Page 125 of Of Shadows and Blood

His hesitation is evident but he finally leaves me be.

Hours pass since our last exchange and I feel the tension just as present as when I first awoke.

I’m somewhere I don’t necessarily want to be.

I still don’t know who I am. Where I fit in this world.

And I left any resemblance of comfort and companionship behind days ago. Lee’s final words have left me uneasy.

As I finish the last page of this short novel, a repurposed story about Byron, another god in the pantheon, I hear arguing outside the library’s doors. Deftly, I place the book down and reach for my dagger when the doors fly open. Sawyer and Killian enter and from what I can see over the sofa’s edge, it’s heated.

“Keep your voice down.” Sawyer crosses his arms. I try not to breathe, not to move an inch. Surely, he knows I am in here.

Killian kicks a bin of discarded paper across the space. The copper clangs off a solid study table before rolling into my section. “You don’t give me orders.”

“Like hell I do. You are in my territory now. Act like it.” Sawyer walks over to a window and pulls the curtain to the side briefly. Past midday now, the sun beams directly into the window.

Killian laughs maniacally. “The only territory you have, indeed, but not for long. Duresden awaits.”

“They can keep waiting.”

“Don’t tempt fate. You’ve already made too many mistakes. I am simply here to see it through.” He walks closer to the sitting area but his back is turned to me. Any movement will give me away. My throat catches but I refuse to cough. Frozen in fear, I am a statue.

The curtain closes, any daylight fading with it. Sawyer walks around the room, his boots clearly pacing further away from me. Killian follows. “We can speed things up, you’re just an imbecile.”

The doors re-open and I see Sawyer pause at the doorway before he leaves, Killian on his heels. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t acknowledge me.

But I know he came in here for a reason.

Urgency runs through me. I know my strength. I’ve been drinking blood every two mornings so I am more than ready for flight.

I have to leave. Now. Not tomorrow. Not when the ports open.

Now.

I leap from the couch after a few minutes and race up the solid mahogany stairs. Lightly clicking the door into place, I reach under the bed for the pack I hastily threw together last night. It was more for necessity and logic for the journey ahead, but now…

Clothes, a couple of stolen knives, expensive antiquities I pilfered from my room in Demis. Easy to carry and sell. All of it weighs little but I still make room by ditching a beaded formal gown.

I need to be unrecognizable.

He is mixed up in something I cannot wait around for. Next week will come whether I am here or hidden at the ports. I can barter the stolen items for coin and buy a room at an inn. There is no helplessness here.

With sheer will pushing me to act, if not fear for what is coming, I run to the notch in the fireplace and feel for the lever, that small click of freedom ringing as I push the panel back. The stairs find my feet as that immortal power thrums in my bones to find an exit. For weeks now, my strength has been finding me. All of my training may have failed to blossom raw cess power but the body I have been blessed with is strong and resonates the primal instinct to survive.

No one is following me, but I know, deep down, that cannot last for long.

Landing swiftly on the gravel of the catacombs beneath Orvynn, I turn behind to ensure my trail is empty. Waiting, listening and willing those vampyr senses to do their job, I strain for any inkling my absence has been noticed.

Water drips onto the stones. A slight breeze whirls through the tunnels. Sounds which prompt me to make a decision. The chamber I am in forks and I almost snort at the irony of the choice I have to make. As if this couldn’t be any more cliché.

Go left, go right. The obvious mystery lies in which tunnel will lead me to freedom. Whatever that may look like for me right now.

I step forward, aware of the gravel crunching beneath my slippers. Even more aware of how ill-dressed I am for a grand escape. The left tunnel looks to be in better shape while the right seems to have given in to the wetness of the elements. Stepping more into the darkness, I breathe in the scent of the tunnel. The moment it hits me, I recoil and hold back the urge to vomit.

Corpses. The left tunnel smells as though rot has overwhelmed every ounce of space within it. I shudder and turn to step to the right tunnel, aware of the puddles. If the left tunnel contains that much rot – death – something innate whispers in my ear to which I shudder, then nothing is safe down here.

Inch by inch I slide along the dim wall, trying to pick up my pace. Muffled shouting sounds behind me. The maids, on their hourly checks, have discovered my flight. I turn over my shoulder to chance a glace up the stairs at the secret door that granted me a swift escape. Backing up five steps, I quiet my movement and squint through the darkness, grateful once again for the vampyr blood coursing through my veins.