Page 9 of Sergi (Of Blood & Dreams #7)
Chapter Eight
“You’re worried.”
Sergi glanced over his shoulder when the soft tones of his mother’s voice reached him then turned back to stare at the Family’s orchard. He stood on the balcony, just outside the dining hall, still in his battle armor.
“Father isn’t listening to reason.” His anger rose, and he took a deep breath, not wanting to take it out on his mother. She’d tried to talk sense into the old male more times than he had. But Father was the House leader, a weak male who depended far too much on the grace of their allied Houses and was easily swayed by false promises.
“He’s only doing what he thinks best to save our ancestors’ land.”
“Why do you do this? Protect him when you know he’s wrong.”
Her hand was warm when she placed it in his. “Because he’s the House leader not just my husband.”
“He cares more for land than he does his Family. You’re outnumbered, and House Meinstein will show no mercy.”
“Your Father believes House Braun will send warriors.”
Sergi shook his head. “House Braun is battling on another front and any army he can send is days away. House Meinstein will be here by the morrow.” He turned around and took her hand. “Please. Take Lizet and Greta and leave for Linz. If by some miracle the House isn’t taken, you can return when it’s safe.”
She looked up at him, sorrow in her gaze. After a long moment, she turned to view the same landscape he’d been staring at for the last hour, thinking of another way out. When her hand slipped from his, he knew it was no use.
“It would shame him. It would show disrespect in his time of need.”
Sergi took a step back. “Is his pride worth the life of Lizet and Greta? Worth your life with this foolishness?”
He saw the pain in her eyes. She was caught in the middle like so many others. Unable to consider their own welfare over Father’s.
“Can’t you stay and help?” Her voice cracked, already knowing the answer.
“I’m not in Father’s army, remember? He traded me to another House. My commitment is to my new leader. I only came here as a last resort to change Father’s mind.” He paused, gripping her hand again though she tried to pull it away. “And if that didn’t work, to give you an option to save yourselves.”
When she tugged on her hand again, he released it. Then, without another word, he stormed out. He wasn’t giving up. There was still one last option.
The icy water woke him from his dream.
He shook his head, and the pain that had been forgotten in sleep returned tenfold. The multiple wounds he’d suffered healed slower than they had the day before. He wasn’t sure which was worse—being a prisoner in the lab or locked in the memory of mistakes he could never change.
They were both hell.
“Sorry to wake you.” The vampire grinned with even, white teeth, the tip of his fangs showing. He rubbed his stomach. “I’m on my way to breakfast but wanted to stop in to say good morning.” He gripped Sergi’s hair and pulled back until they stared into each other’s eyes. “This is only day three. The blood you most likely gorged yourself with before coming here won’t heal your wounds for long. In fact, when I return later for our next session, we’ll be moving on to phase two. I have a special treat for you. Until then, go back to sleep or ponder how you will die here. Whatever makes you feel better.”
Sergi held the vampire’s stare. They’d wondered what had happened to this male, where he had gone. Now he had his answer.
Boris Gheata was alive and well in Venizi’s underground lab.
Sometime later, Sergi woke and glanced around the dank-smelling cell. He’d nodded off again, but this time he hadn’t dreamed, and he was grateful to avoid those dark memories. His stomach grumbled. Three days without food or blood.
He’d gone longer, so he wasn’t worried yet. With how long he’d been alive and the number of battles and infiltrations that had gone wrong, this was far from the first time he’d been captured and tortured. Though the last time had been long ago, the body remembers. It remembers the pain, and it remembers the quest for survival.
When he’d first woke in his cell, and the drug had worn off, he’d found himself in restraints. His legs and arms were numb, and the silver band across his chest burned.
If his captors planned on leaving him like this, there would be no hope for escape unless someone unlocked the restraints or Devon massed a rescue. The second was more likely, but small teams wouldn’t work. A full attack force would be needed. Devon would consider it, but unless Rafael survived, he’d be working under the same insufficient intel that had plagued Sergi’s team. He had to believe that Rafael’s wit, training, and penchant for being unpredictable would give him the advantage over three vampires.
He glanced at his arm and wondered if the tracker was still there. They could have discovered it and cut it out while he was drugged. His arm would have healed before he woke. Even so, Devon would know his last location.
On the first day, they’d mostly left him alone. He was given water, though most had dribbled onto his chest. What he’d assumed to be late that same day, the door burst open to show the outline of someone. Even with the weak light from the hallway, it was easy to tell it was a male. He stood as tall and wide as the doorway. He didn’t enter. He watched for several long minutes. If his performance was meant to intimidate, it wouldn’t work.
