Page 48 of Dissection of Immortal Hearts (Hospital for Immortal Creatures #3)

Kathrine

Kathrine assumed her usual position to the left of the throne and waited.

The grand hall, standing since the time of Arius, had witnessed countless events, yet it had never contained a bed at its centre – let alone a bed with a necromancer chained to it.

Constantine sat on the edge of the mattress, one arm bound and stretched taut, while the other rested casually on his thigh, fingers drumming a steady rhythm.

The vampire, Diana, knelt on the floor, hands tied behind her back, face stripped of the smug expression she’d worn when shooting Kathrine mere days ago.

The couple had caused considerable trouble with those cursed handcuffs.

At first glance, the shackles appeared crude, like an ineptly fashioned prop from a tawdry game.

However, they possessed powerful magic, making them unbreakable and extending their enchantment to the entire metal frame of the bed, rendering it as indestructible as granite.

When Kathrine’s subordinates had discovered they couldn’t cut through the cuffs, they attempted to use a circular saw.

The metal had sparked fiercely, sending stinging embers flying across the room with each try.

In the end, they’d dismantled the walls and had called for a transport van to move the necromancer and the entire bed to the palace.

Then, they’d used a platform to lift it onto a terrace and transfer it into the hall.

When the Queen arrived, she took one cursory glance at the bizarre scene and promptly dispatched someone to get the ayradjakli. Soon after, the air thickened with tension that signalled the ayradjakli’s presence. He materialised before the throne. “You summoned me, Your Majesty.”

She gestured towards the bed with a delicate finger. “I want you to break the enchantment on the cuffs.”

He turned, his sharp eyes sweeping over the scene before lingering briefly on the vampire. “It can be done,” he said at last..

The Queen nodded, and a guard stepped forward carrying an opaque pouch. The witcher seized it with eagerness and inhaled its contents. His expression soured.

“Nothing extraordinary,” the Queen remarked, “but I assume the magic isn’t extraordinary, either.”

The ayradjakli bared his teeth. “You’re fortunate the spell was cast for fun, not for security.” With that, he snapped his fingers and vanished, taking the pouch with him.

Someone gasped – likely one of the younger reptilians, unaccustomed to witnessing the witcher’s prowess.

Kathrine, however, didn’t need to look to know the cuffs had opened.

When she did, the necromancer was flexing his wrist, his moment of freedom short-lived as two guards wrenched his arms behind his back and forced him to his knees.

“Remove the bed,” the Queen ordered with a faint wave, her attention now fixed on the necromancer.

“Constantine, Constantine… Why would you do such a thing? I thought that after I provided you with comfort and the chance to regain your strength, we had established… a different kind of relationship. One of trust, of mutual interest…”

Kathrine expected a defiant retort, but the necromancer stayed silent, his head bowed, his previous audacity missing.

“Look at me!” The Queen’s voice carried a sharp edge of irritation.

She approached him, the click of her heels echoing against the marble.

In her black robes, she was a vision of divine beauty and demonic terror, her green steel eyes promising nothing good for her captives.

She gripped his chin. “What compelled you to flee, necromancer?”

“My priorities changed,” he replied, his voice as calm as a still lake with a ticking bomb beneath its surface.

“It’s time to change them once more.”

“If I do, my price will change as well.”

The Queen extended her hand, opening it to reveal the Smoky Quartz resting like a false promise of freedom.

It was a dark, glassy gem veined with shadows.

It pulsed faintly, similar to a heart too long restrained, its polished surface shimmering with deceptive allure and masking the power coiled within.

Kathrine had glimpsed the stone before but never expected its latent energy to awaken so vividly in the necromancer’s presence.

How many souls were contained in that shard of quartz?

“When you reach Hell, you’ll seek the altar,” the Queen said with the confidence of someone who had already struck a deal. “Every demon knows of it. There, you’ll find Belphegor.”

Constantine held back a frown. Belphegor, the Craftsman, that’s who the Queen sought?

He was the demon responsible for assigning tasks to fill the time between physical punishments, mental torments, and degrading assemblies.

Constantine wasn’t aware of all the roles in Hell, but they were their own kind of torment for the sinners.

