Limerence II (21 page)

I look up
at the tall windows, pondering which room they are in.

The Queen knows that I am here; I can feel her arming herself already. I contemplate the fact that she hasn’t sentenced my Bastions to death yet, since I’m assuming it was she who called them away from me and brought them here. Clearly she is strong, but is she strong enough?

I walk around the outside of the building, coming towards the back end where Mia’s art studio used to be. The door here was always locked, rusted old door bolts sealing the exit, but this is inconsequential to me and to any other vampire here, and I grip the lock and yank it away.

The door swings inwards on rusty hinges, and I listen intently for any sound of a threat. But the halls are unnaturally quiet. It makes no sense for there to be no sound, no movement at all, and this alerts my senses more than anything else would have.

My fangs drop involuntarily, a snarl on my lips. I stalk inside, my footsteps almost non-existent as I glide to whatever lies ahead of me. I pant, the feeling of pulling useless air into my lungs and forcing it to leave is somewhat calming, and I continue with the action. In out, in out, in out, in out…

I should have fed more before I came here,
I think. But then something feels different in me. The Bastions I drank from earlier—their powers were not fully matured but they were growing powers, and if I am correct, then I have those powers inside me now. I lean back against the wall, feeling delirious with power and fear combined. I tilt my head up to the ceiling, a smile on my lips.

“I can feel you,” I murmur. And I can: I can feel my Bastions upstairs. I can feel the Queen and her Bastions. I can feel it all. My palms itch, and I look down at them but see nothing but pale, white hands, and I bark out a laugh of glee.

The more I think about it, the more I can feel it—feel them. My body feels electrified, ready for the fight. I don’t need my Bastions; they need me. They will come. I stand tall and proud as I stalk the hallways, charging towards my destiny, towards the Great Hall.

The two uniformed guards that are normally situated outside are still there, but with them are three other Bastions. They growl as I get close, but they are nothing to me, and I prove as much when they run towards me. My body moves with a newfound fluidity as I send the palm of my hand into the jaw of the first vampire that gets close, pushing his head back so far that his neck snaps and he falls mid-step, turning into a cold, hard statue. The second one greets me by pouncing through the air, and just before he lands on me I crouch down and move to the side. His body hits the marble floor, and before he can jump back up I slam a foot into his chest, imagining that I am snapping a twig. I feel his ribs crunch under my foot, his body tearing in two, and I lean down, grip his head, and pull until it is free from his neck. His body explodes, sending blood and gore raining down on me, and I stand back up with a smile and I lick my lips, delighting in the taste of them and feeling a fresh surge of power through me.

The final vampire looks on hesitantly, but we both know that there is no choice for him but that of death. He cannot run from me, and he cannot win. He moves forward, his steps faltering. He stares at me, his eyes turning red, and I can taste the power he is trying to use—but on me, his power is nothing. I smile as I realise this. As if my body is cocooned in a protective layer, his power does not work on me, but merely bounces off me.

He tries a different tact and walks around me, keeping his stance light and his body low as if he is stalking prey. I follow him around me, but bore of his waiting game after a minute or so; I reach forward and grab him, surprising him with my speed, and pull him to my mouth as he kicks out at me to free himself from my vise-like grip. I bite down on his throat before he can get away, and he roars in pain.

His blood flows into my mouth and I swallow it down greedily, letting it spill over my chin and down my chest. The other two vampires—the Queen’s guards—step forward, and I look up through wet, bloodied lashes, take one last swallow of the power flowing from the vampire in my arms, and slam my fist through his chest. His back goes rigid, arching into a semi-circle and he screams loudly. I squeeze his heart, gripping it tightly, and pull it free from his body. His body goes lax as it hits the floor and then smashes as if it is made of glass. Hundreds of pieces of vampire lie scattered at my feet.

The other two vampires move forward with urgency, but it is over: they have no chance against me. Their power is too inconsequential compared to mine now, and I stalk forwards meeting them halfway, a hand going out either side of me and I grab them as I pass. I slam their bodies together like cymbals, doing it with such force that they are obliterated upon impact. Their bodies turn to ash and smoke, leaving barely a trace behind of their existence.