The effectiveness of breaking someone didn’t come from the size of the opponent. It came in the form of both physical and mental torture. And though he had no idea who this male was, this interrogator would understand Sergi’s resolve and would do whatever it took to break it.
The second day a different male started the torture. He was thick with muscle but not near the size of the first male he’d seen. This male wore loose sweat-style pants made of a rough fabric and no shirt. When he turned his back to roll out a leather-wrapped bundle, the heavy scarring was easily visible in the light of a single lantern only used for the torture sessions and cleanup. The male had been whipped many times by someone who understood torture.
When the tools within the bundle were revealed, Sergi focused his mind elsewhere and ignored the male. Until he stepped in front of Sergi. One whiff was all it took.
A shifter.
He’d laughed at the time. It made sense. In most cases, shifters and vampires didn’t get along. Then he understood. This male’s scars had been from a vampire, and Sergi was a payment of sorts.
The session had been long and painful. His breathing increased as he held in the pain as his face reddened and spittle flew, but he’d only screamed once. In the end, the session was nothing. Mostly cuts to make him bleed, removing as much blood as they could to weaken him and bring on the beast.
They would have to work harder. And when the big male he’d seen in the doorway arrived on the third day and revealed himself to be Gheata, Sergi had known the worst was yet to come.
I must be honest. There wasn’t any reason to be scared of other shifters, but it wasn’t like we all knew each other and had some secret handshake that made us all simpatico. The shifters on level three were here because they couldn’t be tamed. Yet, they were shifters. My people. Other wolves who were only trying to survive.
But S-272’s words came back to me. The vampires had been known to capture wildlings from the nearby forest. Wolves who were more beast than man and had no regard for the more civilized shifters. So, when I stepped into the first cell, my eyes darted around the room, searching for the shifter. After a few seconds, while my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I found him in the corner.
He wore a thick collar around his neck, and a heavy chain ran from it to a metal ring bolted into the floor. The chain wasn’t long, only permitting the shifter to move a couple feet from where he huddled, his legs pulled into his chest. The bucket was on the other side of the ten-by-ten cell. The dinner tray lay close to the door, the bowl empty except for the plastic spoon.
The shifter kept his eyes on me, as I did him, while I picked up the bucket with one hand, uncaring of the atrocious scent of bodily waste, and picked up the tray with the other. I scurried out as quickly as possible, emptying the bucket and placing the bowl and tray on their appropriate racks. Once I refilled the tumbler and set it next to the door, I backed out of the cell. Before I took the last step through the doorway, the shifter, his eyes wild with fear, his scent filled with anger, he caught my gaze and held it.
I had no reason to do it, but I smiled at him and gave him a brief nod.
Then he did something I hadn’t expected. He made the slightest of nods that barely registered, and the guard, who stood outside the door, wouldn’t have seen it.
But I knew it for what it was. He hadn’t given up. Wouldn’t give up until his last dying breath. He was ready to fight.
I moved through the rest of the cells with practiced motions. The task was too simple to dawdle. In each cell, with every shifter, I smelled the same anger, and the fear in their eyes turned to fire. It was as if they weren’t chained to a wall like some backyard mutt who’d been forgotten. They only waited for the word to be given.
But how long before they were nothing but another failed experiment?
Once the last door was closed, I counted the trays again. Twenty-one. One more cell to go. But when I glanced around, there weren’t any more cells in this corridor. I turned to Dallas.
“I thought you said there were now twenty-two cells to clean.”
Dallas gave me a long look. “The last prisoner is two corridors over.” When he seemed satisfied by whatever he saw in my eyes, most likely irritation combined with a general sadness that had crept over me, he waved for me to follow.
One more cell, then lunch. The bland food would at least restore my energy for a long afternoon in the labs.
I pushed the cart, which had grown heavy with the weight of the shifter’s waste, down the long hallway as I followed Dallas, his club out and ready for anything—or anyone. With each corridor we passed, I glanced both directions. No guards could be seen. All was quiet.
At the last intersection, Dallas turned to the right and led me past several empty cells, the wooden bars used to lock in a prisoner lay on the floor. With the turnover of shifters, it made it easier for the guards to know if there was a shifter inside without having to look, which meant opening the door. Always a security risk.
This hallway was darker than the others with only one lantern burning in front of the barred door. The sound of dripping water was a gentle tap on the stones. It could either be soothing or maddening, depending on one’s state of mind. I glanced behind me, knowing no one was there, but for some reason, I was creeped out.
