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The hours following the evening’s gathering held some of the most distinct dissatisfaction Cassius could recall feeling in recent years. The reasons for this were many, myriad, and each as exhausting to recount as they were to withstand, and as Cassius, Lord Elder of the Nicciave Bloodline, wove through the high vaulted halls of his home and meandered towards his private rooms, he loosened the buttons on his collar as if the removal of each one would somehow lessen his burden in some small, meaningful way.
He knew it wouldn’t—such things were mere flights of fancy, as it were, but even whimsy had its place every now and again. Of course, those moments were few and far between, and did little to truly erase the absolute fiasco that had been his evening.
Fiasco . He scoffed, drawing his gaze along the wainscotting and the modicum of dust his waitstaff had dared allow to build up in the crevices of the woodwork. A fiasco it had been, through and through. First Cesare, then that fledgling of his… In a fit of pique, Cassius cast his cane out and slammed the metal edge against a vase resting on a spindly table fitted against the wall. The porcelain shattered in a grand display, sending water and petals and chips of bone china flying. The water speckled the wall and the flowers wilted into the carpet. Cassius seethed.
“You lost control of the situation,” Marcu’s low, blundering voice echoed in the silence that followed. “A fledgling got the best of you. I expected better, Cassius. Much better.”
“And I expected you to have choked on your own dregs were it not for my intervention,” Cassius snarled to the ruined vase. “You useless, brainless, absolute mockery of a sentient ape —!”
“Master Cassius?”
Cassius closed his mouth with a harsh click. He turned on his heel and hissed, “What? What do you want?” The servant, some nameless underling he hardly recognized, started as if she’d been shocked. She immediately bowed her head in contrition.
“My apologies for disturbing you,” she murmured, a tremor in her clasped hands giving away her fear. “I was simply surprised to find that you had returned from your outing so soon.”
Tension seeped from Cassius in small, barely noticeable increments. His jaw loosened and he turned away from the mess he’d made of the decor. “Of course,” he huffed. Shameful, losing his temper in front of the help. He inhaled deeply and forced the composure back into place. “It is rather early, isn’t it.”
His servant raised her head cautiously, barely meeting his eye for a second before looking away once more. “Is there anything I can do for you, Master Cassius? Anything I may bring you?” She did her damnedest to avoid looking at the shattered porcelain littering the floor.
“No,” he said, the word clipped and sharp as he sneered at the mess. “Just clean this up.”
Her head bowed lower and Cassius pushed past her before she could finish stammering, “Of c-course, Master Cassius.” If he jostled her on his way through, he didn’t stop to remark on it. He cut his way to the stairs and took them up, the ornate furnishings and expensive decor passing by in a blur of artful color and shade as he made his way to his private rooms.
The door opened without a sound but closed with a loud bang. Cassius seethed, the sound failing to ease the fury still licking at his heels. He was alone now, free from scrutiny if he chose to lash out once more. There would be no chance of a servant catching him in here. They didn’t dare come inside. At least, not when they knew he was lying in wait.
He blinked, slowly easing his hands out of the tight, balled up fists they had become. No. No, losing control wouldn’t serve him in any way that mattered. Lashing out, getting angry, that was for the hot-heads, the Marcu’s of the world. He was of the Nicciave, not some… some base, bestial Triarii. He could control himself. He would.
Cassius sucked in a lungful of air and let it out slowly. He let his gaze flit around, taking in the state of his rooms. His rooms. His . No one else’s. He was in control here, completely and absolutely. In the darkness the main room appeared bigger than it actually was. That wasn’t to say it was small; it wasn’t. Nothing in Cassius’s private residence could be considered lacking. He’d spent considerable time, money, and resources guarding against such a thing in every way he could feasibly manage. The ceilings were tall, ensconced in shadows that melted into the dark wooden eaves that vaulted high above his head. Ogive windows sprung up in even intervals along the outer walls, overlooking the city he controlled—
The thought pulled a sneer from Cassius’s lips. He stomped deeper into the room. The anger from before flared up like a fire stoked by a set of wayward bellows, his attempts at composure be damned. What did it matter if Marcu doubted him? What concern was it of Cassius’s if the Triarii was too idiotic to see just how much of his success he owned to Cassius’s machinations? It didn’t matter, since the truth was obvious to any with eyes that could see.
