The other lycans got the hint. They backed away from the guards, taking shelter in the shadows beneath the scaffolding. The Death Dealers hauled Sabas and Xristo up by their arms and hurled them bodily into the throng of servants. The men’s limp bodies crashed to the pavement. No slave dared to come to their assistance, for fear of incurring the guards’ wrath as well, so the battered lycans were left to groan and whimper upon the ground.
Rash fools! Lucian thought, observing the men’s short-lived rebellion. While he appreciated their righteous anger on his behalf, he wanted no other lycan to suffer because of him. He had freely chosen to defy Viktor’s edict for Sonja’s sake, but the consequences of that fateful choice should be his alone. This is my fight, not theirs.
He looked again to the lofty window—and was rewarded with a vision of unearthly loveliness. Sonja gazed down at him from her bedchamber, which he had never dared set foot in. Although she kept her exquisite face still and impassive, so as not to betray their secret love, her moist eyes offered him a moment of solace in his ordeal. Even if there was nothing she could do to spare him, at least he could take comfort in the knowledge that he was not alone in this time of trial. Their eyes met briefly across the distance.
And then she was gone.
He watched as she disappeared behind a pair of closed velvet drapes. Could it be that she could not bear to watch anymore? Lucian scarcely blamed her. Were their positions reversed, he was not sure how long he could endure the sight of Sonja being tortured right before his eyes.
The fates forbid that such a nightmare should ever come to pass!
More blows rained down on Lucian’s quivering form, each more vicious than the one before. He quickly lost count of the lashings, which blurred into an excruciating haze. He slumped in his bonds, held up only by the chains upon his wrists. Despite his earlier resolve, plaintive groans escaped his lips. Deep gashes crisscrossed his back, which was now a map recording previously uncharted realms of pain. Hot blood streamed from crimson traceries.
“Lord Viktor, hold!”
A grave-faced vampire, whom Lucian recognized as Coloman, spoke out boldly. Flanked by other members of the High Council, all with disapproving expressions, he broke away from the audience to address Viktor directly.
“What?” the Elder asked brusquely. He reluctantly tore his gaze away from the flogging.
Coloman gestured at Lucian. “Stop this. He is one of our protectors.”
“They are beasts themselves,” Viktor snarled. He cast a baleful glance at the other lycans, who backed away fearfully.
Coloman contemplated the huddled slaves as well. “This could stir up the others,” he warned darkly. The other council members nodded in agreement. A few of them seemed to regard the restive slaves with distinct apprehension. A matronly vampiress, whose bloodline boasted several dukes and earls, clutched her jewelry as she contemplated the unwashed rabble.
“Let them stir.” Viktor dismissed the Council’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “Do you fear them? Believe me, it will be worse if we do not punish them.” He turned to confront the insolent boyar. “Do you see now, Coloman? You would trust the lycans outside our walls?” He snorted derisively. “We cannot even trust them inside.”
Turning his back on Coloman and the others, Viktor turned back toward Lucian and his avid tormentor. “By my count that is twenty-one!” he barked at Kosta. “Continue!”
The cruel lash tore at Lucian’s flesh once more. He gritted his teeth to keep from screaming. Part of him wished he had fallen in battle against the werewolves instead.
Being torn apart by savage fangs and claws would have been bliss compared to this.
Chapter Ten
At last the ordeal was over. The crowd dispersed and uncaring Death Dealers roughly unfastened Lucian from the pillories. Barely conscious, he was only dimly aware of being dragged down into the lower reaches of the dungeons. Instead of his usual lair, he was tossed into the cavernous vault that housed the rest of the lycans. Arched recesses, stacked one atop another, were carved into the towering walls of the vault. The foul aroma of the cesspits wafted up from metal grates in the floor. Spiders, roaches, and other vermin infested the dirty straw carpeting the floor. Greenish mold streaked the rough granite walls. Brackish water trickled from the ceiling.
