Within a Forest Dark

Author's Note: Thanks to all the kind reviewers! In brief response to a few of them, Bello's name is explained in this chapter (for oo :-)), and for Saminada, I can only beg you to leave comments like that as often as you wish. I'm a shameless whore for feedback and comments like yours really helped me when I got stumped with this chapter. I would have emailed you personally, but your email was hidden. Happy reading, y'all!

When I woke up, everything was fuzzy. Not like a kitten fuzzy, like my old dog Lucy used to be, but happy fuzzy, all the corners smoothed over, everything a little blurry.

The bed beneath me was warm and comfy, welcoming like a hug from an old friend. I felt good, buzzing and content inside. No more hurt anymore, everything all healed over and good as new. I liked this. This was much better than when everything was pain and terror.

Maybe I wouldn’t think about that anymore.

I thought about happy things instead, like fucking Louis on a Sunday morning or that crazy one night stand I’d had with Isabella before we were just hunters together and that time my mother and I went to the park and she was really happy for once. We fed the birds and she talked about her college years and told me to enjoy college for all it was worth.

I was really hungry. My stomach was talking, saying things like “mrrgh” and “nrrfle.” I sat up. Maybe there was some food around. When I tried to reach around at the bedstand, however, my hands were caught up short. I looked around, trying to concentrate past the blurriness. My hands were tied. I pulled on the chains but nothing happened. I was confused, but then, bondage had never been my thing. Not when I was getting tied up, anyway. If someone else wanted to be, then bring ‘em in and strap ‘em down, was what I always said.

How did I wind up in chains? Maybe Santo would know.

“Santo!” I called. “Santo!”

He appeared out of nowhere, like a wizard. And then it struck me that he was a wizard, and I giggled. Which was a little strange, because I never giggled – ever – but it was fun, so I didn’t mind.

“Hello,” I said. I thought maybe I’d be afraid, because the memories still loomed behind me, dark and threatening, but the warmth and the fuzziness kept them away, and when Santo sat down beside me on the bed I didn’t even flinch away. He touched my face with his wrist, like he was checking for a fever.

“How do you feel?” he asked. His voice was very pleasant to listen to.

I focused on his question. It took me a moment to come up with an answer. It was hard to concentrate. “Fuzzy.”

Santo smiled. His teeth were very white. “That’s good. I see the drug has had its intended effect. You must be hungry.”

How had he known? “Did you read my mind?”

He laughed. “No, of course not. You haven’t had anything in your stomach for a substantial period of time in weeks. I’m certain you must be famished.”

I nodded.

Santo snapped his fingers, and the door creaked open, allowing a little cart to roll in. I had seen it before, I remembered vaguely, although I could not remember where. It stopped before us, and I reached out to it, smelling something delicious, before I remembered that my hands were tied.

“My hands are tied,” I said, because maybe Santo hadn’t realized. It was very dark in here. Maybe he hadn’t seen.

“I know. I don’t want to take the risk that you’ll hurt me, yourself, or one of the staff.”

I looked at my chained hands. I felt strange. “I won’t hurt anybody.”

“It’s for your own good, Bello.”

Bello was me. Bello mio bello bambino caro.

“How about some food?” Santo asked, lifting the top off of the cart, revealing a bowl of soup and some slices of bread. My mouth was watering.

How could I eat when my hands were tied?

“Allow me,” Santo said, like he was reading my mind again. He picked up a bowl and took a spoonful of it and held it out to me. “It should clear up the drug as well, if I’m not mistaken.”

Something in the back of my mind was unhappy, sad and snarling like a cornered dog, angry about eating from someone else’s hands, but it was as hungry as the rest of me. The soup was hot and smelled fantastic, and I bent my head and took the mouthful gratefully. Santo held out another spoonful, as delicious as the last, and my world narrowed to what he gave me. I think some of it spilled a bit in my haste, because suddenly Santo was brushing my lips with his fingers, his eyes narrow and focused. He shifted his position on the bed, and I wondered if he was uncomfortable.

“Your name has never been more appropriate,” Santo said, quiet like he was speaking to himself. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t like my name, because it was stupid and what kind of name was “pretty” anyway? But I had soup in my mouth, so I said nothing. I ate, feeling something in me grow warm that had been cold and empty before. Maybe I had been hungrier than I thought. My mind was starting to clear, and my vision began to sharpen.

Something was wrong.

It was just a little thing, a niggling feeling at the back of my head like I’d forgotten the keys or left the gas on or was being followed by a vamp, but it was a feeling I’d learned to depend on.

Definitely something wrong.

I opened my mouth to say so to Santo, but then closed it. He offered me more soup, and I ate it as I pondered the feeling. There was no one following me, no one anywhere except Santo right in front of me. Just as it should be.

