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“Not my pet’s mark.” He sounds almost sad, clicks his tongue, and snips my collar back into place. His eyes flit over my neck as he leans back, pupils dilating when he looks at the racing pulse on my neck. He doesn’t pause, though, just sits back up and waves to the guard. She lets up on my arm, and I whine, relieved. Blood flow reestablished, thank God. When I’m almost back to upright, she steps back as if she’s never been there, and I’m faced with not only the Norseman’s full attention but also his closeness.
“Here is what I will tell you about Cor. He is a liar, a usurper, and he will use anyone dumb enough to trust him for his own goals. He—his kind—have had their hands in all great tragedies of history, and if I hadn’t given my most solemn oath to never let him die, I would have done away with him a long time ago.” Teeth flash, fangs extended in rage. “Do. Not. Trust him. He will do anything, say anything, to make you let him get close. And once you’re close, he will put his spell on you and turn you against everyone you loved until you stop being useful. Then he will kill you and never even remember your name.”
Being this close to him makes my head spin, makes it hard to breathe. I force myself to listen to his words, even when I’m feeling as if my lungs might crawl out of my body and run away on their own. “S-Spell?”
The slice between his lips grows, and he bares his teeth into a shark-like grin. “His Strigoi spell. Have your vampire friends not warned you about that? One bite is all it takes to make you a mindless, wanton slave to his every whim. He didn’t bite you, did he?”
My heart attempts to get a head start on my lungs, and I almost puke when it lurches hard. Lie, lie, damn it Gideon, lie! “Not yet,” I croak breathlessly.
“Good. Keep it that way. And when you find him, you call me, or I will kill both you and your partner.” He leans back as if dismissing me, but as soon as I get up, he jerks his chin up, more demanding than anything. ‟Now. Tell me the rest of your cultist rumors.”
Taking a deep breath to steady my racing heart, I recount the incidents between the cultists and the local vampires. I tell him about the murders that brought the Hunters into the city in the first place, and how I think they are connected to his clan. I recount how the cultists seemed to target specific vampires—those who were friendly or allied with the Norseman—and causing them to go berserk and rot down to their bones.
Egil listens intently, occasionally asking short, pointed questions. His silent female guard looms behind me like a dark shadow, her presence becoming more suffocating with each passing minute.
"I concluded they were trying to go after you specifically," I say, clearing my throat as the room starts to drift a little. "But why this way?"
Egil drums his fingers on his armrest thoughtfully. "A sickness that can’t be healed and drives vampires mad. I would say it is very clear why they chose this way. It weakens my men, who will always try to help a kinsman in need, and it will compromise my kisses’ position by causing breaches of Contract. We are hunting cultists and demons to keep the mortal world and the supernatural world separate. Forcing us into a position where we ourselves weaken the chasm between those worlds… It is a very good plan. We would have to destroy our own, deal with Hunters, and try to find a cure. That would take our eyes off the city. Off the cult and their evildoings."
"I guess that makes sense," I mumble.
"But it doesn't explain why they would go after my pet, Cor, and his magical chains," Egil adds with narrowed eyes.
All I can do in reply is shrug. ‟It does not, that is true. But please don’t take this the wrong way—I have no way of guessing what exactly the cult could or would do with this Cor person. If you have any pointers, I’ll be happy to look into it for you, though. It might help me end this… plague faster.”
Egil glares at me for a few seconds, then shakes his head once. ‟So it shall remain a mystery until I investigate this myself. It is good news, then, that one amulet has been destroyed, if the other is in the hands of cultists. I shall simply acquire a new chain of binding when I have my toy back. And spare little thought for this Arzel person; I shall dispatch his head from his body post-haste.”
His ever-growing grin makes me shudder and shuffle back until I thump into the guard. Instead of stopping me, she grabs my shoulder and turns me around, walking me out of the room without forcing a goodbye. And I give her no chance to shove me, speeding up as soon as we are back in the main halls of the factory.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I CAN’T BELIEVE I’m still alive.
The autumn wind is still tousling leaves in front of the factory, tugging at my fear-sweat drenched hair as I stumble out into the street and start hobbling back towards the Border District. My knees are weak, and my chest feels tight with the remnants of holy shit, what just happened, but I’m out, I’m unharmed, and I—
I‘ve got jack squat to show for my visit. Well, except for an explanation why Farthing was picked for this sickness, and of course the worrying thought that my attraction to Cor, my concerns about his safety, might all be some vampire spell I fell under when Cor bit me. That he might be using me to get rid of whoever is trying to get a hold of him. That he will drop me like garbage the second I’m not useful anymore.
