Chapter 204: 204
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And now you direct that illusion at my wife? Disgusting," Soren spits, at last withdrawing his hand to stand between us. Magic continues to coil around us in a stream of bloody shards, a whirlwind of red rising up around us like a symbol of death. Soren is livid, there is no two ways about it, but by the looks of things, Azrael has no intention of receding his power any time soon.
"I did what I had to do," Azrael shrugs simply, his voice dripping with a glaring nonchalance. "I needed blood for an illusion, and I didn't want to die. As if you would do any differently."
Gritting his teeth, Soren clenches and unclenches his fingers into a ball, the effort to remain calm straining in the bulge of muscles in his jaw, his arms, turning him rigid with tension. If it weren't for the knife at my throat, I would have attempted to soothe him. But now such an action looks like a one way trip to death.
His eyes rolling back, Soren clutches his head, the magic around him flaring with a chilling darkness that sucks out my breath.
"I could slap you right now, Azrael, but there is a child in the room so I shall refrain from doing so," he says, drawing in his hands before running his fingers through his hair, exasperated. It is obvious by now that he is too wary to try anything dangerous, mostly due to the forfeit of my life on the line, and his blatant mistrust for his brother.
In response to the chaos, Dawn only huddles closer next to Kal, her little face pale, eyes wide as she trembles against the shadows. To her, Soren must undoubtedly seem like a monster. After all, he was the one who was going execute her in front of hundreds for no other reason than because he wanted it so. To an angel, he is a monster, a tyrant, a blood sucking hedonist who enjoys nothing more than swiping the life from any innocent soul they can come across and wiping their mouths with the remains. He could kill her in an instant, quicker than a bug being squashed by an elephant- it is a terror that I used to share once too. But then I realise the fear in Dawn's eyes is not directed at Soren. It's directed at me.
But before I have any time to linger on this fact, Azrael's sneer calls back my attention.
"Besides, its not like Delina didn't know what I needed to do," Azrael retorts. "She gave me her blood to create an illusion so that I would have a chance at freedom, she understood my visions, unlike you fools."
"Liar," Kal hisses from across the room, spitting onto the ground with a fervent distaste. "You addled her mind like it was some sick, twisted game. You think she passed out on the floor willingly?"
Azrael only snickers, his dark eyes gleaming.
"Delina trusts me to do what is best for the world- she offered up her blood to me to grant me the opportunity for freedom- and it is an opportunity I will not expend unwisely."
All at once his eyes are fixed on me, the crimson opals drilling into my soul as he strains to reach across the room, fuming silently against the bonds that still ground him in place. I can feel his willpower continuing to tug at my insides, insistent and rough, never stopping to take a break. With each second that passes between us, I can feel him tug harder and harder, sending my head whirling: just a constant reminder of his entrapment niggling away at my soul.
A cruel smile splays across his lips.
"Serena," he coo's, lowering his eyes now. Besides me, Soren growls under his breath, a low, wolfish snarl ripping from his throat. But gingerly, I raise my hand, lulling his anger to a simmering quiet. I need to speak to Azrael.
"What do you want, Azrael?"
His smile only widens.
"Let me go, Serena, and your life will be spared, I promise. The lives of your friends too, if Soren promises to unglamour me and remove this stake," he smiles, gesturing down to the shard that is embedded deep within his chest. I narrow my eyes as a cruel, wide smile beams on his features, dripping with the falsities of his promise and the sweet and honeyed compulsion of a vampire's voice.
He has not tried to glamour me, of course. There would be no use. With two vampires in the room- three if we are counting Delina, who is currently sprawled on the floor, out cold, there would be no use in formulating a glamour on me. It would be utterly pointless. One could counteract the other, and it would be an endless loop of who has the most powerful charm. And by the exasperated expression etched into Azrael's features, I would hazard a guess that it would not be him taking that prize home today.
Before I can give him an answer, Soren cuts me off.
"She will do no such thing, and neither will I, brother," Soren growls, his claw like fingers circling Azrael's neck in wide, leaping arches, as though debating on where best to draw a line. He muses over this for a moment: which would be the most efficient spot to carve his mark into, to let the ruby blood of his treacherous brother drain onto the stony floor without a second glance. Azrael winces slightly as Soren's fingers press indents into his neck, as though sensing this thought.