Right?

I ate more soup. Strange that I couldn’t eat it by myself, that my hands were tied. But Santo had said it was okay, and it hadn’t stopped me from eating. I wasn’t wearing clothing, but I wasn’t cold or uncomfortable.

And Santo was right there, ready to help.

Santo, who was warm and strong and feeding me, who wanted what was best for me.

No, still something wrong.

I looked at my hands, placid in the chains. I couldn’t go anywhere, couldn’t run from the monster. Because there was a monster, dark and enormous, lurking somewhere like a serpent in the grass or a kraken in the depths. He was waiting for me, claws and teeth sharp, prowling just around the corner.

No. He was right in front of me.

Everything clicked suddenly, the last vestiges of whatever Santo had doped me with gone. I was chained and naked in front of my tormentor, the monster who terrified me, and he was feeding me as gently as a mother would her baby, looking at me in a way that was anything but maternal.

“Shit,” I said, and I think my voice cracked a little. I was frozen where I sat. Santo seemed to have noticed that I wasn’t doped up any more, and he reached out to touch me. I flinched away before I could stop myself, and was unabashedly relieved when he didn’t try to touch me again. I was so pathetically, enormously frightened. He’d gotten the drop on me good this time. I couldn’t even pretend I wasn’t near to pissing myself with fear, even though Santo was being gentle as a lamb. A lamb that tore people apart and ripped open their minds every so often.

He could have done worse, I tried to tell myself, as I replayed what had happened now that my mind was clear. He could have hurt me, raped me, made me tell him all sorts of things.

He could still do those things. I was still tied and naked and basically helpless against him. My last attack had proved that, hadn’t it? Beyond any shadow of a doubt. For the first time in my life, I was faced with an opponent I couldn’t just stab to death, and it scared me half to death.

“Bello?” Santo’s voice hadn’t changed. He still spoke like a parent or a kindergarten teacher, kind and calm. And insane. And terrifying. I couldn’t bring myself to answer him, to say anything, to move at all. Some pathetic instinct had taken over me, that told me to stay totally, perfectly still, as if perhaps he wouldn’t notice me then.

“Ah, I had hoped this would not happen. I did not hurt you just now, you realize. I thought you might take that into account as you came to your senses. I only fed you, and saw to your comfort. Focus on that. Breathe, Bello.”

He said my name too much. I hated the sound of my name on his tongue. But I did need to breathe, and I did focus on that, because it was better than thinking about my current situation. I made sure my breaths weren’t rapid or shallow. The last thing I needed to do was pass out again.

How long had I been out this time? I didn’t want to turn around to look out the window, since that would require turning my back on Santo, but the room was dark but for the soft glow of the lamp on the bedstead. It was always night here. Even the daylight couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Would you like to know why I secured you with manacles?” Santo asked, like he was asking me if I preferred a certain year for the wine.

“Let me go.” Cursing him was useless. Maybe even being unchained was useless. Even if I were free, if I were armed and ready and Santo completely defenseless, I was still fucked. Totally, and completely – and painfully literally -- fucked.

“Our last little encounter made me realize that in order for you to become adjusted to your new life here, you would require a few boundaries. I have no qualms about providing them, of course, except that I thought you might… appreciate a choice.”

What choice could he possibly offer that wouldn’t suck?

“The way I see it, you have two options before you. The first is to live your life under the influence of the narcotic you’ve just experienced, or something similar to it. As you’ve surely come to realize, it would make you feel quite pleasant, and would greatly diminish your emotional discomfort. In the event that the effect begins to wear down, I assure you I have a cornucopia of drugs with similar effects, which would ensure your comfort for some time. You would, alas, have to remain restrained in some way, at least for the time being, to ensure that you did not --”

“No.” If there was anything I was sure of, it was that anything had to be better than that. Anything but lying around, doped to the gills and tied up like a goddamn puppy, waiting to be beaten and raped by the man petting me and calling me beautiful. The idea made me ill, and worse was the fact that if Santo wanted to, there was little I could do to stop him. “Please don’t do that to me.” It pained me to beg. I used to tell myself I’d never beg, not even when the vamps were at their worst, tormenting me, delighting in my pain and blood. But not even they had done this.

Santo held a hand up to silence me. “I’m not finished. Your second option is this.” He held something up. A length of leather, not long or wide enough to be a belt but with a similar buckle and strap. A metal ring in the center. A collar. I could spend my time in chains and on drugs or I could let a monster put his collar on me. “Fuck you,” I said, so quietly I barely heard myself. I stared at Santo’s knees, clad in his perfectly pressed black pants.

