Chapter 26
Blaise
I’vealwayshatedtheacrid smell of dungeons.
Piss, foul blood, and excrements.
The stench of hopeless defeat and imminent death. It’s different from the smell of battle, where adrenaline and violence course through one’s veins, and the bloodshed tastes like victory. No, the stink that permeates the air deep in the entrails of Sangeries irritates my nostrils, so I shift closer to Sariah, trying to focus solely on her delicate jasmine scent.
“Heavens above, this is nasty,” she says, scrunching up her cute button nose as we walk down the long, stone-walled corridor lined with prison cells. It’s rather silent tonight in here; no muted moans of pain floating from behind the closed doors.
The torchlights are few and far between down here, casting a subdued yellow light on her pale skin. Only she could look like a breathtaking Goddess even in the middle of such rotten decay.
“Such a skilled, sexy spy, and you haven’t been around in dungeons that much?” I tease her, twirling a single lock of gold-spun hair around my finger.
She swats my hand away, but there’s no bite behind the gesture. “A skilled spy is a fly on the wall, pretty boy, not a butcher in the slaughterhouse.”
Oh Gods, why does the image of her covered in someone else’s blood, swinging a cleaver around, get my dick instantly hard? I hiss, trying to subtly arrange my erection in my constricting leathers, but she catches the movement, her eyes crinkling with restrained laughter.
“You’re sick.”
“You like it,” I offer in response, and she doesn’t miss a beat to answer.
“You wish.”
I pull her ass snugly in front of me, grinding slightly into her as we halt beside a heavy wooden door.
“I know you do, moonlight. And I can’t wait to remind you once we finish our business here.”
I don’t give her time to form a clever retort, swinging open the door and gesturing beyond the threshold.
“After you, my fair lady.”
“Such a gentleman,” she says, rolling her eyes before stepping into the small, damp cell barren of anything except the strong steel shackles chaining the onpyr prisoner to the vaulted ceiling.
A battered and bruised female hangs limply from chains suspending her two feet from the dirty floor. Her head is slumped forward, her once vibrant red hair covering her face in a tangled mess of dry blood and mud. Her naked body has seen better days for sure, an oozing gash in her stomach letting her bloody intestines fall flaccidly toward the ground. Another gaping hole in her chest bares her heart to us, the organ pulsing in a weak but steady manner. Leilah would be so proud of the handiwork if she still were alive, but that conniving bitch is dead, as this one will be, but not before we get as much information out of her as possible.
“Look at you, you pathetic creature,” I spit, grabbing her hair and dragging her face up. “Your mistress won’t save you now, scum.”
Sariah’s sharp intake of breath catches my attention, and I turn my head to see her eyes widen in horror.
“Messina?”
The onpyr releases a small whimper; her chapped lips parting as she moans in pain. “Sariah, h-help m-me, please.”
“Blaise, I know her,” Sariah says agitatedly, grabbing my biceps and trying to pull my hand away from the creature’s hair. “She’s one of us. A Dark Umbra. A courtesan at the Royal Fae court. We have to save her.”
“There is no saving an onpyr, little pixie,” I answer slowly. “Look at her eyes. She is beyond redemption.”
The creature cackles, a shrill sound like glass grinding against stone. “You’re not as dumb as you look, vampire.” Her eyes are two rotten crimson sockets, reeking of madness. She snaps her canines at me, her body thrashing against the heavy chains, desperately trying to bite me. I lose any semblance of civility, thrusting my hand inside her chest wound and squeezing the organ that still pumps her putrefied blood in her veins.
Sariah gasps, and I know she might hate the brutality I’m about to unleash on her former acquaintance. I can be a vicious torturer if need be. I just don’t particularly like it.
Morweena’s minion wails, blood bubbling up past her dry lips, and she spits it in my face.
“I was quite fond of that shirt, you brainless bitch.” I twist my hand inside her chest, puncturing her heart. “Ready to talk?”
She has the audacity to laugh in my face, her eyes crazed and unblinking.
