70: 70 Battle Blood (1) (AVOT)

70 Battle Blood (1) (AVOT)

Daisy's hand quivered as she aimed the pistol, acutely aware of her lack of marksmanship. Nevertheless, she summoned her courage to bluff.2

"Let him go!" she demanded, her voice laced with a desperate edge.

"Do you really think you're in any position to negotiate?" Lysander sneered, tightening his grip on Rhain's neck, causing more blood to pool down. Daisy's frame trembled involuntarily. "You actually believe a mere bullet can harm me?"

His voice dripped with condescension, amused by her attempt. Just then, Rhain wriggled in his captor's grip, provoking Lysander to twist his neck in a grotesque angle that suggested imminent decapitation.

"Stop! I'll go with you, just stop!" Daisy cried out, her voice breaking.

Rhain choked out an anguished sound.

"Release him," she ordered again, her voice quaking but determined.

Lysander flung Rhain aside like a ragdoll. Seizing the moment, Daisy pulled the trigger. Miraculously, her aim was true, and the bullet lodged itself just below his collarbone.

He winced, but that was the extent of his reaction. His eyes locked onto hers, now filled with a malevolent intensity. "Satisfied? Don't expect a second chance."

She couldn't believe it. Rhain had warned her that bullets couldn't kill vampires but might slow them down. Clearly, this didn't apply to Lysander. She felt the overwhelming presence of his aura. Even flight seemed pointless.

"What do you want from me?" she ventured, her eyes darting towards Rhain, who was making a feeble attempt to rise. "How could you inflict such pain on someone you claim as your son?"

In a blink, Lysander disappeared from her line of sight, and she felt herself hurtled through space by an unseen force. Landing with a thud on a cold, unyielding floor, she groaned as the pistol skittered out of her reach. Shaking off the disorientation, she pushed herself to her feet, only to realize she was in completely unfamiliar surroundings.

The drawing room was a haunting blend of opulence and eerie decadence. Shadows danced on crimson walls adorned with aged tapestries. A grand chandelier of twisted wrought iron hung from the ceiling, its flickering candles casting a dim glow that made the atmosphere even more unsettling. 

Lysander reclined casually on an elegant couch, exhaling a weary sigh. Daisy's eyes darted to the various exits strategically placed around the room. However, she knew that she'd barely take a step before he'd catch her; he had, after all, transported her to this peculiar sanctuary through some form of arcane power.

Daisy went to stand defiantly before Lysander. "I'm here, as you wanted. At the very least, you owe it to me to ensure that Rhain is unharmed."

"I owe you nothing," Lysander retorted, a trace of irritation in his eyes. "Rhain will survive. I have no obligations toward you."

"What do you want from me?" Her voice quivered with a mixture of fear and confusion.

He looked visibly distressed, his fingers combing impatiently through his raven-black hair. "Sit down and be quiet," he hissed, his eyes piercing through her like ice.

"Only if you--"

His glare seared into her, freezing her where she stood. A psychic leash seemed to yank her muscles into compliance. She found herself sinking into the plush sofa, her skin tingling as though electrified by an unknown dread. 

Lysander, meanwhile, rose to his feet, maintaining his aura that bound her to her seat. The experience was nauseating, almost surreal.

He began to pace, seemingly wrestling with internal deliberations, before halting abruptly. The room's atmosphere seemed to congeal into a tangible chill as he turned to her. "Follow me," he commanded. 

As if propelled by some dark spell, Daisy rose and trailed behind him. He guided her to a separate chamber and instructed her to remain there. The door clicked shut behind him, and the psychic bonds he'd woven seemed to dissolve. 

She immediately tested the door—it was locked. She scanned for windows, but they remained sealed and, moreover, were situated high above ground. No feasible route of escape presented itself.

A knot of worry tightened in her stomach as she considered Rhain's condition. She had to be alright, she reassured herself, even as the urge to flee escalated.

Meanwhile, Rhain lay crumpled on a cold, unforgiving floor, battered and bloodied. Consciousness flickered at the edge of his perception, a dim light swaying in and out of focus. Part of him had anticipated this outcome, but that didn't dull the sting of betrayal. He'd harbored a flicker of hope—maybe more than a flicker, that Lysander would help him.

Darkness surged forward, claiming him for a few moments, despite his best efforts to stave it off. When he clawed his way back to consciousness, he knew he needed to feed soon, or risk another descent into oblivion. 

Painfully, he began to crawl, his battered body a reluctant participant in this desperate endeavor. Just as he neared the threshold of the room, a tantalizing aroma wafted to his senses: the scent of human blood.

The door swung open and Ravager strode in, dragging a bruised and bloodied human by his clothes. With an indifferent grunt, he tossed the man beside Rhain. The man was injured but still alive, his heart pumping audibly—a gift from Ravager. 

With a visceral urgency, Rhain's fangs punctured the man's neck. Warm blood surged into his mouth, each drop invigorating his waning life force. A shudder of relief rippled through him as he felt the blood's effect on his ravaged body. It mended his flesh, stoked the dormant fires of his heart, and gave him a semblance of his former vitality. Only when the man's pulse faded to silence did he realize he'd drained him completely.

Still, he craved more. He tried to suck harder, but the man's veins were dry. It wasn't enough to fully restore him, but it provided the fuel for the next step—finding another victim. Grimly aware of his urgency, Rhain sat up. Outside, he noticed the descending cloak of twilight.

Daisy!

The thought was a splinter in his mind, a dark foreboding that gnawed at him. Had Lysander already...? No. He wouldn't allow himself to dwell on that possibility. Instead, Rhain steeled himself. He needed to find more prey to rejuvenate his strength and, by extension, his wolves, many of whom lay severely wounded.

Grim determination fueling his steps, Rhain hurried through the murky streets. Though his senses were still dulled, a prickle of unease alerted him to something odd: the sensation of being watched, shadowed. Swiftly, he rounded a corner and melted into a concealing pool of darkness. When he heard footsteps approaching, he lashed out, his elbow connecting solidly with a face.

The man staggered backward with a muffled groan. Rhain emerged from his hiding spot, sizing him up with a cursory glance. Not a threat, but a potentially costly distraction, he concluded. Just then, his senses screamed a warning. An arrow was streaking through the air, aimed at him. He dodged—only to sense another arrow slicing the night air toward him.

Hunters!

pqdm.com