“It’s charmed only to prevent you from harming anyone, me or others or yourself. It’s for your benefit, truly, since wounding me only quickens the change, and harming yourself would be very unproductive.”

“You’re so sure I’d try to hurt myself?” I had a whisper of my familiar outrage, although I could not bring myself to raise my voice or my eyes. I was hurting, sure. Who wouldn’t be? That didn’t make me coward enough to kill myself. I still had *some* pride, damn it.

But who knew for how long?

“It’s only a precaution,” Santo said smoothly. “Have you come to a decision?”

It wasn’t a choice. The collar would be humiliating, but worlds better than lying alone in the dark, chained and dreaming and waiting for pain. Santo probably knew that, the bastard, probably made it that way so wearing his collar wouldn’t seem so bad.

I had no plans to attack him. I just wanted to get away, now, and the collar didn’t seem to prevent me from doing that. It wouldn’t be so bad.

I had no other choice. “Unchain me.” Let him figure out what that meant.

He leaned forward and reached behind me to do the buckle, his face near mine. Having his hands on my neck brought back memories of him on top of me, when he was making me choke and gasp and cry.

The leather was soft, at least, and didn’t rub.

“Is it too tight?” Santo asked, his breath on my ear. I shook my head minutely.

“Good.” He undid the manacles, then, the key appearing in his hands from nowhere. I rubbed my wrists numbly, unsure what to do now. I felt strange, filled with a kind of itch, something under my skin. I didn’t know how to fix it. It was dirty and raw inside me, something that had been violated and hadn’t healed.

There was silence for a moment in that dark room, while Santo stared at me and I looked at anything but him.

“I’m sure you’d like to finish your meal.” He handed me the bowl, and I ate the rest of the soup mechanically, going through the bread afterwards. It did make me feel better, quieting the last vestiges of hunger and replenishing a whole lot of energy, but it didn’t fix that other thing inside me, that made me want to scrub my skin off. I hadn’t felt it after the first attack. Or maybe I had, and I had just managed to hide it until Santo had ripped me open again.

“Perhaps now you’d like a bath? At the very least I imagine you’d like to shave.”

I rubbed the scruff on my face. How long had it been since I’d shaved? “Okay.”

He led me to the bathroom, like I was going to get lost on the way. Then he opened the door for me like I was some sort of lady and all of a sudden I was dizzy. The bathroom was mostly white, white tile with white porcelain and shiny wrought iron handles on everything, but I couldn’t stop picturing it covered in red. My blood had been everywhere, and I had just lain there, bleeding and helpless, while Santo had touched me and –

“Is something wrong?”

I turned away from the bathroom, sinking to the floor. I was so fucked up. I wasn’t even going to be able to take a piss now without thinking about it, that awful feeling twisting in my gut. I couldn’t fight this. I couldn’t fight Santo. What the fuck was I going to do?

“Bello, are you ill?”

“Don’t touch me!” I was practically shouting, but the idea of Santo’s hands on me was intolerable. He was crouching right next to me, and I could barely stand it. He still smelled the same, the way he had when he’d been on top of me.

“Calm yourself. I’ve not done anything.” He sounded annoyed this time. I tried to control my breathing. I had to admit he was right. He hadn’t done
anything to me.

Except for the part where he had kidnapped and beaten and raped me. Twice.

“I guess we have different definitions of ‘anything.’”

Santo stood up again. “Come. I’ve a present for you.”

He offered me his hand but I ignored it as I got to my feet. “Does it begin with ‘f’ and end in ‘reedom?’”

“What?” Confusion looked ridiculous on Santo’s face.

“Nevermind.” I went over to the trusty armoire for some clothes. Another set of jeans and a t-shirt. I tried not to think about the violent death the last two sets had died.

Santo was watching me dress, his eyes reflecting the dim light. Funny how it was more embarrassing for him to see me dress than when I was just naked. I dressed quickly, ignoring the way the collar of my shirt brushed the leather on my neck. I’d had the damn thing on for five minutes and already I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t even know what the hell it did. Had Santo been bluffing about its powers, or just lying? It could just be a plain old leather collar, although the chances of anything here being just as it seemed were probably nil. The idea that it was magicked to do more than Santo had said was a more frightening thought.

“Are you ready?” Santo asked when I was done.

I shrugged. I didn’t want to stay in the room.

I turned to the door. Call me a stickler for tradition, but that was my usual MO for leaving a room when I wasn’t breaking and entering. Instead Santo snapped his fingers, and the world shifted in my stomach. In one gut wrenching moment, everything went completely topsy-turvy, and when the world stopped spinning we were somewhere new. I didn’t notice where at first because I was too busy convincing myself not to throw up.