Cassius glared off at the desk that sat before the central window, then off to the bookshelves that were half-embedded in the arched downward eaves that peeled off the vaulted ceiling in measured intervals. So many of his victories were designed and carried out from this very room. He’d sat on that leather sofa and ordered the most recent round of culls. He had looked out that window, pushed aside that heavy velvet curtain to watch the Enforcers kick down the doors to carry it out. Cassius strode over the thick carpet and paused beside a low table where his latest chess match sat unfinished. Decanters of blood wine rested beside it, a treat to help him wind down after an arduous day of engaging with simpletons. Perhaps he should do the same now. Pour a glass, recline in the rich leather, and engage himself in the one game he’d found worth his considerable talents. There was no better company to stimulate him after such drivel than his own, after all.
His gaze drifted off to the far recesses of the room, eyes alighting on the ornate coffin tucked into the recessed space reserved for his rest. But then again, it had been a long night. Perhaps retiring for the evening would do him better. He’d be of no use to anyone—least of all himself—if he wore himself out before managing to make those imbeciles regret their actions tonight.
Caught between two urges, Cassius paused in the center of the room. He rested his hands on his hips, then frowned when a draft caught his cheek. He turned towards the chilly breeze, pausing when he realized the source. Across the room a curtain billowed gently, the window behind it cracked open. Cassius furrowed his brow. A servant would know better than to leave it open after airing out the room.
A floorboard creaked off to the right. Cassius whipped his head in the direction of the sound. His breath sharpened. His eyes narrowed. There was a figure standing in the shadow of a bookshelf, not even ten feet away.
“Who is that?” he called out sharply. “Do you have any idea whose home you’ve broken into?”
Silence. The moon was caught behind a cloud, bathing the room in too much darkness to do him any good. Cassius waited, nerves alight, muscles tensed. His pre-cognizance sensed nothing just yet, and that alone kept him from giving into utter panic. Whoever it was lurking in the shadows, they didn’t bear ill-will just yet. Pitching his voice lower, Cassius tried again. “Come out,” he said, less sharp but no less commanding. “I won’t ask again.”
There. A hint of movement. The wind outside whistled through the open window, fluttering the curtains as the clouds shifted, moonlight teasing its way inside in a pale, mounting silver glow. The figure seemed to realize that their cover was retreating rapidly. They took a step forward and then another. Cassius’s eyebrows met his hairline. “Oh, my goodness,” he breathed, the corners of his lips curling upwards into a grin before he could stifle the instinctive response. The anger from before faded in an instant. He couldn’t help but laugh as he crooned, “What an unexpected treat this is.”
From the darkness of his room’s recesses emerged a veritable angel, still clothed in the finery of the party and boasting a sweet little expression that hadn’t managed to grace his comely face before. Noel—and it was Noel, all logic of his coming here aside—stepped free from his hiding place with arms crossed loosely around his chest. He swept the floor with his gaze before treating the walls to its touch next.
Cassius took a step towards him. Noel’s head jerked up in response. For the barest of moments they met eyes, but as soon as it happened, it ended. Still, it was long enough to elicit a shiver of pure, unbridled fear down Cassius’s spine. The gift of his bloodline was one he had learned never to question. That pronounced itch in the back of his mind, the uptick in adrenaline, the tensing of the muscles—Cassius paused mid-step, giving the fledgling another once over. Those eyes of his… In the glare of the moonlight streaming through the window, they almost seemed to glint like an animal’s.
“Noel.” Noel’s eyes flicked up. The fear returned. Cassius shivered, struck. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked, caught between the desire to move closer and back away. “You needn’t be. Not after you came all this way just to see me.”
