Chapter 72 : Philomena
To Bleed an Empire
Philomena stared at the waves crashing against the desolate landscape of the Shipshields. The dramatic cliffs spread over miles of jagged rocks on Haldom’s eastern coast. The wind whipped violently at the Crows’ cloaks as the coach they’d taken after the long train ride disappeared behind a hill.
Thomas stood next to her, his stare far away. Philomena took hold of his arm and leaned against him. “He’ll be fine. He’s got Auntie Nettie and Viktor. Frankly, between the two of them, I think they could scare any menace away.”
A little laugh escaped Thomas, which lightened Philomena’s heart. “I honestly thought I was too tall for her to pull on my ear. I guess it’s what I deserve for forgetting to call on her after the nest burned down. And don’t forget Gadget, I think he’d put himself between Theo and danger in a heartbeat.”
“I think so too,” Philomena said with a smile.
“Are you not jealous? He’s your cat, after all.”
“I think cats do their best to hide it, but they always know who needs their help the most,” Philomena replied. They both stared at the waves for a moment more. “So, I don’t want to sound like an idiot, but… This doesn’t exactly scream ‘adequate meeting place for the vampyr elite’...”
“You’ll see,” Thomas said cryptically. Philomena frowned, which only made him chuckle.
“Are we ready?” Leander asked, appearing on Philomena’s other side.
“I love this part,” Elsbeth said, joining them on the edge of the cliff with Václav and Agneszka.
“What do you -” Philomena started before Leander and Thomas linked her arms with theirs and hurtled forward until the ground disappeared and they were plummeting freely towards the black waves and rock spires, their cloaks fluttering behind them. Philomena’s shriek was joined by Thomas’s mad cackling and Elsie’s delighted whooping. She did not understand how or why they seemed to be enjoying themselves when, from her vantage point, it felt like they were plunging to their watery graves.
Before they could break their spines on the jagged rocks, however, a great gust of cold air made Philomena’s cloak clack like a sail. Václav’s shadows were surrounding the Crows, then rushing past to coalesce into a dark cloud a couple of feet under them. When they hit the cloud, instead of passing through, the shadows enveloped them, slowing and cushioning their fall. She felt herself drifting forward, the shadows pushing, pulling and roiling all around. It was disorienting and bizarre, but a part of her couldn’t help but be amazed.
Her feet eventually found solid ground. Václav’s shadows parted, revealing a beach of black sand and the mouth of an enormous sea cave. Torches were lit ahead in the darkness, and Philomena could hear the din of a crowd echoing on the rocks. Thomas let her arm go, but her knees were still wobbly from her excited fright, and so she held onto Leander.
“So that’s how you manage it,” Philomena said. “I couldn’t help but think a convergence of vampyr would be conspicuous anywhere, but that’s quite the clever hiding spot.”
“Indeed. There’s a whole network of caves around the Shipshields, but most are flooded year-long with the tide. This one stays dry for just a few days around the longest night. The remoteness ensures that only vampyr manage to access it, as it is impossible to reach by boat.”
“I would not be so sure about that,” Václav said, jerking his chin toward the waters behind them. Philomena turned around. Out of a bank of mist and seaspray, the shape of a longboat emerged. Any vessel should have been dashed against the rocks by the strength of the current, and yet this one glided eerily, as if cutting through the waves. A tall figure stood at the bow, crouching with a foot on the railing. About a dozen people sat in the longboat, but none of them seemed to be rowing. The Crows watched as the skiff was deposited gently on the surf, and the man at its front jumped down upon the sand.
As his crew disembarked, the man appraised their group with inquisitive eyes. He was tall - taller even than Thomas. Curly dark brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck. His long, oval face ended in a square chin dusted with a short beard that took on reddish hues in the light of the torches. The handle of a blade peaked out from his battered leather duster. Once his burgundy eyes had traveled over the lot of them, he gave Václav a polite nod.
“House Žila, I presume. Our Fiadh has oft spoken of you.”
