Page 5
Story: This Violent Light
THE SWEETEST BLOOD
SEBASTIAN
I sit with my back to the ivy-covered wall and my elbows propped on the stone table. The sun shines into the courtyard, and despite the chilled air, I feel overheated. I’m suffocating, I think, surrounded by the memories of Grace and her smell and the glide of her skin against mine.
Wrong. It was all wrong, and I still can’t make sense of it. If she had been what I’d expected, what she should be, last night wouldn’t have been a problem.
Instead, I’d let her—quite literally—slip through my fingers.
“Where’s the girl?” Cora asks as she enters the courtyard. As always, she’s wearing thick leggings and a basic frock, both black. Her thick eyebrows slant at the empty space around me.
I’d asked Cora to meet me this morning in full anticipation Grace would be here too. Willing or unwilling, she should be here. I can’t quite articulate why she’s not.
“Assuming you messed up then,” Cora says as she settles into the place across from me. She’s the only one brazen enough—or perhaps stupid enough—to talk to me this way.
I grab the front of her shirt, so fast it startles her. Her dark eyes widen, as if suddenly reminded of the fact I could really, truly kill her. Drain her of blood until she is nothing but fragile bone and ripped flesh.
“Master,” she whispers.
If my head weren’t a jumbled mess, I might let her grovel. My nerves are shaken since meeting Walter Pruce’s daughter though, and for once, I don’t care to have my ego stroked.
“You stink ,” I tell her. She’s half over the table now, frozen in my grasp like a terrified rabbit.
I can feel her heart beating through her chest, unsteady and violent.
Her expression doesn’t change as I draw her closer and press my nose to the collar of her dress.
“Fucking vile. It’s pungent, revolting, distracting.
I’ve never smelled anything quite as terrible as a witch. ”
I release her, and Cora snaps back to her seat, visibly trembling. Her eyes remain wide and her movements rigid, as if she’s forcing herself not to sprint from me, back to the safety of her quarters.
“Witches reek,” I say. I slump back to the wall, closing my eyes. I can still smell her stench, the sour odor of expired meat. It’s worse than usual right now, each violent beat of her heart stirring her blood until it’s all I smell.
“Yes, Master,” Cora says.
She wouldn’t normally agree. The Cora I’ve grown to tolerate over the past dozen years would typically have a smart retort. Now, she’s just staring, insides raging with terror, outside too frozen to move.
I should remind her I won’t kill her, but I don’t. I only clench my fists, lip snarling as I speak .
“Amelia got the wrong woman,” I say finally. “Whoever that woman was, she’s not the one we need.”
Even as I speak the words, I doubt them.
I’d read up on Amelia’s research. Grace might have a different last name than Walter, but there are too many coincidences for her to not be his.
She’s from the East Coast, raised by a single mom who once reported a nonexistent man missing.
Most damning, she arrived to Aberlena the same fucking day we felt our chests catch fire.
There’s no way she isn’t the woman I need. And yet…
“Why do you say that?” Cora asks. She’s absentmindedly holding the collar of her dress, right where I’d grabbed her.
I study her face before replying. I can see it in her expression: she knows Grace is the right person. She knows I’m the one who’s wrong.
“She smelled…” I trail off, searching for the right word, but none of them seem right.
Good.
Delicious.
Incredible.
Fucking perfect.
“She did not smell like a witch,” I say finally. I straighten my fingers and study my palm. I’d had her hand in mine, and if I hadn’t gotten distracted, I would have dragged her all the way here.
Instead, I’d found myself inches from forgoing everything I’ve ever wanted. Forget the curse, forget lost power, forget everything but the sweetest blood I’ve ever smelled. I was ready, in that moment, to lose it all if only I got to taste her first.
Cora doesn’t look alarmed by my words. In fact, they seem to put her at ease. She drops her collar, placing both hands on the table. Her breaths become steady, pulse slowing with each inhalation.
“She’s not of the Echo,” she says.
I lift an eyebrow, a silent so to encourage her to continue.
“Witches aren’t born with sour blood,” Cora says. A small smile tugs at her lips, as if, despite everything, she enjoys having this knowledge over me. “It’s a spell, like any other protection we have. They cast it while we’re in the womb or shortly after birth. Grace was never here.”
“Walter didn’t think to protect his own daughter?” I press.
Because surely, no man would be foolish enough to leave his daughter vulnerable. Especially not one who smells so irresistible.
“I think it’s clear Walter Pruce didn’t want Gracie anywhere near us,” Cora says. She stretches her fingers across the table, looking at the small scars on her knuckles, rather than at me. “Smart man.”
“Clearly not smart enough,” is my only response. I shove from the table, striding through the sunlit courtyard. “We’ll meet here again soon.”
“Will she be here next time?” Cora calls. She’s taunting me, and it soothes the tension in my chest.
I’m not good at forming relationships, alliances. It’s part of what got me into this fucking mess in the first place. Oskar loves me as a father might his son. Beatrice enjoys my cock more than my mind. And the rest of my circle fears me too much to be considered friends.
