Days pass, weighing heavily. Kovan’s unwelcome eyes breezing past me, his offering of blood, not a kindness. His demanding words urging and unrepentant, forcing me to acquiesce, for he longs to see me bearing my shackled torment while still aware. Otherwise, how would he thrive on my misery. Falling into unconsciousness would be a mercy, something he is incapable of.
Still, I drink only the bare minimum, keeping a somewhat hazy demeanour, as I linger in a nightmare-like state. After days suspended, my chest is little more than pained agony, my lungs feeling on the verge of collapse. I may no longer need to breathe, but I’m not immune to the sharpness of the pain. Yet, little does Kovan realise, that I know he has poisoned the blood-wine, he not so generously offers me upon each of his visits. As a rule, vampires are immune to poisons, but they can weaken us temporarily, causing more pain.
After watching me from the corner of the room for so long, he approaches, his haughty gaze roving over my weak form. Loosely holding another crystal chalice, by the very tips of his fingers, demonstrating his skilful ease.
“You are as frustrating as you are lovely, little bird. It seems I’m growing bored with your current punishment, so let’s try something new.” He stops, reaching out to tightly grasp my chin, even as my jaw aches.
I don’t struggle, letting him forcefully pour the tainted blood-wine between my parted lips.
“Well done.” His tone is condescending, as though I am nothing but a petulant child. “There will be a hunt this evening, and you will be joining us. You’ll also join us for the Luna ball the day after.”
Swallowing the remnants of the thick liquid, I turn to the side, glancing at my wrist. Wide tidemarks of dried blood circle the shackle, as fresh blood continues to seep, the silver iron cutting deeper still. I know that the other three will be just as unsightly, but I lose the chance to see, as his fingernails dig into my cheeks, harshly returning my gaze to his.
“When I am here, your attention should not wander from me.” He tightens his grip. “I shall release you, and you will be taken to rest and recover, ready for tonight’s, Luna hunt. Remember, this is not a time to test my patience, little bird. Not when celebration and revelry are so near.” Leaning close, I feel his hair slipping over my shoulders; and without waiting for me to speak, he roughly unshackles me.
The sudden release of tension is more than I can bear, as I collapse forward, my dislocated shoulders crunching as I twist to avoid hitting the cold marble floor, chin first. Black spots appear, floating around me as I lay in a crumpled heap. Exhaustion plaguing me in every sense, as I feel Kovan kneeling down, before he lifts me delicately. Resting in his arms, even my emotions of unwilling love and a hard won hatred fall quiet. It seems that even pain has a silver lining.
The candles cast shadows against the walls of the lavish halls as we stride by, the candelabra throwing soft light across the sprawling staircase. I half expect to see the familiar cells, where I spent the last months of my mortal life before the ritual, to greet me. Yet as the pain begins to fade, I’m placed carefully onto silky sheets and exquisite blankets. Laying back, I say nothing as I feel my bones crack, the pop of my shoulders sharp and searing. Though I bear it all in silence, my clenched jaw still reveals that which my lips never will.
“The antidote and the blood will allow you to heal, little bird. Rest for now.” I hear as his footsteps recede, the door closing, muffled by my thoughts. Just as I had suspected, he has been poisoning the blood-wine so willingly offered. The longer I lay unmoving, the stronger I begin to feel, until a lightness that has been lost in the past few days, returns. Sitting up, I glimpse the room, an ironic smile lingering on my lips. The same room that I once willingly loved, and spent days and nights in, so in-love with Kovan.
Upon glancing further, I’m unsurprised to see my old leather travelling bag, soft and worn from years of use, I reach for it. Its suppleness, still as comforting now as it was when I was young. The habit of collecting herbs from childhood, still having followed me into adulthood.
Standing, I drift over to the concealed door in the wooden panelling. Feeling the ridges running along the edge, I confidently push and slide the left side out, to the sound of a click. The narrow door rests ajar. Sliding through, I smile at the sight of the shelves filled with dried ingredients and herbs. The pouches and jars unlabelled, but all very familiar.
It does not escape my notice that the space is clean, not a cobweb to be seen. My smile lingers, but there is no amusement in it. For it only shows that Kovan never had any intention of allowing me to truly live my life in solitude.
Narrowing my eyes, I step forward, carefully collecting powders and raw roots, along with my mortar and pestle. Clutching as many as I can carry at one time, I turn to the familiar preparation table, spreading the ingredients out neatly, my fingertips fondly gliding over the bottles and jars.
Setting to work, I open a nearby draw, grasping a couple of pieces of ribbon, rolling up my sleeves and tying them back. Turning, I reach for an old pot, while placing several knives along with the mortar and pestle inside, before moving towards the shuddering pipes, the water splashing out in spurts. Looking back through the door, I realise that I hadn’t even noticed that Kovan had lit the fireplace, even though the warmth of the room should have reached me far sooner.
Flicking my loose curls to the side, I hang the pot over the fire, leaving the fireplace and returning to my small apothecary. The pages flutter as I read through my notes of older and newer remedies, feeling overcome with nostalgia, remembering how I had no choice but to leave them behind, after I was unceremoniously cast away and banished.
Frozen for a moment, it’s the rattle of the pot that awakens me from my sentimental ridiculousness. The water having boiled, I carry it back, drying off the knives and mortar and pestle, before beginning to slice the root ginger, later grinding it into a soft paste, with a blend of honey.