“Not your Fiadh yet,” Thomas grumbled, and Elsbeth elbowed him in the ribs. Václav shot him a disapproving stare before addressing the other man.
“Master Coronach. We are honored that you and your House made it all the way from Agmarath.”
“Please,” the man answered with a heavy kilaran brogue. “Call me Colm. This is but a fraction of my House, most have stayed with the fleet. Figured it might be misguided to arrive with a small army,” he said with a grin that was vaguely fox-like.
The man who would fashion himself Sire of the Gulls was clearly a clever one, Philomena thought. He’d established himself as affable, but powerful in the same breath. She would enjoy watching him plead his case to the Circle. It might distract her from her mounting anxiety.
“It is true that one needs to proceed with caution with the Circle,” Václav answered in a subtle warning. “Please, allow me to introduce my House.”
As Václav presented the Crows to Colm, each received a polite nod, which Philomena returned - unlike Thomas. The man had an easy, open manner, but the same could not be said of his crew. They stayed back with arms crossed and weighty stares, making no move to introduce themselves.
The wind suddenly shifted, and Philomena’s nose picked up something that made her look at Leander, confused. His eyes flickered between the members of Colm’s crew, before settling on a short figure in the middle of their group. The other Crows had obviously noticed the human too, because they all tensed imperceptibly.
“Shall we?” Colm said, gesturing at the mouth of the cave as if the atmosphere had not evidently shifted. Václav started to open his mouth, but Agneszka discreetly let her fingers graze his wrist.
“I doubt you knew, since this is your first gathering,” she said softly, “but we are not meant to bring any humans outside of those the Circle provides.”
Colm’s smile suddenly twisted in a sneer. “My second is no chattel,” he said darkly. “Come, an greah, introduce yourself to our new friends.”
The younger Crows exchanged incredulous looks. A Sire with a human second? Had such a thing ever been seen before? Colm’s vampyr parted, and a woman stepped forward confidently. Philomena thought she must have been somewhere into her late fourth decade or early fifth. It was a bit difficult to tell, as her face had the tanned and lined quality of someone who had spent a life out in the wind and sun. She had black, wiry hair with a startling streak of white near her temple. Her eyes were dark and cunning, and betrayed absolutely no fear at standing in the middle of so many vampyr.
“Gráinne Coronach,” she said simply, her voice low and raspy. They all waited for her to say something else, but she apparently was done talking, and simply observed the Crows, much like Colm had. Philomena wondered if they were relatives, since they shared a surname.
“Not only is Gráinne my second, she’s also my boatswain and consort,” Colm said with a fond look in the woman’s direction. Václav and Agneszka did not betray any reaction, but Elsbeth and Thomas shifted on their feet. Leander tensed beside her.
“What’s a consort?” she whispered to him. Leander cocked his head towards her, and she had to lean in to catch his words.
“A consort is the closest thing vampyr can have to a spouse. It is a title rarely bestowed, as it means total and exclusive devotion. It’s a custom dating back to the time of elders, but I’ve never heard of a vampyr having a human for consort.”
The Crows and the Gulls stared at one another, and no one was making any move to break the mounting tension. Philomena met Gráinne’s eyes, and saw something like a challenge in them.
She stepped forward, hoping she had not seized her wrong. “Pleasure to meet you, Gráinne. I’m Mina.”
She offered her hand to the Gull second, who answered her with a wide grin - amidst which shone a gold tooth. Gráinne clasped Philomena’s hand, the other woman’s strong and callused. When they stepped apart, it was like the tension had retreated with the tide. Colm shot her a wink, and some of his people ventured forward, dropping their offstandish airs.
Philomena retreated back to her ranks as more and more Gulls came to introduce themselves. Václav gave her an almost imperceptible nod, which made pride wrestle with anxiety in her insides. She reached Leander’s side, and his hand slid to the small of her back.
“Already a brilliant diplomat,” he murmured against her neck.
Philomena scoffed, although shivers ran along her spine. “That was basic politeness, not diplomacy. You all were facing each other like two packs of rabid dogs weighing their chances in a fight.”