“What the hell was that?” I demanded as soon as I had convinced my stomach to shut up and take it like a man. We were back in the dining hall, I realized, and I peered into the shadows for little moving trays. Creepy fuckers.

“You’ll grow used to it in time. Perhaps this will take your mind off of it.” He gestured to the table, and I took a look at the platter at the center.

For a split second I thought it was more food, some exotic dish Santo thought would please me. But then I recognized the smell, and *then* I recognized the features. They were frozen in death, twisted into a horrible grimace, and I wondered if Lupos had made that face when his head had been chopped off or if he had been dead by the time Santo – or whoever had done this – had done the deed.

It was sick, seeing a severed head – especially the severed head of a vamp, already pasty even before death – on a silver platter, a ghastly centerpiece on the elegant table.

“He was the one responsible for your torment when I found you, I believe. I made certain that he suffered before he died.”

I stared into the pale, dead eyes of my one time captor. Lupos had been a worthy enemy. He’d been a sadistic bastard, running his little corner of downtown with an iron fang. I’d looked forward to killing him, even more so once he’d jabbed a few bottles worth of glass into my back. He’d been mine, him and the rest of his nest. Not anymore. Now he was just another animal in his prime, at the top of his game, that Santo had effortlessly broken.

“I thought you’d be pleased.” Santo’s voice took on a harder edge.

“Right… thanks.” It didn’t seem real, Lupos’ head there. It didn’t matter anyway, as long as I was stuck here. Vamp politics seemed very far away now.

I couldn’t stop staring at Lupos. I remembered the last time I’d seen him, through the haze of dizziness that had come from pain and blood loss and dehydration. He had known who Santo was, I realized. Maybe they all had, from the way they had backed away from him.

“Bello, are you— *damn* it.”

He said it with such vehemence that I tensed, wondering if he was going to pounce. But he wasn’t even looking at me, staring out at something I couldn’t see. He snapped his fingers again, and disappeared.

Without Santo, the dining hall seemed much bigger. I looked at the head again. “Just you and me, now, leech.” The moment I’d waited so long for, just me and Lupos, face to face. Except nothing had come out the way I’d planned. Lupos had nothing *but* his face and I was wearing the collar of a demonic monster.

Shit happened.

I felt laughter bubble up inside me, and choked on it. If I started laughing now, I’d cry. I needed a plan of action. Santo clearly had other fish to fry, and I was alone in his mansion. This had to be some sort of opportunity.

The dining hall didn’t hold much. Just the long table, the marble floor, and the shadows along the walls. I went for the door, found it unlocked, and left.
Unsurprisingly, I found another hallway, only gently lit. I thought back to the first time Santo had led me here, but this place didn’t look familiar. I tried to remember everything Santo had told me about navigating this place. It had changed, I remembered, once the magic got to it. He’d also said the mirrors would help me, but there were none in sight and I didn’t want to risk one of them running to Santo if he was still here.

Back to square one.

I chose a direction at random and set off down another dark hallway. The lights along the wall gave off only enough light to make it harder to see in the darkness. They revealed bits of the tapestries. Some had elegant ladies in heavy dresses, men in tights leaning towards each other. There were statues perched in niches, mostly little creatures, dancing demons baring their teeth, and one statue of a young woman holding a basket of fruit, wrapped in a toga that fell around her like water. Her eyes followed me. I sped up.

I had no idea where I was going, or even where I wanted to go, but anything was better than standing still, waiting around with a severed head and the feeling that I was still violated.

I found myself remembering other houses and other explorations. I’d broken into warehouses near the river and penthouses uptown. Brownstones could hold a whole nest of particularly affluent vamps, especially at a party, and I used to hunt up and down the stairs until they went slippery with blood. Wandering around dark hallways used to be thrilling. At best I could slaughter the vamps wholesale in their sleep and at worst I bleated like prey until my mark was close enough to stab. No other hunter ever dared to get that close, and nobody had known how I’d done it. No one had had any inkling of what
I could do.

Before Santo.

I couldn’t wrap my head around him. Even besides the magic and the shape shifting and the rest, which was weird enough, he was the craziest person I’d ever met. How twisted did you have to be before you thought attacking and raping someone was an honor, or that severed heads made good gifts?

That was the real bitch of it. He wasn’t just the biggest, scariest motherfucker I’d ever had flying at me with his teeth bared. He was insane, the bastard love child of the Mad Hatter and Vlad the Impaler.