Reluctant to be associated with Lucian, the other lycans kept their distance. They huddled in their respective dens, watching Lucian uneasily. Only Sabas and Xristo showed any signs of concern, but, battered and bloody as they were, they were in no shape to come to Lucian’s aid. He sprawled limply upon the filthy straw. Dried blood caked his back, which looked as though it had been dragged for leagues over broken rocks and glass. Red and raw, his anguished flesh could not bear even the touch of empty air. He moaned pitifully, no longer caring who might hear. Immortal though he was, Lucian wondered if he would ever be whole again. Surely no one could endure such pain and live?
Impervious iron bars divided the lycans from the human prisoners rescued from the caravan. No longer hooded, the mortals cowered in the corners of their cell, uncertain of what had befallen them. Having survived the werewolves’ attack, they now found themselves in the hands of strange new masters, facing anything from servitude to execution. Vague rumors of vampirism and other deviltry had gained new life after their firsthand encounter with the werewolves in the woods. Nightmares troubled the sleep of those who had finally succumbed to fatigue. The sight of Lucian’s ravaged body, streaked as it was with bloody welts, did little to assuage the prisoners’ fears.
Heavy footsteps approached Lucian from the other side of the bars. He lifted his eyes to see the dark-skinned Goliath from earlier. The man crouched beside the bars dividing them. Sympathetic brown eyes surveyed the vicious scars traversing Lucian’s bloody flesh. A knowing frown suggested that the stranger was all too familiar with the marks of the slavemaster’s lash.
“Stay away from him!” a fearful lycan warned. “Or they will punish you, too!”
The giant ignored the other slave’s outburst. He dipped a soiled rag in a rusty copper bowl filled with water for the prisoners, then held it out to Lucian. Grateful for the stranger’s kindness, and dying of thirst, Lucian tried to reach out for the damp rag but lacked the strength to even lift his arm. Every movement, no matter how slight, left him gasping in pain. His naked back felt like it was being flayed anew. Unable to speak, he collapsed against the cold stone floor.
The stranger nodded. Understanding Lucian’s plight, he reached between the bars and held the rag over the other prisoner’s mouth. He squeezed the soaked fabric, releasing a thin stream of tepid water that fell like manna from heaven upon Lucian’s cracked and swollen lips. The tortured lycan gulped down the water hungrily. No wine or ale had ever tasted sweeter.
Thank you, my friend, Lucian thought. He didn’t even know the giant’s name yet, but the mortal’s courage and compassion had already elevated him in Lucian’s eyes. Bless you for your kindness.
Would that the vampires could be so humane.
Viktor entered Sonja’s chambers without knocking. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes before turning to greet him. Alas, the motion was not swift enough to escape her father’s notice. He eyed her suspiciously.
“Your concern for Lucian was most touching,” he noted. “A mere slave…”
“Was it?” She hastily consulted her reflection in the mirror and was relieved to find her emotions well hidden. She kept her voice cool and imperious, as befitted her station. “I suppose. Well, he had just saved my life. And was it not you who told me that I should show a little gratitude in such instances?” A hint of anger showed upon her features. “And what of yourself? Have you no gratitude to one who rescued your daughter?”
“I am awash in it,” he declared archly. “That he still lives shows the breadth of my magnanimity. Were it any other circumstance, I would have fed him in pieces to his own kind.”
The ghastly image seized her imagination; it took all her
self-control not to shudder in response. Her stomach turned and she feared she might gag. The sheer venom in her father’s voice appalled her. Surely he cannot be serious.
“But now his punishment is over?” She strove to sound as though the question was merely of academic interest to her, and not a matter of life or death. “He will be freed?”
“Freed?” He glared at her in disbelief, sounding shocked that any daughter of his could be so naive. “Your judgment is clouded, Sonja. One does not keep order with foolish sentiment. Lucian was forbidden to remove his collar, yet he did so”—he raised a hand to forestall any objections—“for however fine a reason. He will remain in prison.”
Just like William, she realized. Condemned for all eternity.
He examined her face carefully. Feeling like a prisoner in the dock, Sonja said nothing lest she accidentally give voice to her despair. She kept her guilt and anguish bottled up behind the impassive mask of a noble born. Lucian, my dearest. What has my love brought you to?
