Page 11 of Sergi (Of Blood & Dreams #7)

Chapter Ten

Sergi stormed through a path of vampires drenched in blood, dodging them as he swung his sword. He connected several times but whether it was someone’s neck, arm, or their armored chest, he didn’t know. His vision had narrowed to a single objective, everything else nothing but a blur. The castle was within reach, but the number of warriors increased the closer he got.

He stopped and surveyed the battlefield, hoping to find a better way through. He caught the movement at the last second and ducked. The blade missed his head by inches, close enough for him to hear its hum above the grunts of men and the clash of steel.

Sweat ran down his face and stung his eyes, and he’d almost given up hope when he remembered the cellars. They were on the west side of the castle. Not many would know of the small side door except the workers and the kids he played with when he was young. The battle was focused on the main entrance, the two forces evenly matched.

He cut across the field, skirting the edge of the fighting. Once he was clear, he ran along the southwest side of the castle and hoped no one followed. He should have come sooner. He’d begged the leader of his House to let him return home. Not to fight, but to get to his mother and sisters to safety.

His House leader was at odds with Sergi’s father. He worried that Sergi’s presence at the battle, should he be recognized, would appear as if their Houses were aligned. And the old male was unwilling to put his Family at odds with House Meinstein.

In a fit of fear and guilt, Sergi had made a decision that changed his life forever. When the rest of the guard was asleep, he slipped out, taking one of the horses. It was a long ride to the place of his birth, taking all night and most of the following morning. When he crested the last ridge, his heart clenched.

He’d been too late.

The two armies were fully engaged, and the enemy had reached the gates.

He wouldn’t be able to return to his House after this. His leader was a hard and unforgiving male, and Sergi would be beheaded as a traitor. But nothing mattered more than the safety of his mother and sisters.

He reached the cellar door and shook his head. His father had stopped working the orchard some time ago if the cellar door was half-hidden behind overgrown hedges. He sliced at the branches, then yanked open the door, revealing a dark passageway. He raced down it, his heart thundering with fear.

There was still hope.

He took the steep stairs two at a time but slowed when he heard fighting in the main hallway. At the door, he peered to his right. Several of his father’s guards, their armor smeared with blood, battled to hold the line. If the enemy had reached this deep into the castle, they were sure to be on the upper floors.

The hall was clear to his left, and he ran, turning down hall after hall until he reached the back staircase. He hadn’t seen a single person as he ran—no servants, no Family members, no guards. It didn’t ease the panic in his gut.

When he reached the second floor, his heart sank. Three bloodied bodies lay on the floor. One was a guard, the other two were young females. He stopped and pulled their hair away.

No. His heart twisted as he stared at his sisters’ attendants.

He didn’t hesitate, not caring who he came across. He held his sword high as he raced to the end of the hallway where the double doors were open. Blood smeared the stone floor, but he heard nothing from inside.

He raced in, slipping on pockets of pooling blood but somehow staying upright. At first, everything seemed in order until he reached the other side of the spacious bedchamber, where arched doorways led to the terrace. His steps faltered, and he reached for the wall as a sob broke from him.

Three females lay on the terrace. Blood soaked their gowns, which had been drawn up their thighs. Whoever had done this had assaulted them. His sisters had barely been of age. He wanted to shut his eyes. Wanted to drop to the floor, pull them to him, and beg their forgiveness.

His honor wouldn’t allow it.

He forced his legs to move him toward the heads that had been separated from their bodies. There was no question what he’d find. He knew by the way their hair was braided with the jeweled bands. But he had to look. He had his duty and refused to look away.

But when he saw their faces—the bruising and the fear—he broke.

He fell to his knees, dropping his sword as he placed his hands on their lifeless bodies. What had they ever done to deserve this? They had been kind, working with the sick, and supplying food for the hungry. That was the real reason they’d stayed behind. Not because Father had demanded it, but to help the servants.

When Sergi had fought with his mother and walked out, he told himself Meinstein would take them as hostages. But he knew better. He should have forced them to go with him, even if he had to drag them out of the castle.

He didn’t notice the tears that fell, dripping off his chin and falling into congealing blood. He didn’t notice anything until he heard a sword pulled from its sheath.

His hand inched toward the sword that lay at his side. When the boot steps grew closer, he grasped it. Before the person behind him could take another step, he was up, twisting and swinging the sword into a defensive position as he assessed the situation.

A single male, two inches taller with blond hair hanging to his shoulders and bulging muscles, smiled at him as he lifted his sword.

“So, the son returns.” Felix was the muscle for Meinstein. He was a despicable male, just like his leader. The male leaned to his right to look behind Sergi, where his mother and sisters lay. Felix chuckled. “I have to say, they didn’t go down easy.” He licked his lips. “But at least I got a taste of them before I took their defiant heads.”

Sergi didn’t wait. He leaped at the male. And he was merciless. Rage at the male’s words fueled his strikes. He could have been lying to get a rise out of Sergi. Though he believed the male’s boasting, it wouldn’t have mattered either way.

Felix defended himself the best he could, but the only thing driving him was his will to live. Sergi didn’t care if he died. This went beyond life. This was pure, heated vengeance. Strike after strike. Blow after blow. He drove the male back. And when he grew tired, images of earlier times pierced his rage-filled attacks. His sisters laughing in the orchard each time Sergi jumped to reach the exact apples they wanted. His smiling mother, blushing when he brought her favorite flower whenever he came for a visit.