Underneath the façade of nonchalance, Azrael's throat working with the effort to swallow, the pressure against his skin causing his eyes to bulge slightly, but not enough that his gaze slips from mine.
"Are you sure you want to deny me Soren?" Azrael asks once more, and all at once I feel the knife press further into my neck. A choking noise rises from my throat causing Soren to jolt with alarm.
"Wait," he calls, desperation lacing the edges of his voice. With a deliberately slow movement, he makes his way around to face Azrael, his face grim with regret. "Fine," he spits, causing Kal to cry out with alarm. "I release you from your glamour. But do not harm her. Please."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Azrael chuckles, his eyes glowing a deep ruby red as his gaze returns to me. There is something predatory in the way he looks at me then, animalistic, hungry, that makes my body shiver with disgust.
"And you, Serena? I promise if you let me go, I will leave quietly."
To this, I almost scoff.
As if that promise means anything. Azrael won't settle with leaving quietly, he never does. He will come after our souls at one point or another, from here it is only a matter of time.
Behind me, a tiny, frail voice calls out in my head.
I am ready. Do what you must.
Relief floods through my system like a waterfall into a river. Thank the heavens, I have Ithuriel's magic to help me.
And so I grin, a long, devilish grin as I feel heat and flames coil in my stomach, brewing with an alarming speed as it washes through my veins, heating my face with a flushed and ruby glow.
Looking Azrael directly in the eyes, I ask:
"And if I don't? If I don't let you go- what then?"
For a moment, Azrael throws me his characteristic smirk, but then a second later, it falls from his face. Very quickly it is replaced by a look of sheer and utter puzzlement as he watches what I do next.
Ducking down, I shimmy my way under the frozen illusion, trying to ignore the nick of the knife brushing past the side of my head. Turning round to stare at Ithuriel's handiwork, I notice the same look of bewilderment playing on its features- a perfect copy of Azrael, from the floaty white hair, right down to the deep set frown in those red lips, lips who have tasted the raw iron tang of blood almost as many times as kisses.
Only there is one thing off about the whole thing. This illusion is in perfect condition- its face not etched with the fine speckled scars of silver, or the red, raw markings of flames that the one that stares at me flabbergasted across the room boasts. And I realise in that second that that is how he still sees himself- a perfect specimen, flawless and unaltered by the brutal ways of the world, but in reality, he is damaged and broken. Just like the scar on his chest, and the newly forming ones on his face. Perhaps Azrael is merely blind to the truth. Blind or ignorant.
"I-" he stutters, before being choked off by Soren, whose clawed fingers prick at his neck. Swirling blood magic darting around Azrael in swarms of minute shards, threatening to impale him at any minute if Soren so saw fit.
Despite everything, from across the room, Soren gives me a wink, his eyes glittering with pride.
"Woodfoxes magic is very strong you know," I say, stepping aside to reveal the tiny white woodfox that stationed himself behind me, his legs braced, antenna glowing with a bright white radiance that is enough to send sparks of white and rainbow light dancing around the darkened room....
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And now you direct that illusion at my wife? Disgusting," Soren spits, at last withdrawing his hand to stand between us. Magic continues to coil around us in a stream of bloody shards, a whirlwind of red rising up around us like a symbol of death. Soren is livid, there is no two ways about it, but by the looks of things, Azrael has no intention of receding his power any time soon.
"I did what I had to do," Azrael shrugs simply, his voice dripping with a glaring nonchalance. "I needed blood for an illusion, and I didn't want to die. As if you would do any differently."
Gritting his teeth, Soren clenches and unclenches his fingers into a ball, the effort to remain calm straining in the bulge of muscles in his jaw, his arms, turning him rigid with tension. If it weren't for the knife at my throat, I would have attempted to soothe him. But now such an action looks like a one way trip to death.
His eyes rolling back, Soren clutches his head, the magic around him flaring with a chilling darkness that sucks out my breath.
"I could slap you right now, Azrael, but there is a child in the room so I shall refrain from doing so," he says, drawing in his hands before running his fingers through his hair, exasperated. It is obvious by now that he is too wary to try anything dangerous, mostly due to the forfeit of my life on the line, and his blatant mistrust for his brother.
