Page 9 of An Empress of Air & Chaos

She flinched.

“I would like to taste you before I slaughter you,” he said as he drove a malignant smile onto his face.

Cally let out a whimper and her eyes pleaded for Emara not to watch, to turn away, but Emara could do nothing but freeze.

She couldn’t move.

The fear set in about her body like concrete, cementing her to the ground. She watched as the creature licked Cally’s face, his long tongue retracting as he shoved her against the wall. The gesture alone brought out an anger from within Emara that she had never felt before.

Rising to her feet on shaky legs, she looked around. She needed to do something. She needed to act. She couldn’t just freeze and do nothing—Cally was all she had left. She snatched the vase that was sitting on the unit beside the sink. Just as she was about to smash it over the creature’s head, he whirled to face her, grabbing her neck with one clawed hand that stopped the air from flowing. Burning filled her lungs like someone had poured boiling hot water into them. Struggling, she smashed the vase over his head, but his steel grip didn’t waver. Smithereens of glass littered the floor around them. The man’s head titled, taking in her attempt to fight him off almost like it had amused him. Suddenly, the iron grip loosened around her throat and she took a desperate inhale of breath.

Emara moved, backing up, leading him away from Cally. As he stalked towards her, the grinding of the glass on the floor underneath his enormous boots sent shivers up her spine. He eyed the wound on her arm.

For a second, she had forgotten all about the pain in her arm. A glint of dark malice pebbled in his eye as he inhaled the scent of her blood, that was pouring down her skin.

Too many ludicrous thoughts crashed into her mind all at once.

Was he a vampire? Was he looking for her blood?

That was preposterous; vampires were something of old folklore, used to scare children. Vampires were not real. But when his dead eyes met hers...he displayed the most terrible smile that a creature could ever muster—and she thought that he might be.

He was pure evil. An evil that was so sickeningly destructive that every part of her soul screamed in retaliation at the sight of it.

Suddenly, he flashed in front of her. She gasped at how quickly he had moved. Emara cursed, realising that she had backed herself against the wall on the other side of the room. There was nowhere else to go. She was stuck. This was it…

“Run, Cally!” she cried, still looking at the creature who was studying her. If Callyn could get out, if she could just run... “What is it that you want?” She pulled her lip over her teeth. Very quickly, she realised, she was not going to go down without a fight. She might die tonight. In fact, there was every possibility. But Cally would get out.

“Right now,”—the monster purred, tipping his head to the side like a predator assessing his prey—“you.”

She lunged for the door that was now a gaping hole in the wall, but the creature clutched her by her long, midnight black hair and swung her into him. Her body collided with his, slamming the little air she had gathered out of her lungs.

“I am not allowed to kill you, sweet Emara, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy you,” he sniggered.

The creature was so caught up in Emara that he hadn’t noticed Cally’s approach. She swung a rolled-up fist into the side of his head. Cally cried out in pain as the impact of his solid form shot through her hand. The creature didn’t so much as move his repugnant stare from Emara’s face. With one swing of an arm, he batted Cally away like she weighed nothing, a mere fly on a summer’s day. Her body flew through the room and cracked against the bathtub. Her head rolled to the side and she lay limp on the floor.

“Cally! Callyn!” Emara screeched, her eyes wild, searching for some proof that she was alive.

There wasn’t any.

The man moved again sharply and pinned her against the wall with one hand.

Emara tried to struggle but she couldn’t free any part of herself to make an impact. His odour was toxic, filling her nostrils and mouth with a scent that could only be related to death and destruction. The malevolent scent made it hard to keep the wine she had drunk in her stomach.

The beast lowered his face so close to hers that she could see the reflection of herself in his crimson eyes. Dirt, blood, and desperation coated her face. She was a pathetic picture of morality in comparison to whatever he was.

He trickled a long, black nail down her face. Instead of whimpering, she bared her teeth, gnashing them together, begging herself not to show any more fear than she already had.

She would be strong, like her grandmother had been for her. She had shown no fear in the kitchen.

Or ever.

She would be just like her, until the end.

He continued to lower his nail until it grazed over her wounded arm. She nearly buckled with the pain that jolted through her limb, her legs almost collapsing beneath her. She stifled a scream.

Stay strong, she chanted. Stay strong!

Blood flowed from her arm and he let it drip into his nail like he was filling up a glass of wine. He raised the nail to his lips and drank her blood, licking every last drop. The man flung his head back in ecstasy, his eyes dazzling like rubies, like the impact of her blood had been the biggest high he had ever had.

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