Chương 47: Torment
On second thought, maybe Damien should have fought back harder against Crowe when the vampire had started dragging him through the castle corridors. Of course, by the time Damien started considering it, he was far from the familiar halls of the laundry and kitchens, and running would have done him precious little good, besides possibly angering Crowe further. The man was already violent and angry that Damien had avoided him so successfully thus far. Adding to his irritation seemed like a bad idea, overall.
That is, until Crowe threw open a reinforced door, practically tossing Damien inside, and slamming it shut behind the two of them. The tumble to the floor left Damien feeling a bit scrambled, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. For a moment, he was grateful that Crowe hadn't gripped him by the arm and started dragging him around again. Then, his eyes had finally regained enough focus to make out the shapes in the dim room, and he felt the blood in his body run cold.
Every wall was positively festooned with instruments of torture, like they were some kind of macabre decor that a visitor should admire and pass comments upon as they made their way through the dreary stone room. Given that the space wasn't particularly large, it felt far more like a prison cell than a residential room. Damien felt a bit baffled, because he'd been certain that Crowe had been dragging him up stairs, not down, and yet, here he was in some sort of torture dungeon.
He'd heard that Crowe enjoyed hurting thralls, but he hadn't realized exactly how much he enjoyed it, until this moment. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, even harder than before. His ears felt like there was water wooshing in them, or like a big storm was rolling in, making his ears pop with the rising pressure. He felt dizzy, and wasn't sure how much was fear and how much was the mate-sickness. His limbs didn't seem to obey his commands, and he barely managed to roll himself over on his back, staring up at Crowe with what had to be a look of undisguised horror.
He'd been trying so hard to maintain a deferent but still held-together look, but this room made his head feel like it was splitting apart with fear. He wanted to cry, but his eyes felt strangely dry, like he couldn't bring himself to blink. All this, and then to think that the vampire would try to enthrall him after torturing him? Or worse, enthrall him and make him beg for it? Unbidden, a whimper escaped his throat as he stared up at the cruel vampire, who stared down at him with a vicious, victorious expression. "Finally," he breathed, "you're beginning to understand your place." He growled. "I don't care if you want to be fed from or not, morsel. You are mine to do with as I please, to break as I see fit." He gestured to the obscene implements hanging from all four walls. "I will teach you true pain, you pathetic little whelp." He leaned forward then, dropping his voice into something akin to a growl. "And then, I will teach you to like it."
* * *
Despite his sinister promise, Damien survived three grueling nights at the mercy (if one could even call it that) of Crowe, and he still didn't like the pain any more on his third night than he had on the first. His pain tolerance seemed to be improving, though, or perhaps it was simply that his nerve endings were growing so raw and abused they couldn't absorb any more pain than that to which they'd already been subjected. He'd stopped screaming, eventually, because it just made his throat hurt and seemed to make Crowe happy.
The one bright point in the midst of the anguish was the fact that, although Crowe had fed from him (and oh, he'd cackled madly when he realized what Damien was; he'd gone to the effort of promising Damien that he'd keep him locked up in here through the full moon, too), he still hadn't been enthralled by the vampire. Despite repeated eye contact, and multiple blood-draining sessions, Damien felt nothing besides pain and discomfort at the Vampire's hands.
It was confusing, because Grace had claimed that a vampire's bite felt good, almost addictive. Damien had expected that he, too, would be begging for it before long. That it would overwhelm even the instinct that rankled at the thought of being bitten over the place meant for his mate.
Maybe werewolves just didn't get enthralled the same way humans did? He didn't know of any other werewolf thralls in the castle, anyway. Only demon-blooded humans, and normal-blooded humans.
But clearly Crowe enjoyed drinking Damien's blood, so he was getting something out of it. Damien just played along as best he could, pretending to be subservient when Crowe made demands, acting like a cowed little servant whenever Crowe was in the room. It didn't really make a difference, Crowe was still hurting him. The one advantage of the mate-sickness, though, was that Damien seemed to pass out at the drop of a hat. Anytime he got even slightly overwhelmed, his body would shut down, and he would lose consciousness. He realized after the first time it happened (Crowe had been hanging him by his thumbs and casually slicing shallow cuts into his arms and torso) that Crowe didn't care to torture an unresponsive victim.
So Damien leaned into the anguish and faint feeling as much as he could. By day three, he was getting pretty good at passing out with very little done to him. Part of him was worried that was a bad thing. But a much larger part of him was deeply, bone-weary of being Crowe's victim, particularly when he had no method of escape.
Even if he could transform in the full moon (which, given his weakness, was still up in the air), the room was sealed tight. Crowe could just leave him in there to scratch futilely at the walls until the full moon passed, and then he could go right back to torturing Damien. And feeding from him. Until he wasted away completely.
He wasn't sure which would be a worse way to go, at this point - exsanguination, or wasting away from mate-sickness. Either one seemed likely, given his current circumstances.
He wasn't sure of the exact time at the moment - he only knew when it was night, because he felt the pull of the moon, strong since the full moon was almost upon them. Crowe usually came to find him at night, and this eve was no exception.