Leander chuckled wryly. “I fear you’re not far from the truth. So much power gathered in one place does tend to make some of us more… animalistic, if we’re not careful.” To illustrate his point, his hand squeezed her backside. Her eyes widened and she swatted at him. Leander smirked at her, but more than trying to get a rise out of her, it was clear to Philomena that he wished to distract her from her fear. If Leander knew how to do one thing, it was to be distracting.
When the Gulls had finished introducing themselves, they stepped back, and Colm politely waved towards the cave’s entrance for Václav to go ahead. The gesture made his duster move to reveal what appeared to be a golden-handled saber in a brightly decorated scabbard. As they passed ahead of the Gulls - which they probably would have done anyway, as the more established House - Philomena wondered if Colm would divest himself of the weapon. It would be quite the statement to address the Circle with a blade at one’s side.
Philomena’s breath caught in her throat as they emerged from the entrance tunnel into the cave itself. The space was enormous, bigger than any temple on the Godsway. Hundreds of vampyr already filled the space, whether at ground level or in one of the many rocky ledges and alcoves that punctuated the walls. The light from the torches glinted off of tiny crystals embedded into the stalactites hanging off of the roof of the cave like frozen tears.
No one had announced their arrival, and yet dozens of heads turned to them. Some faces were neutral, some interested, and others definitely threatening. Philomena felt every stare like pinpricks. Suddenly, the excitement of the cliff jump died down, and she was left only with the reality she’d been dreading for months. Surely sensing her mounting panic, Leander took her hand in his, and started tracing soothing circles in her palm. Philomena hesitated between being pissed that he was rooting around her head, and being thankful for his grounding touch.
Václav strode forward purposefully, back ramrod-straight, and the Crows filed in after him. The gathered vampyr were dressed in every glittering fashion and color, and so House Žila cut a stark contrast in the crowd with their black velvet capes. Thistle had delivered a couple of clothes along with the corsets, and so they could once again thank the tailor for the dramatic effect they created. Philomena wondered how many of the vampyr would be sporting their creations during the gathering.
The crowd parted for Václav like a school of fish in the midst of a shark. Perhaps it was because they had bled for one another, but Philomena felt something she’d never felt before walking behind her grandsire. She felt the power there was in being feared. She straightened her back and raised her chin, some measure of pride easing her discomfort. Leander must have felt the change inside of her, because he shot her a heated look. The world was less scary when monsters walked by your side, Philomena thought.
They arrived at what looked like the center of the cave, where a lone figure clad in pure white stood on a raised platform apart from the crowd. Václav stopped at the feet of the platform, and the person on it turned barely tinted eyes on the Crow Sire. The One Who Speaks, Philomena surmised. Leander had told her the gathering was always led by the Owl Sire.
“Speaker,” Václav said, his voice much louder than usual. “I, Václav Žila of Vanguard, Sire of the Crows, have come to claim my right to stand on the Circle.”
“Be your claims heard,” The One Who Speaks replied in what felt to Philomena like a ritualised answer. Their voice was melodious and warm, and carried an unmistakable air of authority. “Pay your tithe, Pattørslayør.”
“What does that mean?” Philomena whispered to Leander as Václav knelt over a deep groove carved in the rock. She realised it traced the shape of a large circle at the center of the cave.
“It’s jothunian for sire-killer,” Leander answered. Her eyes widened, and his lip curled into a half-smile. “In his time, it could mean something more like ‘patricide’. Although it is a useful confusion to let linger.”
They looked on as Václav slid a clawed finger down the whole length of his forearm, and held it out over the groove. Philomena felt the unmistakable thrum of his power, like his blood was calling to her, but the rock seemed to absorb it greedily.
“I’m not sure it’s that much of a rumor,” Thomas chimed in in a low voice. “Jakub told me that when he was barely a century old, Václav and his sire entombed themselves in a cave of the Callisian range - that’s in north-western Ottland - and no one knows why. Václav emerged alone, and his sire was found dead in a pool of blood. Apparently, our grandsire had walked with the elders. Vampyr like that don’t just die on their own.”
