Page 22 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)
Chapter Ten
ELIZABETH
I awoke to the stench of mold and the skittering of rats, their tiny claws scraping against damp stone.
The air was thick with decay, and each breath filled my lungs with the cold, rotting moisture of a dungeon that seemed to swallow all light and hope.
I shifted, instinctively testing my limbs—only to feel the bite of iron securing my wrists and ankles to a heavy wooden chair.
Panic bloomed in my chest, fast and suffocating.
My heart hammered in an erratic rhythm of pure dread.
Then—the memories seeped in, slow and insidious, like poison working its way through my veins.
The Black Wraith.
A masked nightmare in my alchemy cottage.
He had been an omen—and now, I was here.
But where was I?
How had I gotten here?
No one knew where I was.
No one was coming for me.
A flicker of movement from the shadows sent a jolt through my system.
I snapped my head up, my breath catching?—
From the darkest corner of the room, he emerged.
The Black Wraith.
A figure forged in darkness, a silhouette of power and menace.
My breath hitched, terror’s icy fingers clawing at my throat as he closed the distance with slow, deliberate steps—like a predator that had already decided the outcome of this hunt.
He stood there—taller than I remembered, cloaked in shadow, the faint scent of smoke clinging to him like a warning. But it was the mask that stole my breath.
Bone-white, cracked like old porcelain, it molded to his face with unnatural perfection. The sockets were nothing but black voids, swallowing any existing light, swallowing me . I couldn’t see his eyes, but I felt them—felt the weight of his stare like cold hands around my throat.
The mouth was fixed in that twisted grin. Those jagged teeth looked like they were meant to bite, to punish, to mock.
This was it. I was going to die here, and no one would ever come for me. These were my last moments on this earth.
The man loomed over me, swallowing the room, his power pressing against me like a second skin.
A gloved hand reached out?—
Fingers brushed my jaw, a touch as cold as winter’s first frost.
I shuddered, the contact scalding with icy cruelty, its agonizing slowness a brutal reminder of how powerless I was beneath him.
His voice followed, a low, menacing growl that coiled around me like a noose.
“I’m going to make this simple.”
I swallowed hard, pulse pounding against my ribs.
“You answer all my questions, and I’ll let you go—without hurting you, without killing you.”
The words should have been a reprieve, but they were anything but.
Because then came the promise, the real threat, that sent my insides twisting into knots.
“But if you don’t comply...”
His grip tightened, just for a moment.
“I will make your life a living hell.”
The scent of leather and sandalwood surrounded him, intoxicating, suffocating, inescapable.
His eyes—cold, unreadable, merciless—bored into mine, his stare a command, a silent demand for obedience.
And in that moment, as the walls pressed in, as the darkness breathed around us?—
I knew.
There would be no mercy.
“Where did you get the Noctyss flower, the Bloom of Death?”
Each word dripped with threat, with malice, making it clear that if I didn’t comply—if I hesitated—I would suffer for it.
A flutter of panic erupted in my chest, wild and erratic, clawing for escape.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The lie tumbled too quickly from my lips, a weak, feeble thing that I barely believed. I willed myself into the innocent, demure, compliant facade I had perfected over the years?—
But the quiver in my voice betrayed me.
I choked down my despair, but it clung to me, settling like a cloak of inevitability.
I had never been a convincing liar.
And now, as I tried to deceive this dominant beast, as I stared into the cold abyss of his eyes, I felt the weight of guilt, of terror, of something else—something primal and dangerous—crushing me.
How long could I keep this up before it all crumbled?
Before he unraveled me completely?
His voice came low, cruel, as intent as a blade sliding beneath the skin.
“Stop lying to me, Elizabeth.”
My name on his tongue felt like a violation, an invasion, stripping me bare.
“I know it was you who released the poison in France. A nightmarish hell unleashed on monstrous men—yes. But did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
The accusation cracked through the air like a whip, leaving no room for evasion or pretense.
“I know it was you. And now, you will pay for your crimes.”
A shudder racked through me, my body instinctively recoiling, the iron chains biting against my skin.
“How do you know my name?” I gasped in a desperate, frail attempt to regain control, to turn the interrogation around.
But he didn’t flinch.
He didn’t hesitate.
“I make it my business to know my enemies.”
His tone was ice, devoid of heat and pity, as if my life, existence, and secrets were trivial matters to be collected, used, and discarded at his will.
He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me whole.
