Within a Forest Dark

Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. This story has gotten some really lovely, extensive reviews with a lot of emotional feedback and thoughts on the plot, which I always go ga-ga for. Every review makes my day, and I love to hear what you're thinking! If you'd like me to get back to you on anything, leave your email somewhere and I'd be more than happy to chat with you. :-) I'm on a bit of a high with this story at the moment, and reviews make me that much more motivated.

Santo led me back through the hall. I didn’t realize how much I had missed the moonlight the windows provided until we were back in the hall again, with the lamps lighting up and going out as we went. The floor beneath my bare feet was nearly flawless marble, and I noticed that the walls were as well. This hall didn’t have any creepy portraits, but tapestries instead, filled with hunting scenes and people wearing silly leggings. Animals were everywhere, and I smirked as I noticed two bunnies fucking in the corner of one.

But I was no art historian. The tapestry could be from the Middle Ages or the Renaissance or Mars and I wouldn’t know. How old was this place, and for that matter, how old was Santo? He had said he didn’t like modern conveniences. How modern did he mean? I hadn’t seen any telephones or televisions or computers. Maybe those were too modern. But he clearly had electricity, since there were lamps everywhere.

Unless magic could light lamps.

I put that thought away and focused on Santo instead. It was unnerving to walk with him through the castle now. The silence was creepy, almost ominous, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak to him. I couldn’t get a read on him. A minute ago he had held me pinned to the ground with my arms tied behind my back, threatening to rip open my mind for information. A couple of days ago – had it been more? – he had attacked me with teeth and claws. Days before that, he’d held me in his arms as I fainted. Now, he walked slightly ahead of the lamps that lit up and went out as we passed, as though he preferred the darkness.

“You still haven’t told me your full name,” Santo began as we walked. “I was surprised how difficult it was to find your name at all. I assumed your surname would be the one your friends knew, but Collins had only your Christian name, and none of your other contacts knew even that.”

That meant he hadn’t talked to Louis. If he was telling the truth. He knew Louis’ last name, but he could have gotten that from Lupos, if he’d wanted. Louis was pretty well known. Had the name been in my memory that he’d taken? Had he taken other memories?

“Bello,” Santo repeated, calling my attention back to him. “I understand that you’re distraught, and perhaps not in the mood to talk, but this relationship will go nowhere if you cannot hold up a bargain.”

“We don’t have a relationship,” I said sourly. But he had made it pretty clear that negotiations weren’t necessary for him to get what he wanted, and the information he’d given me had been good. I thought. For now. “Armitage. Bello Alistair Armitage.”

“Armitage. Hmm. I wondered if it might have been one of the last names of one of your aliases.”

“Stupid risk, I thought.”

“Yes, but you seem rather fond of those.” I glared at him, and he smiled back at me, teeth and eyes bright. “The vampires had better names for you, in my opinion,” he added after a moment.

The only names I’d ever heard the vamps call me were not exactly complimentary, so I said nothing.

“A rather whimsical name, ‘Bello.’”

“My mother was Italian,” I said before I could catch myself. He’d caught me away off guard. Stupid. “Is Santo your real name?” I asked to chase it away.

“That’s a new question. I’ll want something in return.”

I paused. I couldn’t think of any other piece of information I’d give up willingly. I’d already said a hell of a lot more than I’d wanted. “Nevermind.”

We walked in silence for a moment and reached the top of the stairs. He led me down another hall filled with offshoot hallways and doors to other rooms. I tried to keep track of which way the hallways went and how long they were. I’d done it before with vamp nests, but never on this big a scale. The place was huge.

“The house originally had one hundred rooms,” Santo said to me politely, like this was normal, like he wasn’t a kidnapping rapist psychotic freak. “I’m not sure how many it has now, though. Magic changes things, as you might have noticed, and the house is no exception.” He turned and opened a door, holding it open for me again. The room had more light than the hallway, at least, although it still wasn’t all that bright. The gleam of shining metal instruments brightened it somewhat. “This is my music room, and you’re welcome to amuse yourself here. Do you play an instrument, by chance?”