“Jakub likes to tell a tall tale,” Agneszka intervened. Her tone was light, but not exactly convincing. “Anyway, few are those who dare to use the epithet in his presence.” This effectively shot down their whisperings as Václav rejoined them, his arm stitching itself closed.
“I will retire to our quarters,” he announced. “Be my eyes and ears.” The Crows nodded solemnly, and their Sire started for a huge carved staircase on the far side of the cave. As soon as he was out of hearshot, Agneszka turned to Leander.
“I’ll stay with Mina. You go and be a responsible, accessible second.”
Leander’s mouth became a tight line. “I can do that with Mina at my side.”
Agneszka sighed, and brushed a curl away from Leander’s face. “Listen to me on this one, Lewshka. On the best of times, you glare at anyone who looks at her twice, and most people tend to enjoy looking at Mina.”
Philomena bit her lip. “You do do that. We may all be able to learn more interesting things without you looking like you’re picturing colorful ways to murder your interlocutors.”
Leander let out an outraged scoff. “I’m not that obvious!”
Philomena arched an eyebrow, and Leander’s shoulders slumped. “Fair.”
She thought Leander would set off into the crowd, but he lingered before her, his eyes indecipherable. She was about to shoo him off when, quick as a cat, one of his hands darted inside of her cape to take hold of her hip, while the other reached for the nape of her neck to pull her into a devastating kiss.
Philomena melted into him, momentarily drugged by his scent and the insistence of his touch. Realisation suddenly hit her like a cold shower. He was kissing her in the middle of a room where any number of eyes could be watching! She stiffened and Leander pulled back, although with a smug grin. She understood, then. He was staking his claim. Both can play that game, she thought, hooking a finger around the clasp of his cloak to bring him forward again. She left a soft kiss at the corner of his smirk, just over the small scar.
With an equally smug grin, she pushed Leander back and he retreated into the crowd, holding her eyes a long time before turning around.
“Well, that was disgustingly adorable. Later, loves,” Thomas said. When she turned back around, he’d already disappeared, and so had Elsbeth. Agneszka’s pink gaze held a sad tenderness that made Philomena’s chest tighten.
“Please don’t look at us like we’re already gone,” she murmured.
“Oh, Mishka, I’m not. I have faith in you two. Faith in Václav. And so should you. I was just thinking that perhaps, better times are ahead.”
Philomena thought that it was a funny thing to say when they were about to be judged whether they deserved to be allowed to live, and then go on to fight a plague and a mad cult. Her train of thought was interrupted by Gráinne Coronach striding into view. The Gulls followed in her wake, shooting menacing glares at anyone glancing at their second a bit too long. Gráinne looked supremely unbothered, though, as if she were used to wading through such dangerous waters.
Philomena gave her a small wave, and Gráinne beamed and came up to her.
“You look like you’ve been vampyr for just about two moons,” the woman said without preamble. “Must explain why you’re one of the handful of remotely welcomin’ faces around.”
Philomena smiled. “That’s not very far from the truth. I’ve never been at one of these before.”
“Neither have I, but you already know that. Never set foot on haldomian soil before either, and never will again, Anduill willin’.”
“You’re very brave to have come here,” Philomena said earnestly. She already wanted to bolt, and most of the people in the room weren’t looking at her like a walking meal.
“Or incredibly stupid,” Gráinne replied with a raspy laugh. “But I trust my husband. The man could talk a fish into a trek in the desert if he wanted to.”
Philomena realised that the woman indeed sported the woolen belt kilaran spouses weaved for their handfasting. Hers was of a deep navy blue shot through with intricate designs red and gold.
“For your sake, I hope he can. Bringing you with him is sure to be… divisive,” Agneszka intervened with poorly concealed reproach.
