The Underground

Chapter 14.3

The frustrating game of cat-and-mouse led Vivian back down the stairs and around their base, to a hallway and door that was previously sealed. Now, it was cracked open, revealing a sliver of the ballroom behind it.

With a quivering hand, she pulled the heavy door open an inch further, peaking her head inside. Her fear kept her eyes glued to the smooth wooden floor, searching for signs of friend or foe. It was uncomfortably quiet, the previous screams and cries of Brienne that lead her here replaced by an ominous and lingering silence. A silence that was ever so subtly broken by a soft dripping noise.

At the far end of the lavish room were a lengthy dining table and the source of the peculiar drip. Her gaze lifted from the ground inch by inch, her hands clasping over her mouth to stop her own shocked cry as she realized what lay upon the grand table.

It was Brienne, evidenced more by the glimmer of her soul than her physical, bloodied form. Vivian's stomach twisted into knots, each drip of blood from her friend's limp hand to the floor below adding to her nausea. The only relief she found was in the knowledge that her soul was still there, warm and glowing. Proof, that she was alive and in this world.

Despite her better judgment, she thoroughly examined the room now, reassured by the dim light of the beautiful chandeliers and the steep shadows cast by them that there were no lantern-wielding twins in the area. The pillars that lined the walls of the room looped around its perimeter to frame the table and the body that lay upon it, making Brienne the clear focal point of the room.

That was the final observation she could make before the intense need to rush to her friend took over, and she stuck a foot through the door. At the same time, familiar hands clasped onto her shoulders, planting her to the ground, inches from the ballroom.

Frustration surged in her chest and clenched her teeth together. "You need to stop doing this."

"This is a trap," Dominic said with a small shake of his head. She turned to look at him as he peered over her shoulder to look at her. Both were uniquely desperate.

Before either could speak, for better or worse, the tired and gentle voice of Miles rang out clear as day from the depths of the tall room.

"Mr. Blackwood? Dominic?" Miles called, emerging from the deeper shadows in the far corner of the ballroom. Shadows which hid him rather well and would make a good place to launch a surprise attack, had she run into the room as she wanted. "Is that you?"

Memories of the Miles she had met in that other place, his forest green soul and welcoming brown eyes, flooded her mind. She could see, even from this distance, the void of darkness in this Miles' eyes. The lack of a vibrant, friendly soul.

"This woman is gravely injured, and I can't find Miss Flores' body. Please, help me get her out of here," Miles called again, rushing to Brienne's side as if he had just arrived.

His actions seemed disingenuous, suspicious, and revealed the obvious trap Vivian had almost stepped her foot into. She might have felt relieved, having avoided it, if it weren't for the concern on Dominic's face and the way his feet seemed to be inching forward.

"Don't," she whispered, grabbing hold of the hands that were quickly loosening their grip on her. "It's not him. He's lying."

Dominic's lips pursed and tightened; his teeth clenched together in agitation. "I have known him for decades. He would not lie to me."

Vivian shook her head again, snaking her hands upwards to grab ahold of his. "It's not him!"

Miles' tired face dropped further, his hands slamming on the table beside Brienne's bleeding form. "Please, Dominic, I cannot fail you too. Let me at least get you out of here," he muttered, voice tight and cracking with desperation.

She could see Dominic's expression change. She could feel what must have been a human lifetime of camaraderie win over what she thought to be common sense. She imagined this was how he felt when she abandoned safety to help Brienne. They were both fools.

The vampire surged into the room with confident steps. Miles rounded to greet him immediately, a warm smile of relief plastered on his face like a cheap paint job. "Thank goodness. I was hoping it was you," he welcomed, looking as if he would embrace the other man.

When Dominic crossed the threshold of the halfway point in the room, the smile on Miles' face curved at the edges. There were too many teeth and a notable lack of wrinkle around his eyes. Her stomach dropped as Dominic's confident strides slowed to a halt.

"And you brought Miss Flores. How kind – I was worried I would have to go drag your corpses here myself," Miles jeered, closing the distance between Dominic and himself faster than Vivian could blink.

And to her horror, faster than Dominic could move. The vampire was gone when Miles reached the spot he had been, but one of his hands was stuck out, clenched around an invisible neck that flickered back into existence the tighter the hand gripped.

"Not so fast, Mr. Blackwood. I'm afraid I need your blood – and quite a lot of it."