Every cell in my body screamed for me to move, but an irrational terror fixed me in place. The voice, seething with boundless fury, sounded unmistakably like Lord Lorn's. If he had been angry there, now he seemed consumed by an inferno of rage.
Lord Fashire's low chuckle reverberated through the chamber, an eerie contrast to the tension in the air.
"This is not funny!" Lord Lorn hissed.
"Hold on, Lorn. I don't recall giving anyone permission to barge into my chambers," Lord Fashire spoke, his voice brimming with a dangerous edge.
A heavy silence followed, broken only by Lord Lorn's voice, now filled with a warning tone. "Fashire, this is my castle. Every room ultimately belongs to me."
"Do not take another step," Lord Fashire growled, the earlier amusement vanishing from his words, replaced by an undercurrent of menace.
Silence followed the Lord's threat until it was eventually broken by Lord Lorn.
"Did you think you could just leave after what you announced in there? The blood on the floors…" he paused. "They're gone. Evaporated into thin air. Every trace of it, Fashire. Did you know that?"
I heard low footsteps, followed by a low murmur of surprise from Lord Fashire.
"What is this nonsense about humans turning into us for a period of time? Do you even realise the gravity of such a situation? Bring her out this instant," Lord Lorn continued, relentless.
I urged my legs to move but only my muscles twitched in response. Lord Lorn's words echoed in my mind and I tried to make sense of it. What if it was a side effect of using the potions? I had bled before working here, but I'd never experienced something like this. What exactly had Aunt been giving me? What about all the blood I've lost? I paused to notice the prolonged silence from the bed chamber and all I could hear was my laboured breathing.
I drew in a sharp intake of breath.
Were they done talking? Lord Lorn had asked for me. What if Lord Fashire were to drag me out this instant?
"You shouldn't fret, Lorn," Lord Fashire interjected. "You don't have to worry about a legion of humans gaining vampiric abilities. This is but a mishap."
"What do you mean?"
Lord Fashire sighed. "The potion only works on her... from what I've gathered."
"Are you serious?"
"Do I ever jest?"
"On occasion, yes," Lord Lorn retorted sharply. "Too many occasions even."
"You and the others can go investigate for yourselves, then. The human rulers have no idea 'this' exists… The moment I found this in her quarters, I suspected it may have something to do with her masking as one of the lower vamps. I went into the other village and tried it on quite a number. Humans of various blood types. Just a drop, Lorn. A measly drop," he emphasized. A strange excitement began to creep into Lord Fashire's voice.
I had a bad feeling about where this was going.
"And no changes? Symptoms?" Lord Lorn asked. "You couldn't have waited for a few hours? A number of days? Where are they?"
"They're dead, Lorn. They dropped dead the moment it came in contact with their tongues."
A surge of horror washed over me, and the blood drained from my face.
"That Strome," Lord Fashire continued, "I remember her. Hardworking. Diligent. None could even have fathomed…"
"She is an anomaly at this point," Lord Lorn interjected. "Something irks me about Matadre's explanation of that person. I will have to look into the Northern stronghold… Is the girl related to her? Blood?" he then asked.
"A few humans said she is a blood relation of the 'woman'. Her niece. Though I am uncertain their blood relations matter, especially when that girl was ingesting that potion. That aside, I found no other family member in the village, but I went through the supposed Aunt's dwelling. It was desolate, and it had been like that for a while."
Lord Lorn cursed under his breath and I stiffened. Why did he not tell Lord Lorn about my father? But if the other Lords looked into the village, they were bound to find him.
"This is vexing," Lord Lorn hissed.
With an air of carefree nonchalance, Lord Fashire replied, "In that case, I must take my leave."
"What?!"
Lord Fashire chuckled. "I am returning to my lab. We will need to source out the ingredients for this and I won't entrust this to anyone. In addition, it might be a way to unravel whatever secrets the little one holds within her body."
