Page 3 of The Nephilim's Finesse
Slowly, he guided the open tube to my lips, and the moment I could reach it, I sucked. The blood wasn't as nurturing as feeding directly from a human, but the mundane had to prepare those blood reserves to be stable and stop blood coagulation. After three swallows, he pulled the tube from my mouth, watching me as I licked the last drop from my bottom lip. Suddenly, his eyes were dark molten pools, full of desire, fixed on my lips. He swallowed hard, pressed his eyes together, and then stepped back abruptly, taking the blood with him.
Immediately, I felt stronger, the fresh blood giving me power; I could use my legs again. He gave me enough to be capable of cleaning and clothing myself but nothing more. Raph exited the cell and closed the door; then he pushed a button, and my wrists sprang free. I came back on my knees, relieved that the pain in my arms and shoulders was gone.
He stood in the hallway, his back to me, giving me some sort of privacy. I looked through the clothes: a bra, panties, grey shirt, dark blue cotton skirt, and fresh socks.
Carrying the bucket, I stepped back towards the wall and removed my shirt. I grabbed the flannel and used it to scrub my face. When I looked at it again, it was stained crimson. My arms were similar, too, covered in dried mud and blood. I washed it all away. The water in the bucket was filthy when I finished my upper body. I decided that this had to be enough. I pondered if I should change my bra since it was stained, too. I glanced behind me; Raph’s back was still facing me. Deciding to give it a go, I stripped off my bra and put the new one on. It fit perfectly. After I put on the grey shirt, I donned the dark blue skirt over my upper body since my feet were still in chains. After that, I ripped the jeans off and took a glance at how my legs looked. They were stained, too. The jeans were soaked in blood. I cleaned them as best as I could. Should I get rid of my panties, too? I preferred not to wear them, but would that invite him somehow? I couldn't put on the new one since my legs weren't free. In the end, I decided to rip them off as well. If he wanted to rape me, he would, whether I wore underwear or not.
After I was done, I sat back and watched him. His back was still facing me, and I could perceive his muscles under his tight green shirt. Seeing him standing there, free to do whatever he wanted, a fire of animosity ignited within me, my emotions spiralling into a whirlwind of loathing that consumed my being. After about ten more minutes, in which I observed him and mapped out ideas on how to torture him to death, he nodded shortly to himself.
“I’m going to turn now. I believe you should be all set.”
Of course, I was long finished, but I wouldn’t tell him as I wanted my wrists to be free for as long as possible. When he turned, our eyes met, and my heart skipped a beat from the intensive glance he gave me. At the moment, my heart rate was very slow; the longer we had to starve, the slower our heartbeat, and the weaker we got. A freshly-fed vampire had a normal heartbeat like any human, only we were much stronger.
He opened the door and half-stepped into it.
“Put the shackles around your wrists.”
He lowered the chain to the height of my stomach, where I could easily put them on. I hesitated. To chain myself of my free will was new. But I knew that I needed the blood. I was aware that the blood he gave me would only last for an hour or so, nothing more. After that, hunger would return again. Pressing my lips together, I suppressed the drive to shred him to pieces with my fingernails. He had me at his mercy, and I hated him for it. To be toothless, dependent, and controlled by someone else was a situation I hadn’t ever wanted to be in again.
I sighed and swallowed. Both activities unnecessary as an undead, but old human habits die hard. When I had the shackles around my wrists, Raph pulled the chain upwards so my arms were over my head again, and my feet barely touched the ground.
Raph came into the cell, the blood reserve in his hands. He gave me an intense once-over, and his glance got heated when his eyes passed my breasts, which were on full display with my arms up. Slowly, he licked his lips; lust was in his eyes, and I stiffened. Was that the reason I had to wash up? Because he didn’t want to rape a filthy vampire? Should I have stayed dirty to avoid this? He came nearer, his eyes fixed on my mouth, breasts, and hips. He licked his lips again, then closed his eyes briefly as if to concentrate. Raph opened his eyes, jaws pressed tightly together, and the desire was gone, replaced by disgust. He lay the blood at my feet, then knelt to pick up the dirty clothes and bucket and walked towards the door.
“Do you prefer the light on or not?”
I didn’t answer him. I stared at the blood before me; hunger, wild and forceful, hit me. My single thought was to feed, taste the blood, and get full again.
He sighed and turned the light in my cell off. When he was in the hallway, he let my chain down again so I could snap the blood reserve up and drink. It was heavenly.
Mary, named after the king's daughter, lay weak in my arms. I knelt upon the wooden planks of our humble farmhouse, the small windows barely letting light seep in under the thatched roof. My sister was two years younger than me, but her youthful body had withered under the strain of a conflict that seemed to have no end. The Civil War was to blame for that. The fighting between the Royalists and Parliamentarians had ground on for years now, leaving us famished more often than not. Soon, our village could harvest the crops, ensuring that we would survive the winter. The animals were long gone, taken by the soldiers, and I missed the clucking of chickens or the mooing of cows.