I pound upon the heavy wooden door with my fist. “Little pig, little pig, let me in,” I call to her.

Power moves and flows behind the door, as if it was its own being. The thought excites me, setting my own powers alight with nervous energy. I grip the handle and pull the door open wide, walking in to meet my fate.

“
She’s here,”
Lora says, and looks at me with worry.

I grunt out my acknowledgment. I’m still unsure if this was the correct way to do this, if this was the best way to get her here. Surely she was going to be coming regardless, and all I have done—
we
have done—is provoke her, elicit enough anger from her to burn this place to the ground. I run a hand through my hair, my jaw grinding and my knuckles cracking.

Amora places a soft hand on my arm. “Evan, calm yourself. It will be okay, this was our only move.”

I turn to look at her. I want to think that her eyes are full of concern for me—for Maya, possibly even for Mia, but they are not. They are for herself, for our queen. Of course they are.

“How do you know that?” I grumble out my response. I turn as I hear a loud
bang
from somewhere in the coven.

“It has started,” Lora states fearfully.

“That it has,” I reply quietly. If there were a god I believed in, I would be praying now. So many things for her to accomplish in order for her to have any possibility of surviving. And then what? Will she still be Maya? Will she still be the cold, cruel, and calculating bitch that killed Mia?

Amora squeezes my arm and I know that she is listening to me, to my internal ramblings. I take a heavy breath and pull away from her. I crack the door open, listening intently for anything. It is quiet, but the air stirs with the built-up pressure of something coming.

“Maybe I was wrong.” I look to Amora for some form of hope, needing it now more than ever. My brow furrows, and for once she doesn’t look calm, but shows the compassion that I need.

“Perhaps, but what was the alternative? She will die as she is. If we can free her, then perhaps she will live.”

“Then we will all live!” Lora yelps as a screech from somewhere sounds out loudly.

I glare at her and she cowers, but Amora steps in. “She is right, Evan. If Maya fails, we will all die for our treachery.”

I push her away, my mouth forming into a thin line. “Maybe we all deserve to die. This is partly our fault.”

“I’ve apologised once,” Lora says from her corner. “I’m not apologising again.”

I turn and snarl at her, and once more she cowers and looks away. The door to the retribution room bangs loudly, the Bastions within crying out for Maya, their nails dragging down the wooden door. I glance at Amora, but she doesn’t seem concerned.

“They know she is here,” I say, but she shrugs. “They know that she needs them,” I state darkly.

Amora closes her eyes, doing whatever it is that she does to see the things she sees. When she opens her eyes back up, she shakes her head at me.

“Not yet,” she says. “She will come to no harm yet.” She says this with a frown.

I crack my neck from side to side and then move on to my knuckles, giving them the same treatment as I crack one after another out of habit. Maya’s Bastions beat furiously on the door, shaking it on its hinges, but it is a strong door—a room to keep vampires in when they need to be taught lessons that only deprivation and hunger can teach. I spent many a day in there when I was first turned. Maya’s Bastions have never been deprived or trapped like this, and they are not happy about it—going back to their most primal instincts: savages instead of vampires.

Our queen had been glad to see me and Lora when we returned with Maya’s vampires. She was less pleased with the Bastions Mia had accumulated while she had been free. She had been severely displeased with Mia’s turning, but I think in part she knew that this moment would come. More than likely aware of this threat all along.

With Amora’s whispers in her ears, we convinced our queen that by stealing Maya’s Bastions and not killing them, we could bring Maya to us and the Queen could capture and drain Maya—in effect stealing all the powers that Maya had accumulated. Though of course all of Maya’s Bastions had to die. There was no way to save them.

The risk was worth the gain in her eyes, since our queen is turning more and more to stone as each day passes, the parasite growing continuously stronger. Only Bastion blood—the power that is within it—can give any relief to the suffering. I was glad to know the cause of our queen’s misery, glad to know what could save her and why our ranks never seemed to swell in numbers when we recruited so much, but distraught that I had been sightless to it all for so long.

