His handsome head drew back as he sneered at you. “Brother? You are half-human - you aretainted- even if my father sired you. You are not of the Brethren.” Stephen leaned over you, blocking the open door. “But you can walk in the sun. And when you give birth to my child, they will be a Daywalker. And our new dynasty begins. Be grateful,” he hissed, “that I don’t take you as a whore, like my father did with your mother.”
Like lightning, your hand flashed out and slapped him. A little spurt of blood flew from his split lip and it was hard to know who was more shocked; the spoilt prince for not stopping the blow, or you for having actually landed it. But his hand seizing your wrist nearly snapped it in two, delicate bones grinding against each other as you bit back a scream.
“How did you-” Stephen broke off, panting furiously. “How dare you lay a hand on me?”
“Never call my mother a whore again,” you snarled, wondering how you were managing the courage - or lack of self-preservation - for this. “My mother is worth ten of you. And she, apparently, has an ability you do not, so-”
His giant hand drew back, slowly to let you know he was about to knock you across the room. You vaguely noticed his smooth, soft hands. Nails buffed and polished.John had rough hands, you thought vaguely,calloused.
You hit the opposite wall hard enough to bounce off of it, landing on the floor with your face on fire. A trickle of blood dripped from your split lip onto the exquisite oriental rug.I should be dead…you thought, trying to focus,that slap should have turned me into a paste on the wallpaper.
“You bastard. I will kill you for this!”
Your head shot up, vision blurry but you gasped. “J- John?” His arms were around you in a moment and you were lifted up against his chest. After ten years trapped in his Birdcage, you never would have believed his scent of warm wool, spicy pine and the rusty taint of blood would be comforting to you. But you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck.
His eyes were neither the color of the ocean nor bled gold, they were fiery red, blazing with a rage that almost felt like it was burning your skin. “I’ll take you to the Healer,” John said, holding you more securely as his crimson glare turned on the younger Tyrrell, still stunned by his abrupt entrance. “You … I will finish you, you chickenhearted daddy’s boy. You hit a pregnant woman? Even the Brethren won’t let that stand.”
It was a contest between who was more shocked, you or the spoilt prince.
“She’s NOT!” Stephen shouted, “She will carry my child, and-”
“What is this?”
A new voice, the smooth, oily one of the head of the Night Brethren. You looked up just enough to see his fury nearly matched that of the one holding you.
“You fight like animals over a bone? Here? In our sacred space?” The king’s pale eyes glanced at you. “Take her to the Healer. Let’s find the truth to your claim.”
“Shhh, be still. I won’t let them hurt you.”
John’s voice was oddly calming, even though you wanted to laugh at the irony in his words. He was seated behind you, holding you on his lap while the terrifying creature in front of you reached out one clawed hand.
“N- no- don’t let her touch me, please John don’t!”
She was horrifying, angular and unnaturally tall, eyes pitch black as if she’d forgotten how to make them change to something less monstrous. Her mouth was pinched in disgust when he’d carried you into her chamber, followed by the younger and elder Tyrrell’s. When you glanced back at the door, your mouth went dry. There were dozens of the others, hovering outside, avid expressions waiting for the discovery, for entertainment, who knew?
“Hush,” he soothed again. “What she finds will protect you from them.” John nodded at the gathering crowd and the petulant face of the blonde lunatic who’d murdered all the servants before he took you away.
“He-” you grabbed the lapel of John’s black jacket, “he massacred all the people at home, he fed them to the shadows.” You wept softly, burying your face in his neck, the brim of his hat hiding you.
“I know,” John said, kissing your forehead. “I’m sorry.”
His admission stunned you enough that when the clawed hand of the Healer landed on your stomach, you didn’t scream. A moan of disgust escaped you, though and you gripped his jacket tighter. “Please make her stop touching me, John. Please!” The creature’s hand burned against your skin, a frozen fire that made you shudder, feeling diseased.
“Just a bit longer, Little Bird,” he kissed your cheek, “be strong for me. Did you see your mother?”
That distracted you and you leaned back, eyes wide. “Did you know my mother was here? Have you known all this time?”
His gaze was steady. “No. I was concerned only with finding you that day, Little Bird, not your mother. I spoke with her when I got here, she was furious and terrified that Tyrrell-” he spat the name like something foul in his mouth, “had taken you from her. She sought me out the moment I arrived.”
The burning feeling was spreading up your chest, making your arms shake. “Please, is she done? Please make her stop, she’s freezing me. Or burning me. I don’t-”
“Are you done, Mistress Khali?” John’s voice was cold and composed.
“Nearly, if you can quiet your thrall,” she hissed.
His jaw tightened, but he continued to whisper to you soothingly. Her other hand, viciously sharp nails black and curved, held a slender chain with a huge opal at the end. Bringing it up over your cringing form, she swayed the jewel back and forth, finally stilling her hand and letting it swing on its own. When the Healer drew back, her vicious little mouth was pinched even tighter with disgust.
“She is with child. Lord Barnes has claimed her.”