In response to the chaos, Dawn only huddles closer next to Kal, her little face pale, eyes wide as she trembles against the shadows. To her, Soren must undoubtedly seem like a monster. After all, he was the one who was going execute her in front of hundreds for no other reason than because he wanted it so. To an angel, he is a monster, a tyrant, a blood sucking hedonist who enjoys nothing more than swiping the life from any innocent soul they can come across and wiping their mouths with the remains. He could kill her in an instant, quicker than a bug being squashed by an elephant- it is a terror that I used to share once too. But then I realise the fear in Dawn's eyes is not directed at Soren. It's directed at me.
But before I have any time to linger on this fact, Azrael's sneer calls back my attention.
"Besides, its not like Delina didn't know what I needed to do," Azrael retorts. "She gave me her blood to create an illusion so that I would have a chance at freedom, she understood my visions, unlike you fools."
"Liar," Kal hisses from across the room, spitting onto the ground with a fervent distaste. "You addled her mind like it was some sick, twisted game. You think she passed out on the floor willingly?"
Azrael only snickers, his dark eyes gleaming.
"Delina trusts me to do what is best for the world- she offered up her blood to me to grant me the opportunity for freedom- and it is an opportunity I will not expend unwisely."
All at once his eyes are fixed on me, the crimson opals drilling into my soul as he strains to reach across the room, fuming silently against the bonds that still ground him in place. I can feel his willpower continuing to tug at my insides, insistent and rough, never stopping to take a break. With each second that passes between us, I can feel him tug harder and harder, sending my head whirling: just a constant reminder of his entrapment niggling away at my soul.
A cruel smile splays across his lips.
"Serena," he coo's, lowering his eyes now. Besides me, Soren growls under his breath, a low, wolfish snarl ripping from his throat. But gingerly, I raise my hand, lulling his anger to a simmering quiet. I need to speak to Azrael.
"What do you want, Azrael?"
His smile only widens.
"Let me go, Serena, and your life will be spared, I promise. The lives of your friends too, if Soren promises to unglamour me and remove this stake," he smiles, gesturing down to the shard that is embedded deep within his chest. I narrow my eyes as a cruel, wide smile beams on his features, dripping with the falsities of his promise and the sweet and honeyed compulsion of a vampire's voice.
He has not tried to glamour me, of course. There would be no use. With two vampires in the room- three if we are counting Delina, who is currently sprawled on the floor, out cold, there would be no use in formulating a glamour on me. It would be utterly pointless. One could counteract the other, and it would be an endless loop of who has the most powerful charm. And by the exasperated expression etched into Azrael's features, I would hazard a guess that it would not be him taking that prize home today.
Before I can give him an answer, Soren cuts me off.
"She will do no such thing, and neither will I, brother," Soren growls, his claw like fingers circling Azrael's neck in wide, leaping arches, as though debating on where best to draw a line. He muses over this for a moment: which would be the most efficient spot to carve his mark into, to let the ruby blood of his treacherous brother drain onto the stony floor without a second glance. Azrael winces slightly as Soren's fingers press indents into his neck, as though sensing this thought.
Underneath the façade of nonchalance, Azrael's throat working with the effort to swallow, the pressure against his skin causing his eyes to bulge slightly, but not enough that his gaze slips from mine.
"Are you sure you want to deny me Soren?" Azrael asks once more, and all at once I feel the knife press further into my neck. A choking noise rises from my throat causing Soren to jolt with alarm.
"Wait," he calls, desperation lacing the edges of his voice. With a deliberately slow movement, he makes his way around to face Azrael, his face grim with regret. "Fine," he spits, causing Kal to cry out with alarm. "I release you from your glamour. But do not harm her. Please."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Azrael chuckles, his eyes glowing a deep ruby red as his gaze returns to me. There is something predatory in the way he looks at me then, animalistic, hungry, that makes my body shiver with disgust.
"And you, Serena? I promise if you let me go, I will leave quietly."
To this, I almost scoff.
As if that promise means anything. Azrael won't settle with leaving quietly, he never does. He will come after our souls at one point or another, from here it is only a matter of time.
Behind me, a tiny, frail voice calls out in my head.
I am ready. Do what you must.
Relief floods through my system like a waterfall into a river. Thank the heavens, I have Ithuriel's magic to help me.
And so I grin, a long, devilish grin as I feel heat and flames coil in my stomach, brewing with an alarming speed as it washes through my veins, heating my face with a flushed and ruby glow.
Looking Azrael directly in the eyes, I ask:
"And if I don't? If I don't let you go- what then?"