How could I have been so trapped in my own misery, so self-involved that I had missed what was happening under my nose?

And now? Now we shall all suffer for my blindness.

Another crash and a long, drawn-out screech echoes up to us. I glance over at Amora, my anxiety levels going through the roof, but her eyes are already closed, her normally smooth forehead puckered in frustration. Her eyes flicker behind closed lids, her lips curled in a grimace, and then her eyes finally open back up. Her gaze meets mine.

“Now,” she says her voice strong, but I can feel the fear that flows from her.

We look upon one another, both knowing that the other is afraid yet neither admitting so. Because both of us are afraid for different reasons. Amora worries for her life, that she will not get to see another sunrise, that she will never again taste the flesh of another, never drink the blood and feel its energy igniting her senses. She worries for selfish reasons: for her vanity, for her self-preservation. Yet I worry for entirely different reasons. I worry for Mia, buried somewhere deep within Maya, under layers of hate and poison.

I place a hand on the door to the retribution room, grit my teeth, take a deep breath, and open it up. At once twenty hungry Bastions fling themselves free without a glance in my direction. They crash against each other and then charge their way out of the chamber room, exploding out into the hallway with hungry, pained growls. They know that their own safety and hunger comes only after Maya is safe, and like a swarm of locusts they descend down the stairs and after her.

I only hope that our queen keeps to her word, and that Mia is strong enough to survive, because if not, I just sentenced all of us to death.

“Let’s go,” I say and follow them out into the hallway, Amora and Lora following at my heels.

It is too late to back out now, too late to change our minds. The game has already started, the pieces set in motion, yet there is one piece left to be played. One piece which could change everything for Mia. It will either be her downfall or her saviour, but either way, she will hate me for it.

There you are
. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” I smile at Rosalyn. She’s sat upon her throne, and does not even have the courtesy to flinch when I barge in.

She raises her chin higher, her composure staying calm as she takes me in. She has no aura for me to see, for me to be able to tell what she is thinking or what she is feeling. I do not know if she fears me or not: though she looks calm and composed, I understand now that I am like her, and that we are slowly hardening, freezing in place. Before I kill her I need to know why and how to stop it. She has survived all these years, and seems only a touch worse than I am—so she must know something to stop the transformation.

She has fed—that much I can see by the dead Bastion at her feet and the single drop of blood on her perfect white outfit—but it is not enough. That much is clear. She seems weak, and I do not fear her, not like Mia had.

“I am your queen, and I command you to stop.” Her voice reverberates around the room, her lips barely moving but her voice booming in my head.

I bow down to her, lowering my head, and then pause, looking up through my lashes with a devilish grin. “You forget yourself,” I say and she raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at me. “You are not my queen.” Drinking so many of her Bastions has allowed me to read them, allowed me to know all her secrets. She was human once, a long time ago, and she had a name. “To me you are simply Rosalyn,” I continue with a grin.

And finally she shows something. Her shoulders sag as I speak, her composure not as calm, and I know that I have her, that I have touched something she didn’t expect. Because I know who she is. I stand back up straight. My joints are already beginning to feel stiff, and are becoming painful again.

I look at the many Bastions in the room with us—too many for me to take at once. But as I think this, a pounding comes from the hallways behind me, my own Bastion army flooding into the room.

The Queen’s Bastions shift forwards, coming to stand in front of her, yet she stays motionless, seemingly unconcerned with me or my small army. Yet something in her cold, pale eyes lets me know that she has already given up, that she knows that this is the end, but she won’t do it quietly. I respect that, respect her for the first time since meeting her many months ago.

“It is time,” I say.

Her head moves a fraction, her expression pained. “It is,” she replies, her lips moving, and the words coming from within her pale mouth for once.

She forces herself to stand, her movements slow and deliberate. She grimaces at times, her joints grinding on one another, so much so that I can hear them from across the room so loudly it is as if she were standing next to me. She stumbles down a step, and a Bastion comes to her aid, raising his arm for her to take. She nods at him, and he offers his neck to her.

