Dead Doesn't Always Mean Dead

Not all vampires die in the execution square. I've always known that. I've always known the tonics came from somewhere, that we didn't grow strong because of our will alone. But I didn't know what that actually looked like until three months ago, when the Order put me down here.

As initiates, we're told it’s necessary, that without their blood, hunters wouldn't exist. That we need it to fight. That we need it to survive the beasts outside the walls, which is why the Order always keeps the ones they wish to harvest in the prison cells, bleeding them until there's nothing left but an empty husk.

A sound mind is a liability down here. An escape risk. So, they’re always sedated, caught between awareness and collapse. Disoriented. Hallucinating. 

It's exactly what I expect to find, what I’ve watched most of them become for the past few months. Except him. 

“Why are you late?”

And he speaks too. My grip tightens around my dagger as he starts to draw near.

“Stay back!”

He stops at once, studying me with the same unnerving focus from the execution square.

Hel's gate. What is going on? Why is he— A thought flashes and my panic scatters. Anger starts to bloom in its place.

Team A. Elena. The she-devil. She must have done this to get back at me in her own twisted way. She must have botched the proper dosage to knock him out. And if that is the case, it means trouble for me. It means reporting to the Grandmasters. And in their words, one more mistake, one more incident, and I will never be allowed on the field again. I will spend my life rotting in these damn corridors.

My jaw clenches so hard a muscle ticks near my ear. I am not letting that happen.

“You’re angry.”

The vampire’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

I look up sharply, and that is when I finally take him all in.

Dark markings cover his bare skin, running across his arms and chest, before disappearing beneath the fabric at his waist.

My gaze goes back on the markings winding across his chest. I linger there long enough to forget to breathe. They seem wrong somehow, less like ink and more like an ancient language carved into flesh.

“Your heart rate has increased."

I look away like I've been caught stealing mead from the cellar, then force my gaze back to his emerald eyes. Basic vampire training teaches us to never make eye contact with them for so long. Yet, here I am, staring.

“I am a hunter of the Order,” I say, stepping back to calm myself. I lift my dagger higher. “The sedative clearly isn't working, but it must be affecting your senses.”

His gaze darkens. “I am clear-headed.”

He sounds perfectly lucid, but I am not about to admit that to a bloodsucker. I lift my dagger slightly. “How do you know my name?”

His expression doesn't change.

“Who else would you be?”

My left eye twitches. Never have I felt a burning urge to strangle a vamp to death before. “That doesn't answer my ques—”

“There’s no time for this. Open the gates.”

Two beats pass. I stare at him, genuine confusion replacing the irritation building inside me. “You want me to open the gates?”

The vampire simply watches me.

“You want *me*,” I repeat, gesturing at myself with the dagger, “to open the gates for you?”

His gaze doesn't leave mine as he finally answers.

“Yes.”

That one word does more damage to my patience than anything else he has said so far. It’s the utter simplicity of it. The lack of explanation.

A short, humorless laugh escapes me.

Not that any of this is funny. But the certainty that I would obey him is so absurd I don't know what else to do with it. My smile dies. “Are you daft?”

He doesn't miss a beat. “No. I thought I was quite clear.”

His smug confidence makes my blood simmer. I step closer instead of back. A mistake, maybe. But I don't stop. “And why would I do that?”

He doesn't blink. He doesn't even show the slightest bit of impatience at my tone. He merely tracks my movement with that same, pinning intensity.

Then, he leans forward slightly. The dim torchlight from the corridor cutting across the angles of his face, making the ancient markings on his chest move in the shadows.

“Because if you don’t,” he murmurs, voice dropping even lower, “you will never leave these prison blocks alive.”

A chill drops straight into my stomach, instantly freezing the anger right out of me. “Is that a threat?”

“An observation,” he says smoothly. “Your leaders might think they have contained beasts for their amusement. However, they do not yet realize the cage is already unlocked from the outside.”

Unlocked from the outside. What does he—

A piercing scream echoes from the far end of the corridor, cutting my thoughts short. It is followed by the unmistakable, heavy thud of a body hitting the stone floor.

Jorunn.

My head whips toward the darkness of the hallway.

“Too late. They’re already here.”

That is when I realize what's wrong. The other cells are quiet. Too quiet. No rattling chains, no growls. Nothing.

“Open the gates, Eira."

I ignore him, completely spinning around to face the direction I'd come from, raising my dagger into a defensive guard. “Who’s there?”

A heavy sigh comes from behind me. “You never listen.”

That's the last word I hear before something massive slams into my back.

My dagger flies from my hand, clattering somewhere to the floor as the world vanishes beneath my feet. Fire explodes through my shoulder.

What? My head spins. My dagger. Where is my dagger? Where—

Cold breath brushes my neck and I freeze. Before I can turn, sharp fangs clamp down around my throat.