Chapter 41 We meet again
Amara POV
Hours pass. I know that because the torches have burned down and been replaced. Twice.
The room smells different now. Less copper and more like ash and oil. The bodies are gone. No drag marks and no stains left behind. The stone has been scrubbed so clean it almost feels like a typical room you’d keep cooking materials and ingredients in.
Only the blood on me remains.
It dries in stages. Tightens on my skin and pulls when I move. My hair stiffens where it’s matted at the nape of my neck, each shift of my head sending a dull ache down my spine. No one comes for a long time. No guards. No voices. Nothing and no one.
When the door finally opens, it isn’t with urgency. It never is. But this time.. it’s different.
Four figures enter. Not like the ones who tried to chain me before. They move differently. Controlled. Careful. One carries a tray. Linen. A vial that smells faintly herbal even from here. Another holds a length of chain threaded through a locking bar, silver glinting at the ends.
The other two are men who seem to be there only to keep an eye on everything and make sure I don’t escape.
They don’t look at the walls. They don’t look at the floor.
They look at me.
“She’s awake,” one of the girls says quietly.
“I know,” the other replies. Her voice is steady. They’re both human. “She hasn’t shifted.”
That earns me a longer look, cautious but not afraid.
Before I can react, they snap a collar to my neck, attached to a long chain serving as a leash. Hot searing pain blooms there, spreading fast, sinking deep into my skin causing small sizzling sounds to fill my ears.
They don’t give me time to fight it.
The wall chains fall away. The new restraint tightens, controlled by the woman’s grip. I sway once, my muscles screaming as blood rushes where it hasn’t in hours, and she steadies me with a hand on my arm.
Not gentle. Not cruel. Efficient.
“Easy,” she murmurs. “If you fall, I’m not catching you.”
I bare my teeth without thinking.
She notices. Notes it. Doesn’t react.
They guide me into the corridor, one on either side, one of the men in front and the other behind us, the chain between me and one of the girls just short enough that I can’t build momentum. The halls are carved stone, old and deliberate, lit low. I mark turns. Count steps. Trying my best to note everything I possibly can.
A bath waits at the end of the passage when we walk through a doorway and into a large decorative room.
The room is warm, steam curling toward the ceiling. A sunken tub dominates the center, already filled, water rippling faintly as if it’s been stirred recently. The scent of soap and herbs is sharp, almost aggressive after hours of blood and stone.
The men stay outside of the doorway as we walk in.
“Clothes,” one woman says.
I hesitate for half a breath. Then I comply.
The fabric peels away slowly, sticking where blood has glued it to my skin. Neither of them looks away. Neither stares. I refuse to rush. If I’m being prepared, it will be on my terms.
When I step into the tub, the water clouds immediately, red and brown swirling out from me in long, reluctant ribbons. I brace for pain that never comes. The silver collar burns, but I’ll be honest and say it isn’t bothering me much now.
Hands enter my space.
They scrub without ceremony, lifting my arms, rinsing my hair, working the blood from beneath my nails. The touch is impersonal, practiced. This is not care. It is maintenance.
“Don’t try to sink under,” the first girl says calmly. “The chain won’t let you.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” I answer.
She hums, unconvinced.
When they’re done, they rinse me one final time and pull me out, wrapping me in rough linen. The mirror on the far wall catches my reflection as they dry my hair.
I barely recognize myself.
Huge dark circles. Pale. My puffy eyes too wide. I look.. wild. Feral.
They dress me in an unfamiliar gown, dark brown and simple. The chain remains, though they’ve changed to a shorter chain.
“Where are we going?” I ask as they exit the room and turn in the opposite direction, pulling me along with them.
The woman meets my eyes briefly before continuing her path.
“Well,” she says, “you’re going to be seen.”
My pulse kicks harder.
“By who?”
Her lips press together and the hair on the back of her neck stands as she the name comes to mind.
“The master.”
Her words settle over the room like a held breath.
The corridor widens the farther we go, stone giving way to polished obsidian veined with dark red crystal that catches the torchlight like trapped embers. The air thickens, heavy with age and something bitter, I can’t quite put my finger on it.
When they stop in front of a large wooden the door, my heart lurches in my throat.
Am I really ready? The last thing I want is for their master to think I’m some weak, scared wolf who would run and cower at the very sight of him.
I raise my chin and straighten my shoulders.
I’ll arrive looking as unafraid of him as I possibly can.
The doors open without another moment and I wasn’t quite sure what I was expecting.. but I can say it wasn’t this.
Vampires. Everywhere. The room is quite big, but dark, and there are areas secrioned off where vampires feed on humans.. among other things..
I avert my eyes from one particular vampire who seems to be.. having sx with the human he’s drinking from. And she seems to be enjoying it.
My eyes snap forward as someone clears their throat, where I meet the bright crimson colored eyes of the man I can only assume is the master.
He doesn’t move when I’m brought closer. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t rise. His presence fills the room without effort, pressing against my senses like deep water.
He sits on a dark throne at the end of the room, a tilted black crown upon his head. Is this the vampire king? Their master?
But.. There’s something else about him.. I just..
“So,” he says, his deep voice smooth and unhurried. “You finally calmed, wolf.” He waves his hand and the chain attached to my collar is hooked to the floor in seconds. Now, it is only me and him standing here.
“I have a name,” I blurt out. Goddess, my nerves are getting the best of me. I need to calm down.
He paused a moment, an unreadable look on his face. He looks so familiar.
“I know,” the man replies.
Of course he does.
He gestures idly to his right. “Tomas.”
A man steps forward from the shadows beside the throne, torchlight catching on more familiar angles. Dark eyes. Controlled posture. The same composed stillness that haunted the edge of my memory.
The voice from the dark. The vampire from the booth.
My pulse jumps, sharp and sudden.
It’s him.
Tomas’s gaze flicks briefly to the chain at my throat, then back to my face. Something unreadable passes through his eyes. Not pity. Not satisfaction.
I’m not really sure what it is.
Of course I’d have the worst skills when it comes to reading anyone. My throat tightens.
“You,” I say before I can stop myself.
Tomas inclines his head slightly. Polite for a vampire. “We meet again, little wolf.”
The man on the throne watches the exchange in patience. “Ah. I see. Your gifts.”
I tear my eyes from Tomas and look back to the master on the throne.
“What of them?” I ask.
A faint smile curves his mouth.
“Well,” he says, “I’d expected you’d never part with the necklace.”