The fledgling turned his head downwards, casting his gaze to the floor with demure grace. Was it from his words? There was something so shy in the way Noel avoided his gaze. The feeling of unease lessened, an added perk. Cassius permitted himself to come a little closer. “What a curious gift you’ve been given,” he mused, circling Noel slowly, purposefully. He hadn’t been able to look his fill before. There had been too many people around and far too much attention already on Noel to permit him a leisurely once over like this. Cassius was delighted to find that Noel was every inch the fetching treat he’d appeared at the party. From the slenderness of his limbs to the shyness in his gaze, there was no lack of enticing features to appreciate, no dearth of charm in his coquettish manner.
Cassius lifted his gaze from Noel’s bare feet and sought to meet his eyes. “You needn’t use it on me. I have no intention of harming you…” He paused, licking his lips. Even now, the bouquet of his blood scented the air, exotic in its complexity and enticing for all that it was forbidden. Cassius inhaled it deeply. When he exhaled, his eyes narrowed. “A s weet flower like you has nothing to fear from a man like me. Unlike di Cambio, I know how to treat beautiful things well.”
Noel wrapped his arms around himself a bit tighter. His head was turned towards the wainscotting. The dark curtain of his hair fell in a dark, silky wave. His eyes were hidden from sight.
“Come now, don’t be embarrassed.” Cassius drew his fingers towards his collar and slowly began unbuttoning the fitted vest he’d deigned to wear that evening. His eyes cut regular paths towards his unsuspecting guest with almost magnetic, clockwork regularity. “I saw the display that sire of yours put you through. How he practically brandished you about like a piece of meat. It was wholly disgraceful. Any sire worthy of their standing would never be so… liberal.”
Noel said nothing. Of course, he wouldn’t—di Cambio had mentioned something about that at the party, that Noel was shy and rarely spoke. Heat rippled down Cassius' spine at the thought. So demure. So enticing . It was criminal that Cesare had found such a sublime creature for himself. If Cassius had his way, though, he’d see to it that such a criminal act be met with the proper punishment.
After that, to the victor always went the spoils.
“A proper sire,” he went on, shrugging off the waistcoat with a careful roll of his shoulders, “needn’t tout a new toy so braggadociously.” He let the expensive garment crumple to the floor. The servants would see to it later. Cassius strolled a little closer, circling Noel to admire him from every angle. “He should save such affections for behind closed doors. A fledgling should serve as a jewel to their standing. A treasure.” He paused and pursed his lips. “One best appreciated away from the prying eyes of those who might sully it with their gaze.”
Cassius paused again, drinking in the sight of Noel bathed in moonlight. His skin was of the palest alabaster, his hair an inky darkness that fell in charmingly disheveled curls against his sharp cheekbones. A jewel. A flower. A rose that would stand out so lovingly among the bouquet he kept to suit his every mood—yes. He must have him. There was no other course of action but to take. Cesare had ceded any claim he had the moment his fledgling slipped through that window.
“And you are a treasure, precious flower. In the hands of a cretin like di Cambio, you’ll only wither and bruise.” He was standing directly behind Noel now, near enough to scent that delectable aroma thrumming beneath his delicate skin. Cassius inhaled deeply. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?” He slowly extended his hands to settle them on Noel’s slim hips. He leaned in and allowed his cheek to brush Noel’s from behind. “Why else would you be here in my private chambers?”
The ticklish touch of his breath teased a tremor from Noel. He shied away from his touch like a skittish colt, but that just made Cassius follow after him, pursuing him like the frost pursued the harvest. Noel made it only a few steps before Cassius looped an arm around his waist and pulled him back into space. The fledgling turned to face him, eyes lowered, head pointed towards the rug. His spine arched delicately in accordance with Cassius’s hold. They fit well together.