“Your majesty,” he says quietly, before she presses her mouth to his neck and bites down on him. She does it gently, like a mouse nibbling on a piece of cheese. Tiny teeth cutting into his flesh and then sucking him dry. His body begins to shrivel in on itself like fruit drying in the sun, and she finally releases it, letting him fall at her feet, his face sucked in like a prune.

“I won’t be staying to watch your end, Maya—that is what you call yourself now, isn’t it?” She forces a pained smile, revealing her tiny, pointed teeth, reddened with blood.

“That is my name,” I snarl. “Mia is no more.”

She continues to watch me, looking healthier than she had moments ago but still deathly sick. “I wish you luck in your next life, for this life holds nothing more for you but death.” The pain is bright behind her eyes as she holds the smile on her frozen face. She takes the arm of another one of her Bastions and turns from me.

I frown, a growl building in my throat. “You can’t leave,” I yell after her, but she continues to walk away, heading to an exit at the back of the room. Her Bastions close the gap around her, some following after her and others closing the gap on me and mine.

I scream in frustration. “Witch, this is not over. I will end you!” I glance to either side of me at my own hungry Bastions, not wanting to send them to their deaths, but there is no other way. I will take her head and her crown. She betrayed Mia, always intending to send her to her death, and while I do not care about Mia, I do care about myself. And to send Mia to her death is to send me to mine.

“Kill them,” I shriek. “Kill them all!”

My Bastions run forwards to attack, being met with Rosalyn’s. They fight one another with force, ripping and tearing, pulling each other apart savagely. I move among them, towards Rosalyn, following her path of escape. Bastions fall at my feet in ash and blood, in pieces and on fire, each death a new one, each death unique to each vampire that suffers it.

I see a flurry of red hair and head into the fighting, distracted from my task momentarily. A Bastion has Sabrina pinned to the ground. She’s holding his arm back as he tries to punch a hole through her chest. I quickly grab the vampire and pull him free from her, dragging him up to standing. I turn him to face me and smile before I tear a chunk from his neck and then sink my teeth into him and begin drinking deeply from him. Sabrina moves forward and joins me, taking satisfaction of his death as she grabs his head and twists it free.

I leave him with her and continue on through the horde, toward my own fate, not letting anything stand in my way. Three Bastions guard the door Rosalyn exited through, but before I can fight them, five of my own Bastions run at them, dragging them kicking away from the door. My Bastions may not be as strong, but they are overpowering Rosalyn’s.

I turn the handle and go inside, saying goodbye to my poor Bastions, for I know that none shall survive this—not even my dearest Sabrina. That I am sad of, for something inside me had grown fondly attached to her and her mane of red hair.

I continue down the dark corridor, lit only by small torches on either wall. I can hear talking coming from the end of this hall, yelling coming from behind the door at the end. I rush on in eagerness to find out what and who it is. The door is not locked and as I turn the handle and push the door open, a flurry of emotions from everyone inside hits me.

Rosalyn is being held in the grip of a smallish man with a head full of platinum blond hair. Her Bastions are dead at her feet and red hot tears track lines down her cheeks, yet her lips are pulled back in an angry snarl. They both turn to look at me as I stand there, shocked and equally angry.

“This is not your fight,” the man says without missing a beat, and squeezes Rosalyn’s throat harder forcing her to gag. She kicks out at him but he slams her harshly against the back wall, stopping her fight.

“Who says?” I reply, even angrier as some of his vampires move closer to me. I hiss at them, baring my fangs.

“I say,” he replies calmly. His aura is black, sparks of yellow shooting from it like stars, yet Rosalyn still has no aura for me to see. “I have waited a long time for this,” he continues and looks back at Rosalyn, who is glaring down at him in hatred. “A long time, my love,” he says softly and trails a hand down her cheek.

She kicks and squirms in his grip, trying to get free, more red tears falling from her eyes—though whether from pain or pure frustration, I don’t know.

