Of Mine Enemy

chapter sixteen

She should have been immune to fear by now. What, with all of the instances crammed so closely together. Saiorse was quite certain strenuous, unnecessary happenings would follow her until the day death decided to finally answer her prayers. Still, as she fluttered her eyes, trying to clear the splotched black over her lids, her heart rose into her throat. Muffled whispers reached her ears, but there was no hope of untangling the speech. As Saiorse came to understand the sack still rested over her face, her wrists strained. Someone had cuffed her to a seat - and they'd been prepared with intricate bindings not even a vampire could break. Whoever her captors were, they were well aware of her capabilities. The odds were already stacked against her and she didn't even know where she was. Shifting in her seat, Saiorse clenched her teeth. The rolling hiss stuck in her throat silenced the mutterings.

To her surprise, the stomping feet that came to stand before her did not bring pain, rather, relief. The bag was lifted from her face. Saiorse bowed her head against the sudden ray of sunlight piercing her eyes, rumpling her lips with a snarl. Someone gave a frantic command to shield a nearby window, enveloping Saiorse in the comfort of shadow once again. When she gathered the courage to crack an eye open, Saiorse peered at the man who'd taken the cover away. He looked concerned - Saiorse was dumbfounded. None of her previous kidnappers ever seemed immediately worried for her wellbeing. Rather than loose a strand of questions as she planned, Saiorse leaned back against the chair - velvet and rather comfortable, she noted.

Past the stranger she surveyed her company. All of them seemed to bear the same weary concern. Saiorse looked down at herself, wondering if she'd lost a limb. All digits seemed to be properly attached. The side of her mouth lifted while her brow shifted to her temple. The man before her drifted sideways, revealing a woman with her back turned, hovering over a table. Eyes turned to the dark-haired lady, so Saiorse joined their staring.

"Saiorse Addinell," the figure spoke, back still turned. "It has been a long time since we have seen each other." Apprehension clutched Saiorse's chest. She did not speak, waiting for the woman to face her - and as she did, a cold shiver ran down Saiorse's spine. She needn't look at the woman's face to recognize her. Though, it happened to be the fresh marrings that caught Saiorse off-guard.

From the top of her forehead to the base of her throat, long claw marks scored the aging woman. Where her hair had once remained dark and silky, it'd began to pepper and fray. Sadness trickled through Saiorse's veins, her throat constriction as she observed the damage done. She wished to touch her palm, or even her face, but the cuffs over her wrists prevented such desires.

"Levora," Saiorse whispered. "It is good to see you."

"Untie her," Levora responded, swiveling away from Saiorse, returning to her table. "I apologize for such violent means of traveling you here. My mean were quite certain you would not believe their stories. Therefore, they took the liberty of handling the situation in all the wrong manners."

Saiorse looked around to the lingering gentlemen who seemed to hang their heads at Levora's backhanded scolding. Freed of her restraints, Saiorse rubbed the angry red markings. She stood, nodding her head in thanks to those who unchained her, before drifting to stand behind the uneasy ambassador. Levora folded her arms over her waist, digging her fingers through her arm, then stepped out of Saiorse's way, revealing what lay helplessly on the limber table.

A werewolf yearling, probably no more than a year in its shift, lay sprawled over the oak. Her tongue hung free of her muzzle, her breath bubbled and wet. Fur composed of white the hue of fresh snow and silver as bright as the moon, the she-wolf held an elegance Saiorse could only dream of - aside from the gaping hole in her flank. Saiorse's hand floated to cover her mouth, feeling her eyes grow heavy with pressing tears. Violence hadn't a heavy weight over the vampire when inflicted among adults, but a child?