A Curse Unbroken
Page 70
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His glassy eyes fixed on me. He was still alive, despite the deathly white color bleaching his skin. I raced to him, slipping on the blood that continued to seep from the edge of the tub.
I reached beneath his arms and tried to pull him out.
You’re not alone, the voices repeated.
My strength failed and Aric sank into the tub of thick blood. I thought he would drown in it. Half my body fell in as he submerged into what seemed to be an endless bottom. I couldn’t see. I could only feel him slipping further from my grasp as my lungs demanded air.
Somehow, I managed to hook my arm under him and drag him out. I hauled his body out of the tub, falling with his upper body clutched against me. Aric sputtered out a mouthful of blood, wheezing and unable to take a full breath.
“Baby, don’t leave me,” I pleaded. “Please, I’m begging you, stay with me!”
He responded by shoving his mangled wrists into my face. I choked on the cry that ripped through my chest. He’d bitten through his own flesh. Blood and small chunks of skin spilled out of his mouth as he spoke. “You were gone too long,” he gasped. “I couldn’t live without you.”
In my arms, I held my mate as he died.
You’re not alone, the voices echoed.
I screamed, knowing they were wrong….
I woke up covered in blood, sobbing into Edith’s breasts. I scrambled away from her and to the opposite side of the bed. But she wasn’t looking at me, her gaze was completely homed in on Misha, whose crisp white shirt was soaked red. Agnes and Tim were trying to help him from the floor. For some reason, they could only position him on his knees.
Tim shot me an accusing glare. “Master, did she harm you?”
My balance gave out and I stumbled out of the bed. Some of Bren’s favorite swearwords flew out of my mouth as I literally crawled across the floor in my urgency to reach Misha. The dream had left me shaken, but the reality that I had somehow hurt him terrified me more.
The vampires hissed at me. “Oh, shut up!” I snapped.
I ignored their increasingly dangerous growls and slumped directly in front of Misha.
He gawked at me, horror sharpening his features. My hands gently touched his face, arms, and chest, searching for injuries. “Are you okay—?”
Misha grabbed my forearms and turned them to reveal my bloody arms. I almost screamed. Tura had manipulated me into slashing my own wrists. Misha wasn’t covered in his blood. He was covered in mine.
His stare drilled through mine, the power of his hypnosis claiming me almost instantly. “Leave us,” he murmured.
I vaguely recalled the sound of doors shutting quickly as the vampires made their mad exit. My hands pushed against his chest, allowing me enough space to watch Misha’s incisors lengthen. I was glued where I lay. A low growl built from the pit of my stomach when he leaned closer. “Misha, don’t.”
“Trust me,” he rasped through his fangs.
Chapter 27
I woke on a cold stone floor in an old rustic cottage. Outside, snow crept up to the edges of the window. The room was small, dimly lit by a few candles. Tiny flames flickered from the burning twigs carefully placed inside a crumbling fireplace. Next to the hearth a young woman with dark blond hair and tired gray eyes sat in a wooden rocking chair, sewing a quilt with shaking hands. A flimsy shawl covered her shoulders while a thin wool dress draped the rest of her emaciated form.
Every few stitches, she glimpsed nervously toward the door. Close to her feet sat a boy about ten. He polished a pair of large, black, official-looking boots, although he wore only rags. His face was smeared with ash and dirt. He was hungry. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. I also knew who he was. His mother didn’t have to speak his name.
You’re not alone, the voices whispered.
I stood and crossed the small space to kneel beside the boy. Beneath his tattered clothes, I could see how malnourished he was. He had the same gray eyes he would have as a man, although they lacked their usual luster…and resolve. Wisps of his blond hair escaped from a battered wool hat that was clearly too big for him. I tried to brush his greasy hair from his eyes. He rubbed at the spot where I’d touched, leaving a smudge from the polish behind. He didn’t see me. Not that it surprised me.
