Vincent
“Ask him the traitor’s name.”
Azrael’s clipped instructions filtered in through a speaker in the interrogation room where I sat in a hard metal chair with my wrists and ankles cuffed and chained to the floor. My jailor, a one-eyed monster I’d nicknamed Cyclops, stood at my side with an electric prod that doubled as a baton. I knew its abuses well. I couldn’t seduce him—neither with my hypnosis nor my mudra—which meant I’d given up any hope of escaping.
Every day I prayed you’d come for me. Break down the walls as my wrathful god and deliver me from this hellish place. My prayers were all I had left to sustain me.
For now, I focused on the old man dressed in rags who sat across from me, grinning. He did not look well. His eyes were foggy like smoke-filled marbles and oozed a yellowish fluid. The skin on his face was pale as a plucked chicken and the whiskers on his chin were gray barbs. His bald head revealed fresh cuts and bruises as well as scars from older wounds. It took a lot to mutilate our bodies, something I knew from experience. And there was that grin. I’d met several of Azrael’s soldiers, slaves, and prisoners since my capture. None of them had greeted me with a smile.
“I’m Vincent,” I said, and the name—my own—felt strange to say out loud. It had been weeks since I’d last spoken to anyone.
“We meet at last, youngblood,” the old man rasped. For him to know I was bloodborn meant he’d been warned. Or maybe he detected my hunger, which hung in the air like a cloud of noxious fumes. Feeding wasn’t something I wanted to think about.
“Azrael believes you have an informant in the Imperium,” I said to the old man while attempting to steady his gaze. It was difficult, not only because of the film that obscured his eyes but also because of his constant tics.
“I know your mother,” the old man said. “Perhaps she has spoken of me? I am Orcus, Grigori ambassador of the shadowborn here on earth.”
I’d never heard of him, though I knew the shadowborn’s natural habitat was the under realms. Mater had once told me that they wished to make inroads into the earthen realm. Was that why he’d mentioned her? Were they plotting mutual takeover?
“Ask him for a name,” Azrael demanded. He had no patience for small talk.
“There is a traitor—”
“In the Imperium,” Orcus finished. “There are many. As soon as one is discovered, another takes up the mantle of resistance. Our kind are no longer willing to be subjugated by the Angel of Death. You’re not happy here, are you, youngblood?”
“I…”
The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? I was miserable. Tortured night and day. Isolated, drugged, beaten, starved. Missing you. Wondering if you were still looking for me or if you’d given up hope. Maybe you’d grieved and moved on. Like before.
But I couldn’t dwell on my feelings. Whenever I did, I wanted to die.
“I can see that he’s not feeding you properly,” Orcus said sympathetically or maybe he was only mocking me. “He who controls a bloodborn’s hunger…” Orcus drifted off as though I might know the end to his riddle. I could make an educated guess. I was a slave to my thirst and to Azrael for quenching it. I lost a little more of my humanity every day.
“I’ve met Henri,” Orcus said, and I flinched at the mention of your name. I wanted you desperately, but that also meant you knowing what I’d become.
“When?”
“Many months ago. I tried to warn him.”
“Warn him? About what?”
“Your fate. He’s the one who captured me. And delivered me so cruelly to your master. Just as he did to you.”
“Henri did not—” I bit my tongue until I drew blood. The coppery brine flooded my mouth and I sucked it down. At my side, Cyclops stirred, anxious for the order to deliver a blow that might knock me out or kill me. If only I could stay dead.
But Orcus was wrong. It was Mater’s fault that I was imprisoned here. And my own for believing her lies. You told me this would happen. If only I’d heeded your warning.
“Your informant,” I said, clinging to my method (and to sanity). I was shaking with hunger and distressed by memories of you, but even so, I reached out with my seduction and attempted to draw the answer from the shifty shadowborn. “Do you have a name for me, Orcus?”
“He seeks to weaken you until there is nothing left. Until you are begging him for every breath.”
“There is nothing left,” I said flatly. Azrael had succeeded already. There was only my loneliness. And my thirst. “Please?” I begged the demon as tears stung my eyes. I hated what Azrael made me do. Not only the interrogations, but the feedings… the murders.
“You are disappointing me.” Azrael’s voice again—cold, calculating, and precise in its terror.
I blinked back my tears.
“I need a name,” I begged. And then this would end. For him and me both. At least, for now. I couldn’t think past this hour, this minute. Couldn’t think about the next “traitor” I’d be forced to interrogate or the torture they might have to endure because of what I compelled them to reveal.
