Page 97 of Destined Dawn

My father isn’t kissing that man. This isn’t some weird orgy I’ve stumbled into. Not of that kind, anyway.

No, my father’s teeth are buried in the man’s neck. He’s biting him, draining the magical’s magic from his veins – taking it for his own!

I want to turn away and run, run as far away from this place as I can, but my feet are glued to the spot and bile and repulsion slosh in my stomach.

My vision spins.

The Black Prince – the horror of it makes me nauseous – is a drainer.

They all are. All of them.

Nosferatu.

Vampires.

The darkest of all magicals.

I watch as the Black Prince stands up, his mouthcrimson with blood and licks his lips. He clicks his fingers and the chains fall away. But the young man doesn’t move. His eyes fall shut and his head lulls to one side. The two girls shuffle forward, slinging the man’s arms around each of their shoulders. The Black Prince slumps onto an armchair, his eyes dazed like he’s on drugs. As the two girls drag the man away, he catches Charmaine by her upper arm.

“Still so weak, Source,” he scoffs, “come see me again when you have restored.”

I slam my hands over my mouth to smother a gasp. That’s why her magic was so low. The Black Prince has been draining it.

A million thoughts spin in my mind as the strange magic in the room tugs at my veins, and the vision of the Black Prince’s scarlet mouth plays in my head over and over. For one awful second, I’m so dizzy, I think I might tumble to the ground.

Charmaine nods, bowing her head to the ground in that same meek manner.

She wasn’t shy. She was afraid. Not a worker, a slave.

I’ve been so stupid. So blind.

Together with the other girl, she heaves the boy away, the other magicals watching intently, their eyes seeming to glow red in the strange lighting of the room.

I shrink into the shadows, my heart racing, my lungs gasping for air. On unsteady feet, I follow the women back down the corridor and to another room. Inside are a series of beds, each occupied by an unconscious magical. I rub at my eyes, unable to believe what I’m seeing. Twenty magicals at least, every single one of them near death, drained of nearly all but a few droplets of their magic. It’s horrifying. Truly horrifying. How could anyone do this?

The two women lay the man out on the bed. Charmaineleans over him, then hesitates, pressing her hand to his chest. She lets out a silent scream of distress, stumbling backward into the other woman’s arms. For a moment, they hold each other and then finally, Charmaine turns back to the man, and with a steadying breath draws a sheet over his head.

Dead.

He’s dead.

I roll out of the room, back pressed against the wall, emotions and thoughts still crashing through my head. I feel sick. So, so sick. I sink to my knees and dry heave into my hands.

This can’t be right. This must be wrong. There has to be some other explanation.

“Princess!”

I open my eyes and standing right in front of me, flanked on both sides by three other magicals, is the silver-haired woman from earlier.

All of their eyes glow red and they glare at me with an undisguised hunger.

34

Rhi

“Vampires?”I gasp, my knees buckling as I try to stand.

The silver-haired woman hisses, baring her fangs at me, and snatches my wrist. Her grip is bitingly cold and now, now I understand why. She has no warmth of her own, no magic. The only way she can survive is to leech it from others. From magicals like Charmaine.