Outside a horse galloped to a stop and whinnied. Someone had arrived. Judging by the sound of Misha’s and his mother’s rapidly beating hearts, he wasn’t welcome. Misha’s mother abruptly stood. The quilt slipped from her lap and onto the cold floor. She didn’t bother picking it up, she was too busy staring at the door as heavy footsteps neared. It was cold in the house, but you wouldn’t have known it by the way her face glistened with perspiration. Misha didn’t glance up. He continued to concentrate on polishing the boots, although his own hands had begun to tremble.
A man entered the house wearing a thick wool coat and boots exactly like the ones Misha polished so meticulously. He was tall and heavy with a thick black beard. He threw a cloth bag onto the floor. I could smell the bread and cheese inside it. Misha’s stomach growled. Yet he made no move toward it nor did he bother to thank him.
The man smiled at the woman. She didn’t smile back. She stared with dead eyes at the floor. It bothered the man. He huffed and snatched her elbow then dragged her to another small room with a curtain for a door. For a moment, Misha stopped his work. When the deep grunts of the man and the muffled whines of his mother began, Misha resumed his work.
Misha scratched the soft brush feverishly over the boots, focusing hard on making the leather shine. A small tear slid down his face, streaking his dirt-smeared skin. I sat beside him and gathered him in my arms, trying to shield him from what was happening. But there was no protecting him from what was happening. Not then.
The heavy grunts continued in the other room, causing Misha’s brushstrokes to grow more frantic. Anger filled, but I managed to keep my voice soft. “Listen to me, Misha,” I whispered. “One day, you will be one of the most powerful beings in existence. One day, others will beg for your mercy.”
His eyes widened and he looked up slowly. He couldn’t see me, but he could hear me, so I continued. “You will have strength, and wealth, and power. So much power no one will dare hurt you.” I swallowed hard as I watched the tears of disbelief trickle down his face. “And if anyone is foolish enough to try, I will be there to stop them.”
From the room next door the large man emerged carrying the pair of filthy boots he’d worn into the house. He threw them down at Misha and snatched the freshly polished ones from his hands. After examining them closely he put them on and left. It was not until the horse galloped away that Misha’s mother returned to the rocking chair. She tried to smooth her hair before retrieving the quilt from the floor and resuming her sewing. When Misha started to clean the filthy boots she finally spoke.
I reached beneath his arms and tried to pull him out.
You’re not alone, the voices repeated.
My strength failed and Aric sank into the tub of thick blood. I thought he would drown in it. Half my body fell in as he submerged into what seemed to be an endless bottom. I couldn’t see. I could only feel him slipping further from my grasp as my lungs demanded air.
Somehow, I managed to hook my arm under him and drag him out. I hauled his body out of the tub, falling with his upper body clutched against me. Aric sputtered out a mouthful of blood, wheezing and unable to take a full breath.
“Baby, don’t leave me,” I pleaded. “Please, I’m begging you, stay with me!”
He responded by shoving his mangled wrists into my face. I choked on the cry that ripped through my chest. He’d bitten through his own flesh. Blood and small chunks of skin spilled out of his mouth as he spoke. “You were gone too long,” he gasped. “I couldn’t live without you.”
In my arms, I held my mate as he died.
You’re not alone, the voices echoed.
I screamed, knowing they were wrong….
I woke up covered in blood, sobbing into Edith’s breasts. I scrambled away from her and to the opposite side of the bed. But she wasn’t looking at me, her gaze was completely homed in on Misha, whose crisp white shirt was soaked red. Agnes and Tim were trying to help him from the floor. For some reason, they could only position him on his knees.
Tim shot me an accusing glare. “Master, did she harm you?”
My balance gave out and I stumbled out of the bed. Some of Bren’s favorite swearwords flew out of my mouth as I literally crawled across the floor in my urgency to reach Misha. The dream had left me shaken, but the reality that I had somehow hurt him terrified me more.
The vampires hissed at me. “Oh, shut up!” I snapped.
I ignored their increasingly dangerous growls and slumped directly in front of Misha.
He gawked at me, horror sharpening his features. My hands gently touched his face, arms, and chest, searching for injuries. “Are you okay—?”
