Chapter 443
She was conscious of pain; white hot flames burning through her skin. Then came the nausea, and finally the terror. She opened her eyes to see the yellow tiled room. She was still strapped to the table. Braydon sat in a chair at the far end, his legs and arms crossed. She tried to come to terms with where she was. Not in Claudius' basement, but Malick's. Yes. Malick had taken her.
"You're awake."
She focused on the sound of Braydon's voice and found him looking at her with an unsettled expression. "Please," she gasped desperately. He hadn't actually hurt her yet. Maybe he wasn't as bad as the others.
Sympathy flashed in his eyes then disappeared. "I need to notify the master."
"No," she begged. "Please. Just let me go. His plan"she took a shuddering breath."It won't work. Samael won't come. He doesn't care. He doesn't want to fight Malick. Please."
Braydon seemed to waver, then his voice grew firmer. "I need to notify the master."
"Please." Tears ran down her cheeks as he hurried from the room.
She pulled at her bonds. The pain was excruciating, so she fell still and sobbed. She said a silent prayer, begging God to make it end.
Like before, she felt Malick's presence before he entered. Harn followed, zipping his coveralls, and moved back to the table of shiny instruments. Malick stopped next to the bed to peer at her.
"Braydon did well to resist you. Though his loyalty wavered, in the end he passed his test. Even if we are unable to reach Samael, I should thank you for enabling that little experiment."
He gave her a kind smile, then moved back to his chair. "Breaking bones did not rouse Samael's interest. Let us see if a little blood cannot attract him."
Harn shrugged and selected something that looked like a metal hand, four fingers splayed out and tipped in gleaming razor blades. Katelina whimpered. She knew what came next. First they'd rip her clothes off to leave her naked, vulnerable, then they'd slice through her flesh.
"No, child. This is no tawdry display. You can keep your clothing. This device can cut through both."
Harn drew the instrument across her shoulder. The blades sliced painlessly through her shirt. He swiped with it again and again. As he moved lower down her arm the pain started, like tiny trails of fire crisscrossing one another. She crooked her neck to see blood blossoming on her shirt. It soaked into the fibers in a checkerboard pattern of crimson.
He moved to her broken forearm and her sobs turned into strangled screams. He finished and started for her torso when Malick held up his hand. The ancient master dived into her mind, bringing up another night, another fight. She hung from a hook and a vampire jammed a knife into her gut and sneered. "Scream for 'im."
"Yes," Malick's voice whispered through her mind. "Call for Samael. Beg him to save you. Use your connection."
She didn't know how to use the connection, even if she wanted to, and his prompting only made her more determined not to. She had called for Jorick that time, called him into a trap, and dragged them both into a nightmare of blood.
Harn sliced the blades across her stomach, then her thigh. He paused at her knee, and Malick prodded her mind again. He took her back to that night, left her hanging from the hook, unsure whether Jorick loved her or wanted rid of her, while her attackers argued about what to do. Then he brought her back to the present in time for Harn to slice her broken shin. The room swam. She had a glimpse of blood rising to the surface of her jeans before she passed out.
She woke quickly, and Harn continued. The room blacked in and out as he worked his way over her, pausing now and then to let Malick into her mind. The assault became a constant smear of past, present, and future and she didn't know what was real and what was nightmare. Clips of previous fights, faces of the dead, moments that she didn't think had happened, but now seemed real. Clutching flowers and crying, she stood before a grave emblazoned with the symbol of the Executioners. Verchiel was dead. Jorick had abandoned her in his jealousy at her pain. "If you care about Verchiel so much, then follow him." She was alone in the rain, wishing she had listened to Samael; that she had taken him up on his offer.
"You can go back. Call to him."
If only she knew how.
Her throat was hoarse from screaming when they finally stopped. "That should give Samael a taste." Malick shuffled through her thoughts, seeking something, perhaps her connection with the ancient. "Though it has not been enough to stir his interest. Perhaps we will try removing limbs tomorrow instead of merely breaking them? In the meantime, have someone return her to the guest room." He gave Katelina a serene smile. "Until tomorrow, child. I hope that you will reflect on your cooperation, and whether you might be better served to do as I ask?"
Before she could choke out a reply, he swept from the room in a swirl of crimson robes.
With his exit she sank into darkness. When she pulled back, the world was still a smear of horror. The past crouched close to the surface and she couldn't tell if she was in Malick's oasis or Munich's dungeon. Yes. Jorick had abandoned her and Munich had taken her for experiments. But the room wasn't right.
Harn unfastened her bonds as Braydon and a dark male came through the door.
"She can't walk." Harn turned to cleaning his instrument. "Her legs are broken, so you'll have to carry her."
They nodded their answer and Braydon scooped her up. Tears coursed down her cheeks and she tried desperately to place the vampire carrying her. Had she seen him in Claudius' basement earlier? Was he working with Kateesha? Was he one of the Scharfrichter?
The dark male unlocked the door to a cell and peered inside. It was empty, but wrong. It should be a cage; a rusty cage, shouldn't it? She was sure she'd been in one moments ago. Where was she now? Who were these vampires?
The questions disappeared when Braydon carried her inside and laid her on the floor. She moaned and met his eyes, but he rushed out before she could say anything.
The darkness swam around her. She snatched at threads of so-called reality. The grave leapt into her thoughts again. Verchiel. He'd died protecting her, and Jorick had-Where was Jorick? Had he really left her? Had he let Munich take her? Was that where she was?
At last oblivion came. A dream drifted over her, like flower petals. She found herself under a pagoda, near the lake at Samael's complex. She turned sharply to see him standing near her, his face smooth and unreadable.
He reached for her and she pulled away. Her anger burned brighter than the peace around her. "Where were you?"
"To give one such as him satisfaction would not end your ordeal, only fuel his zeal. As it is, he wonders if his efforts were wasted. If he knew he was successful do you believe he would return you to your cell to heal? No, he would continue torturing you, until there was nothing left but a shell. Hush now."
The tranquility grew until it overpowered her fury and she let him pull her into an embrace. It was comforting. Not like the embrace of a lover, rather a father or brother. His peace flowed into her, chasing away the last of her sorrow and she closed her eyes. "I can't take another day."
"You do not need to. Others come for you, led by the one you call your lover." She drew back, delight on her lips. He hushed her again. "Your waking mind is broken. You must seal away the memories of what has been done if you want to be whole when he arrives."
She didn't understand. "How?"
"Behind a door, much like Malick used. But you must lock it so that it can never be opened. To let it out would destroy you."
"I don't know how."
"Your subconscious does. Just as it knows how to force others away when you are scared. It is of no consequence. Later you will learn to use these things at will. For now I will help you. Sleep in peace, the sleep of the dreamless."
She wanted to clutch his robes and refuse to go back to the tiny cell, but the dream evaporated, and she was swept away on tides of black.