“No.” That was all ancient history. But I perused the room anyway, looking for something I could use as a weapon, if I had to. The room was filled with a variety of instruments: brass, woodwinds, drums, pianos and things that looked like pianos but clearly weren’t. A lot of them I didn’t recognize. I didn’t listen to music except in the seedy bars my job favored, and that was all mindless rave music and the occasional jazz. There was never anything classical.

I ran my fingers along the side of a harp. Not a particle of dust. The servants must have worked hard here. And where were all the servants, anyway? So far all I’d seen were talking mirrors and trays that moved on their own. Unless… “Wait – the changing thing – is that what happened to the servants?” I hoped that was a free question.

Santo was watching me from the doorway, and when I spoke to him he began to come closer. It made me uncomfortable, and I found myself standing behind the harp, putting it between us. Stupid. He wasn’t that close to me anyway. But I couldn’t help it.

“Unfortunately. Please try not to tip things over, as it is a pain to reconstruct them and it only hurts the staff.”

I let go of the harp as though burnt. “You mean… is everything here really a person?” I tried not to let horror creep into my voice. If it was that easy to turn into a lamp or something, was *I* going to wake up as a coffee table one day?

No, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to stay here long. Get in, get what you came for, get out. Easy as pie. Or sin. But I still had no idea how to go about it. How could I kill Santo when I wasn’t even sure what he could do? When I didn’t know what I was dealing with? And the more I learned, the less I understood.

But how long did it take to change you? How long did I have? I had been here so long already. How could I fight it?

“You wouldn’t be affected, Bello.” Santo had that soft voice again, the low soothing one he’d used when he washed me.

Oh shit.

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

Santo said nothing.

“Did you read my mind?” I was fiercely angry, hot and cold, but frozen. I didn’t want to attack him and wind up on the floor again. “Did you?”

“I don’t need to read your mind to tell you’re frightened. It’s written all over your face, and your heartbeat is way above normal. But I assure you the magic will only affect humans, which is why I can’t have them here even if it weren’t for the curse.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? I’m human!”

He took a step towards me and I practically stumbled away from him. I smacked into the harp somehow and it tipped precariously. Santo lunged forward and caught it, and I jerked back again. “Don’t touch me.” Like that would keep him out of my head if he wanted.

We must have looked so damn ridiculous.

“You’re not human, Bello. Maybe you don’t want to admit it, but you must know. Surely you don’t think a human could do what you do.”

I shook my head. “Stop it. I told you I’m human.” He was human too, and he had abilities.

“Don’t you want to know? Haven’t you always wondered what you are?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just a thing. I’m just like everyone else and it doesn’t matter. It’s just something I can do.”

Santo just stared at me. He was always fucking staring at me.

“So what about you, then? You said you were human – you said it – and you’re not a table or anything.”

“Oh, Bello, I’m hardly human anymore.”

That took the wind right out of me. “But you said…” He had said he was human. Had he been lying to me? Was he lying about everything? Two seconds after I’d seen him I had been sure he wasn’t normal, not with eyes like those. He had been a creature, I’d thought, a wolf in man’s clothing. But now I just wanted him to be normal. Just like me. Just… able to do things.

“Don’t look at me like that. I was human once, as I said. Even the vampires were human once. But that was before I knew anything. But now…”

“Now what?”

“Now I am far, far more.”

I waited, but Santo said nothing. He just gripped the harp and stared into the distance, like this was some soap opera and he was its tortured protagonist. Cry me a river. “What’s that supposed to mean?’

He looked up, trance broken. “It means I am doing a rather poor job of introducing you to your new home. I have not had a guest in so long, you see.”

“I’m not your goddamn guest.”

“You could be. I cannot let you go, but you need not feel a prisoner here. You would be well cared for, and all the knowledge at the world would be at your fingertips. I am not unkind. There are things I am dying to know about you, but I would wait until you were ready.”

“You’re a rapist, mind-reading bastard,” I said coldly. I was almost shaking with anger. And fear.

