Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Somewhere below, I heard heavy steel doors opening and loud boots stomping inside. Lots of angry yelling and banging ensued. It broke the moment, and I was relieved by the distraction. On the inside, I was a mess of confusion, but on the outside, I managed to hold it together.
“The prison guards have arrived,” I said. “Will I be punished if I’m found outside my cell?”
He shook his head. “No. They’ll only want to subdue the prisoners who are causing trouble and trying to escape. So as long as you’re in here, you’ll be fine.”
I turned to him, lowering my voice to a whisper, “Was that you? I think your magic—”
“Cracked the skylight?” he responded quietly. “Yes, I think so, too.”
“But how? You didn’t do it intentionally, right?”
Vasilios frowned, stepping back and lowering himself onto his bed. “It wasn’t intentional. I think it might’ve been you, actually.”
“What are you talking about? I barely possess a drop of magic. It can’t have been me.”
“That’s not what I’m getting at. I was mad at you, and you were mad at me, and I think the connection between us, the mark, came a little bit more alive at that moment. It caused a surge of power that shot up and cracked the glass.”
“Oh,” I said, still trying to make sense of it all as I sat on the other end of his bed. “About last night, I’m sorry I pushed you so hard about your father. Our relationships with our parents can be so incredibly complicated, and I have no right to demand you see yours in a certain light.”
In all honesty, our argument had been bugging me ever since I woke up that morning. I wondered how I’d feel if someone tried to tell me my father had done terrible things and that he deserved my disdain instead of my love. Even if I knew it was true, it would be so hard to stop loving him.
“No, I shouldn’t have reacted so angrily,” Vasilios said, frowning as he stared at the floor. “Hearing Marcel say those things … it’s difficult for me to accept them. I’ve thought a certain way for so long, and now, I’m being presented with things that should change my mind, but I’m stubborn, and a part of me simply doesn’t want to accept it.”
He lifted his eyes, and an unexpected moment of understanding passed between us. I got what he was saying. It was difficult to shift perspectives, but he was slowly trying. At that moment, I noticed he was bleeding somewhere on his body, and my hunger awakened again. Only it was different because I knew what Vasilios’s blood tasted like, and the beast within me hungered for more. Normally, I was good at self-control, especially when it came to blood, but I’d never been that starving before. The drop Vasilios gave me was sustaining me, but the need for more was uncontainable, especially when he was so close to me and bleeding.
My attention went to his temple. There was a small cut just below where his horn protruded. It took every ounce of strength not to pounce on him and lick the blood from his skin.
“Darya?” he said, his throat moving as he swallowed. He obviously sensed the beast in me straining to be let free. There was a sparkle in his eyes, too, like he was completely fascinated by it.
“You’re bleeding,” I said through gritted teeth. “On your temple.”
He reached up, touching his fingers to the cut. They came away with blood on them, and I had to sink my nails into the bed to keep from cracking.
“Are you—”
“Don’t talk. Please. Just give me a minute,” I said as I inhaled deeply, rising slowly from the bed and walking to the far side of the cell. I stood by the door facing out, putting as much distance between us as possible. Gripping the cold metal bars, I endeavoured to put a leash on my hunger.
Vasilios remained silent. Our level of the prison was relatively quiet. A few other inmates sat inside their cells, hoping to avoid the riot. Down below and up above, all sorts of madness was unfolding. Prison guards in heavy riot gear battled the inmates to subdue them and restore calm to the prison, but the drug of chaos had taken hold of the prisoners, and they were putting up a vicious fight.
I wondered if the guards would’ve bothered coming in and intervening if it weren’t for the skylight cracking. It provided an opening for anyone to try and escape, and as Vasilios said, that was their main concern. It didn’t bother the guards if prisoners hurt other prisoners. What bothered them was the danger of inmates getting out. Outrage bubbled within me because psychologically, I felt like a prisoner, even if I wasn’t a true prisoner, and it was infuriating to think that our welfare meant nothing to them, only our confinement.