Chapter 114 Fate Sealed
With every step downward, the air grew thinner, replaced by the crushing, freezing dampness of the ocean floor. The torches held by Commander Thorne’s guards sputtered and hissed, fighting against the suffocating dark. The heavy iron boots of the elite escort hammered against the unhewn rock, a rhythmic, military march that echoed endlessly down the shaft.
Through the tether anchored behind my ribs, Klaus’s agony was a living, breathing thing.
It wasn't just cold; it was a bone-deep, hollow starvation. The crimson blood I had given him was entirely burned away by the suppressor iron clamped around his neck. The feral monster inside him, usually kept buried beneath centuries of discipline, was clawing at the walls of his mind, screaming for fresh meat. I felt the sharp, aching throb in his fangs. I tasted his phantom thirst on my own dry tongue.
"Keep moving, Witch," a guard growled, shoving his gauntlet hard between my shoulder blades.
I stumbled, my bare feet slipping on the wet moss coating the steps, but I caught myself before my knees hit the jagged stone.
I'm coming, I thought, pushing the sentiment down the blood-bond.
Stay away, the reply echoed back in my mind, jagged and raw with panic. I cannot hold it back, Nerissa. The hunger... it is too loud. Do not let them bring you down here.
I ignored him. I squared my shoulders and kept walking.
We reached the lowest level. The Abyssal Dungeon. The floor here wasn't solid stone; it was a thick, foul-smelling sludge of mud and stagnant seawater. The ocean was literally seeping through the foundations of the Citadel. The smell was unbearable—rotting kelp, rusted iron, and the sharp, coppery tang of old death.
Thorne stopped in front of a heavy, solid iron door that wept with condensation. He didn't bother with a key. He pulled a massive, rusted lever on the wall. The gears groaned, shrieking in protest, and the heavy door hauled itself upward.
The flickering orange torchlight spilled into the cell.
I stopped breathing.
The water inside was waist-deep, a black, freezing pool of misery. Klaus was suspended in the center of the far wall. Thick iron shackles locked around his wrists pulled his arms in a cruel, unnatural V-shape high above his head. His dark trousers were soaked, the freezing black water lapping mercilessly against the raised, silver scars on his ribs.
His head hung low, his silver hair plastered to his neck in wet, dirty strands. The heavy iron suppressor collar glowed with a faint, angry red heat, singeing the pale flesh of his throat.
At the sound of the grinding door, he flinched. The chains rattled, a harsh, metallic clash that echoed sharply in the small stone box.
Slowly, heavily, he lifted his head.
His sapphire eyes were wide, dilated entirely black by the crushing dark and the feral starvation. When his gaze locked onto me standing in the doorway, the blood-bond between us exploded.
A wave of pure, predatory hunger slammed into my mind. It was so violent, so blindingly intense, that my knees buckled. It wasn't the love of a man; it was the sheer, terrifying instinct of a starving beast that saw prey. His fangs fully descended, piercing his lower lip, a single drop of silver blood swelling against the pale skin.
But instantly, violently, the man fought back.
I felt the agonizing mental collision as Klaus slammed a wall of iron willpower down on his own primal instincts. He jerked backward, pulling against the heavy chains, trying to force his body deeper into the stone wall, desperately trying to put distance between us.
"Get her out," Klaus roared. His voice was a ruined, guttural sound, tearing his already raw throat. "Thorne, shut the door!"
Thorne laughed, a dry, scraping sound that barely disturbed the damp air. He stepped aside, gesturing into the black water. "Go on, Siren. Comfort your beast."
The guards released my arms.
I didn't hesitate. I stepped through the doorway, my bare feet sinking into the freezing, murky water. The cold was a physical shock, biting into my skin like thousands of tiny needles, instantly soaking the hem of my ruined dark grey mourning dress.
"Nerissa, stop," Klaus begged, his chest heaving with the effort of holding his own mind together. The black veins sitting dormant over his heart pulsed with a sickly violet light, agitated by his panic. "Do not come closer. I will hurt you. The collar... it is stripping my mind."
"Let it strip," I said.
I waded deeper, the water rising past my knees, turning my legs completely numb. The smell of the stagnant brine was suffocating, but I kept my eyes fixed entirely on him.
"I am starving," he warned, his voice cracking. He squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face away as I reached him. "I can smell your blood. The cut on your hand. It is deafening."
I stopped right in front of him. The black water reached my thighs. I raised my trembling hands, reaching out to cup his face. His skin was like solid ice.
The moment my fingers touched his jaw, a violent shudder ripped through his massive frame. He leaned into my palm instinctively, a soft, desperate sound vibrating deep in his chest. The feral hunger in our shared bond roared, demanding he sink his teeth into my wrist to drain me, but the love he held for me wrapped around that hunger like a steel cage, refusing to let it break free.