Dallas lifted the bar, opened the door, and stepped inside. After a quick glance around, he backed out. “You don’t want to linger in this cell. There isn’t a bucket or tray. You only need to take out the trash.”
I stared at him for a moment, unsure why this cell was different and not liking it. I’d heard rumors of interrogation rooms where a vampire the size of a gorilla, who I’d once seen in the cafeteria, handled special cases.
Was this one of those cases?
I swallowed the lump in my throat as I moved inside. This cell was unlike the others. A dim lantern lit the interior, but it wasn’t bright enough to chase the shadows from the corners.
A workbench sat along the wall to my left. It was nothing more than a wooden table two feet wide and eight feet long. An old, stained leather cloth stretched across the top with a line of tools spread across it. More precisely, instruments of torture. I swallowed hard. Just when I didn’t think I could see any more horrors.
A mug sat on the end of the table, but I wasn’t sure if I should refill it since it wasn’t the normal plastic tumbler. I took two tentative steps and peered inside, then picked it up and sloshed the remains before pouring some on the ground. It ran clear. I brought the cup to my nose. No scent. It had to be water.
I took it back to the cart, emptied what was left, and refilled it. When I placed the mug on the table, I jumped at the light sound of movement.
I spun around.
How could I have missed him?
I took a step closer, barely able to see him in the dim light. A naked male was strapped to the wall by a wide metal band that crossed over his chest. His arms were spread wide, his wrists manacled to the wall. His legs were free, but his feet barely touched the ground.
His eyes were closed, but that didn’t mean he was sleeping. With the way his body hung against the metal bands, he didn’t appear awake. When I considered the instruments on the workbench and the blood stains that covered his body, he most likely passed out.
I took another two steps and noticed a small puddle of blood on the floor.
That was weird.
I studied his body. He was well-muscled with thick arms and thighs. His ridged stomach was lean. He was a fighter, or maybe he was one of those males who spent all his free time in a gym.
The dried blood stains reflected several trails that ran from his chest, stomach, and sides.
But why weren’t there any wounds?
I blinked and took another step closer. My legs shook, and I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until my brain forced me to breathe deeply.
And then I caught the scent.
No. It couldn’t be.
Vampire.
The following day, I replaced the tumbler of water in the last of the twenty-one cells when a soul-wrenching scream echoed through the corridors. No one had to tell me where that scream had come from, and the thought sent shivers through me, knowing that was my last stop.
I gave the shifter a weak smile. It was obvious he’d heard the scream. Of course, he had, but instead of curling into himself, he nodded at me like the others had. In a single day, the shifters had been prepared for my visit, and while they remained guarded, I sensed the first kernel of change. The scent of hope. The thought depressed me. I was the last one to offer them hope.
I closed the cell door and replaced the bar.
I glanced down the hall but the guard who’d been there earlier was gone. Dallas wasn’t around either. He’d met me when I arrived on the third level with my guard and walked with me to the guard’s quarters, but I hadn’t seen him since. And rather than a different guard stationed at each of the main corridors, there was only one who checked the cells before allowing me to clean. Now that one had disappeared. It seemed I was considered harmless, and they’d lost interest. More the fools them.
I was also surprised that I hadn’t run into Tallon or that one of the guards would try to push me into an empty cell. For some reason, I appeared to be off-limits. The only thing that made sense was that I wasn’t just a prisoner—I was a worker. Right. I was special. I should be happy with the situation and focus on my job, but something had shifted. I didn’t know what, but when I glanced back down the last corridor, I knew exactly what had changed.
The new prisoner. The vampire.
Why would they be torturing one of their own?
Something my uncle had once told me niggled in the back of my mind, but it was elusive. I’d remember eventually. The decision at this single point in my life was whether to go to that cell on my own or skip it for the day.
But they’d know. Someone was down there with the vampire. Why else would he have screamed? Maybe I’d be lucky and could refill the water and be done.
I pushed the cart down the corridor to the end, suddenly noticing the squeaky wheel. It did that when the cart became heavier with waste.
When I reached the last hallway, I paused. There was a guard standing outside the last cell. He leaned against the wall, his beefy arms crossed over his chest, one knee bent with his boot resting on the wall behind him. Was he enjoying the show?
I considered backing up, but before I could put my thoughts into action, the guard waved me forward.
“Get down here, girl. We’ve been waiting for you.”
His gruff voice pricked at my wolf. Had they continued torturing the vampire while they’d waited for me? It shouldn’t have bothered me. It was just a vampire. Yet, that nugget of memory I couldn’t recall made me wince with guilt, and I pushed my cart forward.