“And who are we to speak about divisiveness?” Philomena asked, and Agneszka snorted, conceding the point to her. “I don’t want to prod but… A vampyr and a human…” Her words trailed off, but Gráinne clasped her on the shoulder with surprising strength.
“Don’t worry. You’re not the first to ask, and you sure aren’t goin’ to be the last. Do you know much about Kilaran history?”
Philomena shook her head, embarrassed. The Lodge taught history only insofar as relating to the vampyr and those who fought them.
“Ever heard about something called the Hollowing?”
Philomena shot Agneszka a panicked look, and she thankfully came to her rescue. “About three decades ago, there was a great famine in Kilaran. Many died, many fled.”
“That’s the short, haldomian-told version,” Gráinne said somberly. “I’m from the many who died, but one of the few who managed to flee. Those of us who took to the roads found no haven. I tried my luck on the coast. I was a wee scrap of a lass back then, not even a decade and a half. Colm found me fightin’ seabirds for the clams. Said he thought I was a wailer-waif at first. But I was just starvin’ and with a wicked temper!”
“So it wasn’t love at first sight?” Philomena asked. She was only partly joking. She really hoped some unknown-centuries-old vampyr hadn’t preyed upon a child under the pretense of instant connection.
Gráinne chuckled. “Gods, no. I hated his guts, but at least he kept me alive. He had me scrubbing the deck of the Bonnie for a decade before he bothered learning my name. But then, I made sure he remembered it,” she said, flashing her gold tooth.
“And how does House Coronach take to having a human second?” Agneszka asked. Philomena was disappointed to steer away from the subject of vampyr-human romance, but it was a valid question.
“Well, since about half of our House are human, I’d say they’re glad to have some representation among the top brass,” Gráinne replied wryly.
Philomena’s mouth fell open. It was one thing to mingle with humans - vampyr did so on any night at the Crook & Crow - but to live alongside them? In the same House?
“So that’s how you do it,” Agneszka mused. “How you can keep a fleet running.”
“We have a few tricks up our sleeves,” Gráinne said. “Speakin’ of which, I have to see if my husband hasn’t got himself in trouble. If you’ll excuse me,” she said, before being engulfed back into her crew of Gulls.
“Interesting woman,” Agneszka said. “We might perhaps have been a bit too full of ourselves thinking we’d be the biggest scandal of this gathering.”
“What scandal would that be, Rotmati?”
Philomena turned to see a handsome man dressed in a rich fur coat. Just a little under Agneszka’s height, he had deep smile lines around his wine-red eyes, and a mustache that curled over his dirty blonde, full beard.
Agneszka’s cheeks pinkened. Jakub, I take it, Philomena thought, amused.
“You’ll see in time, Jakub Sapkowski. With your big mouth, everyone in this room will be in the know within the hour if I say anything.”
“You know I can be careful when it comes to you, lubchen.” The two of them stared at one another for what felt like an eternity, and Philomena shuffled in place, feeling like she was intruding. The movement brought Jakub’s eyes on her.
“And who’s this?”
“Hi. I’m the scandal,” Philomena blurted. Agneszka’s eyes widened, but Jakub only roared with laughter. “Erm, what I meant to say is that I am Leander’s progeny. My name is Mina.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mina,” he said seemingly earnestly. He turned back to Agneszka. “And where has your sire flown to?”
Agneszka actually giggled, a girlish sound Philomena had never heard her make before. “Oh, you know Václav. Any excuse to flee from a party.”
“Well, more fool him,” Jakub replied. “I think we have a lot of catching up to do. I ran into Polina and Nadezhda a couple of moons ago.”
Agnezska clutched her hands over her heart. “The twins! I haven’t heard anything from them in forever. How were they?”
“Not bad. Not great either. They said they were moving back to Ult, that they would be safer in the capital. I think it wise, most of the unrest has tended to be confined to the country.”
Philomena shuffled awkwardly on her feet again. These two had obviously much to say to each other, and she didn’t want to be in the way. She discreetly took hold of Agneszka’s elbow to tell her she would be on her way.
“I - Are you sure?” Agneszka said, her brows drawing together.