For a moment, Azrael throws me his characteristic smirk, but then a second later, it falls from his face. Very quickly it is replaced by a look of sheer and utter puzzlement as he watches what I do next.
Ducking down, I shimmy my way under the frozen illusion, trying to ignore the nick of the knife brushing past the side of my head. Turning round to stare at Ithuriel's handiwork, I notice the same look of bewilderment playing on its features- a perfect copy of Azrael, from the floaty white hair, right down to the deep set frown in those red lips, lips who have tasted the raw iron tang of blood almost as many times as kisses.
Only there is one thing off about the whole thing. This illusion is in perfect condition- its face not etched with the fine speckled scars of silver, or the red, raw markings of flames that the one that stares at me flabbergasted across the room boasts. And I realise in that second that that is how he still sees himself- a perfect specimen, flawless and unaltered by the brutal ways of the world, but in reality, he is damaged and broken. Just like the scar on his chest, and the newly forming ones on his face. Perhaps Azrael is merely blind to the truth. Blind or ignorant.
"I-" he stutters, before being choked off by Soren, whose clawed fingers prick at his neck. Swirling blood magic darting around Azrael in swarms of minute shards, threatening to impale him at any minute if Soren so saw fit.
Despite everything, from across the room, Soren gives me a wink, his eyes glittering with pride.
"Woodfoxes magic is very strong you know," I say, stepping aside to reveal the tiny white woodfox that stationed himself behind me, his legs braced, antenna glowing with a bright white radiance that is enough to send sparks of white and rainbow light dancing around the darkened room....
And now you direct that illusion at my wife? Disgusting," Soren spits, at last withdrawing his hand to stand between us. Magic continues to coil around us in a stream of bloody shards, a whirlwind of red rising up around us like a symbol of death. Soren is livid, there is no two ways about it, but by the looks of things, Azrael has no intention of receding his power any time soon."I did what I had to do," Azrael shrugs simply, his voice dripping with a glaring nonchalance. "I needed blood for an illusion, and I didn't want to die. As if you would do any differently."Gritting his teeth, Soren clenches and unclenches his fingers into a ball, the effort to remain calm straining in the bulge of muscles in his jaw, his arms, turning him rigid with tension. If it weren't for the knife at my throat, I would have attempted to soothe him. But now such an action looks like a one way trip to death.His eyes rolling back, Soren clutches his head, the magic around him flaring with a chilling darkness that sucks out my breath."I could slap you right now, Azrael, but there is a child in the room so I shall refrain from doing so," he says, drawing in his hands before running his fingers through his hair, exasperated. It is obvious by now that he is too wary to try anything dangerous, mostly due to the forfeit of my life on the line, and his blatant mistrust for his brother.In response to the chaos, Dawn only huddles closer next to Kal, her little face pale, eyes wide as she trembles against the shadows. To her, Soren must undoubtedly seem like a monster. After all, he was the one who was going execute her in front of hundreds for no other reason than because he wanted it so. To an angel, he is a monster, a tyrant, a blood sucking hedonist who enjoys nothing more than swiping the life from any innocent soul they can come across and wiping their mouths with the remains. He could kill her in an instant, quicker than a bug being squashed by an elephant- it is a terror that I used to share once too. But then I realise the fear in Dawn's eyes is not directed at Soren. It's directed at me.But before I have any time to linger on this fact, Azrael's sneer calls back my attention."Besides, its not like Delina didn't know what I needed to do," Azrael retorts. "She gave me her blood to create an illusion so that I would have a chance at freedom, she understood my visions, unlike you fools.""Liar," Kal hisses from across the room, spitting onto the ground with a fervent distaste. "You addled her mind like it was some sick, twisted game. You think she passed out on the floor willingly?"Azrael only snickers, his dark eyes gleaming."Delina trusts me to do what is best for the world- she offered up her blood to me to grant me the opportunity for freedom- and it is an opportunity I will not expend unwisely."All at once his eyes are fixed on me, the crimson opals drilling into my soul as he strains to reach across the room, fuming silently against the bonds that still ground him in place. I can feel his willpower continuing to tug at my insides, insistent and rough, never stopping to take a break. With each second that passes between us, I can feel him tug harder and harder, sending my head whirling: just a constant reminder of his entrapment niggling away at my soul.A cruel smile splays across his lips."Serena," he coo's, lowering