Cassius drew his fingers down the front of Noel’s sternum. He opened the few buttons that remained to hide his chest from sight. Cassius found himself lacking control in that moment, and therefore he dipped his head and buried his face in Noel’s hair, filling his lungs with the scent of blood so fine that it could have been a waft of priceless perfume. “You feel it too, don’t you? You were meant to be mine. You still can be, sweet flower. I’ll see to everything.” He tilted Noel’s chin up and to the right, baring his neck. The view was just as pleasing as Cassius knew it would be. His throat was pale and long, slim and delicate with all the grace and fragility of a swan’s. “Oh yes, I’ll see to it all.” Saliva pooled beneath his tongue as his eyes traced the pleasing shape, down, down, all the way to Noel’s nape which was almost illicitly on display through the loose, drooping collar of his shirt.
Di Cambio’s taste may be the only worthwhile thing to his name. A Charlatan had little else to grant him use, so the compliment was as heartfelt as Cassius was capable of giving. He lifted his free hand, setting it on Noel’s slender shoulder. A Charlatan gem in his crown, however… There was plenty of value in that thought. He tugged at the fabric. The shirt fell like the downy silence between them. Cassius, ready to drink in the erotic sight, stopped short though. He stared at Noel, caught between sudden disgust, mild curiosity, and pointed, red-hot annoyance.
“What,” he asked, “pray tell, is this?”
Noel, as if in a daze, blinked slowly. He turned his head to look in the direction Cassius faced. He stared dispassionately at the ragged, mutilated scar tissue that mangled the crook of his neck, and then lifted his eyes back to Cassius. He said nothing. He knew Cassius had already guessed.
Cassius’s lips curled into a disgusted grimace. He drew his fingers over the bastardized abomination of a siremark and held Noel firmer by the chin when he sought to flinch away. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected better from a mongrel like di Cambio,” he remarked, recoiling when he felt just how raised the grooves of the bite were. That imbecile had positively ruined an otherwise perfect nape. “Hideous. And he calls himself an artist?”
To his surprise, Noel’s lips curled back. His eyes moved to the floor, the expression short-lived and already disappearing, but Cassius’s brows were already rising, his attention locked on the white enamel of the fledgling’s teeth. He adjusted his grip on Noel’s chin. He used his thumb to tug at Noel’s bottom lip, frowning when Noel fought him.
“Show me,” he said firmly, peeling Noel’s lips apart to open his mouth.
What stared back at him was… beyond words. Cassius inhaled sharply. Noel glared . The pressure of that gift of his increased, but the surprise of it all made it easy to brush aside. Cassius exhaled quickly through his nose. “Oh, you poor, poor thing,” he whispered, running the pad of his thumb along the jagged shape of Noel’s bottom row. “What did that mongrel do to you?”
Noel made no move to answer him—it must have been truly horrendous, Cassius gathered. The notion didn’t lessen as Noel averted his eyes. He tried to tug his head away, but Cassius held firm and took in every bit of what he had tried so hard to hide throughout the party. Shy, Cesare had said. Noel certainly had a reason to be shy, hadn’t he? His mouth was an aberration. In all of Cassius’s years, he had never seen fangs like this. Noel’s teeth had more in common with a shark than any of their fellow kin. The association cast his inhuman beauty in a rather dangerous, off-putting light.
Disquiet built like a storm in the core of Cassius’s being. He retracted his fingers when he came a little too close to cutting himself on a too-sharp edge. Licking at his lips, he tried for levity. “It’s not so bad,” he delivered, running his hands down Noel’s slim shoulders, feeling the frailty there to remind himself that there was nothing here to fear. “This isn’t your fault at all. That monster you call a sire did this to you, and I promise he will pay for it. Would you like that? I can see to it that he meets every misfortune owed to him.” He stroked Noel’s cheek, inwardly relieved when the touch prompted the fledgling to hide his teeth from sight once more. “Why, I’m sure Moira could devise a fix for this little problem too. She’s surely seen worse afflictions—cured them alongside her cabal’s own, too. We could make you perfect. The way you were always destined to be.”