Cora might be the closest thing I have to a true companion. I’d rather not have her hate me.
“Cora,” I call, pausing at the center of the courtyard. My statue towers over me, and I study its stone features, rather than looking at her. Several seconds pass, until I’m fidgeting, but the words still refuse to come.
“I know, Master,” she says finally. “I know.”
I nod, not looking back. And then I’m off, ready to finish what I’ve started—once and for all.
“Perhaps I could accompany you,” Beatrice says. Her long legs easily match my fast strides, her heels clacking against uneven cobblestone. Our side of the Night Realm is always quiet at this time of day.
The sun curse forced change here. With the vampires locked indoors, the werewolves grew bored of our sparsely-populated towns.
They started spending more and more time elsewhere: their own civilizations to the north, the neutral territory to the south, and even the Flight Realm to the east. They’ll come this way once night falls and my kind comes out to play, but for now, we’re alone.
“Maybe if I come with you?—”
“No, Beatrice,” I say, cutting her off.
I’m not surprised she’s asking. I figured it would come up in our thirty minute walk to the neutral territory. She claimed she needed to visit the Paragon anyway. I didn’t believe her then either.
It’s been three days since my disastrous attempted abduction, but I finally have a plan. I don’t bother specifying this out loud, but Beatrice’s presence would absolutely ruin it.
“Since you’re here though,” I say, glancing at her. She’s wearing a more feminine dress today, with a high neckline and lacy tights. The outfit is a blend of deep purples and soft violets. Her dark eyes cling to mine, hopeful. “Tell me about our next group of initiates.”
“Oh, sure,” she says. She blows out a heavy breath. “I easily picked twenty recruits, and I think I’ll be able to add another ten. I know you want forty, but…”
She trails off. This time, her attention stays straight ahead.
We’ve walked far enough to leave the largest estates out of sight.
Now, we’re surrounded by a strip of vampire-owned stores.
Stone building after stone building promises one service or another, ranging from the best bloodletters in the Echo to one-hour venom extraction and walk-up fang cleaning.
At nightfall, they’ll all come to life. Heavy music will thump through most buildings, and drunken vampires will arrive to party, hook up, and forget their shitty reality.
“I don’t want forty,” I say. “I need forty. That means you’ll find forty, understood?”
“Yes, Master,” she says. Though I don’t look at her, I can see her sharp nod from my peripheral. “It’s just hard to find vampires willing to work, to fight.”
“Good thing we’re about to give them something worth fighting for.”
Ten minutes later, we reach the divide between the Night Realm and the neutral territory. Despite myself, I hesitate. It’s likely not long enough for Beatrice to notice, but I hate that I notice.
There wasn’t always this sharp divide between each territory. Once, the Echo was a unified kingdom, and the vampires ruled it all. It was the witches who destroyed everything.
They started by placing these dividers. Deep black lines that scorched the ground, cutting through anything in their path. Grass, dirt, stone, it didn’t matter. A black line spread through the Echo, separating us into respective territories, making it more difficult to travel between them.
The Night Realm.
The Day Realm.
The Flight Realm.
The Float Realm.
And then, of course, the neutral territory. This is where the academy educates our youth, where the council conducts its meetings, where the filthy, alluring humans live.
Injury to any supernatural creature is forbidden here. Much as I’m tempted to kill a couple witches as we pass them, I don’t. Any supernatural who attempts to harm another supernatural faces the consequences, quite literally.
Stab a witch. You’ll be the one with a knife wound in your side, blood pouring over the floor.
Strangle a harpy. You’ll have a crushed windpipe and a bruised throat.
Murder a fae. You’ll be the one lifeless, crumpled to the stone while they go about their day.
I force myself to cross the line, and Beatrice again keeps an easy pace. She’s still talking about the initiates, highlighting a few with extraordinary potential, but I’ve stopped listening.
Now, I’m busy studying the neutral territory.
It looks more like the human world, like Aberlena, than anywhere else in the Echo.
Where the Night Realm is characterized by daunting estates, magnificent stone structures, and elaborate fountains, the neutral territory is overrun with stucco buildings and small storefronts.
Here, everything is labeled and neat and orderly.
The homes have numbers. The streets have signs.
They’ve even got rules posted outside their parks and shopping centers .
The neutral territory is undoubtedly the least interesting place in the Echo, save for the fact it houses the Paragon.
A beautiful and impenetrable building, surrounded by massive pillars and covered in stone gargoyles.
It is the mirror image of Aberlena University and the only known door between the Echo and the human world.
Here, one can travel between the two as easily as crossing a bridge.
I jog up the steps, pausing beneath a particularly anguished gargoyle. His face is frozen in dismay, eyes wide and unseeing. I force my attention away from the man, to Beatrice, who stares at me with her bottom lip pouted.
“It might be better if?—”
“Get me forty,” I say, cutting her off. “And ready them for war.”
I don’t give her the chance to reply. I leave her standing beneath the gargoyles and duck into the Paragon Building.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5 (Reading here)
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46