Misha grabbed my forearms and turned them to reveal my bloody arms. I almost screamed. Tura had manipulated me into slashing my own wrists. Misha wasn’t covered in his blood. He was covered in mine.
His stare drilled through mine, the power of his hypnosis claiming me almost instantly. “Leave us,” he murmured.
I vaguely recalled the sound of doors shutting quickly as the vampires made their mad exit. My hands pushed against his chest, allowing me enough space to watch Misha’s incisors lengthen. I was glued where I lay. A low growl built from the pit of my stomach when he leaned closer. “Misha, don’t.”
“Trust me,” he rasped through his fangs.
Chapter 27
I woke on a cold stone floor in an old rustic cottage. Outside, snow crept up to the edges of the window. The room was small, dimly lit by a few candles. Tiny flames flickered from the burning twigs carefully placed inside a crumbling fireplace. Next to the hearth a young woman with dark blond hair and tired gray eyes sat in a wooden rocking chair, sewing a quilt with shaking hands. A flimsy shawl covered her shoulders while a thin wool dress draped the rest of her emaciated form.
Every few stitches, she glimpsed nervously toward the door. Close to her feet sat a boy about ten. He polished a pair of large, black, official-looking boots, although he wore only rags. His face was smeared with ash and dirt. He was hungry. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. I also knew who he was. His mother didn’t have to speak his name.
You’re not alone, the voices whispered.
I stood and crossed the small space to kneel beside the boy. Beneath his tattered clothes, I could see how malnourished he was. He had the same gray eyes he would have as a man, although they lacked their usual luster…and resolve. Wisps of his blond hair escaped from a battered wool hat that was clearly too big for him. I tried to brush his greasy hair from his eyes. He rubbed at the spot where I’d touched, leaving a smudge from the polish behind. He didn’t see me. Not that it surprised me.
Outside a horse galloped to a stop and whinnied. Someone had arrived. Judging by the sound of Misha’s and his mother’s rapidly beating hearts, he wasn’t welcome. Misha’s mother abruptly stood. The quilt slipped from her lap and onto the cold floor. She didn’t bother picking it up, she was too busy staring at the door as heavy footsteps neared. It was cold in the house, but you wouldn’t have known it by the way her face glistened with perspiration. Misha didn’t glance up. He continued to concentrate on polishing the boots, although his own hands had begun to tremble.
A man entered the house wearing a thick wool coat and boots exactly like the ones Misha polished so meticulously. He was tall and heavy with a thick black beard. He threw a cloth bag onto the floor. I could smell the bread and cheese inside it. Misha’s stomach growled. Yet he made no move toward it nor did he bother to thank him.
The man smiled at the woman. She didn’t smile back. She stared with dead eyes at the floor. It bothered the man. He huffed and snatched her elbow then dragged her to another small room with a curtain for a door. For a moment, Misha stopped his work. When the deep grunts of the man and the muffled whines of his mother began, Misha resumed his work.
Misha scratched the soft brush feverishly over the boots, focusing hard on making the leather shine. A small tear slid down his face, streaking his dirt-smeared skin. I sat beside him and gathered him in my arms, trying to shield him from what was happening. But there was no protecting him from what was happening. Not then.
The heavy grunts continued in the other room, causing Misha’s brushstrokes to grow more frantic. Anger filled, but I managed to keep my voice soft. “Listen to me, Misha,” I whispered. “One day, you will be one of the most powerful beings in existence. One day, others will beg for your mercy.”
His eyes widened and he looked up slowly. He couldn’t see me, but he could hear me, so I continued. “You will have strength, and wealth, and power. So much power no one will dare hurt you.” I swallowed hard as I watched the tears of disbelief trickle down his face. “And if anyone is foolish enough to try, I will be there to stop them.”
From the room next door the large man emerged carrying the pair of filthy boots he’d worn into the house. He threw them down at Misha and snatched the freshly polished ones from his hands. After examining them closely he put them on and left. It was not until the horse galloped away that Misha’s mother returned to the rocking chair. She tried to smooth her hair before retrieving the quilt from the floor and resuming her sewing. When Misha started to clean the filthy boots she finally spoke.
