Chapter 135 Taken
❦ Nikolai ❦
The witch’s cottage was stifling. The rage in my head overbearing. The need to kill, to destroy. Preferably something with consciousness and ready screams.
I dug my claws into my palm. The pain grounded me for precious seconds.
The last witch I’d wrangled into making a curse-defying potion had been more agreeable. She’d cut her own wrist and bled into the cauldron to save her family.
When her body had dropped, the entire concoction bubbled and shrank into a potion bottle. I’d had to snatch the small glass from the coals with my bare hand.
This witch was an entirely different case.
I glared, fangs bared. But she only lifted her chin and stared back with a stubborn glint in her eyes.
Desperation to get to a witch hadn’t allowed me to do due diligence. This one had no family to threaten. Had no fear of a crimson vampire immune to base spells.
And the potion would only work if the witch bled and killed herself willingly for it. Or was that a hoax they made up for quantity control?
“Do it, or I’ll string you up by your spine.” Spittle punctuated my words.
Distance from my bride made the wrath worse. But I couldn’t go to her nearly maddened. I had to tone the murderousness down a notch.
My two options were, another potion. The last one had worked to calm my mind for hours before the wrath doubled down with a vengeance.
The other option… a burning.
A writhing, groaning wolf on a pyre.
My vision reddened as I imagined the scent of burning flesh. His obvious suffering as lips pulled back in pain, skin bubbling with body fluids—
No!
I turned to smash a wall with my fist.
“You should just walk into the sun, vampire. Put yourself out of your misery.” The witch spat, tone snide.
Something snapped.
Bone cracked under my fist, blood spurting. A spray of it hit the lit coals under a cauldron of hot water. The blood popped and fizzled.
I watched, hypnotized for a moment. Then the blood turned to ash and dissipated under the heat of the coals.
In the ensuing silence, I realized what I’d done. I’d struck the witch in the chest, cracking her sternum.
She lay still on the floor, bleeding from the mouth.
“No!” I rushed to her side. “Tell me how to get the potion, damn it!”
I shook her form, but no response came.
Desperate, crazed, I howled into my hands.
No potion, no relief.
Getting another witch would prove extremely difficult. Word had spread of a vampire on the hunt for a potion requiring the brewer’s death.
My fangs ached in my mouth, temples throbbing from pressure.
Must kill. Must destroy. Must bring them all to heel.
I shook my head hard.
Rising on leaden feet, I blinked to return from that razor’s edge of madness.
It seemed I had no choice but to torture the wolf for relief. The longer I put it off, the worse the rage.
And yet, I couldn’t afford to kill Bastian, lest I lose the affections of my bride completely.
And that would assure my swift descent into the abyss.
Fists clenched, I traced to the dungeons under Veilmoor’s castle.
“Posterity would have it that I tried, wolf. But tonight, you must play your part once more. And burn for my sanity—”
My words echoed into silence.
The cell was… empty. The thick, mystically enforced bars bent outward like a force had burst through them.
Impossible.
Jaw grinding, I took in the claw marks on the ground, the gaping hole toward the ceiling at the ventilation slits.
My own roar split the emptiness, rattling my skull.
The wolf had escaped.
My eyes widened.
His first mission would be to get to my bride. I couldn’t have that. No. I would kill him before I let him tell his side of the story first.
Perhaps it was time to come clean to Maeve about the wrath. The increasing desire to succumb to its bloodthirsty nature. My reasons for burning the wolf she… fancied.
As I paced, my lips curved into a grin.
Knowing her, she’d feel guilty about giving me the curse in the first place. If she knew torturing the wolf helped me, she might permit it. Until another solution was brought forth.
And I’d make sure to enjoy every session.
Something glinted in the corner of the cell.
I traced to it immediately.
A small piece of shattered glass.
Picking it up, the scent on it hit me like a boulder.
Vladis. This was his blood. How, and why?
Then it clicked.
Only a creature like a Lycan with crimson blood in its veins could break out of a mystically enforced cell. Even weakened, starved, and burned.
My eyes slitted.
What was Vladis playing at?
Had he and Drusilla gone ahead with the plan of using Bastian as bait for Mordane?
I crushed the glass in my palm, jaw tight.
Not on my watch. They’d listen to reason—or kill me before they take the wolf out of my clutches.
I traced to the glass mountain—and froze.
A sight so unexpected greeted me.
Pandemonium.
Royal guards and ferals clashing in my mountain.
I traced within.
My eyes twitched at the sheer amount of blood and parts flying in the course of battle. The wrath thundered in my head, demanding I participate.
But no. I had to understand what the hell this was.
I smelled him before I heard him.
Bastian.
“I will rip your spine from your back, leech!”
He thundered toward me, monstrous and bloody. Behind him stood Drusilla, Lilith, and Tammy.
Around us, the fighting slowed.
His eyes were a fiery red, more crazed than I’d ever seen mine.
My gaze darted around for my bride. Her scent was here—but she was not.
At the last second before Bastian’s claws could graze my skin, I traced out of his reach.
I watched him claw empty air, growling with rage.
Then I turned to Drusilla with questioning eyes.
Face hard, she hissed, “They took Maeve.”
My heart dropped.