The hallway took an abrupt turn, and in a moment I’d arrived at an open space, glimmering in the low light coming from the torches along the walls. The staircase stretched out on the opposite side of the room, richly carpeted and flanked by high, twisting columns rising to god knew where. Heavy, snarling gargoyles carved out of dark stone made up the bulk of the columns, and the light that fell on the staircase only cast them into deeper shadow. Another flight of stairs stretched down into the darkness. I thought those might lead to the room with the view of the meadow, where I had eaten before, but I could hardly be sure.

Up or down? It didn’t seem to matter, since I had no idea where anything was, and the house made helpful random changes. I looked at the two staircases, and took the one leading upwards. It had better lighting.

The second my bare foot hit the first stir the noise started. I jumped back, reflexively reaching for a knife that wasn’t there. It was a grating sort of noise, stone on stone, and I backed up more, trying to see what the stairs were doing.

It wasn’t the stairs at all. It was the columns, the monsters in the columns. They were *moving*, shifting and lashing long granite tails.

It wasn’t terror that made me freeze. I simply couldn’t tear myself away. The creatures were monstrous, enormous masses of stone that had been freaky enough as stylized columns, and now that they had fucking *come to life*…

One of them turned to look at me, the light finally hitting its face. Its head was shaped like a bull, with gruesome fangs. It snarled something at me, its voice low and rumbling like the distant roar of a plane taking off.

“Holy shit.” My feet still felt glued to the floor. If I ran, would those things chase me?

The other one growled at me, too, more insistently. It was looking at me also, if something with only stone for eyes could look. It growled again.

Suddenly the freaky talking mirror Clara seemed much less freaky. Christ, even Santo might be better than these two.

“Sorry to interrupt.” My tongue was thick with tension. What the fuck had I gotten myself into? Even walking into Lupos’ trap hadn’t been this unnerving. “I was just… looking around.” I barely heard what I was saying. I tried to take a step back, and got another snarl for my trouble. I stopped.

There was a screeching sort of noise as one of them cocked its head. It made another noise, and repeated it, a lowing noise, echoing through the open space. It sounded familiar.

Holy shit, it was saying my name.

I nodded my head, dumbstruck. This was unreal. For years only two people had ever called me by my real name, and now everything down to the stones knew it. It was like a dream.

“Bellllllooooo,” the other one said, nodding slowly. Then, with equal slowness, both of them reached out with their tails towards the stairs leading upward. Moving almost as slowly as they did, I took a step forward. The statues didn’t move. I took another, and another, ascending the stairs, and heard only the soft noise of my feet on the carpet. The gargoyles were still once more, identical to each other, as though they hadn’t moved and talked moments before.

I hurried up the stairs.

The carpet was ridiculously luxurious beneath my bare feet. The railings, blessedly gargoyle free, were thick and shining, made of polished colored marble. I had never felt so shaggy before. I hadn’t shaved in days, or bathed in almost as long, and I wasn’t even wearing shoes. My body had never given me the nitty gritty problems like greasy hair or sour breath, but I could still feel gross.

The next floor didn’t look different from the last one at first. Same high ceilings, elaborate paintings, marble floor, haunting shadows of doom, blah, blah, blah. No statues, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something else lurking. Something in the air got my spidey senses tingling, and even if I hadn’t been in a haunted fucking house I’d been hunting long enough to know to pay attention to that feeling. I stopped for a moment and listened, and it paid off when I caught the low rumble of voices.

It could be Santo. I had no idea where he had gone. It could also be a talking mirror, or a talking gargoyle, or some other freaky piece of furniture. It could be another monster out to get me. But there was a chance that it was someone or something that could help me? What did I have to lose? Onward ho.

I wasn’t sure how useful my old hunting tactics were, since the entire house was rigged with magic powers, but they couldn’t hurt. I stepped to the side and put one foot in front of the other and tried not to think that I had no weapon and even if I did it wouldn’t do me any good anyway.

The voices grew louder. I came to a door, an old school style baby decked out in swirls and demons, with a keyhole straight out of a Hardy boys story. I had never actually spied through a keyhole, but I’d also never been trapped in the cursed mansion of a psychopath. I crouched and tried to get a good view.

Santo was glaring. Of course it was him. Something in me fell a little at the sight. All this way to get to the one person I needed to avoid. I considered getting up and going back and just cursing the night I got into this mess.

“You arrogant son of a bitch,” someone said, and I was shocked to realize it wasn’t Santo. “How could you say that when you know damn well nothing can be done?”

I knew that voice.

“Nonsense,” Santo replied, sounding the same way he had when he’d first shown up, all aristocratic confidence. “You’ve said yourself the little ones forget
soon enough.”

“I’m not *talking* about the little ones, obviously. They’re not the ones depending on me to keep you on a leash.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. As if you’ve ever had me leashed,” Santo said low, just as I placed the voice. Benedict, the leech who had wanted me dead. Perfect.

