Page 298 of Rage

He is a poor lord forsaking the care of his people and the weed-ridden, wild lands I viewed around his manor.

My fangs itch, and as offensive as I find Stilton, my hunger rises.

I need blood if I am to escape. Trapped in silver with unhealing wounds, I am weak, like the men arguing at the table. Any warm body would do, but my sights are set on the putrid lump festering at the table.

Him first, and then I will seek out Declan.

“And what about her?” Lord Stilton’s voice booms across the emptied hall. He stands at the bench, a fist against the table and a meaty arm stretched in my direction. “You cannot expect me to house that vile bitch in my hall.”

“Put her in the stables for all I care.” Declan shrugs. “We need her for bait.”

Bait.

What a waste of my abilities. He’s right, however. We undying, my night siblings and I, we can scent each other on a windless night. Curiosity draws us like moths to flame. It is dangerous knowledge for a hunter like Declan to hold.

“And have her scare the horses?” Stilton spits three times and glares at Declan. “If she’s bait, string her from the yew tree like we do with the pigs.”

Calm settles over Declan’s features. The smile he wears now is cold and distant, absent all emotion or cunning. A thrill trickles down my spine as he sheds the mask of a jovial hunter, showing Lord Stilton the terrible man who so often puts me in this cage.

He rises to match Stilton’s height, places his hands on the table, and leans forward, lowering his voice to a threatening level. “Fifty gold pieces for every vampire my men capture in a week’s time. After that, my men and I will leave you to your troubles.” He pounds his fist against the table and points at my cage. “And she remains indoors.”

Stilton blanches, eyes darting from Declan to me, and his mass deflates. He needs Declan. Vampires have ravaged his lands for weeks, and his tenants and the villagers are scared and growing angry. Many of them witnessed Declan’s little performance earlier and gawked at me in my cage, still covered in the remains of my night sister. They know help has come, and if Stilton does not accept Declan’s terms, he will leave this wastling lord to the pyre that will no doubt be built for him.

“A week, then,” Stilton attempts to keep his voice steady, but I catch the tremble in his words.

Weak.

Five cages line the far wall at dawn, just beyond the light’s reach, and by midnight, seven of my night siblings sit within their bars. They wait, calm as I am, knowing this will only get worse. Weare not resigned to our fates as much as we are aware of what happens next.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Stilton bursts into the hall. A red velvet dressing gown flutters as he charges toward Declan, cleaning his nails with a knife blade on the edge of the dais.

“We raided a nest,” Declan says without looking up. Mud stains his trousers, and blood cakes his arms and vest, streaking down his cheek. I inhale, picking him out of the other scents in the room.

Not his blood.

“Lost a good portion of my men in the doing,” he continues. “I’ll need to take some of your guard when I go out next.”

“To do what? Parade the empty wood?” Stilton stops before Declan, his fist pressed against his side. “You were supposed to slaughter the vermin. Instead, you’ve brought me a nest; what the hell are they doing in my hall?”

“Marinating.” Declan shoots to his feet. He twirls his knife by the hilt and slides it into a sheath at his hip. “You let this go on too long, Stilton. Where there’s one nest, you will find half a dozen more. These things breed like rabbits; it is a wonder your entire county isn’t overrun.”

A blotchy red crawls over Lord Stilton’s cheeks. He huffs and jabs Declan’s chest with a meaty finger. “Answer my question, boy.”

It takes all I have in me not to roll my eyes.

“Was I not clear?” Declan crosses his arms, the leather sleeves of his riding coat creaking. “You let this go too long. Every person in this hall last night witnessed your failure to protect them.”

“You have no proof?—”

“Don’t I?” Declan tilts his head to the side, a jester’s grin stretching his face while his eyes remain hard and cold. “Half thevillages came out to see us raid that nest. Your tenant women gifted us their garlic, and your men offered their pitchforks. You have a mutiny on your hands, Stilton.” He sweeps an arm at the cages against the wall. “They require proof that their lord is not weak. That he is a man who defends his people.”

With an easy sweep of his leg, Declan steps over the bench and strides the length of the hall, his eyes fixed on my cage. The flask he pulls from his coat pocket sloshes menacingly. I shrink away, but there is nowhere to run from the holy water. I am trapped, and the monster is walking directly toward me.

“I have seen this dozens of times,” he continues. “Weakling lords who wait until a tiny problem becomes a catastrophe. Lucky for you, I have developed a … performance, shall we say, sure to rid you of their mutinous behavior.” He thumbs open the silver flask and dangles it over my cage. A quick twist of his wrist pours a stream of holy water through the bars. It splashes on the ground, and droplets land on my foot and ankle. The searing pain is immediate, sizzling my skin and burning to the bone. Tears burst in my eyes, and I barely strangle the scream in my throat.

Declan huffs and stares down at me, his stony gaze assessing how I cower, trying to make myself small. The smile he sends me then is no performance. He knows he has enraged me, as he has done time and time again.

“Invite them to your hall at the end of the week.” He spins, facing Lord Stilton. “Host a feast, open your cellars, and let them see with their own eyes how terrible the vampire threat was to their lives. Let them see how you care for them. Men are weak, Lord Stilton; remind them of this with a show of your strength.”

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