Noel ducked his head. He tangled his fingers in the sleeve of Cassius’s shirt. With his eyes averted, Cassius felt new confidence swelling. Yes, this would still work. He’d seen Moira work miracles on worse things, and a new set of teeth was a small price to pay when it came to perfection incarnate. Cassius’s mouth watered, his lungs filling full of that gorgeous scent until he tasted it across his tongue like the sweetest wine. Noel slowly turned his head; Cassius followed his gaze, and he smiled when he determined what Noel was looking at. Though, it was more than that, wasn’t it? A glance towards his bed was more than just a wayward look. It was an acceptance. It was a promise, a taste of fealty—it was proof that Cassius had finally won .
He blinked when the gentle tug on his sleeve turned harsh. Cassius stumbled forward a step, but ultimately allowed himself to be dragged after the vision of beauty leading him towards the coffin. So eager. If this were any other fledgling in his harem he might have protested the presumptuousness of it all. One could never be too careful with those sharing one’s bed, and allowing a pet to become presumptuous…
The hand around his wrist tightened, a flicker of pain rolling over him. Cassius furrowed his brow. Not presumptuous— eager. They neared the bed. The lid of the coffin had already been drawn back, the sheets and pillows turned down for his eventual rest. Cassius watched Noel climb inside without a backwards glance. Eagerness… Perhaps that was too light of a word to describe this sudden energy. Intent, perhaps. Targeted even. Cassius rubbed at his sore wrist. Noel sat among the sheets, bare feet at his side, and looked to him expectantly. His lips moved but no sound came out. Cassius read them easily.
Won’t you join me?
The pain was fleeting and all but forgotten as Cassius surged forward, thoughtlessly slipping into the coffin alongside him. A strange energy tore through his extremities. He felt unhinged, adrift, lost in the odd sharpness of Noel’s gaze and the flickers of bad, run, fear screaming at him from behind his eyes. Every nerve in his body stung with the need to flee. The pre-cognizance honed by his blood whispered, low and lurid, of all the terrible things in store for him should he not cast this fledgling from his bed: The tearing of meat; the choked bubble of a scream cut short; his heart would drip and shred.
In the shadows of his mind he saw the shape of the teeth responsible.
Cassius caught Noel by the chin and dragged him into his arms. “What did I say about using that gift?” he whispered. His voice shook from the effort of smothering instinct. But Noel simply stared at him as if he didn’t hear. He tilted his head to the side, bestial in its simplicity, in its unabashed single-mindedness. He crawled forward, lifted a slender arm. His fingers wrapped around the edge of the lid and tugged.
Leave. Leave. Run. Run. Run. Dangerteethdeathdeathdeathdeath—
The lid closed with a decisive click, and the darkness within was absolute.
Well, almost. It was black as pitch but for twin glints of frozen amber looming just ahead, watchful. Expectant. Then they vanished. Noel had closed his eyes. “Turning off the lights?” Cassius tried, aiming for levity but falling short. His bloodline wasn’t known for its night vision. He frowned and cast out a hand, trying and failing to find Noel in the dark. “Come now. There’s no need to hide—ah, there you are,” he murmured, fingers alighting on what felt like a slim shoulder. He smiled, tugging. “Come on. There’s no need to be shy with your new master.”
Soft hands settled on Cassius’s cheeks. His smile widened then faltered when they tightened. The pressure increased to hold him in place. Cassius tried to pull away, but their strength was greater than his own. “What is this?” he demanded, struggling to find any leverage as Noel only drew closer. His hair was seized in a tight fist, his neck dragged down until soft lips brushed the crook of his neck. Cassius sputtered, rage momentarily blotting out the confusion. No fledgling, no matter how rarified or unique, should ever be so brazen. He tried to jerk out of reach, but Noel just held tighter. Cassius scowled, snarling, “I don’t know what that cretin has taught you, but this is absolutely out of line. Are you listening to me?”
What felt like a row of needles teased the flesh of his throat. Cassius’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. What sort of damage could those abhorrent teeth wreak? He pitched his voice lower, trying for soothe as he croaked, “Flower?”