“You owe me more than ever, especially now that you’ve done it publicly. I was willing to look the other way about the oath the first time, given what you’d proposed for the hunter brat, but I can’t sweep this under the carpet.”

My money was on the “hunter brat” being me, but the rest of what Benedict had said was confusing and irresistibly intriguing. Part of me still wanted to run, to get away from Santo as fast as possible, but I needed the information. Neither of them seemed to have heard or smelled me, which was strange, but I had never been one to look gift cover in the mouth.

“Don’t worry yourself so. You whined just as much about the hunter and everything has worked out perfectly, has it not?” Hearing Santo so solicitous was unsettling.

“This is much bigger than that, Santo. You don’t understand how nervous you’ve made everyone. They’re frothing at the mouth as far as Rome.”

Santo walked away, out of my limited sight, and I saw what was behind him. It looked like some kind of archway, out of place in the middle of the room.

“What do they care? And what do you care, for that matter? Since when has the mewling of some poor coven concerned any of the clans? The mortal has been slaughtering them by the barrel in your own backyard for years, and even you never noticed until he touched your precious plaything.”

“Hardly the same. Whatever the mortal’s body count, he didn’t rip their heads off their shoulders, did he? He certainly hadn’t just made a promise of immunity to the entire coven!”

“I never said who the immunity would work against. Lupos was a fool not to realize, and you’re an even greater fool to make such a fuss out of it. I built the arc so that you could deliver urgent news and goods, not so that you could come to harangue me with every complaint.”

Benedict hissed, a sound I’d always taken as the vamp equivalent of “fuck you.” “You’re missing the point. This is not about you, or Lupos. This concerns my reputation. You’ve broken your word twice now, and you know the only reason the rest of the clans don’t move against you is because of our agreement.”

“Which still stands. I promised you support as long as you supplied me with suitable sacrifices. The hunter has already proven invaluable, and I’m hardly likely to forget that I owe the discovery to you.”

Neither was I. Santo may have proved knife-proof, but if I ever got my hands on Benedict he had another thing coming. Hearing what the agreement was between them confirmed my earlier theory, that Benedict had something on Santo. I hadn’t realized that it was me.

“Of course I know that, but that’s not what it looks like to the rest of the clans.”

“So what does it look like?” Santo sounded annoyed. Benedict stepped into my line of sight, hands out in supplication. He was as pale as I’d remembered, long white hair hanging down his back, stark against his black suit.

Benedict’s voice had lowered, although he was thankfully still audible. “It looked like you absconded with your little pet to your love nest. Not only that, but you promptly returned to decapitate a known enemy of his. They’re questioning your motives, and there are only so many conclusions they can come to. Charles has already threatened to sic a couple of hybrids on you, and you know Romeon would only consider it a challenge.”

“Hybrids” was an obvious new word to file away, like the names Charles and Romeon, but the phrase “known enemy” stuck with me. How much did all these vamps Benedict was talking about – the older ones – know about me? How much of it was from Santo or Benedict, and how much had they known all along? How much had I been in the dark about this?

Santo reappeared in my line of sight, moving to stand near Benedict again. “Lupos was a gift for him,” he said with an air of reluctance. “I thought perhaps he would appreciate a show of support.”

Benedict shrugged. “Why bother?”

Santo looked away, doing that staring into the distance thing that already pissed me off so much. “Bello lives here, now. I thought to make him comfortable. He’s terrified enough as it is.”

“You kidnapped and raped him – not that I’m protesting, mind you, I merely state the facts – and you thought a severed head would calm him down.” Benedict and I agreed on one thing, at least: mutilated corpses do not good presents make.

“It does seem foolish, in retrospect. He’s such a martial little thing I thought he might take to a gesture in kind more quickly than flowers or poetry. He’s already attacked me twice. I think he’s as much ‘bellum’ as he is ‘bellus.’”

I had no idea what the last bit meant.

“Yes, I’ve heard he’s quite violent.” Benedict sounded like he was musing on a book he’d read. “I admit I hadn’t realized the scope of his goings on until Hans, but even now none of the covens can tell me anything about him. I haven’t even heard a body count.”

“He doesn’t even know himself. It’s amazing how far he’s come considering how little he understands. He had no idea vampires could communicate with anything other than their tongues, and the reality of sorcery made him physically ill. Twice.”

I winced in remembrance and wished they would get back to talking about the other vamps. I knew I probably had limited time to hang around, since one of them would have to leave eventually, but on the other hand, what else did I have to do?

“You can hardly blame him for that. I remember it coming as something of a shock myself.”

“Ah, but you were a mortal when we met, or nearly so. Bello is anything but.”