The Queen continued, “The gloves are on his hands, and he would never remove them willingly.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Your Majesty,” Constantine interrupted.

“Belphegor has a weakness. No one knows what it is. Despite his pretence, he’s just a demon of Hell.

They may be monsters, but their minds are far weaker than those of Earth’s immortals.

You need to stare into his eyes and implant the thought.

Compel him to give you the gloves and guide you out of Hell. ”

The necromancer’s lips curled. “Right. Seems easy enough. But that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t heard my terms.”

The Queen crossed her arms, the glowing stone vanishing into her bodice as she circled him. “No need,” she said to his back.

With an inscrutable expression, she signalled to the guard in the corner. He wasn’t part of her elite, but he was well-trained in combat and torture – evidenced by the whip in his hand.

The Queen took the leather strap from him. “Hold him tight,” she instructed the guards.

Constantine didn’t resist when they seized his arms and turned him to face her.

“Do not let him go. Under any circumstances,” the Queen commanded.

Constantine pressed his lips into a line. “Are you trying to turn me on? Perhaps you’ve heard I’m not just hypersexual, but a masochist, too.”

The Queen smirked. The whip lashed through the air, striking with the speed of lightning.

A scream of pain tore through the throne room. Diana’s body jerked, convulsing from the blow that landed on her back. She quickly regained control, the scream fading into laboured breathing.

The necromancer’s face remained stony. But Kathrine noticed the faint bob of his Adam’s apple – and so did the Queen, judging by her next action.

She struck again. The vampire’s body flinched, though she took the hit with stoic silence. A third strike followed. The crack of the whip, a soft groan.

Then, a pause. The whip rested on the floor, lifeless, yet ready to spring back to life in an instant. The vampire’s body, despite being still upright, trembled; a single tear slid down her cheek.

Kathrine found the necromancer more intriguing. Would he break? Would he stand by, detached, with Sevar’s apathy? Because proving a point mattered more than proving his love?

He was as impenetrable as stone, and might have appeared equally unfeeling… if not for his eyes. They blazed with a fire that threatened to consume them all.

“Do you think she’s had enough, or does she deserve more?” the Queen appraised the vampire.

“Stop,” the necromancer growled.

“So, he does have a heart…”

The whip lashed out once more. This time, the vampire collapsed onto her side.

The necromancer fought against the men holding him back. “I said stop !” he roared as the whip cracked again.

The vampire whimpered now, unable to endure the blows in silence. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, seeping through her black leather clothing.

The necromancer thrashed and shouted like a caged animal. If he weren’t restrained, Kathrine had no doubt he would have torn the Queen apart with his bare hands.

“Agree to retrieve the gloves, and I’ll stop!” the Queen hissed.

“Fine!” he bellowed. “Fine, just quit hitting her.”

His eyes, wild with rage and anguish, never left the vampire’s trembling form. She lay curled on her side, struggling to suppress her sobs, though her cheeks gleamed with tears.

“Fine…” He lowered his head to his chest.

The Queen smiled. “Everyone out! Except you, Kathrine. See to it that this poor creature is cared for while the necromancer fulfils his task.”

***

Constantine

Constantine harboured no illusions that his tasks would end with retrieving the gloves. From now on, he’d be the Queen’s most obedient errand boy in the Otherworld.

The guards and a handful of spectators shuffled out of the hall with evident reluctance.

The miserable wretches had come for a spectacle, naturally.

He would have been more than willing to oblige them, but their bloody Queen had other plans.

It made no difference to him – he just wanted this to be over.

Diana struggled to push herself onto her knees, her face contorted with pain at even the slightest movement.

“Don’t,” the Queen said, sensing his intention to approach her.

Kathrine stepped forward and grasped Diana by the shoulders to help her stand. The vampire pushed her away, baring her teeth with a feral hiss.

“That’s what I call spirit.” The Queen grinned, stepping in front of Diana. “And foolishness. Such displays are a sign of weakness and inexperience, girl.”

Diana’s eyes locked onto the Queen’s with fierce determination. “Screw you,” she spat.

Fuck…

The Queen turned her focus to Constantine, her eyebrows lifting in amusement. “You’re quite the pair, necromancer.”