Page 6 of The Nephilim's Finesse

“I’ll see what I can do. I'll call you when I have something worth telling.”

I drove to the abandoned warehouse where Victorija was being held. The graffiti-ridden brick wall was almost completely covered in ivy, and the only way through was a small metal door that let out a low creak as I opened it. A faint light shone into the hall through broken windows above me, giving off an ethereal aura while casting shadows on the antiquated, rusty machinery that was entombed in cobwebs. I turned left into the washrooms, the only part of the building that still worked. Right after bringing her here, I cleaned off the debris and dust that had covered everything. With the bucket filled to the brim with warm, soapy water, I made my way to the cellars. The smell of old oil and chemicals wasn’t so strong down here; the typical musty and stale smell of deserted houses filled my nostrils. Over me, I heard the occasional creaking of metal; otherwise, it was eerily quiet. We brought Victorija here because we couldn’t keep her in the brotherhood's headquarters since no vampire could penetrate the barrier. It wasn’t the best place to hold her, but nobody knew of it or would search for her at this location. I’d like a more secure place; the only thing that kept her imprisoned were the metal chains reinforced with silver, which weakened vampires dramatically. But it had to do for now. We were still busy preparing the other maximum-security facility for her.

I unlocked the doors to her cell, ready to repeat the same procedure again and again. Every day, I brought her water for washing and fresh clothes. Once a week, she got a blood reserve. I’d ask her questions about the attack, the vampires and her plans. She never responded. Only three words had come out so far, and nothing more in all those weeks. Additionally, I’d ask if she needed anything, like a blanket or a book, but she kept silent. I knew why she resisted. If I gave her any kind of luxury, I could take it away from her when I knew it was important to her. Then I'd have power over her.

She was driving me crazy. I had a lot of difficult clientele at work, drug addicts and criminals, but everyone wanted something. If you know how people tick, you could work with that. But with her, I had no clue, save that she wanted freedom. Sometimes, when I asked her questions, she zoned out, having a flashback, while her eyes stared through me. I didn’t know what she remembered, but it was never pleasant. Her face would show fear, pain, anger, and never-enjoyable emotions.

However, that wasn't the only reason she drove me crazy. Every time she hung there, her hands over her head, her curves on full display, my mind went in a direction I didn’t want it to go. She was evil and dangerous; she was the enemy, a creature to despise. Yet, I was attracted to her. I felt deeply guilty about this. It wasn't right and unfair to Luthriel. I should see Victorija as an object to be questioned, not as an attractive woman. Still, knowing that she didn’t wear knickers didn’t make it easier to stay focused.

I walked into the cell, where Victorija sat on the floor. The moment the door opened, she stood up and held her chained hands before her. We both knew the routine. I pressed the button, and the chain pulled into the upper wall, bringing her hands over her head, her breasts full and firm. I gulped at the sight, and my body reacted to this picture before me, my cock pressing uncomfortably against my trousers.

She said nothing, just observing me in her usual way. Guilt and shame overcame me. I wasn’t behaving professionally; my thoughts were all but this. She was a vixen, made me want her, made me forget what I was here for, and made my body react against my will. It was all her fault. My fists clenched involuntarily, my jaw tight with suppressed rage, unable to stand her presence.

I turned and grabbed the bucket full of warm water and the fresh clothes and walked towards her. Her red, long, curled hair hung in her face, and I had to withhold it to not brush it out of there. Her fury-filled green eyes were fixed on me, analysing every move I made. I wanted to take her chin in my hand and squeeze it before I slammed my mouth on hers, devouring her until her arrogant and impassive look turned into desperation, until her freckled skin would be flushed with excitement.

Frowning, I chased my fantasies away and placed the items in front of her, ready to turn to leave the cell. Now would come the hardest part of my day: standing in the hallway with my back to her, and knowing that she was naked behind me. I imagined how she'd look, how her creamy skin ‌would feel under my hands, how I'd drive into her, fuck her hard to punish her, making her whimper, scream, and beg. When I reached the door, I heard her clear her throat.

“Get over with it,” she breathed. It was deafening in the silence that hung between us.

I spun around and looked at her. Crossing my arms over my chest, I frowned. “What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes. “The way you look at me. You want to have your way with me.”

Her face was guarded, like she regretted having said something aloud, and that, too. These were her first words in weeks. What had made her break the silence now?

I uncrossed and then crossed my arms over my chest, not knowing where to put my hands; I forced my heartbeat to slow. I knew she could hear it and didn’t want to give myself away.

“Do you want me to?” Was this her plan? To get me near to her so that she could attack me? Did she think she could play me that easily?

Her eyes went wide, like I asked for something unthinkable. “No!” She bit on her lips, like she’d given away too much, like I could use it against her. She showed vulnerability for a second before her face got hard again.

“Then I won’t do anything to you that you don’t want.”

She raised her eyebrows in mockery. “Like holding me captive and chaining me?” Her eyes got big before she had control over her face again. I could almost feel that she scolded herself for saying what she thought. She was on a thin line here. Maybe she didn’t want to wait any longer; we both knew we were getting nowhere. Perhaps she wanted to provoke me, make any mistake she could use against me, and break free.

“Like anything sexual. You’re still a captive to be questioned,” I clarified.

“Then stop looking at me that way.” She squinted her eyes, anger in them.

It surprised me that she spoke back to me. Yes, it wasn't right to eye her up. I knew a bit of what she had to endure when she was captured before. Those bastards had raped her again and again. She had PTSD, likely because of what was done to her. I knew that I had overstepped, even if she was a captive.

“It won’t happen again.”

Confusion washed over her face. Hiding my embarrassment that she could so easily detect my thoughts, I turned and closed the door. I undid the shackles and waited for her to clean up. Why would she make such a statement? She was more or less asking to be raped. Why would she do that? Was the tension that something bad would happen so grave that she wanted it out of the way? That the fear of what was coming was far greater than what would actually happen? I had read the journals of Malexus the Cruel. I knew what he had done to her. Maybe she figured that I wouldn’t do that since I stopped Asasel from hitting her. But that could have been a ruse from our side. Playing good copper, bad copper. But now she knew where I was standing, what I wouldn’t do. Of course, she couldn’t trust me; I could lie to her anytime, but I was truthful.

I'd pay attention so I wouldn’t look at her that way again; nothing good would come from it.

A few days later, Alissia told me she had news concerning her dream walking. Since she was pregnant and the threat of more vampire attacks, she wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without a Nephilim for protection, so she suggested that I accompany her on her lunch break. Mostly, it was Nate, and she worked a lot from home, but someone else took on this pleasurable responsibility from time to time.

In the cold, murky fog of November, I was standing outside the research building where she worked. My hands were stuffed deep into my pockets to seek some warmth in the thick mist. When Alissia exited and saw me, she smiled and hugged me briefly.

“I’m glad that we could talk alone,” she said, moving a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.

I just raised an eyebrow. “Of course, I told Nate about what I learned, but not all of it.”

We walked to a food truck, and after we got our lunch, we strolled to a park bench where we could talk undisturbed.

“It took me a few nights to get into her dreams. She’s really good at blocking. When I entered, I wished that I didn’t," Alissia sighed and quivered. "She was chained to a chair, and someone tortured her. I won’t get into the details, but what humans can do to one another is so disturbing.” She shook her head while a shiver ran over her body. “It hurt like hell. I could feel it. She tried to break free of her bindings, feeling helpless, powerless, and so vulnerable. It was awful.” She looked up at me. “So, my strong suggestion is to release her of her bindings. No matter what you do to her, don’t chain her. She panics when she is in them, and she can’t get free. It’s even worse when someone comes into the room.”