“Yes, yes, so you’ve said. I still don’t see why you’re so convinced he’s special. At best he’s just another halfbreed, and we hardly need any more of those.” Benedict waved a hand dismissively. “What’s the little brat doing now, by the way? In pain, I hope.”

“Probably. I gave him a collar only a little while ago, and if recent events have taught me anything he’s most likely working himself into a state over it. If I’m correct, he’s…” Santo frowned then, concentrated, and in the moment before he looked at the door I knew the game was up.

I didn’t run. The door was open by the time I stood up, and Santo grabbed me by the collar before I could take a step back. It was humiliating, and I clutched at the collar as Santo dragged me in, hating him more with every step.

The room was better lit than the rest of the house had been, at least. The seemingly random archway in the middle of the room gave off a glow that was matched by the overhead lights. Magic or electricity?

“How long were you there?” Benedict demanded.

I worked up a good sneer, even with Santo still holding me by my fucking collar. Benedict, no matter how well he spoke or how much he brushed his girly long hair, was just another leech. “Fuck you.”

Benedict moved toward me in a classic vamp challenge. His eyes were nearly white, I realized, the palest I’d ever seen. I wondered how he could stand any light at all. “I can make you pay for that.”

“Bite me.” That phrase almost always confused vamps, especially when they might have actually been about to bite you.

Benedict did seem dumbstruck for a moment, but then his pale features twisted again, revealing his teeth. ‘Do it,’ I dared him mentally. I didn’t care that Santo was still holding onto me, that I didn’t even have a knife. It was such a fucking relief just to know how to fight him. I was vibrating with it.

He was halfway to me when Santo pulled me back roughly, out of range. He still had a good clutch on my collar, and wrapped his free hand around my chest, holding me sickeningly close. I wanted to struggle, but pushing only brought home how immovable Santo was, and how vulnerable I was with the collar pressing uncomfortably against my throat.

“You ought to teach him a lesson,” Benedict said, his accent more pronounced with his teeth still so prominent.

“Can’t do it yourself, bloodsucker?” My voice was the last weapon I had, and I wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Calm down, Benedict, he obviously couldn’t have been here long or we would have sensed him. He’s only baiting you. Resist the urge to give into it.”

“Fuck both of you with tire irons.” Anger and humiliation were throbbing through me, robbing me of wit, but I did have enough sense to realize the importance of what Santo had said. Neither of them had sensed me, in the normal way or otherwise.

Benedict gestured at me. “I thought you said he was terrified.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Santo all but snarled, his grip tightening on me painfully. But when he spoke again, he sounded like he had in the rain, what seemed like an eternity ago. “He *is* terrified. I can feel him shaking.”

“Fuck you.” I regretted saying it instantly. It hung in the air between us, all my anger revealed for what it was.

Benedict was looking at me differently now, in a way I couldn’t name and didn’t like. I looked away as much as Santo’s grip on my collar allowed.

“Give me a minute with him,” Santo said. Benedict shrugged after a moment and wandered off to stand behind the arch. I was shocked when I realized I couldn’t see him once he went behind it. What the hell?

“I know you’re frightened, Bello.” Santo’s voice near my ear snapped me back. I couldn’t even make myself deny it. Panic loomed in front of me. For the first time in forever I had no anger to fall back on, nothing to stand between me and the void. I was fucking terrified.

“I’m going to let go of you in a moment. I want you to take a moment to breathe, and I want you to calm yourself. I’m not cross with you for coming here, but it will profit no one, especially you, should you attack my guest.”

He let me go then, and I moved away a couple of steps, towards the arch. Benedict walked back over, appearing seemingly out of nowhere.

“I suppose the two of you have not been properly introduced. Bello, this is Benedict, ruler of the Tarquin clan and current inferus imperator of the northern territories. Benedict, this is Bello Armitage, hunter of vampires.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Benedict held out his pale hand, smirking at me. Another challenge, with less teeth and more threat. I held out my hand for the first handshake I’d ever had with a vamp. He felt cold.

I didn’t want to play this game. I couldn’t attack either of them, and I couldn’t start talking about what I had heard, since neither of them had realized I’d heard it. What had been an advantage a minute ago had been flipped on its head.

“He’s certainly a sullen thing, isn’t he?” I flipped Benedict the bird, and Santo stepped between us.

“It’s a work in progress.”

Benedict snorted. “If this is your version of progress, I’d hate to see what failure looks like.” He gave me a contemptuous once over that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Your attempts at seduction always were very messy.”

Santo stiffened at that. I took a step back, unsure how to respond, and found myself closer to the arch. It still gave off that eerie glow, and as I came closer I felt strange vibrations emanating from it. More magic, clearly, but what did it do?

