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Finally, Haven spoke. His voice was strained and sincere, his brow pinched. “Please, Cypress. Please just let it go. Just letmego.”
He left. Cy slumped to the mattress, his head in his hands. Damn the vampyres. Damn this one who stirred something inside his chest. Haven was different. Vulnerable. Soft, though he did his best to hide it. Perhaps it was his only defense mechanism in this world. To feign strength and coldness when deep down, his heart ached.
Cy supposed he couldn’t fault Haven for that.
But he needed to do something. Anything. He couldn’t just sit here like a stump any longer. Not when this new information burned inside his mind.
The Cure. There was a vampyre Cure. He needed to get that information to the Veritas. Now more than ever, he needed to find a means to escape.
But with the Dominion in New Avalon, escape would be next to impossible. He’d have to bide his time, make a plan. Be patient.
An hour passed. Maybe more. Like the ticking of a clock inside his head, Cy’s annoyance at his inability to act built and built.
Just when he’d prepared himself to sit in silence and waste away the rest of the day, the door to Haven’s chambers opened. He caught his breath. Haven back already? But no.
An unfamiliar female vampyre crossed the threshold with a large armed guard at her side. Her red eyes shimmered, ravenous and hungry. There was no one posted outside; Cy was alone and unarmed. Yet again. And he was in very real danger. Desperate, he searched the room with his gaze, looking for some sort of weapon to use.
The vampyre bared her teeth.
CHApTER ElevEn
Haven
He was shaken,so incredibly shaken, from his last encounter with Cypress. The human continued to get under his skin, to frustrate and antagonize him.
But more than anything else…Cypress made Haven doubt so much. So much of what he’d seen and been told. So much of what it meant to be a vampyre.
The Dominion convocation started as it always did, with a stroll through the slaughterhouses to assess the conditions and treatment of the livestock. There were some among the council that were more sensitive to the plight of the humans, a fact that often surprised and intrigued Haven. Most vampyres saw humans as a source of food, lesser beings beneath them. But some, it seemed, had softer hearts than others.
Seeing these sights made Haven feel sick. Had it not been for Thorne, he might have succumbed to the same miserable fate. A life behind bars, deprived of basic freedoms, bred for death. At some point, they ceased to be human at all. He avoided the slaughterhouses at all costs to avoid thinking about it. Today, he wouldn’t be so lucky.
With Sirene only a few steps behind, Haven followed in Thorne’s wake. His master led the way through their largest abattoir, a massive building that stretched on for over a mile, housing thousands of caged humans. The first room they entered was the breeding room. Forcibly impregnated female cattle were boarded together in small pens. Some of them muttered to themselves, holding large rotund stomachs, while others paced in circles, crying.
“As you can see, the pregnant cattle are given ample room and comfortable housing,” Thorne explained as their group of vampyres moved into the building’s warm interior. Heat lamps radiated down upon them, blocking out the chilly air. “We feed them protein-rich meals to support the healthy growth of the fetuses.”
Haven shivered.Protein-richmeant only one thing in this world without a sun: these humans were fedhumanmeat. The parts not ingested by their vampyre masters. It was a horrific unspoken truth. He doubted that the humans weren’t aware of it. Though all refused to talk about it.
His mind drifted to Cypress, how disgusted and horrified he’d be if he were to see these conditions. And then worse, Haven pictured Cypress experiencing a similar fate. He found he couldn’t bear to think on it. His human was making him weak.
“How often are they allowed out of their pens?” came a voice from the back.
Thorne tutted. “They’re kept in their pens throughout the entire gestation period to protect themselves. They can be so troublesome when they’re pregnant. It’s when they take the greatest risks to escape. Often, they’ll kill themselves or the veal in the process. We keep them penned here to keep them safe. And to keep the flesh soft and supple.”
Haven swallowed, watching as one particular female began to rock back and forth on her knees, clutching her distended belly. She moaned and mewled, in obvious agony.
“Looks like this one is going into labor.” Thorne approached, looking down on her pen with a grin. “Fresh veal soon, my friends! Perhaps we can check back in after the meeting?”
“Won’t the infant need to stay with its mother? Surely taking it from her so soon after birth will not be good for her mental well-being.” The same voice sounded, and Haven caught the eye of the vampyre who had spoken. Clipped raven hair and a stern expression made him look intimidating and cold. Haven recognized him as Druitt De Rais. His sister Dahlia, however, wasn’t at his side. Usually, they traveled together and made their rounds to check on the humans kept in captivity. They were among those who favored humane treatment, and many among the Dominion made a mockery of them, suggesting a strange, incestuous relationship. But they’d always been kind to Haven. He refrained from all judgment.
“We give them blockers throughout the gestation.” Thorne eyed Druitt with a sly, challenging countenance. “Their bonding hormones are weakened. They feel next to nothing when the fetus is born. Besides, the veal trade is highly lucrative. I’m sure you understand why early removal is necessary. If the fetus grows too large, the flavor is essentially ruined. Best to pluck them while they’re still warm from the womb.”
A chuckle ran through the crowd in agreement. Haven felt sick. The female cattle continued to rock and moan, muttering incoherent words. “Please.” Her first lucid statement. “Please, help me.”
“Come.” Thorne waved them onward, away from the flailing woman. As the vampyres passed, they ignored her cries, heading deeper into the building. Haven knew where their next stop would take them. The next sight to see: the processing floor. It wasn’t a pretty one.
Humans lined the walls, chests to backs, drugged looks in their eyes. Ambrosia. It was the only way they would allow themselves to move toward their own deaths in such a docile manner. They were led by vampyre guards, one by one, to be strapped inside one of several leather-bound chairs. Siphons with pointed tips were plunged into the human’s necks and both wrists to drain their blood in only a matter of minutes. What was left after the task was done were only hollowed-out bodies, pale and cold. Sometimes those bodies would be taken to the skin trade. Sometimes to the meat market. But more often than not, they’d be ground up to be converted into high protein “feed” for the cattle and other pets.
“We’re able to process almost one-hundred cattle an hour,” Thorne said, grinning. Behind him, a lifeless body was hoisted from the chair and thrown into a pile of corpses. “Lucky for us, the humans keep breeding. You put two together, and copulation is almost guaranteed. But in the case it doesn’t happen naturally, we have developed methods of artificial insemination.”