“Yes, I know it’s terrible. Truly, I know. But there’s no way around it. I can’t stay in control all of the time. But that first time won’t be like the others. I could drug you –”

“Drug me? You’re going to fucking drug me before you *rape* me and you think that will *help?*” I knew I sounded hysterical, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t think of anything worse than that. I’d be helpless, unable even to try to defend myself against it. And with my history with drugs, it might even leave me conscious but immobile for it, unable even to try to move away. Memories assaulted me suddenly, of being held down, of screaming, covered in blood and piss, pain wrenching through me. Santo’s hot breath on me, claws in me, raking over me, the bites on my shoulder, the fear and helplessness and –

Before I knew what I was doing I had run over to the corner, nearly tripping on a bassoon, and vomited.

I sank to my knees after I was done and leaned against the wall. I tried to breathe.

Santo knelt next to me and still managed to loom. He touched my shoulder but I shoved his hand away. He didn’t try again.

The vomit disappeared.

There was no sound, no sparkly lights. If Santo moved, I didn’t see it. One second the vomit was there, reeking and disgusting, and the next gone.

Magic.

I laughed. I had no idea why, but it seemed hysterically funny. I laughed until my sides hurt, and then suddenly I was gasping, close to tears. This was insane. I was going insane. This wasn’t like finding out about the vamps. Vamps were a reality I’d dealt with for years. Vamps I could handle. If Santo had been a werewolf, that would have been crazy, but the proof had been ripped into my body over and over. He could have just been another ugly creature I had to deal with. But magic? Break out the robes and pointy hats magic? Too funny.

“Bello, it’s all right.”

“No, it’s not,” I said breathlessly. “Nothing’s all right. I’m trapped in some house with a man who says he can do fucking magic and he *can* and you’re going to hurt me again and I can’t do it. I can’t do this.” There, I’d said it. The words were out and I couldn’t take them back.

“You’re saving lives. Think of it like that. You’re a hero.”

“I’m not a goddamn hero. I kill vamps. That’s what I do. I’m good at it. I don’t give a shit about being a hero. Or people. I just kill monsters. I can’t do anything else – not this. I can’t sit here and play the fucking piano and wait for you to – to…” I was sick again, and even when there was nothing left in my stomach I couldn’t stop. I dry heaved until my sides hurt.

I closed my eyes this time, when I was done, and when I opened them the vomit was gone again. Like it had never happened. Like none of this had ever happened, except there was still an acrid taste in my mouth and fear in my gut.

I turned and sat with my back to the wall and studiously didn’t look at the corner where I had been sick.

Santo sat down in front of me. “You’re not taking this as well as I’d hoped.”

“Oh?” It was hard to sound sarcastic when I was still trying to catch my breath. But I tried. “And your other ‘guests’ were over the moon about it?”

“No. They were dead long before I could explain. They were human, anyway. I thought you would understand it better.”

“Understand what?”

Santo gestured, but I couldn’t tell what he meant. “This. Magic. Sacrifice. You can’t have power without sacrifice. I have learned that if nothing else. And look at you – you have everything. You heal without losing anything. You are flawlessly beautiful. Your mind is practically labyrinthine in its intricacy. It’s only right that you suffer a little for it. Everyone has to sacrifice, and you’ll be saving so many people. I thought you’d be honored.”

“What? Are you serious? You actually think that? Are you that fucked in the head?”

All of a sudden Santo’s expression, which had been on the verge of pleading ever since he asked me to be his ‘guest,’ grew forbidding. He took hold of my shoulders and his grip was like iron when I struggled. “I can see you are distraught. That is to be expected. But my patience has limits.”

I opened my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself six ways from Sunday, but then, past Santo’s shoulder, I saw what I’d been looking for before. It gleamed even in the soft light. It was sitting innocently in a little tool box I must have missed before. A knife. It was small, of course, probably meant for fixing an instrument I knew nothing about, but that was no matter.

All of a sudden it was like hunting. I was in my element. My sides still hurt and my heart still pounded, my throat was still raw and acidic, and I still felt wrung out and furious, but the knife was there, waiting for me. I didn’t have to be powerless if I could just get the knife.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, keeping the excitement from my voice. Let him think me angry and broken. Little did he know.

Santo nodded and let me go. I got up like I wanted to get away from him, like I was afraid, and then started meandering around the place, like I was keeping my word and thinking about it. Santo had his eyes on me, I could feel that. I glanced at him surreptitiously and saw he was following me, watching me. I would be so glad when those harsh yellow eyes were closed forever.