“Some of us require more from our companions than pleasures of the flesh… not that you would understand.”

“Don’t get on your high horse with me. He’s your type twice over and looks like he’d love getting fucked.”

“He’s also not *deaf,* asshole,” I said hotly.

Benedict looked at me long enough to smirk before turning back to Santo. “Besides, if you’re not seducing him, why go through all the motions? If he’s being such a nuisance, lock him up with the rest of your menagerie. I didn’t give him to you to pamper him.”

“I don’t need to be seducing him to want to make him more amenable.”

“Amenable to what?” Benedict asked, at the same time I did. We shared another glance.

Santo seemed as confused by our ditto as we were. “Bello has been reluctant to talk about himself. Understandable, I assure you.” He was looking at
me, now. “I thought perhaps a gift of a defeated enemy might help.”

Benedict’s undignified snort brought us back to him. “You are such an idiot. God’s thumbs, I don’t understand how you can know so much and be so stupid.”

“What?” Santo seemed genuinely puzzled. Me too.

Benedict actually rolled his eyes. “His full name is Bello Alistair Armitage. He’s twenty-two years old, and his birthday is the fifteenth of March. He has been officially missing for five years, ever since a fire burned his house down, taking with it his mother, Maria Armitage, his father, Evan Armitage, and his precious pooch, Lucy. He’s been presumed dead, although his body was never recovered from the ruins. He has no living kin to—”

I leapt on him, cutting him off with a punch to the throat as I threw my weight against him, practically blind with hate. I was going to rip his tongue out.

The numbness hit me like a wave. I sank to the floor bonelessly, falling to Benedict’s side, and could only lie prone as he scrambled away from me. What the hell had happened? My limbs felt impossible to move, like I was turning into a statue.

“Oh, Bello.” Santo sighed. He knelt next to me and actually ruffled my hair. It was gentle enough, but terrifying when I could not move to escape it. “I did tell you the collar would prevent you from harming others. Perhaps now you’ll believe it. The numbness will leave in a few minutes.”

He stood up, leaving me lying helplessly at his feet, looking up at the two of them. The vibration from the arch thrummed through me from the floor.

“How did you know all that?”

“Through the cunning use of Google.” Benedict’s voice was raw from the punch. “One of these days you’re going to discover the particular branch of magic that is the Internet.”

Despite the hatred and humiliation and terror at being so helpless, I might have laughed at that if I hadn’t been so doped up.

“I would have made him come around.” Santo sounded almost petulant.

Benedict hissed again. “I’m not sure how to make this clearer. I don’t *want* him to ‘come around.’ I want him dead, and if he won’t be killed, then I want him to suffer, not be given the run of the mansion. He’s your prisoner, not your goddamn guest. I never though I’d have to explain the difference to a Roman.”

I focused on getting back up as the weakness abated. It was easier than dealing with the rush of information, and the clear magnitude of Benedict’s hatred of me. Santo, much as I hated to admit it, had been right. Hans had been a big fuck up, and Benedict was the reason I was paying for it.

I reached my arm out along the ground unsteadily, relieved to have at least some motor control back.

Above me Santo was practically snarling in Benedict’s face. “And I’m not sure how to make myself clearer. Bello is *mine.* You had your chance with him back in the city, but he is in *my* house now, and I will do with him as I please.

“I assure you Bello is fully aware of his position here, since he has already twice born the full brunt of the change, and lives secure in the knowledge that he will bear it as long as he lives. If that does not constitute suffering, I don’t know what does. I appreciate your advice and am sensitive to your concerns, but if you cannot control yourself, leave.”

He pointed then, but not at the door. Following the line of his hand, I realized he was pointing at the arch. That made no sense, until suddenly it did. A small part of me protested that it wasn’t possible, but it was quickly drowned out by the part of me getting used to things not making sense. Santo teleported like it was going out of style, after all.

The rush of adrenaline from that revelation helped get rid of the dopiness, but I played up my weakness as I scrabbled to my feet. Santo took hold of me as if to help me stand, but I moved away, staring at Benedict like I was thinking about lunging at him again.

It was the knife fake out all over again, and I gave a second to envisioning everything that could go fubar. It was a dizzying thought. But I wasn’t staying here, not when escape was right there.

I hunched over slightly, trying to look like I was still trying to get my bearings, like I wasn’t about to lunge through a portal to god knew where.

Benedict finally seemed ready to reply. “If I’m no longer welcome in your house, you need only have said.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Santo said stiffly, looking away. They were quiet, and contemplative, and it was my moment. I broke and ran, leaping through the arch like you’d leap off a cliff, and felt myself fall into nothingness.