When Felix’s movements slowed, Sergi kicked out, hit the male in the chest, and sent him sprawling. The male hit the floor hard, and within a single breath, Sergi towered over him, knocking the blade from his hand and planting his boot on Felix’s throat.

“Why? What did they do to deserve such dishonor?”

When Felix’s only response was a cruel smile, Sergi brought his blade down, the point ripping into the male’s chest, just above his armor and inches from his neck. Blood spurted from the male’s mouth, and his smile turned to a pain-filled grimace.

“Why?” Sergi shouted.

“It was on orders. If your father wasn’t here, I was to kill his bitch and whore daughters.”

His father wasn’t there? Sergi pressed down on Felix’s throat, ignoring the blood that trickled out of the male’s mouth.

The male gurgled a laugh. “You didn’t know? He ran with his cadre. He left his entire Family behind. Your House is a disgrace. You were such a disappointment that your Father traded his only son rather than keep him as an heir.”

Sergi closed his eyes. He didn’t want to believe the words, though he didn’t doubt them. And it grieved him to know his traitorous father’s blood filled his own veins.

He stepped back and brought the blade down, severing Felix’s head from his body. If nothing else, the male looked him in the eye the entire time.

His attempt to save his mother and sisters had been for naught. He’d raced from his House and became a rogue, and in the end, he hadn’t been able to save them.

A piercing stab made him cry out. It was unexpected.

His eyes flashed open to the unforgiving eyes of his tormentor.

Gheata smiled. At least the savage interrogator had pulled him from his nightmare.

And when the next stab of the dagger was shoved into his kidney, he laughed.

Gheata paced a tight path in the confines of the cell. Sergi hadn’t spoken a word since his capture, and his interrogator was showing signs of agitation. He tried to remember how many days ago that had been. Long enough it seemed that the loss of blood had decreased his body’s ability to heal quickly. Sleep was his only means to conserve energy.

His beast scratched at its barrier, pushing to be released. If he thought he could control the beast, he’d unleash it for the most brutal part of the interrogations. In his weakened state, and with the beast’s rage, Sergi didn’t think he’d be able to rein it back.

“Perhaps we need to start from the beginning.” Gheata locked his hands behind his back as he strode back and forth. His gaze focused on the path of his boots as he considered the situation.

Gheata was a cleaner. What some called a fixer. He came in at the end of a mission with carte blanch to handle unforeseen problems. That didn’t make him a useful interrogator. Whoever ran this place, or perhaps it was Venizi himself, thought size mattered for a successful interrogation. But torture rarely worked. At least not by itself. Mind games were more likely to render a favorable outcome. And to this point, it appeared to be a skill Gheata hadn’t mastered.

“I don’t need to know your true purpose,” Gheata said as he stopped at the table of torture instruments. He selected a scalpel and lifted it for inspection as if he could see its gleaming edge in the dim light. “You were searching for the lab with the intention to infiltrate. Perhaps with the intention to steal our formulas or find information to use for blackmail.”

He laid the scalpel down and returned to his pacing. “At first, I thought you were sent by one of Venizi’s competitors. Now, I’m not so sure.” He stopped in front of Sergi, who refused to meet his torturer’s gaze.

Gheata pulled Sergi’s head back by his hair, his eyes glowing an intense yellow. “Tell me who sent you.” Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth. His frustration had to be unbearable. If he let his captive lose too much blood, he could force Sergi’s beast out with only one thought—to feed. Worst case, he’d be left with a dead vampire. That might be the eventual outcome, but the male’s determined gaze told Sergi one thing.

They weren’t ready to let him die.

Gheata dropped Sergi’s head. He returned to his pacing and spent the next minutes calming his own beast, the glow leaving his eyes. “Let’s try something simple. Your name. Surely that isn’t so difficult to share.”

They were too early in the game for Sergi to discern if Gheata had switched to mental interrogation. Providing his name sounded like a simple request, but there was power in a name, and he was unwilling to hand that over to Gheata. All he had to do was check the House rosters for anyone with Sergi’s name. He would search the largest ones first and would quickly discover that his name matched one of Devon’s cadre. He’d been surprised no one had taken a picture to send to Venizi. Maybe they had, and they were waiting for orders.

A motion at the door made Gheata turn around. “You’re early, girl.”

“Sorry, sir,” the guard said. “She’s actually a few minutes late, and the lab is asking when she’ll be done here.”

Gheata struck fast and hard, slamming a fist into Sergi’s gut. It was unexpected, and he blew out a large breath of air as he winced from the pain. Not from the blow but from the open wounds that were still bleeding.

He seared Sergi with a glare and stormed to the door, where he paused and glared down at the female who cleaned the cell. “Feed him and clean him up. I want his skin fresh to start again tomorrow.”

“You won’t be back this afternoon, sir?” the guard asked.

“No. I’m involved in another project that will require my attention for the next few afternoons. We need to make these morning sessions more meaningful. I’m not ready to lose him to his beast quite yet.”

Sergi would have laughed but didn’t need any more punches. He’d learned more today than Gheata did, and it validated Devon’s quest to find this lab. Something important was going on here.

He would only be interrogated in the mornings, at least for a few days, and they were going to feed him. This all worked in Sergi’s favor. And the odds improved if Rafael had gotten away.

Devon would come. He had to hold on.