“I don’t want to die, Sanuel,” she pleads.

Sanuel? I know that name from somewhere. I stare at the back of him, familiarity creeping into my veins. She sobs and pleads again and I actually feel pity for her; the whine to her voice is acute. I guess it doesn’t really matter who kills her, so long as she is dead and I can take her place. So long as she meets her end. At least I am here to see it, to let her know that part of the death inflicted on her is my own vengeance, that all her Bastions will suffer and die at my hand. Yes, that is what matters.

“I’m not ready,” she cries again.

Sanuel’s vampires—or who I assume to be his vampires—close in on me and I bare my teeth at them again.

Sanuel turns to me and laughs. “They will not hurt you, so long as you stay where you are, Mia.” He smiles at me in confidence. “You don’t remember me, do you?” He lowers Rosalyn so her feet touch the ground again, and I shake my head no.

“My name is Maya,” I say.

Power is tingling through my body, my fingers burning with the need to expel some of it. I do know him from somewhere, I just don’t know where. I struggle to access Mia’s memories, my head feeling confused and cloudy. Sanuel presses his body against Rosalyn’s and takes a deep breath, holding his cheek to hers, yet keeping his hand tightly around her throat.

“Aah, yes, I heard that Mia had allowed you to take over. My mistake.”

“She didn’t allow me anything, I was just stronger than her. She never stood a chance against me,” I snap, irritated that he would ever doubt me or my strength.

“Well, however you gained control, this is not your fight. I care not how you came to be, only that you did. That fate has finally caught up with the present, and my visions are coming true.” He continues to stare at Rosalyn, his back to me, and this should infuriate me, but his words have caught my attention.

“I don’t understand.” I scowl, hating the admission.

“Of course you don’t.” He chuckles. “I am a sightseer. I have foreseen this moment many times, with different variations, but some things always end the same.” He glances over his shoulder at me as I step further into the room.

“And how does this end?” I smirk.

“Life is like a jigsaw, Maya, and we cannot see the full picture until all the pieces are put together. Until then, the picture could be anything—there are infinite possibilities. It could be death, it could be life. All we can do to help us see is put certain parts together and let them show us some of the picture—some of the possibilities. Those small fragments of the picture show us what could be when it is complete. I saw you. I always saw you, your face, so many times through the years. I never knew your importance, only that you affected everything just by being. And here we are.” He says this all wistfully, still watching me. He eventually turns back around to look at Rosalyn. “And now the final pieces are being put together, and we shall see it all.”

I huff. “You are boring me.” I roll my eyes just to prove my point.

Sanuel ignores me, continuing to look at Rosalyn. “My dearest Rosalyn, won’t you come out to play? The end is so close, if you can hear me, please come to me before it’s too late.” He pulls back and looks into her face, but she only continues to glare at him. “I know that you are there, somewhere. One way or another I will set you free.” He kisses her cheek, his lips smudging the blood that has traced down them, but her expression never falters.

He sighs and drags Rosalyn to a high-backed chair, gesturing to two of his Bastions to hold each of her arms in place, and another to stand behind the chair and hold her by her neck. I wonder how they have the strength to even control her—she’s so powerful, with so many talents, but then I wonder if part of her power was actually her skill to trick us all. To make us believe that she was strong, when in reality she was no stronger than any normal Bastion—maybe even less so.

Sanuel takes a long silver dagger from the table, and with a sad shake of his head and a tut he abruptly stabs it once into her stomach. She yelps and fights against the Bastions holding her, as her blood begins pumping from the stomach wound. I flinch, shocked by his actions. I don’t care in any way about her. In fact, I had intended to do much worse, but his brutality of her has caught me off guard. I lift my nose to the air and smell her blood; it doesn’t smell like normal human blood or Bastion blood, but something more. It does not entice me or make me thirsty’ it smells of death and pain, and makes my stomach turn with the need to vomit.

Poison runs through her veins, and a fear chills me as I realise that the same poison now runs through mine.