When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 252

Leaning up against Azrael, I swirl my fingers over his chest, giving him a series of doting and deliberating looks, as though to suggest I am actually considering the words that are coming out of my mouth, and they aren’t just the product of several days of planning.

I need to reassure him that the soul is in his grasp, that unnecessary and volatile action is not needed to capture her, as this would only make my situation all the more tricky. And of course, telling him directly would go against every fibre of my being, but leading him on a wild goose chase for a bit was never out of the option.

“What if the soul is just hiding in plain sight?” I suggest, resting my head on his shoulder now with a long sigh. “She could be hidden right beside our palace and we would never have known,” I insist, looking up at him with large, doe eyes, batting my lashes- a trick I have pried off the women of Azrael’s court, and so far appears to be working in my favour. Azrael’s fingers slide down my cheek with a rough affection.

“Now, now, pet,” he scolds, before returning his gaze to Asocrates, growing cold once more. “I think we all know that I would have felt the presence of the death soul if she were nearby. Asocrates has been insisting I search the palace grounds for days, but unfortunately that trail has turned rather… cold.”

Across the table, Asocrates squirms in his seat.

Beneath the harmless exterior of Azrael’s words, a deathly chill makes itself present in the air between us, tensions rising like an early morning mist in the crux of autumn. I have noticed this a common occurrence when Azrael becomes enraged, and that occasionally- just occasionally, I catch a glimpse of that monster I had seen beneath the labyrinth. The demon hiding under Azrael’s skin.  Asocrates seems simultaneously captivated and repelled by the monster that sits before him, a tremble of nerves running through his body as Azrael’s form flickers once- just once, then settles back to normal.

“Do you remember what happened to the last patrol who failed to find the soul, Asocrates?” Azrael gloats slowly, spelling it out as though talking to a child. The Faery king doesn’t move, the nervous tapping of fingers dying away into the silent room. The discomfort in his face is as evident as the day, his body squirming in his seat, lips trembling as he utters:

“I do.”

“And?” Azrael prompts cruelly, a wicked smile spreading across his face, drawing me to him. “What happened to them?”

Suddenly, the thick stench of ammonia fills the air. My heart hammers hard against my chest, aching with a sympathetic terror- why makes me thankful Azrael still is unable to hear it. If he did, my cover would surely be blown.

If only I could help, I think despairingly to myself.  But I know by now that helping would only make the entire situation all the more worse. I must give no reason for Azrael to become suspicious of me.

When Ascorates next speaks, his voice is little more than a breath on the wind.

“You killed them.”

“That’s right,” he grins wider now, talking slowly, as though talking to a child. “I killed them. Do you know what will happen to you if you don’t find me the soul?”

At these words, a sour taste swamps my mouth. Never in my life have I felt such a grandiose fear and discomfort lingering around the room as I have now. It is practically tangible, as though I could reach out and grab those squirming worries from the air like candyfloss. Meanwhile Asocrates looks like he would like nothing better than to merge with the seat he is sitting in and disappear forever, no longer having to be put under the strain of Azrael’s wicked deeds. I can sense it in his aura, his thoughts, the way he shuffles against the seat, his fingers clacking against the table. Right now, he’d rather be dead. And Azrael can sense it too.

“Don’t be shy, Ascorates,” Azrael chides, his fingers worming their way down my body, intent on his own entertainment and little more. It is clear that to Azrael, this is some sort of a game, a sick parody of his brother’s rule with all the cruelties and none of the niceties- if one can even call this ruling at all. This is a one man dictatorship where the only options are death or suffering.

“I will die,” Ascorates manages to choke out, his eyes finally tugging away from the vampire before him to settle on the table. Once again, the putrid stench of ammonia washes between us- it appears that the fairy king can’t quite hold on to his bladder. Though in fairness, if I were in his position, I would be hard pressed to do so, also.

“Exactly,” Azrael affirms, rising now as he hoists me into his arms, circling his muscled arms around me, protective yet entirely menacing. If I were mortal, it would have been easy for him to crush me in his grasp, for crack the bones of my body and slice through my flesh with a wipe of his claws. I suppose it is a good thing that he and I are not on such disastrous terms any more, at least, not outwardly.

His lips graze the top of my head.

“Now, you and my men are going to try and find the soul one last time today. This time, you are going to lead us. And if we don’t find any traces of her…”

He trails off, slicing a finger through the air, and with a deep rushing sound, a gash cuts through the air before us, right over Asocrates’ heart. Gasping, he clutches his chest and the torn tatters of his clothes, frantically trying to stem the flow of blood from the gash that leaks across his chest. It is not deep, but not exactly shallow either, enough volume to ensure that the blood flow wont be quenched for a good few minutes. He might even need to see one of the Faery Physicians. Part of me wonders if this is simply a ploy to set Asocrates up for failure- it would seem Lord Azrael is quickly tiring of his new toy.

Which only leads me to wonder if I will be next.

A panicked bubbling sensation rises in the back of my throat, my head spinning with the fresh scent of newly spilt blood- a scent that I have both come to love and to hate.

“Consider this a warning,” Azrael says dismissively, flicking his hand behind him as he untangles himself from my body. Straightening his fine waistcoat, he paces towards the door of the dining room, lingering at the handle when his steps can take him no more. My heart pounds.

“I will meet you all at the main entrance in half an hour. Asocrates, I expect you to have half a dozen of your men at my disposal, I don’t care for your condition. And Serena,” he adds, his ruby eyes meeting mine.

“Yes, Azrael?” I answer with an unwitting and airy softness, as though I had not witnessed the horrors that spill out onto the floor before me. His lips pluck at a smile.

“Meet me in my quarters in twenty minutes, I would like to drink you before we leave.”

A cold feeling begins to brew in my stomach, nausea rising with each notion that flings past my head. Azrael wants to drink from me again- except we will be by his quarters so maybe…

I dismiss the thought. There is something else I need to accomplish first, something very, very dangerous.

“As you wish, Azrael,” I confirm with a gracious bow, pacing over to give him a slight kiss on the cheek, trying my best not to taste the acrid taste of his skin. Holding back a gag, I give him my best, falsified smile.

“May I get changed before we go?” I ask quietly, looking up with pleading doe eyes. Azrael’s face softens marginally. Leaning down, he brushes his lips against my own, sending shivers of disgust rocketing through me- though he could hardly tell the difference either way. Pulling away at last, he sighs a hot breath between us, his breath thick with the taste of blood- my blood. It is all he has been feeding on these past few days.

“You may, my pet. Hurry along now, I don’t want you to be late,” he warns, opening the door and allowing me to pace out. As soon as I am out of sight and earshot, I begin to run.

Time is, as ever, far too limited. Two minutes is how long it takes me to get to my room to get changed out of these stupid, stupid clothes, and a further added minute to explain to Reshma exactly what the plan is.