Her father’s eyes narrowed. He appeared not wholly convinced by her semblance of calm. When he spoke again, his words seemed laced with hidden meaning:
“A cautionary tale.”
Was he speaking solely of Lucian’s transgression, or of something more?
Sonja nodded. For Lucian’s sake, she feigned assent, although it rent her very soul to do so. Uncertain how much longer she could contain her grief, she prayed that her father would not tarry much longer. Shaken by the fearful news she had just received, she wanted desperately to be alone with her sorrow.
There must be some way to save him! There has to be!
To her relief, Viktor appeared pleased that she had not challenged his decision. His severe expression lightened somewhat. Turning away from her, he headed for the door, pausing only for one last admonition.
“Janosh and the rest of the nobles will arrive soon. Your presence is expected.”
His emphatic tone made it clear that this was not a request.
Moonlight entered the dungeon through a rusty metal grate high up on the wall. Rats scurried in the corners of his cell as Lucian painfully hauled himself up into a sitting position. A damp stone wall felt cool against his throbbing back. Several hours had passed since the flogging and his strength was slowly returning. The scars left by Kosta’s whip were already healing over. His skin itched as it slowly knit itself back together. Although he still felt as weak as a half-dead mortal, it seemed as though he had survived the ordeal. What else Viktor had in store for him, however, was an entirely different question. Lucian feared his punishment had only begun.
Just so long as Sonja escapes any reprisals, he thought. That’s all I ask.
He wrung a few more drops from the damp rag, then handed it back to his new friend. The kindly mortal, who called himself Raze, sat opposite from Lucian on the other side of the prison bars. He returned the rag to the now empty bowl. His wary eyes examined the fading welts upon Lucian’s shoulders. The lycan’s miraculous recovery clearly had not escaped his notice.
“I saw what you did out there,” Lucian said, finally able to speak once more. He recalled how Raze had single-handedly slain an attacking werewolf with naught but a length of chain. “Very brave for a human.”
Raze shrugged, as though he had merely done what was necessary. Lucian was impressed by the human’s stoicism. Unlike the other mortals locked up with him, the black man had not succumbed to panic or despair. Even now, trapped in these oppressive dungeons, he seemed to be merely biding his time. Not even a ravening pack of werewolves had broken his spirit.
“Have you ever come across them before?” Lucian asked.
“Only in stories.” The man’s voice was impossibly deep, especially for a mortal. He made even the gruffest lycan sound like a castrato by comparison. “Stories I never believed.”
Lucian was aware that, outside the castle walls, many mortals regarded both vampires and werewolves as nothing but myths, akin to basilisks or dragons. Having spent his immortality defined by his bloodline, he had always found this notion difficult to grasp, but apparently it was so. What must it be like, he pondered, not to live under the sway of the vampires every day of your life?
“Were you not afraid of them?”
“Yes,” Raze admitted. “But I wanted to live.”
So it seems, Lucian thought. He wondered again how much Raze had seen of Lucian’s own inhuman transformation during the battle. “Are you afraid of me?”
Raze took a moment before answering. His gaze went again to the vanishing scars on Lucian’s shoulders.
“Yes.”
Lucian appreciated the mortal’s honesty. “Well, do not be.” He smiled slyly. “I will not bite… much.”
Raze blinked in alarm, then realized Lucian was joking. Still, he regarded the caged lycan with a certain wariness. “And you are… like them?”
“No!” Lucian insisted. The very thought still offended him. “A lycan, yes. But not like them. Nothing like them.” He sought to explain the vital difference between himself and the wild werewolves. “Those you fought tonight were animals. The spawn of William, the first true werewolf. Pure-bloods, if you will. No trace of humanity left in them. Savage, mindless beasts.”
He suddenly realized that he sounded much like Viktor.
Perhaps too much so.
“Or so it has been told,” he murmured, as much to himself as to Raze. For the first time, he questioned the fundamentals of the twilight world in which he had been raised. The lingering ache in his back and shoulders certainly belied the vampires’ claims to being more civilized and cultured than their feral brethren. Could it be that the renegade werewolves were not entirely unreasoning beasts as he had always believed?