his eyes now. Besides me, Soren growls under his breath, a low, wolfish snarl ripping from his throat. But gingerly, I raise my hand, lulling his anger to a simmering quiet. I need to speak to Azrael."What do you want, Azrael?"His smile only widens."Let me go, Serena, and your life will be spared, I promise. The lives of your friends too, if Soren promises to unglamour me and remove this stake," he smiles, gesturing down to the shard that is embedded deep within his chest. I narrow my eyes as a cruel, wide smile beams on his features, dripping with the falsities of his promise and the sweet and honeyed compulsion of a vampire's voice. He has not tried to glamour me, of course. There would be no use. With two vampires in the room- three if we are counting Delina, who is currently sprawled on the floor, out cold, there would be no use in formulating a glamour on me. It would be utterly pointless. One could counteract the other, and it would be an endless loop of who has the most powerful charm. And by the exasperated expression etched into Azrael's features, I would hazard a guess that it would not be him taking that prize home today.Before I can give him an answer, Soren cuts me off."She will do no such thing, and neither will I, brother," Soren growls, his claw like fingers circling Azrael's neck in wide, leaping arches, as though debating on where best to draw a line. He muses over this for a moment: which would be the most efficient spot to carve his mark into, to let the ruby blood of his treacherous brother drain onto the stony floor without a second glance. Azrael winces slightly as Soren's fingers press indents into his neck, as though sensing this thought. Underneath the faade of nonchalance, Azrael's throat working with the effort to swallow, the pressure against his skin causing his eyes to bulge slightly, but not enough that his gaze slips from mine. "Are you sure you want to deny me Soren?" Azrael asks once more, and all at once I feel the knife press further into my neck. A choking noise rises from my throat causing Soren to jolt with alarm."Wait," he calls, desperation lacing the edges of his voice. With a deliberately slow movement, he makes his way around to face Azrael, his face grim with regret. "Fine," he spits, causing Kal to cry out with alarm. "I release you from your glamour. But do not harm her. Please.""I wouldn't dream of it," Azrael chuckles, his eyes glowing a deep ruby red as his gaze returns to me. There is something predatory in the way he looks at me then, animalistic, hungry, that makes my body shiver with disgust."And you, Serena? I promise if you let me go, I will leave quietly."To this, I almost scoff.As if that promise means anything. Azrael won't settle with leaving quietly, he never does. He will come after our souls at one point or another, from here it is only a matter of time.Behind me, a tiny, frail voice calls out in my head.I am ready. Do what you must.Relief floods through my system like a waterfall into a river. Thank the heavens, I have Ithuriel's magic to help me.And so I grin, a long, devilish grin as I feel heat and flames coil in my stomach, brewing with an alarming speed as it washes through my veins, heating my face with a flushed and ruby glow. Looking Azrael directly in the eyes, I ask:"And if I don't? If I don't let you go- what then?"For a moment, Azrael throws me his characteristic smirk, but then a second later, it falls from his face. Very quickly it is replaced by a look of sheer and utter puzzlement as he watches what I do next.Ducking down, I shimmy my way under the frozen illusion, trying to ignore the nick of the knife brushing past the side of my head. Turning round to stare at Ithuriel's handiwork, I notice the same look of bewilderment playing on its features- a perfect copy of Azrael, from the floaty white hair, right down to the deep set frown in those red lips, lips who have tasted the raw iron tang of blood almost as many times as kisses. Only there is one thing off about the whole thing. This illusion is in perfect condition- its face not etched with the fine speckled scars of silver, or the red, raw markings of flames that the one that stares at me flabbergasted across the room boasts. And I realise in that second that that is how he still sees himself- a perfect specimen, flawless and unaltered by the brutal ways of the world, but in reality, he is damaged and broken. Just like the scar on his chest, and the newly forming ones on his face. Perhaps Azrael is merely blind to the truth. Blind or ignorant."I-" he stutters, before being choked off by Soren, whose clawed fingers prick at his neck. Swirling blood magic darting around Azrael in swarms of minute shards, threatening to impale him at any minute if Soren so saw fit.Despite everything, from across the room, Soren gives me a wink, his eyes glittering with pride."Woodfoxes magic is very strong you know," I say, stepping aside to reveal the tiny white woodfox that stationed himself behind me, his legs braced, antenna glowing with a bright white radiance that is enough to send sparks of white and rainbow light dancing around the darkened room....
