Page 4 of Claimed By Blood

There’s plenty of it. Cain wanted a message sent and I, his puppet, complied. They’ll have to use a bag to gather up all the chunks of his body so they can remove it from the throne room.

What was this one’s crime?I can barely remember.

I’ve blurred most of the last month from my mind. Buried it under layer after layer of numbness until I can’t feel my own hand grasping the steel of the handle.

This must be the tenth victim, maybe the eleventh? My skin is stained with the red of their blood, but I don’t allow myself to focus on that.

“Thank you, my daughter.” Cain’s lips whisper across my cheek as he passes me to examine the mess at our feet. “Perhaps the others who feel they can refuse to donate blood to my Court will recognise the error of their ways now.”

I doubt it. Cain picks the subtlest of rebellions as excuses to make me prove myself now. Ever since Frost escaped—again—a week ago, he’s been poking at my loyalty in subtler ways. Analysing my every expression.

Immy is always at his side, scanning my emotions, just like she has been for the last week. Her eyes are always wide and watery, and she still shakes slightly whenever he turns his focus onto her. For Cain’s part, he doesn’t treat her any better than he did before I went into the ground. He barely lets her speak, and when she does, he snaps at her for it.

But still, her situation has markedly improved. Gone are the drab and hideous clothes he once forced her into, and she walks slightly more confidently—especially on the rare times I’ve seen her alone.

We haven’t talked.

No. Ever since the gala, she’s been holed up in his office with him night and day. No one else goes in.

Why her? What are they discussing? Not knowing has me on edge.

Callie hasn’t stopped whining about the unfairness of it. As Cain returns to his throne, our blonde sister leans into him and is instantly rebuffed. The panic on her face would be funny if it weren’t so tragic.

Callie wants his attention, needs it to feel secure and safe. Me? I’d give anything to escape it.

She and Immy are the only two of my sisters here today. Bella has somehow escaped this execution, and Morwen has been hunting for Frost and his pack since the Gala. Cain made no secret of his displeasure when the pack managed to rescue Vane from right under her nose while she was distracted by my ‘betrayal’ of Frost. She’s been trying to hunt them down and atone for her mistake ever since.

“That will be all, Evelyn.” Cain waves his hand, dismissing me. “I’ll call for you when we unearth the next.”

Dismissed. But I can’t even let myself feel the relief. Not with Immy right there.

“Sire,” Callie pipes up. “There’s one left.”

“Ah, yes. How remiss of me. Evelyn, I have someone here for you.”

I catch the scent of his blood before I see him. All of my thralls are mouthwatering, and I’ve not had any of them since the Gala. Now, Draven’s blood calls to me like a siren’s song, making my fangs ache. The sensation is like a bomb-blast, breaking apart my carefully constructed numbness with a sledgehammer.

No. The numbness is my only armour against Immy. I grasp at it, tugging it back around my mind as I turn on my heel and stride back to my spot before Cain’s throne.

The body of my last victim has already been swept away, and Draven has been dropped face-down in his place. My thrall’s hands are missing, his clothes are ragged and soaked in blood, and his hair is a greasy mess. He’s a far cry from the immaculately dressed vampire I met when I was first freed.

Now he’s a bloody worm writhing on the floor. His eyes are blank and crazed, and every move seems to send more blood streaming from his wounds.

“One last one.” Cain beams like it’s the best idea he’s ever had. His expression quickly sours and he grinds the heel of one of his Oxfords into the centre of Draven’s back. “He deserves it for allowing that wretched ghoul to escape on his watch.”

So that’s where he’s been all this time? Guarding Frost? I shut down all thoughts of him instantly. I can’t allow Immy to see even a hint of relief that fills me at the reminder of his escape.

I raise my sword, barely glancing down at my traitorous thrall. I can’t look around the room at my audience either. Fixing my gaze on the throne at the head of the room has become self-preservation at this point, and it allows me to see the exact moment that Immy bites her lip and taps her fingers on the side of her chair. Cain smiles in response.

Another test.

Did I pass this one?

It’s incredible how things have changed. I was once the favourite, and Immy a barely tolerated pest. Now she’s everywhere Cain is. His distaste for her may not have changed, but she’s useful to him now in a way she wasn’t before.

She’s become our sire’s living emotional thermometer, and with her at his side, his tests have gotten more and more demanding. Instead of just acting the part, I now have to feel the part as well. The level of mental discipline it requires is exhausting, and sooner or later, I’m going to slip up.

I bring the blade down in a sweeping arc, putting all my force behind it because holding back will be seen as treachery.

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