Vivian
My wounds heal slower now that the demented pair has drained half my blood. I hope the fools drink it, then we'll see who laughs last. The ties a vampire has to their own blood is independent of manipulator traits. The silver hood will restrict me from mind controlling them-but, if they are stupid enough to swallow a taste while I'm still alive, I'll use my blood like a weapon, cutting them down from within.
A thin silver blade slices down my thigh, leaving a wake of fire in its passing. When the torture started, I laughed, the maniacal noise bouncing off the tiled room, echoing through the air like a crazed hyena.
The intense pain helped me block out the loss of my spouse, and I welcomed it with open arms. Now, hours later, every cut draws a scream from my throat, sounding to my ears like the ragged, deranged shrieks must be coming from someone else.
Agony pumps through my veins with every slow beat of my heart. The bastards stuck silver needles into my flesh and add another every time I give them an answer they're unhappy with. Again and again, they ask me questions I don't have any information about. All along, I thought Cora hated me for me, not for what I am and the unknown threat I represent to the vampire species.
How stupid I'd been. It was for something greater all along.
I drift for a moment, skating the boundary between consciousness and oblivion. When I skirt too close to the edge, and the burning pain recedes, the real dread begins. I rage against the offer of peace my body longs to give me, banging my foot hard on the table to keep myself awake.
I exist solely within the pain now, fearing the darkness in my soul, embracing the suffering like an old friend in order to delay my grief over Rafe's demise. I anticipate the death awaiting me, eager to grasp it to my breast while my sanity holds. I know my husband may be on the other side.... or in my next life. No matter what lurks in the great beyond, I have no doubt it has got to be better than this burning, never-ending torture.
Lucas' face, twisted with his hatred and disgust, looms over me, dripping spittle on my exposed flesh as he rages. "Tell us what you know of the other manipulators!"
I repeat what I've said every time. "Nothing." A note of pleading enters my tone. "Kill me." I close my eyes and turn my hooded head away. My mind keeps echoing, I have no reason to live.
The replay of Rafe's last moment tumbles over and over in my mind. The last look of rebellion on his face as he struggled against his captors. His blood shooting into the air... and then spreading in a large pool around his discarded body on the floor. The helpless denial torn from my lips as I crashed toward him, determined to save him even in those last seconds.
What a fool I've been, to think I could escape what every manipulator before me could not. My own helplessness washes over me, tears springing to my eyes and falling unseen beneath the silver hood.
Too strong to use, too dangerous to live, too valuable to kill.
What an idiot to think I should be allowed to love again. Did I not learn before? All those close to me used against me in the end. Their reward for loving me was death.
Death is all I am.
One more silver needle slides into the sensitive, exposed skin of my underarm. The burn spirals deep, my flesh trying its best to crawl away from the inflicted wound, while an answering wail rips from my lips.
After a minute, Cora's voice cuts through my screaming. "Let's try another train of questions." She stalks across the room to where I'm strapped, spread-eagled, with silver chains on a metal autopsy table. "What do you know of the Atlantians?"
Her words filter through my haze of agony, and I open my eyes, to gaze through the slitted hood at the woman responsible for taking away the only person in my life who helped me cling to sanity-to my remaining humanity. Her question makes no sense to my pain-rattled mind. "What?"
A spark of interest lights in her dark blue eyes. "Do you know of your ancestry? Your ties to the ancient race?"
I shake my head, grateful for a respite from the silver torture, but still have no idea what she's talking about.
"Who was your maker?" she hisses. I flinch as the flat of a silver blade is held against my stomach, burning my flesh before she pulls it away. "Your sire is not listed in the archives."
Unsure if I should answer, confused what the knowledge could lead to, I speak, hoping to learn from their interest. "Take out the needles and I'll tell you." A gleeful look of triumph crosses her face and she pockets her dagger. Cora yanks out the dozen needles, one by one.
"What are you doing?" Lucas barks from across the room.
She's doing exactly what I want. The extraction hurts as much as the insertion and the pain will keep me awake. Too much torture will shut me down, so I need to balance it. It's a dangerous game I'm playing. Dragging out my death to ensure I die with my sanity intact. Fire plumes bright as each needle slides out and I wrap the sensations around my mind, shielding myself from grief.
"Shut up, Lucas. We can put them back in when she stops cooperating."
My body starts to heal, albeit very slowly and not without problems. Every time I think the pain receptors must be dead, a new wash of agony shoots through the damaged flesh, proving me wrong.
"Tell me, Alexandria, or I'll let Lucas put the needles back in."
Bitch is enjoying this way too much. "Mikov was my maker," I say through gritted teeth.
"When were you turned?" Cora asks, leaning down to my ear.