Outside our cottage, hooves rumbled from the south, the sound intensifying to a thundering as the horses raced down the earthy dirt road of our village. Each beat was louder than the one before, and dread crept over me with an icy chill. Fear so potent it made bile rise in my throat and my heart flutter wildly. Who were they? Did it even matter? Would they slaughter the villagers once more, or would they be content merely taking what little we had left? The thundering grew deafening as their horses galloped through our small village.
“Bloody Cavaliers!” the Roundheads bellowed and guffawed.
I trembled, holding my sister's hand, praying to God to keep my parents and Mary safe. Eventually, the clamour of angry men and spurring horses quelled, and I could breathe again. But then, the piercing scent of smoke reached me. Wails of anguish echoed in the distance. Without another thought, I released my grip on my dear sibling and hastened out of our small cottage. Black plumes of thick smoke rose from the fields. No! I dashed towards the fields in my plain linen tunic, the dirt hot against my bare feet. The villagers had gathered, and buckets were lifted from one to another to stop the fire, which consumed the crops. The weeks prior had been hot and arid, thus making the ground vulnerable to being scorched by heat. I joined in the effort, passing bucket after bucket down the line. The sun burned down on my head; sweat ran down my back; the wind was not cooling us but rekindled the fire. It took us an hour before we put out the blaze completely. Only a minimal piece was kept unscathed, an odd yellow spot among the sea of blackness. Around me, people stared at their lost hope with wide eyes, and some shed tears in sorrow. I stumbled back to my family, whose faces were wrought with fear and despair. My mother rested her hand on my shoulder; her eyes dimmed with sorrow. We all knew what this meant—starvation would plague our village for many months to come, claiming far too many lives before winter ended.
Memories could make you bleed as effectively as a sharp sword, and as I sat there on the cold, mottled grey linoleum, the empty blood bottle in my hands, tears streamed down my cheeks. Mary died not long after the fire had destroyed the fields. My father and mother had stood stoically with bowed heads as we had lowered her small body into the hard ground. As the frigid winds of winter had whipped across the barren fields, taking with them what little life remained in our village, more and more of us had suffered from starvation and disease until, finally, only a handful had remained. When I wiped the tears away, I realised that Raph left the light on in the hallway, giving me at least a bit of luminance while grieving my past.
2 Raph
The day after the capture of Victorija, we held the funeral of our fallen brothers and sisters; a fortnight later, we voted for a new leader, which was me by votes. However, I had suggested that Puriel and Nate, number two and three, should also lead the Nephilim. We all stood for different opinions throughout the brotherhood, and I thought it wise to have them represented in our circle of three.
Nate—a kind-hearted man in his late twenties and soon-to-be father—had created a deep stir in the magical community because of his forbidden love for a witch, Alissia. Their love had led them to conceive a child, which was unheard of for centuries: it was a well-hidden secret that a hybrid baby could be born from two very different worlds. Alissia’s and Nate’s daughter would be the first hybrid child for a millennium, and if one could believe the ancient texts, she'd be very powerful. All of those events led to an intensified cooperation between the witches and Nephilim, driven by Alissia and Nate. It was good to have someone on the team who'd look after others, aiming to form alliances.
Puriel was a hardcore woman in her forties, working at the Met as a Superintendent, where she was responsible for a squad of constables. Her brilliant analytical mind, leadership qualities, and experiences in magical and mundane encounters made her an excellent commander of our troops. She had seen her fill of violence; her way to answer that was to show no weakness. Puriel made those tough decisions that few wanted to make.
With me—having a calm, analytical mind who weighed all the pros and cons before making a decision—our circle was complete.
One day after the voting, we assembled in our meeting room. In the middle stood an oval table for ten people, bright windows on one side, a light grey painted wall on the other. Nate wore jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, his light-brown skin covered by a thick black beard. He sat opposite me and sipped his coffee. Puriel sat between us, her brown eyes looking tired in her golden-brown face. She came directly from an investigation and still wore her police clothes: a white shirt with her rank badges decorated with a crown worn on the epaulettes, a black and white chequered scarf and black trousers.
She hid a yawn. “All right, let’s make this quick. How should this work in the future?”
“I think we should move the office in here so we can have a shared office and talk every time we need to,” Nate said.
We agreed. “A meeting once a week should suffice. If there is an urgency, we adapt,” I added. Both nodded. We sorted out some more details in the next ten minutes.
“Is there anything immediate? Otherwise, I'd like to go home and sleep.” Puriel ran her hand over her face.