My stomach tightened at the mention of a lab and experiments. Lord Fashire, scientist? That could partly explain why he ran through so many pets. Blood rushed to my head, sending a dizzying wave of disorientation coursing over me.
'No. No. No. No.' I didn't want to be a test subject.
Footsteps, growing louder with each passing moment, urged me into action. I dashed forward, scrambling blindly in the dark. My hands splayed across the narrow walls of what I presumed to be a corridor and I slowed down, my heart hammering in my chest as I waited, dreading for the door behind me to open. The footsteps had drawn perilously close.
Too close.
I stifled the sobs that racked my body and squeezed my eyes shut, pressing myself against the wall. I had to…
'Escape. Really?'
What was I even thinking? That was impossible.
Tears streaked down my cheeks, paving the way for a burning path that kept flowing. I couldn't leave. Not now. Not ever. Not with my father so defenceless. And my aunt. What had happened? Where was she? It hadn't been that long since I visited her for the potions. How could she have gone?
I was aware her saving her own skin wasn't out of character, but didn't she want something from me?
I quivered as I wondered if this had been a trap all along. But that would mean jeopardising her potions. Would anyone do that or was there something beneath the surface I wasn't seeing?
My head throbbed as I contemplated the situation. Who was my aunt, truly? And what was she?
The door handle rattled, and I jolted forward, colliding face-first with an obstacle. My hand instinctively reached out, touching a wooden door. Fumbling, I found the knob and twisted it open.
The room beyond flooded with light as I swung the door wide, and I stood frozen in place. It was a circular, enclosed chamber, much like Lord Fashire's room. My gaze swept across the space, taking in the closed transparent cylindrical compartment housing a commode and a silver sink with a mirror. Taps adorned the sink and bathtub—a luxury I had never encountered in our quarters or the village, where the water came directly from the well.
Raised voices clamoured behind me and I dashed inside, slamming the door shut behind me. I couldn't care less about whatever noise it made. They could hear me no matter how quiet I tried to be.
I stepped back and my weak legs caused me to sink to the floor. In my dishevelled state, I noticed the grime and sweat that soiled my clothes and clung to my skin. The overwhelming desire to shed my filthy exterior consumed me and on a wall-fixed table beside the large bathtub, I spotted a stack of towels. Slowly, I stood up, my ears strained for any sound—though from this distance, it was unlikely I would hear anything.
I dragged myself to the sink and looked in the mirror. I was a mess.
My eyes were bloodshot from crying, and my once-tamed curls had transformed into a wild tangle. Dark circles marred the skin beneath my eyes, and my sweat-drenched face appeared haggard. Staring at my reflection for too long made me realize that the dark grime on my skin and dress was dried blood. My attention then shifted to my bloodied shoulder, and a wince escaped me. It was as if the pain returned the moment I remembered I was injured. It resurged, throbbing and radiating down my arm. I had neglected the wound for far too long. It hurt to even move, but I had to clean it.
My hands lightly trembled as I touched the sink and twisted the tap. Clear water trickled out, and I quickly turned it off, mindful of the dirtied handprint I had left on the handle. I turned the tap on again, rinsing my hands and wiping away the evidence of my presence. I couldn't even fathom the consequences if I were to desecrate any part of the Lord's chambers.
I started by rinsing my arms and after a momentary pause at my shoulder, I scooped the pouring water and splashed it on my wound. I shuddered as the throbbing shifted to a sharp stabbing pain and I clutched the edge of the sink with my weak arm, continuously scooping water to rinse off the blood. I no longer cared if I dirtied the floor. I was going to die anyway so what difference would bloody stains make?
I chuckled, my short laughter coming out in shuddering gasps as my eyes watered. A bitter and hollow sound. I closed my eyes tightly, fighting off encroaching nausea. As much as I could delude myself, the truth was evident—I was utterly powerless.
I straightened and faced my sorry reflection once more when something made me go still.