Page 72 of Veinblood
The door opens silently under shadow-wrapped fingers. Inside, a man sleeps peacefully in his bed, unaware that deathhas come calling. His breathing is deep and regular, the sleep of someone who believes himself completely safe. But as moonlight falls across his face, recognition floods through me.
Commander Korven.
My mind goes back to that terrible time in Sereven’s custody, to hours of torture designed to break both body and spirit. This man stood watching while my brother and his torturer worked me over. He was one of several commanders who stood witness to my degradation, took dedicated notes for their reports, and made suggestions.
And now he’s here, sleeping peacefully in this quiet village, believing himself safe from the consequences of his actions.
Personal hatred wars with the need to finish what I’m here to do and get out. This should be just another silent kill, another obstacle removed from our path to sanctuary.
Hatred wins.
I move closer to the bed, letting shadows wrap around his throat just tight enough to stop him making any sound but not restrict his breathing. I want him awake for this. I want him to understand exactly what is happening and why.
Korven’s eyes snap open as the shadows tighten around his neck. For a heartbeat, confusion clouds his features, the disorientation of someone awakened from deep sleep to find their world transformed into a nightmare. Then recognition hits, and his face turns white.
He tries to cry out, but shadows flow across his mouth, sealing his lips more effectively than any gag ever could. Hethrows one arm out, straining toward the sword hanging beside his bed. My shadows are faster, wrapping around his wrist with the strength of the iron chains that hung me from the ceiling of Sereven’s torture chamber.
“Surprised?” My voice is silky as I settle into the chair beside his bed. “You were so certain I was dead. I could see it in your face when they dragged me out to the cage. You couldn’t hide your satisfaction.”
His eyes dart frantically around the room, searching for escape that doesn’t exist. Sweat beads his forehead when he realizes just how trapped he is.
“I remember you very well.” I lift my feet and prop them beside his head, while he struggles against his restraints. “Third day of torture, if I recall correctly. You suggested they use heated iron instead of blades. More … educational, you said. Better for extracting information … only Sereven didn’twantinformation.”
He shakes his head, trying to deny what we both know is the truth.
“You watched everything so intently. Checked my pulse, and warned Sereven when I was going to lose consciousness.” I nod. “Yes, you gave many suggestions on improving the techniques being used. Always so helpful, always eager to contribute to my suffering.”
His breathing turns rapid and shallow as I speak, as the realization dawns that he’s trapped in a room with a man who has every reason to want him dead. One who has boththe power and the motivation to make that death as slow and painful as possible.
“You treated me like I was an experiment. A puzzle to be solved through torture.” I let my feet drop to the floor and lean closer. “Tonight, you get to experience what it feels like to be on the receiving end.”
I stand up and look around the room. There’s a jeweled sheath on the dresser, one that speaks of rank and authority. I walk across to it, and draw out the dagger it holds, a beautifully crafted weapon with an edge that gleams even in the dim moonlight.
Testing the point against my fingertip, I smile. A single drop of blood wells up, proof of the blade’s sharpness.
“This should do nicely.”
He’s shaking his head wildly from side to side when I return to the bed. I drag the dagger down his arm, letting him feel the cold metal against his flesh. Then I curl my fingers around his wrist, positioning it for what comes next.
“Do you remember how you pressed a finger to my throat?” I slice off his left index finger at the first joint. Blood spurts across the bedsheets as he writhes in pain, screams muffled by the shadows across his mouth. “Always so careful to count the beats and note down if they were too fast or too slow.”
Next, I slice open his palm from wrist to fingertips, peeling back the skin to expose muscle and bone beneath. The anatomy lesson I never wanted becomes useful knowledge as I avoid major arteries, ensuring he bleeds enough to suffer but notenough to die quickly. His thrashing grows more desperate as blood pools beneath his arm.
I move to his chest, carving my Shadowvein mark into his flesh—a raven in flight. Each line is precise and deep, reclaiming what they attempted to destroy. The blade parts skin with the whisper-soft sound of sharp metal through flesh, revealing the red beneath.
I whisper Voidcraft to sear the wound closed, ensuring the scars will form exactly as I want them. The smell of burning flesh fills the room as the spell cauterizes the cuts, creating permanent marks like the brand they burned into my chest.
“This is for every suggestion you made.” I drive the blade into his shoulder and twist until I feel bone crack.
“These are for every time you joined in.” I use Voidcraft to break his ribs one by one. Each snap echoes in the small room as his body convulses with fresh waves of agony. His eyes bulge as pain overwhelms his capacity to process it.
The bloodied blade strokes along his jaw like a lover’s kiss, leaving a thin red line across skin already pale with shock and blood loss.
“I could keep you alive for days, the same way you did me. But the difference between you and I is I don’t typically take pleasure in torture.” I bend until my lips are close to his ear. “Except today … and I promise I’m going to make you feel every second of your life ending.”
By the time I’m finished with him, he’s barely recognizable as the proud commander who watched my torment. Bloodcovers most of his body, mixing with sweat and tears to create a crimson mask of suffering.
Finally, I open his throat slowly, letting him feel the blade part skin, muscle, and finally the windpipe beneath. The steel slides through tissue with almost no resistance, and blood fountains across the pillow as his life drains away.