Invisible eyes poke at my back as I slowly trod towards the river. Now that my adrenaline is dropping, I’m shivering and cold. Burrowing my hands beneath my armpits, I speed up a little to warm myself, ignoring the stabs of pain from my hurt leg. The brownish waters of the Bracket River churn in front of me, and when I turn onto the street leading along its banks, that paranoid feeling of being watched finally dissipates.
I manage another fifty feet before I’m jumped. A shade bolts out from behind a dumpster, and powerful arms wrap around my body. One arm pins my hands where they are and makes sure I can’t reach my gun; the other clamps over my mouth so hard I can’t breathe. And then I’m being dragged off, squirming, tugging, kicking, and screaming against the flesh that keeps me silent.
My jerking feet leave grooves in the refuse and fine dust around the bridge pillars, then in the wet earth where bushes flank the structure. I buck hard, and we hit the building wall next to us, but my assailant doesn’t make a sound, and he doesn’t let go of me. If anything, his grip tightens until I’m struggling for air. Am I imagining the smell of burnt skin?
When we’re out of the sun and stuck in a dead end between buildings, I’m tossed against a wall hard enough to make my head ring. I whirl around and touch the hilt of my gun before my hand is slapped away, and my assailant grabs my neck to pin me, or strangle me. My lungs are undecided about this. Gasping for air, I slap the arm holding me up, staring wide-eyed at the familiar face.
Cor’s eyes are wild. And they are not black anymore; they are honey-brown, like melting caramel. With each heaving breath, his body shudders and twitches as muscles bulge and flatten under whatever fugue he is in. I’m not sure he notices I’ve stopped struggling the moment I realized it was him, but he doesn’t look like he would care if he had. He scans me with twitching pupils and venom-dripping fangs, then grabs my shirt and rips it open with one hard tug. Buttons fly and cloth rips, but it doesn’t seem to do what he wanted; the shirt falls back over my body, and he snarls at it, lets my throat go and grabs the tatters with both hands to pull them out of the way.
I use my first breath and this newfound freedom to punch him right in the face. He staggers back, baring his fangs at me as he snorts blood. Good, I hope it hurts. “Cor, would you just—,” I gasp breathlessly.
He’s on me before I can finish, tearing off my jacket with clear intent. It goes, or he makes it go. I shrug it off quickly. “Cor, damn it, stop—”
His hands are everywhere, no matter how I try to shove him back or push him off. I could hurt him, fight him for real, but I don’t want to. Not yet. As much as he’s frightening me, he’s not trying to kill me. I don’t know what he is trying to do, though. Fingers scraping my ribs leave searing lines of fire. His other hand burrows into my hair and tugs my head to the side as he growls and huffs, sniffing my head where the Norseman and his lady guard touched me. His body grows steely at whatever he smells; his hands turn into wrenches that leave bruises on my skin. I can’t keep up with his inspection, can’t stop him from pawing me. It makes me dizzy and breathless. It confuses my body. And he is about to shove his hand down my pants.
I draw back, straighten my arms as much as his pawing allows, and ram the heel of my hand against his sternum, using my whole body to drive it home. “Stop it!”
Cor stumbles back, flailing his arms to keep himself from falling. Then he pauses, still heaving, still shaking, and stares at me wide-eyed. Grunting, I let myself sag against the wall and comb a hand through my hair. The stones feel heavenly, cool and hard and sturdy. My leg throbs hard, so I put my weight on my other leg, but it doesn’t help. I catch the sad state of my clothing out of the corner of my eye and look down to make sure I’m not seeing things. Nope, half naked with a shredded shirt. Great.
A hand appears in my field of vision, grubby and very tentative. I look up, instinctively pulling my coat tighter. That vampire can’t take a hint, it seems. Cor’s eyes plead silently as he shuffles even closer, and since I’ve not yet run away, he seems to take that as permission to continue. He bats my hands away and shoves his own into my coat, stroking over my ribs reverently as he leans back to inspect my naked skin. It’s almost as if he’s looking for damage, wounds, or something. As if he’s worried.