No response. Another nip that hurt more than it should have.
“N-Noel?” he repeated, louder this time. He startled when a hand wrapped around his wrist as it rose to physically push Noel away. Noel forced it and him flat against the sheets. Cassius tried for a laugh that didn’t reach the open air. His throat was tight now—tight with an instinctive panic he could no longer tamp down. “What… What is this?”
Why was a fledgling this strong ? A slight weight settled on his chest, worsening the sensation. The hand around Cassius’s wrist squeezed tight, tight, tighter. The bone creaked and Cassius’s mind flared white at the edges.
“Stop this,” he whispered, lips moving, chest heaving, body screaming. “Do you hear me? Stop this right now!”
“What’s the matter?” a raspy, broken voice asked through the black. “I thought… you wanted me .”
—
Saturday nights were free nights, to be used however one might wish. That was the rule, Bianca thought as she peeled crushed flower petals from the carpet. That had been the promise given to her when she took up her position at least, and like the rest of her existence, she was beginning to think that most promises were conditional, not absolutes.
Bianca snorted, the sound ugly but not as ugly as the temper still permeating the air. The house always held an unpleasant weight to it when its owner was inside it, and his outburst had only increased the feeling tenfold. Bianca pushed aside a wayward curl of hair that had fallen free from her careful updo and stared down at the growing pile of detritus in front of her. This didn’t feel at all like a free evening to her. This felt like a punishment, and she hardly thought she’d done anything to deserve it.
She sighed, indulging some rebellious part of herself by making it loud. She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms until she saw sparks. To think, she was considered fortunate for her role in the household. Things could be so much worse out on the streets. She could have been unlucky enough to have to fend for herself out there, but instead she was here—! Her hands fell into her lap as she hung her head. She was here, she realized, cleaning up after her master’s tantrum.
What had even gotten him in such a foul mood? On nights like these he normally came home in grand spirits, laughing and bragging and exclaiming his success at instituting this new ordinance or that long-awaited motion. Bianca gathered the pieces of ceramic into her apron, saving the petals for last. An outburst this destructive could only be caused by something drastic indeed. Perhaps she had been fortunate that the master had taken out his frustrations on the decor before noticing her.
Bianca’s fingers curled around a wrinkled, crushed petal. She inhaled sharply and bit down on the inside of her cheek, dropping it into the pile with all the rest. It was a cruel thing to think, an almost macabre sort of inkling, but she couldn’t help but wonder which poor soul would have been responsible for cleaning up her shattered pieces if that hadn’t been the case.
Don’t think like that, she told herself harshly. It would do her no good, and it hadn’t happened. She hadn’t felt it was a possibility this time, so thinking longer on it wasn’t productive. Bianca dropped the last bit of waste into her apron and stood woodenly, going through the motions of throwing them away with more composure than she felt. Through the hall, down the servant’s passage, into the modified kitchen that served as the hub of the staff’s activities. It was of middling size, the culinary accoutrement sparse and spartan since they only bothered preparing consumables for the scant few humans that resided in the lowest recesses of the manor. The door to their accommodations was tucked into the far end of the room, fastened with a sturdy lock to which only two held the key.
She barely spared the door a glance. If Bianca had any designs on helping herself to the master’s harem, she’d lost them long ago. Master Cassius coveted them ruthlessly, and getting the other key from Forsythe was the very definition of a Sisyphean task. No, she’d take her allotment from the usual stocks and leave the rich blood for the rich. It was safer that way, and if she’d learned anything from her stint in this household, it was that taking chances, taking things that didn’t belong to you? Well, that was just asking for something horrible to happen.
On a busy night, she would find this room bustling with the chattering bodies of her fellow servants. Tonight, the room was instead dark and empty but for a single candle someone had thought to light before heading out. Bianca’s lips curled into a terse frown as she deposited the broken bits into the bin and brushed the remainder from her linens. No one else had the bad luck of being caught by the master. Lucky them. Lucky, lucky them.