The physical pain recedes, allowing the crushing loss of Rafe to rush in. A sob hitches in my chest and a small part of me wishes the needles were back inside so I could focus on the pain instead. The black depth inside my soul reaches up to smother the memory of my love, attempting to save me with the peaceful oblivion of the dark acts of my past.
Kill or be killed. Blood and more blood. Lust and sex.
The monster needs no emotions, just action. Slice, suck, drain to death... laughing all the while. A mindless beast, a pure killing machine... the dark beauty of my prior actions entices me to give up... to give in. No more pain, simply surrender to the black hole no amount of blood can ever fill.
No more love, no more loss.
Cora screams, "Tell me! When were you turned?"
I don't care if she knows, but now I need the pain of the silver to hold the devil inside me at bay. If I succumb and accept the darkness I will lose everything I value-I will lose my memories of Rafe and the love we shared. I will lose myself in the evil I will become. How much of the pain can I take? Will my mind shut down before they decide to kill me?
"Fuck off, bitch," I say, decision made.
Her face mottles with rage, and she stabs me, plunging the silver dagger into my shoulder, then withdrawing the blade in one quick strike. Fire sears through my blood, racing toward my heart, causing the organ to skip its slow steady beat.
"Cora!" Lucas yells, stopping the psycho vampire from sinking the knife again. "What difference can it make when she was turned?"
"I knew of Mikov." Cora replies, anger and speculation in her tone. "He died with his whole seethe in a farmhouse in England."
"So?"
"If his whole seethe died, why wasn't she with him?"
I wrap the pain of the recent wound around the tattered remains of my mind, pushing the black abyss away one more time. I'm ready to die, but I'll never be ready to lose what remains of my humanity ever again.
"Stay focused, Coraline. More important than where she was or when she was turned-can we use her power? Can she reveal more of their plans?" Lucas walks away, his steps across the tile floor sounding measured and precise in the sterile room. "Does she know about the others, or do we know more than she does?"
"She's too old not to know what's going on."
I don't know what the hell they're talking about, nor do I care. A conspiracy of manipulators? If I had the strength to laugh, I would. This whole witch-hunt against me was to find out what I knew about something I had no idea even existed. Fat chance they'll believe me now.
A familiar voice calls from a far end of the room. "From what we've uncovered, she's isolated herself from our kind most of her life. She could very well know nothing."
What the hell is he doing here? Has that smooth-talking bastard tricked me all these years? I shake my head slightly at my own foolishness. Ah... what difference does it make? I know nothing they need and with any luck I'll be dead soon and joining my husband.
Steps sound across the tile, bringing the traitor next to Cora. "Most helpful would be the names of all those she's turned over the years."
Cora's breath pulls in sharply. "You mean she could have produced more manipulators?"
A mad bubble of hysteria blossoms in my chest, only the muted burn of the stab wound keeping it locked inside. Me? Turn other manipulators? God, wouldn't that be a hoot? Paul's the only one I'd ever seen who exhibited illusionary skills in over four hundred years.
An unwelcome thought pushes to the forefront of my mind. But then again, you never kept the others around very long, did you?
An image of Paul flashes across my brain. What about Paul and his disappearing trick in the hangar with Emiko? A small spark penetrates my foggy desperation craving death. Must not reveal Paul. Whether his skills will develop into mine or not is still unknown, but there's no way I'm pointing these jackals his way if I can help it. At least if I die here he'll be protected.
"You never know. She could have," he answers.
Considering I've forgotten almost as much of my life as I can recall, I'm not worried about revealing names to my tormentors. In my current mental state I can't even remember the last five I turned who lived past three months old-except for Cy. There was a stretch of time I changed one every decade or so, but that was centuries in the past. Surely, if any of them were alive I would have run into them by now.
Not unless they remained hidden, like you did.
Content I have enough fortitude to not throw my offspring to these wolves, I relax, embracing the last of the healing pain as the stab wound in my shoulder finally closes. The best I can hope for is a quick death or a pain filled existence until I do expire. Anything less would end me as I am. I need to stay alert, too. My mind won't hold onto the agony when I'm unconscious, leaving my subconscious vulnerable to attack to my monster within.
Can I provoke them into killing me? That would be far easier. If I let the emotional loss in, my vampiric self-preservation could overcome my weakened mental state and block out everything good I've ever done in my life.
Every kiss, every caress, every life I saved... all of it will be gone. When they kill me, I'll be like all those mindless rogues I hunted years ago-how will I be reunited with Rafe then?
My head drifts back against the cold metal of the table. Darkness seeps in around the edges and for once in the past few hours it's not the pull of madness but of oblivion. No! I can't let go yet!
The suave, smooth voice cuts across the void, sounding like it's coming from deep in a tunnel. "I think she's had enough for now, Cora. Let's start again in a few hours."
As consciousness slips from my grasp, the dark abyss rushes in to claim me.