Raze’s own curiosity interrupted his musings. “But I saw you.” He gestured at other human prisoners sharing his cell. The pathetic mortals eavesdropped on their conversation with varying degrees of horror and fascination. “We saw how you were with them.” The memory caused him to shake his head in disbelief, as though he still had difficulty accepting the evidence of his eyes. “They obeyed you.”
Lucian remembered the pack turning tail after he roared at them. That unlikely turn of events still amazed and puzzled him, although he’d had precious little chance to ponder the matter since. Getting shot with a crossbow and flogged within an inch of his life had understandably driven that mystery from his mind… until now.
“Yes,” he said. “They did.”
A pair of bored Death Dealers guarded the entrance to the dungeons. Their sour faces suggested that they resented being stuck with such a thankless duty on the very night that the castle was welcoming the surviving nobles. They sat at a rickety wooden table, rolling dice and exchanging dirty jokes. A ring of large metal keys hung on a hook behind them, below a glowing lantern. Silver-tipped pikes leaned against a nearby wall, within easy reach of their hands. A flagon of lukewarm blood and two leather tankards rested on the table between them. Growls and heated voices came from the cells beyond the guard station as a loud argument broke out somewhere in the dungeon. The annoyed sentries shouted and pounded on the walls to quiet the prisoners.
“Rutting savages,” one of the soldiers groused. “You’d think they’d mind their manners after what happened to that blacksmith.”
“What do you expect?” the other guard said. “They’re nothing but animals.”
The night’s tedium was broken unexpectedly by two female vampires who came creeping down the stairs to join them. One of the women, a flaxen-haired beauty named Luka, was Sonja’s lady-in-waiting. A red velvet gown flattered her shapely figure. Her companion was of less noble birth, being merely a petite, redheaded chambermaid by the name of Malvina. A plain linen kirtle denoted her lowly status but showed off her feminine charms nonetheless. The delicate fragrance of the women’s perfume sweetened the fetid atmosphere.
They boldly approached the guards, who were too delighted by their comely visitors to question their good fortune. A
rmor rattled as they eagerly jumped to their feet and hastily offered the ladies the flagon of blood. Declining the proffered refreshment, Luka insinuated herself between the two soldiers and whispered huskily in their ears, while Malvina flirted shamelessly with both men, batting her eyes and licking her pearly fangs. Lustful grins broke out across the guards’ faces. Greedy hands grabbed the women’s waists. They clearly liked whatever Luka had proposed.
“Follow me,” she enticed them. “You shall not regret it.”
All thought of duty forgotten, the men let their new companions lead them away into the murky privacy of an adjacent corridor. Hushed laughter echoed off the somber gray walls. A saucy hand slapped Malvina’s rump. Just before the revelers disappeared into the shadows, however, Luka glanced back the way she’d came. Her sultry violet eyes briefly made contact with…
Sonja, who lurked in the stairwell until the gullible sentries were safely distant. She held her breath and counted to fifty before stepping out of hiding. She peered about anxiously, but was relieved to discover that the way was clear. No hidden eyes waited to expose her.
Bless you, Luka, she thought sincerely. The faithful attendant had proven her loyalty a thousandfold tonight, while a generous bribe had ensured Malvina’s cooperation. Sonja had not trusted either woman with the true nature of her bond with Lucian; she had merely claimed to be concerned with the well-being of an innocent lycan who had twice saved her life. Thankfully, Luka had accepted this explanation without question, although Sonja feared she had caught a flicker of suspicion in the other woman’s eyes. If all went according to plan, the two women would keep the guards occupied long enough for Sonja to carry out her mission.
That they were willing to endure the grubby attentions of the soldiers for her sake filled her with gratitude. I am deeply in their debt.
Sonja knew she was taking a terrible risk, especially with her father expecting her at tonight’s reception, but she simply had to see for herself that Lucian had survived Kosta’s sadistic excesses. The thought of her valiant lover suffering alone in the dark had been more than she could bear. She had to see him, comfort him, if only for a few precious minutes.