Page 5 of Fangs & Freaks
I lean back, fingers steepled once again as I consider her words. The silence stretches between us, thick with tension. Finally, I speak, my voice cool and detached, the weight of each word sinking into her like stones. “The Brotherhood doesn’t involve itself in such matters lightly,” I inform her, watching her face as the reality of her predicament sets in. “Our assistance comes at a price. Are you prepared for that, little unicorn?”
Her face goes pale, but she nods, her voice trembling as she asks, “What kind of price?”
“Blood,” I say, letting the word hang ominously in the air. “Your blood, to be precise. Freely given, over an extended period. The magic in your veins would be... most useful to us.”
She blinks, horror dawning in her eyes. “How... how much?” she asks, barely able to form the words.
“Two pints every four weeks, for six months.”
Her mouth opens in shock, and I can see her mind racing, struggling to comprehend the cost. “That’s… that’s too much,” she stutters, shaking her head. “I won’t survive that. Please, there has to be another way.”
I chuckle, a dark, mocking sound that echoes in the small room. “You underestimate your own resilience, little unicorn. Your kind heals quickly, replenishes faster than humans. You’ll survive.”
She bites her lip, her gaze darting around as if searching for a way out. “What about… what about a year instead?” she pleads, desperation thick in her voice. “Double the time, half the quantity each session?”
A low, amused laugh escapes me, and I shake my head slowly. “You think you’re in the position to negotiate with me?” I taunt, a cruel smile twisting my lips. “How... quaint.”
“Please,” she whispers, her voice cracking, more tears threatening to spill. “My brother… he’s all I have left.”
For a brief moment, I soften, allowing a flicker of understanding to cross my gaze. But my tone remains unyielding, my voice a cold blade slicing through her last shred of hope. “Fine. But if we’re in a pinch, you come in to donate. That’s my final offer. Take it, or leave your brother to his fate.”
She stares at me, defeated, the weight of my words pressing down on her like a vise. Slowly, she nods, her voice barely a breath. “I… I accept.”
My lips curl into a slow smile as I watch the mortal before me, her eyes wide with apprehension. I savor the fear radiating from her—it’s almost as intoxicating as the blood that sustains me. With a flick of my wrist, I produce the roll of parchment, seemingly from thin air, and unfurl it on the table between us. Her breath catches, and I can see the moment realization dawns in her gaze. Good.
This contract is unlike anything she’s ever seen; that much is clear. The paper shimmers, as if touched by dark magic, and the intricate symbols along its edges pulse faintly, thrumming with an energy that would make any human’s skin crawl.
“Your blood oath,” I purr, sliding an ornate fountain pen across the table toward her. Its nib gleams sharply, reflecting the light like a fang poised to bite.
Her hand trembles as she reaches for it, fingers barely able to grip the pen’s weight. I almost laugh, but I hold back—no need toruin the moment. The air grows thick with anticipation, tinged with the coppery scent of blood lingering in the room.
“Having second thoughts?” I ask, my voice smooth as silk, yet laced with the faintest edge of challenge. I can feel her resolve wavering, and I want her to falter, to hesitate. It’s always more satisfying that way.
She meets my gaze, a flicker of defiance surprising me. “No,” she says, her voice steadier than I expected. “I’ll do whatever it takes to save my brother.”
I watch as she lowers the pen to the parchment, a thrill surging through me as the nib touches the paper. A jolt of magic pulses through her, and I can feel the bond beginning to form, her essence pouring onto the page with each stroke of her signature. The ink isn’t black—it’s a deep, glistening crimson, the color of a fresh wound.
“It’s done,” she murmurs, a mixture of relief and dread evident in her voice.
“Indeed it is, little unicorn,” I say, satisfaction flooding through me. “Welcome to the Crimson Brotherhood.”
"Vaughn. Josephine," I call.
The door creaks open and two figures glide into the room, their villainous gaze a mirror of mine. Josephine’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s efficient, always so efficient. "Yes, President?" she asks, her tone dripping with readiness.
“Escort Miss Vienna to the donation room.” I nod to Josephine.
Without hesitation, Josephine steps forward, her grip firm and unyielding as she pulls Vienna to her feet. I don’t look back as I step toward the door, my actions final—dismissive.
Before I open it, something compels me to glance back, my eyes catching Vienna’s. Fear flickers across her face, a fleeting shadow before it’s quickly replaced by something colder, adefiant fire that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I know it’s a front, a simple formality she clings to, and I don’t bother to entertain it.
I open the door with a deliberate motion, waving them out. "Varys." Vienna’s voice rings out behind me. "I'm doing this for you, brother. Hold on, wherever you are." Her words hang in the air, fragile and desperate. I don’t respond, the weight of her plea lost on me.
Josephine and Vaughn lead her down the corridor, their steps echoing in the silence. I follow them, the metallic click of my boots a reminder of the inevitable.
Vienna’s voice cuts through the quiet, her words laced with suspicion. “What happens in the donation room?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, sweetheart,” Josephine purrs.