The door creaked open, and Crowe stepped into his small room.
Damien inhaled lightly, trying not to add more pain his cracked ribs, but desperate to smell the fresh, relatively clean air of the space outside this room. In here, it stank of fear and sweat and blood and tears. It was a choking scent, especially when one was forced to marinate it for three nights with precious little reprieve.
"Hello, morsel." Crowe said, gliding across the room and cupping Damien's chin in his hand, tilting his head up until his throat was bared to the man.
Damien hated this most of all. To bare one's throat as a werewolf was a sign of ultimate trust and submission, to have such an intimate gesture forced out of him by a monster like Crowe… it made his whole body shudder with disgust every time. Maybe that's why the creep kept doing it.
"Do you have any blood to spare for me today?" Crowe crooned, running one of his claws along the side of Damien's neck.
Damien had heard that vampires who fed directly from the throat of a thrall could heal the injuries their fangs left behind, should they so choose. Crowe chose not to do this, leaving behind aching wounds that trickled lightly even after he finished. There was mottled bruising around Damien's throat, which he knew because Crowe showed him his reflection in a looking glass. The distant part of Damien's mind wandered off at that point, wondering why a vampire would have a mirror when he couldn't see his own reflection in it. Gradually, though, he came to realize that the man had it specifically for moments like this; when he was tormenting a thrall and wanted them to see the marks he was leaving behind. Was it possible that Crowe didn't even want Damien to be enthralled, because then the horror of the situation might be dulled by the entrancing nature of the thrall?
He wasn't sure, and his body hurt too much to think about it for very long.
"You know," Crowe murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "I hear Cain has returned to the castle. I wonder what he'll think of you now, marked as you are? He likes his thralls unblemished, or so I hear. Will he toss you aside like a useless toy, now that you have been made mine?"
Damien wanted to argue that he'd seen no indication that Cain felt any sort of way about any particular thrall. However, that would require him to not only speak favorably about Cain, it would also mean defying Crowe. Damien had no interest in either of these things. He wasn't sure if Cain would be able to find him, or if Cain was even really back. Maybe Crowe was lying, in hopes Damien might give away some details about the amulet or Cain's (nonexistent) "favor" towards him.
Crowe's grip on Damien's jaw tightened, and he leaned forward to breathe heavily in Damien's ear, making him squirm with discomfort. "I asked you a question, thrall. Will Cain cast you aside?"
"I don't know," Damien wheezed honestly.
This was clearly the wrong answer, because Crowe growled, his grip tightening as he shook Damien harshly. "Do you think he cares about a pathetic, broken creature like you?"
Damien didn't think Cain cared about anyone but himself, personally. But it was obvious that Crowe felt differently about the man. Slowly, painfully speaking around the crushing fingers digging into his face, Damien answered. "I think… he doesn't care anymore." It was close to honest, and hopefully something that Crowe wanted to hear.
Fortunately, Damien heard the vampire chuckle lowly under his breath. "That's right," he growled. "He doesn't care anymore."
This might have affected Damien more if he'd been one of the hero-worship thralls like Liam or Johann or Grace. But he'd never really liked Cain or felt particularly grateful, nor had he ever expected miraculous things from the vampire. It was hard to be disappointed when you came into a situation with rock-bottom expectations. Still, it was important to keep up appearances, and given his current state, it seemed like fainting was a good idea. He thought if Crowe tightened his grip just a little, he might be able to slip back into unconsciousness.
Was it worth goading him to try and reach that blissful almost-sleep, though? Damien was too tired to think it through, but he thought there was always a chance that goading Crowe might lead to his death. Of course, it was also possible that Crowe would just kill him with no good reason - the man didn't seem to need a reason to be cruel, and it wasn't like vampires cared that much about killing.
So far, Damien thought the only reason Crowe was keeping him around was as a way to antagonize Cain, and also satisfy his violent urges. Once he realized that Cain didn't actually care about Damien, he'd only last as long as it took for Crowe to get tired of hurting him. So it seemed like a bad idea to try antagonizing him now.
"Did you hear me, thrall?" Crowe snarled, his grip tightening on Damien's throat.
Just a little more, Damien thought, and I can sleep.
Unfortunately, Crowe didn't squeeze Damien's throat hard enough to send him spiraling into unconsciousness. He just snarled, his teeth snapping as he commanded, "Answer me, you feckless mongrel!"
Mongrel was pretty rude of him to say, Damien thought. He felt a bit like he was floating. Maybe Crowe's grip on his throat would be enough to send him back to sleep. It was taking longer than Damien would have liked, though. "I heard," Damien finally managed to say, his tongue feeling even heavier than his eyelids. The room seemed to be spinning. Or maybe he was spinning. No, it was probably just the grip on his throat finally doing its job.
"Well?" Crowe growled, "What do you have to say, then, knowing that upstart vampire cares nothing for you?"
Damien was so focused on trying to faint that he barely heard himself answer. "It's not like he cared before," he managed to say, and then the blackness at the corners of his vision swept over him, and Damien dipped back into blissful unconsciousness.
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