I was five feet from the toolbox, running my fingers over piano keys. It was sitting on the floor, and I would have to bend down to get it. Could I pick it up without him realizing? I glanced at him again. He was still following my every move. No go.

Fuck it, then.

I lunged for the knife, just as Santo realized what I was doing. “No, you idiot, don’t –” He disappeared and reappeared right in front of me, quicker than I could follow. I didn’t stop to think about it. I was ready now. I was armed, and I was born for this. Adrenaline was pumping through me. I hadn’t felt less afraid since before Lupos had taken me. It was so good.

Then Santo pounced on me, too fast for me to avoid, and we fell crashing into the piano. I wanted to panic, to scream, to lash out wildly, but the knife in my hand kept me whole. I slashed out with it, one two. I sliced his stomach and under his arm, where the vein was. No feeling of helplessness here, even though he’d hit me hard and slammed my head into the keyboard with a resounding clang of keys. I didn’t have to punch him now, and feel the ringing pain and dawning horror when it didn’t stop him at all.

I was enjoying myself immensely.

I slashed at his eyes, and he roared like the goddamn beast he was and punched me blindly. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to stare?” I snarled, a beast myself, ready able and more than willing to kill this creature.

He tried to roll away but I followed easily, straddling him, riding out his struggles just like he had mine. Blood was pouring from the slice under his arm. I hoped I’d cut the vein deep. You had to cut the veins, with vamps, no shotgun shortcuts. Any hunter worth his salt was handy with a knife and I was one of the best. The sight of his blood was so goddamn exciting. I could do this. I could defeat him.

“What’s the matter, you bastard? Where’s your magic now?” I stabbed his eyes again, methodically, and he bellowed and put his hands to his face, shaking his head. He was thrashing like I had, I knew, not even trying to fight, just trying to escape. I hated that he had seen me like this. I hated him. I slashed at his throat with the knife, again and again and again. He made these awful strangled noises, his throat puking blood. I felt mad with anger. The knife came down again and again: his stomach, his face, his groin. Blood flew up into my face, into my mouth, and it tasted good. I hit him again and again, and when the knife dropped from my hand, slippery with blood, I punched him, venting all my frustration until I was exhausted.

Santo didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The bleeding had stopped.

He was dead.

I slid to the side, feeling the red mist of anger slowly fade from me. I tried to wipe the blood from my face with my hands, but realized I was just smearing more blood on me and gave up.

He was dead.

I had done it. After all that terror and helplessness and fear, I had done it. I could leave now, through the meadow and the forest if I had to, but I could do it. Santo couldn’t stop me. Santo couldn’t do anything, because I’d killed him.

I grinned. Fuck me and call me Charlie. I’d done it.

Then the blast hit me.

I was slammed back into the wall and hit my head hard enough to make me shout. What the fuck? I looked dizzily at where Santo lay, my senses reeling. I was shivering, and I didn’t get cold easily. The room was freezing, as though all the warmth had been sucked out of the room. Santo hadn’t moved. What had that been? The last hurrah of magic, now that Santo was dead? I waited dizzily for a moment, but nothing happened. Total silence. It was over.

Then Santo moved.

He sat up slowly, facing away from me, but as he sat up he seemed to grow bigger. Blood dripped from him, rolling down his sides. His long, black hair hung in thick tendrils around his head and shoulders, drenched in blood. I was frozen in horror. Impossible. It was impossible.

Then, slowly, unhurriedly, he turned to me, and his eyes were blazing and his teeth were bared. Oh shit. He had changed again. His face was twisted into that horrible bestial grimace, and he was big and dark and menacing, like he’d crawled out a nightmare. Like he’d crawled out of Hell.

Oh god oh god oh god.

And then he lunged at me, before I could move, before I could think to move. I hit my head hard enough to make my senses jar, and pain spiraled through my head. He sank his claws into me, and it hurt like it had last time. My chest, my stomach, my thighs. He slashed at my cock, puncturing the jeans like they were nothing, and I howled with pain.