Philomena nodded. “I am. Don’t worry, if I’m lost, I’ll try and find Thomas. He’s normally easy to spot in a crowd.”
“That’s if he’s still vertical,” Agneska dead-panned, and Philomena snorted, waving Jakub goodbye.
Philomena strolled around the cave, trying to figure out where she might get a drink. She was thankful for her black cape, which made her discreet enough to cling to the walls and observe the gathered vampyr. There was an energy to the room that was almost tangible, like in the moment between a lightning bolt and the clap of thunder. Her eye was naturally drawn to The One Who Speaks and the people who came to kneel in front of them. She watched Miranda offer her tithe, just as Václav had. However, instead of slicing her own wrist, the Raven Sire held out her arms over the rocky groove, palms upward. In a move of a gleaming sword Philomena could only describe as languorous, her second slit open both her wrists.
Miranda was clad in a voluminous, luminous white gown. As her blood sprayed, crimson droplets marred the satiny silk like rose petals on snow. Philomena was ready to bet Margrave Manor that it was one of Thistle’s designs, and thus purely intentional. When she was done, Coogler closed the wounds himself, and she felt herself blush.
“Miss Žila. How rare to see you unshadowed by your sire,” a familiar voice said beside her. Philomena turned to meet Lord Tyndale’s gaze.
“You wear your true eyes,” she blurted out the obvious, surprised by the garnet hue she discovered. There still seemed to be flecks of gold toward the pupil, though. His eyes were almost as unsettling as Leander’s. “Almost as if you’re one of us,” she added.
“Ah, so you’ve begun to think of yourself as vampyr,” he retorted. “Shall we have a drink to celebrate?”
Philomena looked back at the crowd as she pondered her answer. On one hand, she was loath to spend any time alone with that man. On the other hand, she remembered hearing from Leander that the Tyndale Triad usually refrained from Circle business. Perhaps this was her occasion to figure out why the Youth was in attendance, and if it could serve her House.
“We shall,” she finally answered. Something passed in the lord’s unfamiliar eyes, but it fled too quickly for her to identify it. He offered his arm out to her, and she took hold of it lightly. Tyndale led them towards a black velvet curtain she had overlooked before. As they got closer, though, sounds of screams and sobs reached her through the surrounding chatter. Her stomach twisted in apprehension, but she schooled her features.
The Youth pulled the curtain sideways for her, and Philomena walked into a second, smaller cavern. Her steps faltered. All around the walls of the caves and against sparkly stalagmites, humans were chained to the rock. Some stood and trashed, others slumped against their restraints, chests slowly rising, or unmoving. Vampyr lounged on benches and cushions around the room, or indulged in the powerless offerings.
“What’s the matter, Miss Žila? Lost your appetite?” Lord Tyndale whispered in her ear. Philomena suppressed a shudder, and took a deep breath. That man wanted a rise out of her, and she would not oblige. She did not want to have Leander strolling into the cave and causing an incident if he felt her panic.
“No, my lord. I am just trying to figure out what I am in the mood for.”
His unfamiliar eyes sparked with something she instantly disliked. “Then let us find something to your taste.” He proceeded to lead them around the room like they were a gentleman and his lady casually promenading on Empire Square.
Philomena stopped in front of a young girl whose limbs were shaking with exhaustion, her breathing labored. She had the pallor of one nearly across the veil, and Philomena wondered if it would not be a kindness to help her through it.
“I think you deserve something fresher, dear,” Lord Tyndale said, pulling her forward without waiting for an answer. They ventured deeper into the cave, which Philomena could now see stretched way further than she’d thought before. Tunnels branched out to the sides, the light of the torches casting flickering, menacing shadows upon the rock. How many people were trapped here? Where did they come from?
Eventually, they came upon a recess in the wall where a middle-aged man and woman were huddled together, as close as their chains permitted. The man was whispering to the woman, trying to soothe her. The smell of their fear hit Philomena like a slap. Unfortunately, it also brought with it the scent of their blood, from where they’d struggled against their manacles until the skin split. Entirely unconsciously, her fangs snapped out and her breath quickened.
