I haven’t been here in years. We rarely bother taking prisoners, so the cells are usually empty. Rysen is in the largest one, set in the centre of the deck. The bars on all sides let him see me from all angles, and although I’ve charged them all with enough magic to zap him if he gets too close, it’s not proving to be much of a deterrent.
Rysen barges into them the moment he scents me, and I grimace, rubbing away the answering sting in my ribs. A microsecond later, my magic rebuffs him, sending him flying back into the middle of the cell.
“Calm down,” I mutter. “C’mon, big guy. I need you to stop hitting my fucking ship for five seconds.”
It’s been years since he fell into this state. Even then, he was quick to recover. In just over a fortnight, he was back to his normal, grumpy, stoic self.
The trigger then was just having an empty stomach in the middle of a battle. Not being forced back into the Pits.
Rysen just hisses an inarticulate curse and slams into the bars again, only to be thrown back a second time.
I guess we’re doing this the hard way.
Step one, remove all traces of blood.
My glyphs form on the ceiling above him, dousing him in salty water.
Trapped in a downpour straight from the ocean, he hisses and roars. But I don’t let up until there’s no way he can smell anything over the salt and kelp.
When the liquid drains away, he claws a line in the floor of the ship.
On my chest, the sigils Nilsa gave me burn with an icy fire, no doubt muting the worst of the blow. I haven’t told anyone, but ever since I received them, I don’t need as much magic to protect myself. Perhaps, if I’d listened to her and let her put them in the Heart of the ship, they’d negate the damage entirely, but I wasn’t going to let her into my sanctuary.
Right now I’m almost regretting that decision. I may have reinforced every inch of his cell, but if Rysen keeps battering every inch of it, my own blood will spill soon enough. As it is, I’ll probably have a nasty set of bruises.
“Calm the fuck down!”
He just roars in my face, then goes back to pacing.
“Nilsa needs you. Remember Nilsa? Your mate? The one you’re tied up in knots over?”
His pacing slows, his eyes fix on a spot beyond me.
I glance back and find the cat sitting on Titan’s head in the doorway. The tabby still looks half-drowned and the way she’s standing and staring, an unblinking statue, at Rysen sets my teeth on edge.
It’s distracting and I shoot the two of them a glare before turning my attention back on the vampire.
“Nilsa. Dark hair, blue eyes, cute, perky ass. She’s irritating as balls, likes carving shit into my flesh and turning my hair pink?”
Okay, now I definitely have his attention. His nostrils flare as he regards me, his posture all predator, sizing up his next meal.
Ugh. His attention is not on Nilsa at all. It’s on me as his next meal.
I keep talking anyway.
“She’s not in good shape. We need your blood to keep her stable enough to get her to Sanctum.”
There’s a long, fraught moment where he just regards me with blood-red eyes.
“Don’t make me come in there.”
I’m bluffing.
I have no idea if I can hold him back long enough to get blood out of him.
Fortunately, I don’t have to.
Rysen sticks his own bruised and bloodied arm between the bars. Slow enough that I have time to prevent my magic from shocking him this time, but fast enough that I still doubt his motives as his wrist lingers in the space between us.