And now I could see it, could see my skin tearing and the blood everywhere, and that made it so much worse. He roared, his voice deep and deafening. I scrabbled to get to my feet, to get the knife. But it was gone, and he was on top of me, pushing me down with his heavy clawed hands, flaying me. I shouted and tried to get away, scratching at the floor pathetically, bucking from side to side as I tried to roll. I bit his arm, desperate to give him a dose of his own medicine, to do anything to protect myself, and he pulled me off his arm with a swipe that ripped my face right open. Blood poured into my eyes and nose and mouth, metallic and stinging. Shit shit shit.

It had taken my all to kill him, and he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even close to dead.

He bit me, then, on the shoulder like before. His teeth were huge and his jaws were immensely powerful and I was so scared. This couldn’t be happening. “No. No. Get away. Fuck fuck get away please go away stop it stop it stop it ah damn fuck you.” I was babbling and crying because he was raking his claws down my body, and I punched and kicked and screamed like hell and it didn’t do anything. It didn’t do a goddamn thing. I was so tired and blood was all over my face and my head was ringing but I kept punching him. My hands were numb and my throat was raw and he was even more frightening with the lights on.

He bit me twice more, on my arm, his teeth sinking deep into me. He was eating me, he was going to eat me alive.

But then he moved away, and almost before I realized it he had my clothes off me, torn off like tissue paper as I tried desperately to move away. I crawled while he took his own clothes off, shredding them as well, but didn’t make it very far before he leapt on me, landing hard on my ribcage. I heard the wet sound of bones breaking and shrieked as he jolted me, his nails ripping into my newly healed back. He pushed me down.

No. Not that. Not that again. Not again not again no no please. Stinging pain at my asshole oh god he was ripping at it with his goddamn claws to open me up and then there was his cock, huge and impossible like before. His hands were on my hips again, just like before, like I was dreaming this or remembering it except it really was happening, because he was pressing into me again and I was screaming. The attack had been so fast, too fast to stop, but this was slow. Slow and unbearably agonizing and inescapable. I screamed until I couldn’t hear myself anymore, until there was just the rhythmic sound of his thrusting and his snarls above me and my pathetic scrabbling on the floor as I struggled and tried to get away. I was delirious and blind with panic and pain and there was blood everywhere, bright and red in the light. And then Santo roared as he came, trumpeting his victory and my utter, utter defeat.

He was panting when he moved away, his breath loud and wet like a bear’s. I blinked at him dully and waited to pass out, and felt more than saw his eyes on me. And then he reached his hand out strangely slowly, and rolled me over onto my back. The pain in my ribs made me want to scream, but no sound came from my broken throat. Santo bent his head to my body, sniffing me like a dog from throat to groin. There was warmth on my cock, difficult to distinguish from the hurt all over my body. I looked down blearily and realized he was licking my cock, lapping up the blood like an animal. It was disgusting, and I wanted it away. My arms felt like led, and he was made of living granite.

But he stopped when I pushed at him, and looked back up at my face. And then he reached out again, slowly like before, like I was watching this in slow motion, and took hold of my throat. I struggled weakly, too tired even to move away. I felt like I was underwater; everything was silent and slow. Then he held my throat tightly, cutting off my air. My chest already felt like it was on fire already, and suffocating only made it hurt a little more. His claws scratched at the back of my neck as he held me, sinking in. Let me die. It would be an end. I wanted it to end. Let it end.

He lowered his face to mine. My vision was blurred from blood and pain, but he was right there, his yellow eyes piercing, and then he was closer, breathing my ragged breath. And then his lips were on me, and he was biting my mouth, my tongue, stealing the last of my air. His grip on my neck tightened. The pain blurred and melted with the others. My senses spun. Let me pass out. Let me sleep. Let me die. Anything to get away. Let me die let me die let me die.

I slept.

888888

Louis was a beautiful bastard even in the dull gray light of the city’s dawn.

He was standing in the alleyway outside the building that had held the vamp nest, and I knew he was there even before he spoke. I wasn’t surprised to find him there. He was the one who had called me about the nest, and he sometimes met me afterwards when it was a particularly extensive job. “Another victory?”

“Like you even have to ask.”

He pulled me in for a kiss, and I returned it with interest. Killing vamps had revved me up, and somehow the filth of the alleyway made Louis even more enticing.

“How many vamps did you kill?” Louis asked low, palming me through my pants. I gasped and leaned towards him, smelling his hair and cologne and the vamp blood I was covered in. “Eleven.”

