Bab 12: His Cold Touch

The intense pitch of darkness I woke up to was enough to trick me into believing I was blind for the first few moments. I blinked and shifted on a cushioned surface. Then I stilled as the past events rushed into memory. Panic surged through me, causing my heart to race, and I jolted upright, only to be met with a sharp pull at my wrists.

Chains!

Heavy, unforgiving chains restrained my hands, weighing them down and limiting my movements.

The clinking of the chains echoed in the air, a stark reminder of my captivity. Straining against the restraints, I realized the futility of my efforts. I rose to my knees and sank into what seemed to be a bed. It had to be. I shifted back, as far as the chain length could permit, and I recoiled as the back of my head connected with a hard wooden surface.

I whimpered from the dull pain and surveyed my surroundings. It took a while, but I could make out outlines of a few pieces of furniture, though it was far darker than when I had first come in. Shock settled in all too quickly and I trembled. My eyes roamed the dark as far as my sight could allow. Every corner seemed to hold the potential presence of Lord Fashire, watching me, and revelling in my plight like a caged animal.

My head throbbed with anxiety. The vial containing the potion still lay in my room. What if Lord Fashire discovered it? The other vampire Lords could trace it back to the village and, ultimately, my father.

"No. Stop it!" I rammed my head down into the bed, the covers muffling my voice. I tried to steady my racing heart, but it refused to listen to my will. There were so many things that could happen now. He could kill my father. I wasn't close to my aunt, but he could kill her too.

I shifted to lie on my side. What would I do? I had to do something. My breathing became laborious as if the air itself had grown heavy and oppressive. It felt futile, but I mustered one last desperate tug at the chains, only to freeze. What if the Lords could hear the rattling? Closing my eyes, I lay still, attempting to steady my breathing. Trouble loomed over me, casting a shadow of uncertainty. How could I escape this? Of all the vampire Lords, it just had to be Lord Fashire.

I remained motionless, straining my ears for any sound, but silence enveloped the chamber.

Wait. What about the boy?

Sitting up, I cautiously called out, "Hello?"

No response came, and the absence of any sound beyond these walls alarmed me. Were they soundproof? I tugged at the chains once more, causing them to rattle, but what had I expected? Even with my vampiric strength, breaking free seemed an impossible feat. Drawing my hands toward me, I attempted to feel my way around the smooth metal encircling my wrists. There were no crevices, no gaps to exploit.

If only I could just see it.

I paused. Strength?

The effects of the potion were fading earlier than usual. They ought to have gone by now. My sight had gone back to normal, yet why was I still feeling the same strength?

Onto a more important note, why did the potion wear off at the ti—

A long, wooden creak resounded in the chamber, intensifying my pulse as footsteps followed in the darkness.

'Oh, no.'

Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light blinded me, and I instinctively raised my hands to shield my eyes from the onslaught.

"Look at me."

It was a command I could not defy. Against my will, my hands obeyed, and I held my breath as Lord Fashire stood before me from my vantage point at the edge of the bed. The chandeliers high above bathed the chamber in a golden glow, casting an ethereal radiance upon him. With a raised hand, he dangled the tiny bottle between his fingers. The pear-shaped vial swayed, its crimson contents swirling hypnotically against the thick glass, a mesmerizing distraction from his penetrating gaze.

"Mind telling me what this is, 'servant'?" His words dripped with venom, a potent mix of contempt and curiosity.

My muscles seized, frozen like a cornered prey caught in the predator's gaze. Lord Fashire tilted his head, warning me against any attempt to deceive him, "Don't even think of lying. I would know."

My heart pounded in my chest, the sound echoing in my ears. What was I doing? I was certain he could hear the frantic rhythm. He would know. Lips pressed tightly together, I resisted the urge to speak, fearing that the truth would spill forth the moment I opened my mouth.

But then a daring thought flitted through my mind. Would he truly know if I lied? I needed to regain control, to calm myself. Maybe I could weave a different tale, something that would deceive him. The risk was great, but what choice did I have? Death loomed as a grim alternative, and I was not prepared to meet it now, not here, and certainly not at his hands.

I thought better of the idea, not wishing to try my luck with something this risky. It would only end in my death. But what could I do to diffuse the situation? I needed to think of something. The pain he would inflict would be neither swift nor merciful. And what would become of my father once I was gone? Even his own sister-in-law would not care for him.

I parted my lips to speak, only to stiffen as Lord Fashire lunged forward, a blur of motion that materialized at my shoulder. Shock briefly registered before a searing agony radiated through my body. Ice-cold fangs pierced my skin effortlessly, and my entire being tensed in response. A dizzying wave of excruciating pain engulfed me, leaving me gasping, my shoulder aflame.

I let out a violent scream.

I arched against Lord Fashire's grip, thrashing and scratching in a desperate bid to escape, only for me to be rammed into the unforgiving wooden headboard, further intensifying my suffering. I hunched over and tears blurred my vision as I clutched at the bloodied wound on my shoulder.

A sharp hiss permeated the air, and I quickly clamped my mouth shut, stifling my scream. My eyes darted up to Lord Fashire's enraged yell, and regret washed over me as a fresh surge of agony coursed through my body. I doubled over, struggling to contain the pain. Clutching the covers with my free hand, I held on tight, determined not to give him the satisfaction of my cries.

My heart lurched to my throat as he darted to a corner of the chamber in an instant, hurling a divan against the wall with a thunderous crash. The once-ornate piece shattered into splintered fragments, leaving an indelible mark on the polished stone surface.

Time seemed to freeze as I watched the high and mighty Lord Fashire hunch over, his hand pressed to his bloodied mouth. The sharp ache from my wounded shoulder paled in comparison to the sizzling hiss that sliced through the air.

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