With the bits and pieces disposed of, Bianca assessed her options. She could tell that sunrise would come in just a few scant hours—the call to sleep wasn’t strong just yet, but it was there, nudging at her core with greater accuracy than any timekeeper could boast. Bianca twisted her hands in her skirt and left the dark kitchen, heading for the stairs. She hadn’t had plans so to speak of before the master had diverted her evening, but she had considered going out. It was probably too late to bother now. That left retiring to her room, and she almost smiled at the thought. The rooms were all shared here, but with the rest of them out and about, enjoying their evening, that would leave the room completely unoccupied. She could have some privacy for once, perhaps settle in with a book and just forget this night had even happened—
Her blood froze as a scream destroyed the thought before it could run its natural course.
Bianca’s vision flared white at the edges, and without conscious thought, her hand found the railing beside her and gripped it hard enough to dent the wood. Her foot, caught between steps, firmly settled on the lower option, locking her in place. That was… Her eyes flicked forward, then back, then forward again. It had come from the upper floor. Beyond the servant’s wing…? No. She swallowed, cold, painful certainty clawing its way back up her throat. The master’s wing. She was sure. From there. It came from there .
What… What should she do? Bianca clapped her free hand over her mouth. She was alone tonight, the others long gone, not soon to return. The master’s room. He’d retired alone, hadn’t he? That couldn’t have been the scream of one of the harem members, could it? Her gut told her it wasn’t, but logic fought to be heard regardless. Bianca slowly eased her grip on the wooden railing, her hand slipping from her mouth to her chin. No, it was possible. Master Cassius had the key as well, and even if he wasn’t keen on fetching his playthings himself, he would if no one else were here to do it for him.
That candle… Perhaps that had been from him, lit to guide his evening choice. Yes. Yes, that must have been it. Bianca struggled to find a laugh. His mood was so poor as well. Clearly, he had gone to the lower level, picked one of his harem gems and then taken the rest of his temper out on them. Better that than another vase, she thought feverishly, forcing her feet to move, to climb the stairs as she’d done before. It was… It wasn’t normal. But it was possible. Yes. Yes, it was possible…
Her hands were trembling. All of her was trembling. Bianca shook herself, ordering her nerves to calm, commanding her limbs to move as they were told. She could just… Yes, she’d just check. It would be poor of her to hear a sound like that and not check, right? It’d barely take a minute.
And yet she found that every step up the stairs was a battle. Bianca shook once she reached the landing, her body at war with her common sense and that little voice behind her eyes telling her that things weren’t what they seemed. Insects skittered beneath her flesh. Flies buzzed loudly in either ear. The master’s room was at the end of the hall, marked by a door grander and larger than any other in the manor. As Bianca approached it, she held her breath. Something was building, charging, like the moments preceding a peal of thunder and following a lightning strike.
“You’re being foolish, Bianca,” she whispered, pausing in front of the stately room. She lifted her eyes and stared at the wood as if it were liable to come alive at any moment. Her lips trembled. “A right fool.”
Just listen, she told herself. She’d just listen for a moment, hear the silence of moans, cries, the usual cacophony of anger that would explain away this sickly fear clouding her vision.
She pressed her ear to the door, breath held—and recoiled less than a second later. She slapped her hand over her mouth to hold back the cry clawing at her throat. What was… God in Heaven, hallowed be thy name —why did it sound so wet? The stench of blood teased her nose. The echo of that… that sick ripping sound grew louder, punctuated by the snapping of—
Leave, a loud, insistent impulse screamed at her from inside her head. Leave, run, GO.
Bianca backed away from the door. A shudder tore through her, locking her knees to the point that she needed the wall to grant her support. The master was inside, just through that door. That scream—
GO. GO.
Bianca slammed her hands over her ears and turned away from the door. Tears pricked her eyes, the fear so cloying that all thought disappeared. She ran, and ran, and ran, and the voice in her head ordered her not to look back. So, she didn’t.
She knew better than to defy her instincts.