He cursed in French and shoved me against the wall. He unzipped the coat I’d thrown over my blood soaked shirt. I started to protest, but then he undid my fly and took my cock in hand. I was already hard from the killing, and his hot hand was riveting. “How?” he demanded.

“The usual.” I struggled to keep my voice even as he started to jerk me off. “Slipped in through the window during the party. Enough humans there that they didn’t check.” There were humans that chased the high of having their blood drunk, and there were always enough of them at these parties that the vamps could take their fill without draining enough to kill. I never understood why anyone would want to be vamp-bait, since I always found it painful and tedious, but it worked in my favor. It was always easy enough to crash the party.

“Didn’t they notice?”

“After a while. I’d killed six of them by then.”

“How?” Louis asked again, making me smile and kiss him. His hand on me slowed, although his grip didn’t falter.

“Slit their beatless necks, like always. Fuck, it’s so easy. They’re practically on their knees when they drink me, they love it so fucking much, and all I have to do is take out the knife and drain them.” Over and over they’d looked up at me, realizing that what they thought was prey, easy bait in a vamp house, was their own destruction. I shuddered thinking about it.

“And then what?” Louis asked. He was hard, and I wondered how long he’d been like that. If he’d waited outside, thinking of me killing all those vamps, and been hard.

“And then they knew that one of the humans was killing them, but they didn’t know which one.” Louis got to his knees then, and licked the head of my cock. He was such a perfect bitch, on his knees in an alleyway at four in the morning. I wanted to put my hands in his hair. “And I killed three more of them while they ran around like headless chickens. They smell me and they’re finished. By that point – shit – they corralled the humans in the living room and – and –” Louis was working hard to distract me, challenging me to finish before I came. I talked faster. “They realized it wasn’t any of them because of the bite marks and made them leave and they must have known I was still there, oh fuck like that, yes, fuck, and – oh god – they – there are only too left and I get one as he’s getting his coat.” He had been shaking as he reached for his things, shaking from the thought of me.

I was talking a mile a minute now, because Louis had me in his mouth and it was so good and I couldn’t stop or I’d come before I finished. “Last one’s Tamaro, his house, his party, and he’s on the phone with whoever the fuck when I find him. He doesn’t hang up, and I don’t make him, and I make sure he screams before he dies.” And then it was over and Louis took me in his throat all the way. He looked up at me and it was so fucking perfect: he was exactly like the vamps on their knees and staring up at me. I came so hard it almost hurt.

When my senses cleared Louis was standing up again, wiping his mouth. I zipped myself up casually, high on sex and killing. “You want to do something about that?” I asked, nodding towards his bulging package.

He arched a brow at me, like he was far above fucking in alleyways. Like he hadn’t been on his knees a moment before, sucking me off like one of the cities finest whores. I smiled at him. I was in such a good mood even his pissy Gallic snobbery couldn’t shake me. “Did you drive here?”

“My car’s at the corner,” he said, his voice rough.

“What’s the back seat look like?”

He snorted. “Shameless. We’ll go back to my place.” He started to walk towards the corner, only a little stiffness in his gait.

“Why wait?” I asked as I fell into pace with him. Louis could be nearly incomprehensible at times.

He gave me another arch look and beeped the lock on his car. “One day,” he said as he went around to the driver’s side, “You will learn the value of anticipation.”

888888

There was a rushing sound over the rattle of my breath. It was calming, and I listened to it as my senses came back to me. Tingling all over my body, heat that grew until I realized I was aching unbearably everywhere, that I was sticky and suffering and blind. The pain was a weight on me. I couldn’t move. But I had to. I had to get away.

What was I escaping?

I opened my eyes with effort. My vision was red and blurry. My eyes felt strange, dry and strained. Something soft and wet descending on my face, and I felt warm water running over my eyes. The thing – soft, grainy sensation – ran along my face slowly, wiping away some of the stickiness. It left and my blurry vision cleared slowly, sharpening into defined lights and colors. I was in the bathtub, white. I was covered in blood, red. The water was running. That was the rushing sound.

And then he was there, kneeling by the bathtub. Familiar.

“Back with us, I see.”