“You’re just like that flower, Elizabeth.”
I stiffened.
“Trapped in eternal suspension. Beautiful. Alluring.”
A pause—calculated, suffocating.
“But hiding a venomous sting.”
His words coiled around me, pressing against my throat, an unspoken threat more damning than any blade he could wield.
“No!”
The word erupted from me, a feeble protest, weak and hollow, swallowed by the darkness around us.
I twisted my wrists, the chains clinking in a cruel mockery of my desperation.
His hand found the back of my neck.
Not a strike.
Not a choke.
A cradle—a touch paradoxically tender and terrifying.
My eyes snapped shut, and every muscle tensed.
Was he going to kiss me?
The unbidden, horrifying, visceral thought sent a shudder through me.
But no lips came.
Instead—his breath.
A whisper of heat against my skin, setting me ablaze with a fear-fueled desire so foreign it unnerved me more than his threats.
“I came to France to destroy the Timehunter society.”
His voice was low, venomous, controlled rage barely leashed.
“Instead, I find them already dead. Maimed. Deformed. Their bones misshapen, their skin melting from their bodies like hot wax.”
The horror of his words seared through me, a new kind of terror, one that dug deep—because I knew it to be true.
Yet I could not escape his grasp.
Or the corrosive touch of the truth.
His fingers seized my chin, wrenching my face toward his darkened stare, forcing me to look at him.
“I don’t like being lied to.”
His words snapped like a whip, raw with danger and warning.
“Tell me the truth, Elizabeth—now.”
I swallowed hard, my pulse thudding in my throat.
“I know nothing,” I persisted, voice shaking, fragile beneath his scrutiny.
But I had to keep my secrets.
His laugh was low—vicious and devoid of warmth.
A blade of mockery, slicing through the thick silence like shattered glass.
“I was there, Elizabeth.”
His voice turned into something deadly, cruel, yet intimate, pressing in on me like an inevitable storm.
“That quaint little cottage of yours? I walked through it all—saw your potions, your bottles, flipped through every page of your precious alchemy book. I read every single word.”
His rage burned, controlled but lethal, an ember smoldering beneath the surface.
“Tell me, how did you come into possession of the alchemy book of Solaris?”
The words struck like a physical blow.
“Where did you get such a powerful book?”
His gaze bore into me, dark and merciless, his posture coiled like a serpent poised to strike.
I stayed silent, my breath uneven, my mind racing for an escape, a distraction, anything.
But he was undeterred.
“Alright.”
His voice dropped lower now, silk wrapped around iron resolve.
“You want to play games with me?”
A shift.
A glint of metal in the dim light.
A knife.
The sound of the blade sliding free was deceptively soft, a whisper of menace that sent my stomach plummeting.
He held it easily as if it were simply an extension of himself, the razor edge catching the faint flicker of light as he methodically turned it between his fingers.
“Do you know what this is for?”
His voice was a silken promise of pain, laced with the weight of cold, calculated intent.
I said nothing.
I could say nothing.
His fingers traced the blade’s edge, his grip relaxed, yet nothing was casual about the threat curling between us.
“I won’t hesitate to use it.”
A simple statement.
A fact.
“If I have to.”
He stepped closer, the blade glinting between us, a quiet, insidious reminder of the violence he was capable of.
“There are far more...”
He tilted his head, watching me, studying me as if trying to decipher a puzzle that refused to yield its secrets.
“Effective methods than death to get answers.”
The dungeon’s chill coiled around me, pressing into my skin and bones, making me shudder beneath its weight.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I whispered, my voice a fragile thread in the oppressive silence.
“I didn’t want to hurt anyone in France. It was an experiment... gone wrong.”
His expression did not change.
His eyes—cold, unflinching—remained fixed on mine as though peering straight through my soul.
“Then tell me what you know.”
His voice was forged of steel, every word a blade, every breath a sentence—as unforgiving as the stones that trapped me in this hell.
I faltered, the weight of my predicament crushing me.
He did not like hesitation.
With one swift motion, he slashed the air, the blade flashing dangerously close to my face—a warning, a threat wrapped in the silent, deadly display.
“Do you want me to hurt you?”
The snarl in his voice sent a violent tremor through my body.
The blade hovered—just inches from my throat, its deadly promise taunting my skin.
“Because I will. Tell me what you did, Elizabeth—or I will carve the truth out of you.”
A sob tore from my throat, my entire body racked with terror.
“No! Please!”