Lord Tyndale made a sound low in his throat. “Yes. I believe they shall do.” Kneeling in front of the couple, he brushed a strand of hair away from the woman’s face, and she flinched. “Which do you fancy, Miss Žila?” he asked, turning back to her. For the first time, she was seeing him with his true eyes and his fangs out. It was like the carefully curated mask had finally crumbled. Philomena did not know what scared her more : the pretense of man, or the entity under the façade.
“Whichever,” she rasped, hunger and discomfort warring inside of her.
“Very well. I’m more partial to women myself,” Tyndale said slowly.
“Please,” the woman cried through cracked lips.
“Spare her,” the man pleaded. “Take me instead.”
Lord Tyndale chuckled, the sound deceptively soft. “Even if I did, no bleeder leaves here alive. Take comfort, your bodies will be reunited in the sea.”
The woman let out a heartbreaking sob, and the man snarled, trying to put himself between her and Tyndale.
“Sit up straight and shut up,” Tyndale snapped. The couple obeyed with an instantaneity and rigidity that Philomena was unfortunately familiar with. The lord had manifested compulsion over them.
“Go ahead, Mina,” he rasped, his polite manners fraying. “We’ll watch. There is a certain taste to despair that is just so sweet…”
Philomena looked into Lord Tyndale’s fevered eyes, then into the chained man’s terrorized ones. He wasn’t like her first bleed, threatening and mean. He wasn’t like any of their donors at the Crook & Crow, he hadn’t consented to anything. He was helpless, desperate.
But Philomena was hungry. And that man would die anyway, wouldn’t he? She could at least make sure he didn’t suffer…
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tilting the man’s head away from the woman. That way, she wouldn’t have to see the light go out from his eyes. She sank her fangs in as delicately as she could, and the man took in a hissing breath.
“You shouldn’t be, you know,” the Youth said as she drank. “This is what you are, even if your House likes to pretend otherwise. This is natural,” he added, and she felt him shift closer. “This is beautiful.”
Philomena shuddered, both at his unwelcome closeness, and at the rush of the blood lighting up her insides. Tyndale must have slipped on his control, because the woman started pulling at her chains again. Or perhaps he wished to hear her scream.
“Oh Gods, Phillip, Gods! Pantheon save us, please! Harold walk with us and slay the beasts of the darkness with Thine Holy Sword -”
Philomena closed her eyes and tried to tune out her pleading. Lord Tyndale must have ran out of patience with the woman because she heard a desperate shriek that ended in a gurgle. She pulled quicker, harder against the man’s vein, wishing to spare him from the terrible sounds. His heartbeat was slowing down. Attuned as she was to not taking too much, she knew she’d reached the point at which she ought to stop. And yet, she pushed past it. She knowingly took a life. Not because she couldn’t control herself. She took a life, and the moment his heart stopped was delicious.
Philomena staggered backwards, tripping into her cloak. Tyndale somehow caught her before she could fall. He was already done with the woman, who looked like she’d been mauled by a wolf. Great, careless chunks had been taken out of her throat. Warm blood still spurted lazily from the multiple wounds, wasted without an afterthought.
Lord Tyndale turned her around to meet his gaze. Gore splattered the lower half of his face and his delicately gold-thread embroidered coat. There it is, Philomena thought. There is the beast underneath. His dilated pupils darted to her lips. With his thumb, Tyndale gathered a drop of blood that must have escaped the corner of her mouth, and pushed it past her lips. She wanted both to gag and to bite him, but knew he would probably enjoy either. She held his stare, still as a statue, until he finally stepped back.
“Wear my dress tomorrow,” he said in a low, hoarse voice. Not quite an order, but not quite a question either. Before she could think of an answer, the Youth spun on his heels and left her there. Philomena looked down at the two people they’d just murdered. In her last moments, the woman had somehow managed to take hold of her Phillip’s hand.