Page 14 of Dark Flame
“You realize selling my blood will be useless at some point? Eventually, you’ll run out of vampires wanting to be human.”
“You have no idea how vast of a network we are. For every one of us that dies or will eventually become human thanks to you, three more are made. I’m not worried about running out of immortals.”
My ears pick up her rough swallow. “I will not be your blood whore.”
“Yet. You will after tomorrow.”
Her face flashes white, all that lovely blood draining from it. “Tomorrow?”
I remain silent, not quite willing to disclose everything.
My silence apparently becomes the final straw for her because in a blink, she twists on her heel, her flat shoes smacking against the stone as she hooks her hand on the bars and pushes herself through.
She’ll be unable to escape the dungeons, so I remain where I am and wait. Her uncoordinated steps approach the door, her hands grasping the handle as she yanks, probably using all her meager strength, pointless hope continuing to drive her. It’s charming.
After another moment of her heaving on the locked door, I tread from the cell to take in the scene. The scrap of a witch is pulling on a door that’ll never open for her, her flat shoes that are nothing more than thin pieces of foam—flip-flops, I think mortals call them, which is an absurd name—dragging over the stone floor. She grunts, yells, and smacks her palms against the door in an endless cycle that only irritates my ears.
She stops at my weary sigh, twisting back to face me.
“If you’re done now…” With my speed, I move in front of her, spinning her around as I grasp her very fragile throat and begin walking her backwards to her cell.
She claws at my hand, shouting all sorts of unsavoury things, some in an entirely different language, which I guess to be spell incantations. Based on the lack of magick swirling from her, she hasn’t gained any of it back between her home and now, rendering her once again completely at my whim.
She spits at me, the ball of saliva landing on my cheek. I don’t bother to wipe it away, instead showing her how her pitiful attempts at challenging me are cute at best.
“Fuck you, bloodsucker.”
“I’m good, thanks. I don’t fuck witches.”
Her mouth parts in what I assume would be the start of a witty comeback, but we’ve reached her cell. I toss her in and lock the door, slipping the key into my pocket. Something discomforting moves in the base of my stomach, but I ignore it. Certainly can’t be pity. Pretty sure that emotion isn’t something I, as a vampire, am capable of having.
“Stay. I’ll return later.”
“Like I could go anywhere,” she snaps. “What’s tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is when you become useful. If you’ll excuse me, it’s nearly dawn.” I need to return to my quarters to rest and regenerate, because I suspect every moment with this Sinclair will be a trying one. Exhausting in ways I haven’t felt since being mortal. Hellish, a tribute to her new name.
She scoffs. “Right. Sunlight burns you guys. Like fire, so remember that for when my magick returns. Rest up—or don’t. I don’t care either way.”
“You should, because I’m the only thing here that’ll keep you alive.” With that, I turn on my heel and stalk from the dungeon, her cries and shouts music to my ears. The thick metal blocks much of the sound, and if I were human, she’d be inaudible to my weak ears.
I ascend the circular stone steps back to the main part of the castle, quickly going through each of the hallways until reaching the main set of stairs that’ll take me up to my wing. It’s minutes away from daybreak, and though the windows have long been redone with sunproof enforced glass, I prefer being certain.
Entering my quarters, I head straight for my cell phone—a modern piece of human technology I’m still appalled by all these years later—and open one of a few conversations, this one with my oldest friend, practically a brother to me.
Me
I have her.
Cedric
Still think you should kill her and end the Sinclairs altogether. It’d be easier. Quicker.
Me
Consider the retribution in Cora’s name. Besides, at this point, it’s fun. Start sending out the missive to those we’ve already chosen.
Cedric