I ignored the sneer from the guard when I reached the door and tentatively peered in.
“What are you waiting for?” A large male dropped a bloody dagger on the table and wiped his hands on a rag. “Get in here and clean this up.”
I didn’t want to look at the male pinned to the wall, but it was beyond my power not to. He was a bloody mess with dozens of cuts. A couple of them must have been deep because blood still dripped on the floor. He wasn’t healing quickly. They weren’t giving him blood. The cuts were more than just inflicting pain, they were draining him. They wanted him weak.
I glared at the male, who I now recognized. He was the gorilla they used for their special interrogations. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I glanced down at the bloody floor where it pooled and congealed.
“I can’t clean this.”
When I didn’t move, he growled. “Don’t you clean the labs?”
“Yes, but I don’t have the right supplies for this. The only thing on my cart is water. I don’t have the proper rags, buckets, or disinfectant.”
He stared at me, and I dropped my gaze, waiting to see if he’d hit me, send me back to my cell, or provide the supplies I requested. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been cleaning up blood for the last few weeks, but I wasn’t going to do it without the proper supplies.
“Check with Dallas and get her the supplies she needs.” He stepped close and yanked my head back by my hair.
I tried not to look, but it was impossible with the way he held me in place. It took every ounce of strength to hold the wolf at bay and give this vampire my most submissive glance. “I’m told I can trust you.”
I didn’t respond. What could I say to that? Sure, you can trust me. Just don’t turn your back while all those shiny instruments are within my reach. I don’t know why he was torturing one of his own, but I could see everything I needed to know about this vampire by his soulless eyes.
He shoved me away, and I stumbled and fell to the ground, unable to miss the edge of the pooling blood. Great. Now the prisoner’s blood was all over my shift.
“Start with the trash and refill the mug.” His laugh sounded a little crazy. Then he threw the rag he’d been wiping his hands with at me. “And you can use this to get started.”
The rag landed a few feet from me, and I crawled over to pick it up.
“I want the floor spotless and the instruments gleaming for my afternoon session.” He strode next to me. I kept my head down, staring at the floor, waiting for him to hit me, so all I saw were his thick-soled boots. “Don’t disappoint me.”
Then he strode out, and I released my breath as his boots faded down the corridor. When I heard him turn the corner, I whispered, “Fuck you.”
It was silly, but it made me feel better.
Clutching the rag, I stared up at the vampire on the wall. Only one of his wounds still dripped blood, but the rest had stopped. Some appeared to have healed but others had formed crusty scars. I’d been right. His body couldn’t heal as fast as it should. They were starving him.
Stop it. His fate doesn’t concern you.
When the guard returned with the supplies, I stood and rubbed my head where my hair still tingled from being pulled. I picked up the trash basket and the mug and returned to the cart. I checked over the items the guard had dropped by the cart and nodded. “These will do.”
“So happy they meet with your approval. I’ll be back in an hour to check your work.” Then he strode away.
My body relaxed now that I was alone to work. I used the allotted time cleaning and disinfecting the floor, then turned my attention to the instruments, where bits of flesh still clung to them.
The vampire never moved during the entire time I’d been there, but after I dumped the last bucket of bloody water and sprayed the instruments with disinfectant, I glanced up at him one last time.
His head was still lowered to his chest, but his eyes flashed open and caught mine. I took a step back, not expecting the look in his gaze. Even in his current state, he must know I was a shifter. And after such a severe torture session, I was expecting to see anger, disgust, or fear.
I saw none of that. Rather than clouded in pain, his eyes were clear. They were a deep brown, warm and gentle. They reached into my soul without judgment or hate.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was raspy. Then his eyes closed, and his head dropped lower. He’d passed out.
My wolf whined.
“Hush,” I told it. I rushed out and stacked the rest of the cleaning supplies on my cart just as the guard rounded the corner.
I waited the few minutes it took him to review the room and bar the door behind him.
“Gheata will be pleased,” he said. “Make sure you keep it that way. We don’t have the resources to watch you every minute. Now, let’s go. They’re waiting for you in the labs.”
His words echoed in my ears. They didn’t have the resources. What did that mean? Was that why there didn’t seem to be as many guards today? And if they were waiting for me in the labs, then I missed lunch. I didn’t think I could eat anyway after cleaning all the blood.
I should have focused on what his words revealed, but as I followed him, pushing the heavy cart over the rough stone floor, all I could think about were the words the vampire said. “I’m sorry.”
Why would he be sorry for me?
My wolf whined again, and this time, I didn’t bother to hush her.