Page 2 of The Nephilim's Finesse

Her lips snapped shut after countless hours of continuous inquiry, and she threw her hands in the air in defeat. “I’m giving up. Raph, good luck with her.”

I glanced at Puriel. She flashed a look of frustration at him before turning away and leaving. She called him by his name—Raph. Now I had a name for this beautiful face. I wondered how ugly it'd turn out when he questioned me. When Puriel was gone, he turned his body towards me.

“How much blood do you need to heal and be full?” His dark eyes roamed over my face as he spoke in a deep, velvety voice that sent shivers down my spine. I wanted him to talk more, savouring this pleasing sound after so many hours of silence and babble from Puriel.

I cleared my head from this strange thought and searched his eyes. Why would he want to know this? So he could give me only a fraction?

“How often do you have to feed?”

I didn’t answer him, just stared into his eyes, which held no calculation, only curiosity.

“I read how much blood you require to heal certain wounds, but the information was incomplete. If you don’t tell me how much you need, I can’t give it to you.”

He knew how much blood I required to heal. How? Then I saw Malexus the Cruel before my eyes, scribbling in his enormous tome.

Green eyes clammed tight in contemplation as he brandished the glowing vermillion poker before him. I lay upon a rough wooden table, drenched in my blood, gouges split open all over my unclothed flesh, aggravating me with their pains and aches. My wrists and ankles were constrained beneath magical manacles of iron spiked with silver, rendering me utterly immobile. The molten metal came ever closer. I could perceive the fiery ore and his odious perspiration. But that wasn't what would have made me retch if I were still human. It was his hand around his shaft, pumping as he gloated upon my agony, on my dread.

“You foul creature, you shall receive just recompense!”

A scorching pain shot through me as the iron pressed against my flesh. An agonised cry emanated from my throat, muffled by the roaring in my ears. I heard him give a rasping moan in response, and suddenly, something wet and viscous befell the area he had just cauterised, intensifying the pain further.

After he adjusted his trousers, he left me in the Stygian dark of this dungeon, the stonewalls lit by a flickering torchlight and a fireplace crackling with malevolent glee. The bookshelves were lined with volumes full of his grisly experiments, what he called science. On the wooden table next to me sat more instruments of torture, the candles’ flaring glow making them appear even more diabolical. I hadn't thought it possible for a person to endure such torment and still find enough strength to remain alive. I wanted nothing more than death's embrace, yet he seemed intent on healing my wounds whenever it suited his needs to continue his perverse machinations. Whether it had been hours or days since his last visit, I knew not,; but eventually, he appeared again at my table with a cup filled with blood, half pouring down my throat, half dribbling onto my chin. It dulled the pain somewhat and healed my wounds in an instant, strengthening me enough to survive another round of this madman’s cruelty.

“Hey, focus on me.” Raph’s velvet voice brought me back from my memories. Cold sweat had formed on my forehead, and I shivered. Tensing to stop my involuntary movement, I swallowed, and my eyes found his. His gaze was so intense that I had to look away.

“Do you need something so you can relieve yourself?”

Bewildered, I looked at Raph again.

He tilted his head. “Do you need to pee?”

I shook my head lightly. He had all the information on how to torture me but didn’t know the simplest things. If I had to relieve myself, I'd have done it in the last three days—stupid Nephilim.

“I’ll come back tomorrow. Then I’ll ask you again how much blood you need.”

He turned and walked to the door.

I calculated. Staying silent would gain me nothing. I needed blood. The more, the better. However, I’d give him an advantage if I talked to him. Stuff it. “Half a litre,” I croaked, my voice raspy from not using it for so long.

He turned back and nodded once. When he closed the door to the cell, he stood a moment in the hallway and interacted with something on the wall next to the door, which I couldn't see. Suddenly, I heard a mechanic crack and rattle, and then the chain that held my wrists lowered. My feet connected with the floor, but I was too weak to hold myself up. I needed blood, and not using my legs for several days didn’t help either. I sank to my knees, then to my bottom, before my hands had enough space to move alongside my body, eliciting a soft clinking with every move I made. In the end, I was able to lie down, my body aching from the stiff position it was held in for days. The subsiding pain brought me a wave of relief so strong that I felt like crying. Yet, I wouldn't do this. Ever. The camera over the door watched every move I made, and I wouldn’t show any kind of weakness.

The following day, Raph returned with a blood bottle in one hand, a bucket in the other, and a bundle tucked under his arm. The scent of soap and newly laundered clothes wafted through the room as he stood in the doorway, setting down all his items. I sat up when he entered and waited for his instructions.

“I thought you’d want to wash up and change. I’ll place the bucket and the clothes in front of you, but I have to pull in the chain for that. Only then can I release your wrists.” His tone was neutral, but his body was tense. He didn’t look me in the eyes; he focused on a spot next to my ear.

Raph waited for a response, and I nodded briefly. To be free of the chains was good, but I'd still be bound at my feet. The magically enhanced silver-spiked metal bounds took away my strength. Even with my hands free and the strength back, I couldn’t break my feet free. And I was far too weak for that anyway.

“After you've finished up, you put your wrists back into the cufflinks, and then I’ll give you the blood.”

I nodded. It was bad to be chained back, but I needed food.

“Stand up so that I can pull the chain up.”

I thought about not doing this for a moment, but I knew it would hurt more to be pulled up instead of standing. I tried to get on my feet, but my legs gave out. My calculation had to be wrong. Judging by how tenuous I was, I had to have been here for at least a week now. After several attempts, I gave up, humiliated by my weakness and vulnerability. I loathed him for that. He brought me into this situation, captured me, held me here, made me suffer and made me weak, only to humiliate me further by showing me that I couldn’t do shit.

Ah, but how sweet it'd be to make him suffer when I'd have the chance to get back at him. How I'd revel in hearing him scream when I broke each and every one of his bones and tore his arms from their sockets.

Those pleasant thoughts were interrupted when Raph nodded and pressed a button, and the chain started to pull me up. My shoulders screamed in pain when they were lifted. A small moan escaped me, and I pressed my lips together to not make any more sounds. My body seemed to move in slow motion when my wrists were raised above me. Every inch was like a thousand needles pricking at my muscles, sharp enough to make me want to burst into tears. When I hung in the desired position, Raph carried the bucket and the clothes to a point where I could reach them if my chains were lowered. He walked back, then turned, his look full of pity. Raph sighed once, then picked up the blood reserve, walked towards me, and opened the tube. He was so near I could smell his breath. He’d had Earl Grey tea, and I was surprised when I caught myself wondering if he would taste like that when I kissed him.