Lost in the remedies and thoughts of the village clans, time passes quickly, until the ointments, teas and powders are packed into my travelling bag. Closing the door behind me, I catch sight of my bedraggled figure in the ornate, floor-length mirror. My dress, torn, filthy and stained with blood is a stark contrast to the flawless skin it reveals, along with the bright spark burning within my light grey eyes. Though as soon as I claim awareness, the brightness almost immediately begins to dim, as if nothing but an illusion.
Heading behind the screen, I find a midnight blue dress, the velvet heavy but warm, (though it no longer concerns me) along with a pale blue cloak, both from happier times. A past happiness that was shattered, after revealing itself to be a well-spun deceitful façade.
Unfastening the ribbons to loosen the corset, the hook and eye fastenings, once undone, allow the dress to slide down to the plush rugs beneath my feet. Throwing the gown aside, I feel liberated at the thought of no longer having to wear it, almost as though I chose to wear the dress as a form of punishment. Constantly reminding myself of what I had lost, along with the betrayal of my family.
Delicately lifting the dark garment, I slowly step into it, sliding the velvet up over my hips and chest. Tightening the fastenings, my hands run down over the bodice and dropped waist, while reaching out to slip into the cloak; and then I feel him, his careless allure changing the very air surrounding me.
“Only mere moments after punishment, and here you are, passion flaring and courting death. What a rare creature you are. Sire, truly broke the mould when he created you.” For a reason unknown, I find a smile briefly touching my lips at the sound of Lorne’s voice.
Though that is probably exactly what it is, his alluring voice along with his sensual look and lazy air. “Being here is a punishment, I’m not naive enough to think otherwise.”
“Not after my brother’s tricks, no.” His words hold no judgement, only truth, although for me, it is a bitter one. “Are you not going to ask, for how long I’ve been indecently watching you from my dark corner.”
Hearing his somewhat mocking tone, a feeling of laughter tightens my throat, catching me unawares, and rendering me more uncomfortable than the thought of him simply watching me alone. “I would prefer to know what you think about your other six brothers.” I answer, refusing to yield.
A moment later, I hear his soft laughter, the sound carrying a charming beauty to it, but as I look over, his eyes narrow in slyness. “You wouldn’t be trying to take advantage of me, would you, as so many others have tried, because that may be dangerous for you, beautiful Wren.”
We both still, watching one another, as is becoming an unconscious habit between the two of us. He demands attention, despite my wishing otherwise, I know that I am no exception, and yet I sense that he cares very little for anything. Without looking away, I brush my hair aside. “The advantage would only be theirs fleetingly before it became yours, after all, you found my true desire and used it to bargain with me. In the end, my need was a stepping stone for you to use, much like my soul was for your brother.”
Pushing away from the wall, his gaze deepens, his look sharpening, the moment feeling so intimate even as we stand apart. “I wonder, did Sire break the mould with you... His wisdom..., would you know?” The silver flecks in his golden irises shimmer, as his questions melt away into nothingness, a provocative flash shadowing his eyes. “Lets see... Nothing blossoming, is my everything.” His lilting voice lingers softly.
Catching the spark in his eyes, I slowly lift my chin. “And everything blossoming, is nothing to me.”
A look of irony flickers across his refined features, as he realises my understanding, softly inclining his head in a shameless gesture of easy temptation. “For only will loving verity pierce my heart.” His teasing words linger.
“Soulfully drinking my lover’s darkness.” The last line leaves my lips, as a breathtaking smile shapes his face, drawing an almost covetous desire from me. Though, had I not known any better, I would think it carried true sentiment.
“You’ve heard of Sire, the god of man and beasts, and his first and last words to humanity.” He sheds the darkness, stepping closer. “You really are well-read.”
“A shame then, that it came a little too late to be of any real use to me.” I smile to hide my bitterness.
“Pride is a disgusting sin, while Kovan is a bore, but I don’t need to tell you that.” A flash of mockery graces his tone, his lithe figure lacking its usual relaxed laziness.
“And your other brothers?” I ask once more.
He sighs, but gives in. “Lust, is also notably boring. Even while engaged in the most salacious of acts, the utter disinterest in his eyes is clear for all to see.
War, on the other hand, is always fun to tease. Though, sadly, he’s been imprisoned as of late.” A slyness shrouds his eyes briefly, suggesting that he may feel anything other than sadness.
“Greed and envy always amuse me. Envy plotting to ruin greed, while greed seeks to covet more and more power.
While gluttony has such an appetite. His hunger for blood has consumed and enslaved him, which is also mildly amusing.” He gently lifts my chin. “Are you satisfied, have I, the prince of sloth, entertained your desires?”
“If I were to admit to such a thing, I wonder the kind of desire that I would be indebted to you for in return...” For a moment, I wonder how to address him, but then his slender eyes suddenly narrow in jest.
“Are you so enamoured with my slothful ways, that you’ve forgotten my true name.” He leans down, his hands sliding lazily but lightly, stroking me teasingly over my shoulders.
“Lorne...” I warn, coldness running through his name, sounding unflinchingly frost-laden. Letting his hands slip away, he turns without a backwards glance, only to leave me gazing after him in cold admiration, a moment that I’m loathed to ever truly admit. “If you wish to visit the village clans before the Luna hunt, staring adoringly at my back, although an absorbing past-time, will not get you there.”
My nostrils flare, though his sarcasm heightens my annoyance, his bluntness being so beautifully glib subtly eases the cold tension still plaguing my heart. Grasping my leather bag, I follow after him, catching sight of his sardonic grin as he almost glides leisurely around the curves of the hallway.
Thank you for reading ❤️
(Word count 2245)