’m already so vulnerable. For knowing exactly what I need and dangling it before me like bait for a starving animal.

Which is exactly what I’m becoming.

My silver light has grown brighter in the time I’ve been here, illuminating the dark chamber that makes the symbols on the walls writhe and twist hauntingly.

My fangs have fully extended, so long that they press painfully against my bottom lip. Saliva floods my mouth, metallic and bitter. I swallow it back, again and again, my throat working convulsively.

The voices in my head have never been louder.

Take it. Drink it. Power beyond imagining. Knowledge beyond time. Drink and become.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of Blackridge’s bleeding wrist, but it doesn’t help. I can still smell him, still feel the pull of his blood calling to me.

“No,” I whisper.

My body trembles with the effort of remaining seated, of not launching myself across the space between us and sinking my fangs into his flesh. Every muscle is tense to the point of pain. My claws have pierced the stone arms of the chair, cracking the ancient material.

Blackridge remains unmoved, patient as the mountains. The only sound in the chamber is the steady drip of his blood hitting the floor and my increasingly laboured breathing.

The hunger twists inside me, a living thing with needs and desires separate from mine. It whispers promises of relief, of power, of answers to questions I haven’t even thought to ask yet. All I have to do is surrender.

Just a taste. Just one small taste.

I dig my claws deeper into the stone, focusing on the ache that threatens to snap them off one by one, declawing me in the most painful way possible, instead of the gnawing emptiness inside me. It doesn’t work. Nothing works. The hunger only grows stronger, more insistent, more demanding.

My vision blurs until the chamber seems underwater, distorted and wavering. Blackridge’s form becomes a dark silhouette against the hazy background, but his blood remains vivid, impossibly bright against the grey.

A shudder runs through me, violent enough to rattle my teeth.

The hunger has moved beyond mere craving now.

It’s become physical pain, a tearing sensation that starts in my stomach and radiates outward.

My throat burns as if I’ve swallowed acid.

My veins feel like they’re filled with glass shards instead of blood.

But I don’t give in. Not a fucking chance.

I will not give him what he wants. I will not become his puppet, his experiment, his tool. Whatever is in his blood, whatever power or knowledge or poison, I don’t want it.

But gods, I need it.

Blackridge finally moves, leaning forward slightly. His eyes reflect the silver light, turning them from black holes to mirrors. For an instant, I see myself reflected in them, wild-eyed, feral, barely recognisable.

A sob tears from my throat, half rage, half despair. I don’t want to be this creature. This monster driven by hunger and need. But I can feel myself slipping further with each passing moment, control fraying like an old rope about to snap.

The blood whispers grow more insistent, no longer content to merely suggest. They command now, their voices merging into one terrible chorus.

Sweat drips off my forehead, joining his blood on the ground as I lean forward. My breath is a ragged pant.

With a wild roar, I launch out of the chair, blurring past him to climb the walls of the chamber, ripping my claws, bleeding out, but I need to get further away from him.

My tongue darts out, tasting the air where his blood scent is strongest.

He turns to watch me, literally climbing the walls as madness descends.

He says nothing. He just waits, infinitely patient, as I wage war against myself.

Another wave of pain crashes through me, this one so intense I cry out, and I fall from the top of the wall, hitting the ground with a painful thud. My body convulses, and I groan loudly, rolling into the foetal position.

Something warm trickles from my nose.

My blood, mixing with tears streaming from my eyes. The taste of it on my lips is nothing compared to the promise of Blackridge’s ancient power, but it momentarily clears my head.

This isn’t just about resistance anymore. It’s about survival. The hunger is literally tearing me apart from the inside. If I don’t feed soon, I might not leave this chamber alive.

Is that what he wants? To push me to the brink of destruction? To see how far I can go before I break?

The thought brings a fresh surge of anger, but it’s quickly subsumed by another wave of hunger so intense my vision whites out entirely. When it returns, I’m crawling towards him. Submissive, almost defeated, crossing half the distance between us without conscious thought.

