Struck (A Vampire Novel) ✔

Forty-Four

A similar door to my prison was opened before me and Vincent tossed me unceremoniously into the room. I landed on the ground with a heavy thud, my breath lost for a moment. With trembling arms, I lifted myself, raising my head to look behind me at Vincent who only watched with cold boredom.

“Goodbye, Monet,” He lifted his hand, waving almost sarcastically, before shutting the door and leaving me to the darkness. I was having trouble breathing, trying to blink through the dark in order to see what I feared the most was waiting for me. Bit by bit, my eyes adjusted to the black room. It was similar to my prison, without the chains. It seemed like a storage room, but lacked anything to store.

I scanned the dark room for another presence. I heard her before I saw her. A low growl rumbled through the room, low and dangerous. I tensed, pushing away until my back was against the locked door. In the corner of the room sat a dark shadow where two glowing eyes were trained on my form hungrily.

At first, the eyes were globes of light brown. They would have been familiar, being that I was used to seeing rage in those eyes, but something was significantly different as they watched me. There was an animalistic, wild edge to those eyes, as if there were no thoughts besides instinct running behind them. Rage I would understand… these eyes, I didn’t. And then they were diminished into the darkness as Corentine’s pupils bled over her irises, swallowing those wild eyes until she became a new level of feral.

I couldn’t swallow. I officially lost control of my limbs as the terror enveloped me. Corentine slowly stood from her crouched position and on instinct I followed her lead, rising to my feet as well. I hesitated, and then lifted my hands in front of me as if in surrender. I tried to swallow again, to gain a voice, but it was extremely difficult around my fear.

“Corentine,” I began in a small voice, hearing another wave of aggressive growls that erupt from her chest. She hadn’t attacked me yet, which was good in itself, but something told me it was more because she was playing with her food rather than hesitating to kill me. “Corentine, I know you’re still in there…” I really didn’t know, but my only option at this point was to try to appeal to her human nature if she had one.

“Not quite,” She snarled. Her voice was shocking for multiple reasons. For one, I hadn’t expected her to be able to speak as a rogue, but then I didn’t know anything about rogues. Besides that, her voice was completely different. It was a voice that struck fear in me more than Vincent’s apathetic and dangerous words had. This voice didn’t belong to the angry Corentine I knew; it belonged to a demon, a true demon of pure evil.

“I know… I know you’re upset about so many things,” I whimpered, trying to fight past the fear that was crippling me. “I can’t possibly understand what it means to lose a Mate; to want to avenge that death so wholeheartedly. But you have to listen to me, Corentine.” She stepped closer, flexing her hands dangerously, her breath harsh with unrestrained snarls as she stalked me. Something in the way she watched me made me feel like my words weren’t actually being heard beyond distant murmurs.

“Revenge… it’s self-destructive. Look at yourself,” I indicated to her, but she didn’t even twitch in response, “You’re so beautiful. I could see it. And I know Adelaide wouldn’t have loved someone so hateful. Please, Corentine. You don’t want to do this.” Corentine halted in her half-steps, tilting her head as if she had finally heard something I said.

“I might have loved her before,” She said slowly, the words almost foreign on her wild tongue, “I don’t know love now. I only know what I do want. Blood. Pain. Death.” Corentine began trembling in anticipation as she spat the words, reveling in the definitions as if they were her only meaning of existence. I knew by watching her that she had forgotten, if not completely ignored, everything I mentioned. The only thing her mind could grasp now was those three things: blood, pain, and death. I could imagine the endless cycle racing in her darkened mind, sending her instincts reeling in response.