I knew the voice. Santo. I knew him, knew what had happened, but everything seemed far away, muted by the pain. Anger and fear seemed incomprehensible. I felt nothing except pain and exhaustion.

“Ssh. Don’t try to speak. You broke your voice screaming, I think, and your mouth seems rather scraped up as well,” Santo said as he wet the sponge and started to wash me. I looked at my body. I was covered in ugly tears and gouges. Black bruising covered my hips, and the bite mark I could see on my arm was ragged and hideous. I barely recognized myself. I felt like I was staring at a body that wasn’t mine.

“What’s wrong with me?” I tried to ask. I couldn’t even move my lips. Nothing came out except a broken whimper.

“Don’t be afraid,” Santo said softly. “You’ve done this before. You know it will get better.” He moved out of my line of vision as he reached behind me to clean the sponge under the running water, and I couldn’t turn my head to follow him. My neck was stiff and ached unbearably with each breath. A vision of Santo choking me passed before my eyes, his hand on my throat, his mouth and teeth on mine.

Santo washed more blood off of me. There was so much of it, and it was all mine.

“See? You’re doing very well. You’re not even crying this time.”

I was too tired to cry. Crying was a release, and I didn’t have anything more to let out.

“I know you’re in a lot of pain, but I can’t drug you now. You’ve lost a lot of blood and your breathing and heart rate are very poor. I don’t think it would kill you, but it would almost certainly slow your healing.”

I blinked dully, hearing his voice more than his words. Then he was silent for a moment, and I heard only the rushing sound of the water and the splash of the sponge.

“I know you’re probably in too much shock to really understand what I’m saying, but you’re such pleasant company when you aren’t swearing every other minute I can’t help myself.”

I looked at him. Even if I could have spoken, I didn’t know what to say. Anger seemed so distant.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a guest. The servants have been furniture for ages. Benedict is like a viper; we only talk about business. All of the humans didn’t last very long.”

I didn’t understand why he kept talking to me, and why my body was so insistent on consciousness. I was so tired, and yet I could not fall asleep.

“I know you probably think it’s cruel that I’m keeping you in the bath like this, cleaning you by hand. Cleaning by magic stings quite a bit, however, and you don’t need any more trauma.”

I remembered the vomit disappearing. It had been there, vile and acrid and shameful, and then gone. I wanted that to be me. I wanted to be gone.

“It will never get any worse than this, Bello. And you don’t have to keep throwing yourself at it, either. That attack with the knife was horrifically stupid, which you would have realized if you’d stopped swearing at me for a second and listened.”

He was speaking faster now, his voice urgent. “You have to realize that you can’t stop it. Hurting me only makes my control worse. It didn’t have to happen like that either time, and your carrying on only made it worse.”

He stopped for a moment. I stared at my ruined body. My limbs were someone else’s. My pain was someone else’s. I wasn’t here. “I suppose it’s partially my fault. I’ve born this burden so long I forgot what it was like to be young, to owe nothing to anyone. I was stupid to think you would settle down so fast.”

My body would heal. One day I’d look down at my limbs and see only tan skin and ready muscle. One day this would be over, and there would be no scars, and I could forget it ever happened. And I would be in my bed, or Louis’, or sitting on a rooftop, watching the sun rise over the city.

Santo seemed to have finished with the sponge. He rinsed the blood from the walls and floor of the bathtub, and then toweled me dry. Pain rippled into me wherever he rubbed me down. “Stitches would be too much, I think. You barely needed the bandages, last time.” When I was mostly dry he picked me up, and the pain was so intense I cried out, the sound a wheezing bleat through my broken voice.

“Easy, now. It’s almost over.” He carried me out of the bathroom and deposited me onto the bed. I lay on my back, my breath the only sound I could hear. I stared at the bed’s heavy, elaborate canopy. It was dark.

“I’m going to help you, Bello,” Santo said finally, staring at the window. “I’m the reason you’re here, and I’ve done a terrible job of helping you acclimate so far. But I can make it better, I promise.”

He reached out and ran his fingers through my hair. I felt the ghost of claws in his fingertips.

Santo looked at me again. “You probably won’t like it, of course, but you’ll come around.”

He left.

I slept.