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Frustration laced his scream as well as agony as he stumbled forward. How he was still on his feet was a miracle. Until he wasn’t.
His hands plunged into the deep snow, cutting on the sharp rock underneath, the mountain slicing his palms as his blood seeped outwards, staining the pure snow.
“I will not stop,” Cord promised as he crawled on his hands and knees, his body getting lower to the ground as the unendurable weight pressed him further down.
Keep going.
With a final scream, Cord lurched his body forward, and his hand was caught in a strong, cold grip. With a heave and more injury to his already battered body, Cord was pulled into a shallow cave. Rolling onto his back, Cord gasped in huge breaths to his oxygen-starved lungs as he wiped the tears of pain from his face, his hands smearing his blood from his palms onto his cheeks.
“Velvore!” he yelled hoarsely in fury as he slowly, agonisingly turned onto his hands and knees, eventually lurching to his feet. His hands were shredded, he noted, and he was scared to check to see what else he had damaged, but the most pronounced pain came from his back. As he tore the coat off, he yelled in agony again as his shirt held on his wounded back. Cord peeled his shirt from his back, the fabric catching on the burned and charred skin. Casting a small ball of light, Cord looked at his shirt in horror. He hadliterallybeen on fire he realised as he looked at the scorch marks that were on the fabric. Bringing the shirt close to his face, Cord stared at the dead skin, his mind racing as to what his back looked like. Would the Mark still be there? Cord huffed a little at the thought and wasn’t brave enough to ask himself if he cared if it weren’t.
As he stood there, staring at his clothing, he wondered if he had the strength to portal. He doubted it. A sound, no more than a whisper, froze him where he stood.
Slowly, so very slowly, he raised his head. The male lay crumpled against the wall, pale blue eyes watching him as the male held one hand wrapped around his throat. Dirty brown hair hung around his gaunt face, strands clinging to the hollow of his cheeks. Lips that were withered were pulled back over strong teeth. He looked like a corpse, Cord thought as he recognised the male in front of him.
“Leonid?”
The Vampyre nodded slightly. “I would have some of that blood you’re spilling so freely, if I may?” he rasped, his hand never moving from his throat.
The Vampyre’s voice was low and husky, gravely like he was dying of thirst, or worse, someone had tried to slit his throat. Cord realised it was both, and he took the few steps towards the fallen Vampyre before dropping to his knees in front of him, and wordlessly he held out his hand. Leonid’s mouth latched onto Cord’s bleeding palm, and he began to drink down the blood that was freely offered.
Sooner than Cord thought, Leonid leaned back.
“Thank you.” His voice was stronger, his appearance only slightly better.
“I have more.” Cord offered his hand up again in invitation.
“To take more would kill you,” Leonid said as he leaned his head on the wall behind him. “Your blood flows too readily from your wounds, you need to rest.”
“We need to get out of here,” Cord bit out as he realised he was still on his knees. “I can heal a little, but not well. What do you need?”
“I can taste your Flare, Castor,” Leonid’s voice was firm. “You are near death. You need to rest. I don’t know how you found me, but if we are to get out of here, I need you alive.”
“I will not die here,” Cord growled as he gave the Vampyre a derisory look for even assuming Cord was weak. “I am not content to lie down and accept my fate.”
“Which is why I will let you rest,” Leonid said calmly. “The need to feed is strong, and I am weak. Trust me, Castor, you don’t know anything about fighting to stay alive yet.”
Cord’s reply was lost to a wave of dizziness, and his source of light vanished. He heard his own cry of pain as he fell forward onto his hands. “Velvore, I will not die here,” Cord snarled in the dark of the cave.
His Mark tingled gently, and the last thing Cord felt before he lost consciousness was relief that it was still there.
Tegan watched the female Akrhyn who was pouring tea into a delicate china cup. The china was expensive, Tegan knew that. Her father may have been a Vampyre, but Leonid had a fondness for good china. One which he would deny vehemently if teased, but Tegan loved him even more for the strange quirk.
Delilah with her smooth golden hair, her fair skin and her cold blue eyes. Her powder blue dress with the soft overlay of lace should look out of date but, on her, looked modern and fitting. She reminded Tegan of a snake. Almost mesmerising to look at but poisonous, probably deadly.
They had gathered in thebluedrawingroom. Tegan had managed to catch her scowl when she was told she would betaking teawith Delilah and the Heir this afternoon. The blue drawing room looked exactly like the green drawing room. Neither of them was particularly decorated in a prominent colour as their name would suggest, but both were stuffy, overbearing and pretentious—much like the female in front of her, Tegan mused.
Delilah’s hand was steady as she held the cup and saucer out to Tegan, who was fighting the urge to smash the fine porcelain off the older Akrhyn’s forehead. A waste of good china, she thought to herself as she graciously accepted the tea.
“It’s a pleasant afternoon.” Delilah always spoke softly, and Tegan was sure she did so on purpose so that youhadto listen to what she was saying in order to hear her whispered words.
“It is.” Tegan’s booming answer caused Delilah to start slightly, and Tegan hid her smile behind her cup as she sipped the overly floral herbal tea, trying hard to keep her distaste of the tea off her face.
“You’ve been here two days and still have not told us, what caused you to visit?” Delilah was not happy that Tegan arrived not long after her son did. She had wanted time with Sloane to assess how much work she needed to do in order to cleanse him of his teachings from Salem Holt. His cousin joining them so soon interfered with her plans to mould him therightway.
“Why, auntie,” Tegan began, openly grinning at Delilah’s barely concealed fury at her terminology, “I already answered you. I couldn’t bear for Sloane to leave without saying goodbye.”
“And he has spent time with you,niece.” Delilah’s smile was as deadly as a disturbed scorpion in the desert. “But still, here you stay.”
