Page 64 of Bloodgrove

“You are a miracle. Your blood is like…” The vampire shook his head. “I lack the words.” He stroked Will’s chest, but his thoughts wandered, his red eyes turning clouded. The vampire’s gestures, the little movements—how he scratched his chin as though a beard had once grown there—were disturbingly human.

“Keep me alive, and you will have more of my blood.” For one moment, raw survival instinct made Will forget how terrible such a fate might be. But he wanted to survive. He wanted to be rescued. He only had to endure until sunrise.

“Why are you so different?” the vampire asked, and when he tilted his head, he became entirely animal again. A predator crouched over its prey.

“I have a god inside me.” Will saw no reason to lie. “The Albatross.”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “I know that name.”

For a moment, Will forgot that he was a prisoner, a man condemned to execution. “From where?”

The vampire thought, then shook his head. “I do not remember. Blood. I need more blood.”

There was nothing Will could do to stop him. The vampire sank his teeth into Will’s upper arm, and he screamed in pain. His hands clenched into fists, the restraints eating into his flesh. The muscles in his arms cramped, his toes brushing uselessly against the floor.

“Let me down,” he whimpered.

“Those are your friend’s restraints. Do you not like them?” With a mocking laugh, the vampire pulled its lips away, and moments later, Will felt the venom clot the blood in the wound.

“Please, it hurts so much!” He did not care. He would plead and beg.

“What is a boy like you doing in this city?” the vampire asked instead. “You are not a hunter. You are not one of its residents. You are too deep in the harbor district for a dare.”

Now it was Will who laughed wearily. “We were looking for someone like you—an elder.”

“For your perverse games? I remember. They had those in my time as well. At court, vampires were drenched in blood and set upon one another.”

“No. I only have questions.” How naïve he had been, how trustingly he had followed Saint’s youthful arrogance.

“Questions?” Amused, the vampire paced before him, repeatedly testing the movement of his hands as though reclaiming the ability to move like a human being.

“You were someone important at the palace? A nobleman?” Will asked cautiously. The monster now carried itself with an arrogance and confidence that could only speak of a life spent in privilege.

In a gesture that held no meaning anymore, the vampire brushed an invisible lock of hair from his brow. “I was secretary to the Red Hand. Perhaps I would even have become his successor.”

Will raised his head. “How does one become the Red Hand?”

“So that is what you want, little man? You are not made for it. You must be willing to make a sacrifice. There are two paths. Either the Red Hand nominates you as his successor and takes you to the king, or, if you believe yourself strong enough—and you never will be—you kill the Red Hand and descend into the palace yourself for an audience with the king. If he finds you worthy, you return as the Red Hand.”

Will shifted forward in his chains, pushing the pain aside for a moment. “The Red Hand sees the king?”

“More than that. He makes you the Red Hand. My master spoke of it sometimes, on dark nights when he had nearly drunk himself unconscious. Then he would stammer words…” Once again, the vampire’s eyes turned glassy. “‘We are all only bodies of flesh and blood to him. And he is flesh and blood entirely. All flesh and blood belongs to him.’”

A shudder passed through the vampire. “In those hours, he wanted to die. I waited for the moment when he would allow it—when his torment became so great that he would long for my knife. But I was not strong enough.”

The vampire buckled, its teeth clinking together as it whispered to itself.

“Please,” Will begged. “Let me down.” His fingers were numb, his entire body cold, his arms and legs trembling with strain. It felt as though his muscles were about to tear, and dawn remained so far away—only the faintest blue had begun to weave itself through the night.

“Your Albatross—the Red Hand spoke of him in those dreams,” the vampire murmured, crossing the room. “Of him and the queen in the Capitol.”

To Will’s surprise, he came closer. Chains rattled, and a moment later, Will dropped to his knees. The vampire kept Will’s arms stretched above his head, but he could now place most of his weight upon his legs.

More vampires entered the room. They were not as old as the monster. Some still had matted hair, and one wore a simple dress, but all of them walked hunched over and had the eyes of beasts.

“Drink,” the vampire said.

“No!”