Blackridge remains seated, his bleeding wrist extended slightly, offering without demanding. His eyes track my movements with scientific interest, noting each tremor, each gasp, each flare of silver light beneath my skin.

This is a test, pure and simple. Of my will, of my strength, of my limits. And I’m failing spectacularly.

The hunger claws higher, reaching my chest now, making each breath a struggle. I can feel something changing inside me, breaking down or building up, I can’t tell which. All I know is that it hurts more than the runes being embedded in my spine.

The stone floor is slick with Blackridge’s blood. I reach for it, placing my hands in the puddle. The contact sends electric shocks of need through my system, my body absorbing what it can even without my permission.

It’s not enough. Not nearly enough. The voices scream for more, for direct consumption, for the connection that comes only from vein to vein, blood to blood.

I press my forehead to the cold stone, trying to ground myself in the physical sensation. It doesn’t work. Nothing works. The hunger has consumed everything else, every thought, every feeling, every memory. There is only the need, vast and terrible and all-encompassing.

A sound escapes me, low and heinous. Not quite a growl, not quite a whimper.

It’s the sound of something breaking beyond repair.

The realisation comes too late. The hunger has won. With a snarl of pure insanity, I launch myself at Blackridge, grabbing his extended wrist with both hands and bringing it to my mouth.

The first taste explodes across my tongue like a supernova.

Power, ancient and excruciating, floods my system.

The blood is black, carrying memories and knowledge so vast I can’t begin to process them.

Images flash through my mind too quickly to comprehend, of civilisations rising and falling, magic in its purest form, and creatures beyond description moving between realities.

I drink greedily, desperately, the hunger driving me to take more and more. The silver light beneath my skin changes, darkening where Blackridge’s blood touches me, creating intricate patterns that spread across my body like living tattoos.

Blackridge remains perfectly still, allowing me to feed without resistance. But then, he gently places his hand on the back of my head, steadying me.

“Get your filthy, perverted hands off her, you fucking cunt!”

CJ’s growl echoes around the chamber, and I gasp, choking on Blackridge’s blood.

“Mr Aquila,” he says in that calm way of his. “You are more powerful than I gave you credit for. Those wards were designed to stop you.”

“Nothing will stop me from getting to Isolde,” he snarls.

“Apparently. I’m impressed.”

“Get away from her.”

“She is feeding. A necessity after she denied herself the pleasure for far too long.”

My eyes flick up to meet CJ’s. His expression is one of fury and loathing, directed at Blackridge, and maybe a bit at me as well.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop me. Blackridge’s blood is easing all the pain, all the torment, all the voices are quiet. I feel invincible in the true sense. Immortal, true and absolute. Nothing could touch me now. Nothing could hurt me. Nothing could stop me.

“Isolde, get away from that sick fuck. Now.”

“I’m not hurting her,” Blackridge says. “Quite the opposite. You can stand down, Mr Aquila.”

“Never. She will never be yours.”

“I don’t want her,” he says, almost dismissively. “She is a child. A student. You misunderstand this interaction.”

“I misunderstand nothing! You are violating her.” He storms forward, but Blackridge throws up a barrier to stop him.

The barrier crackles with dark energy, holding CJ back as he pounds against it with his fists. His markings flare beneath his skin, dragon fire and vampire fury combining into something that makes the air itself burn. He is seconds away…

“Let him through,” I gasp, finally pulling back from Blackridge’s wrist. The blood coats my lips, black as midnight and twice as potent. “Let him through, or he is going to shift, and I’m betting you don’t want that. Not here. Not now.”

Blackridge’s face remains impassive as I stand on unsteady legs, power coursing through me in ways that I’m going to crave in sick and twisted ways. The hunger is gone, replaced by something far more dangerous. Absolute certainty in who and what I am.

“Drop the barrier,” I repeat.