Page 18 of Besieger
Something moved under the fallen horse and she saw the rider reappear, pulling at his trapped leg. He was caught fast in the stirrups. Blood ran down his face, dripping from his mouth, long strays of hair matted with sand and dirt obscured his vision. He coughed and the sound was wet.Ah,she noted,they have pierced his lungs. At least she would not have to wait for this one to die.
“Amerigo!” a voice pierced the night and everything in Dulior’s body awakened to the familiar sound.
She turned towards the voice and saw the rider with the sword jump from his horse, nearly toppling over. He let the animal run wild in the direction of his pursuers. An arrow nearly hit him but he kept staggering forward, blind to their attacks, desperate to get to his fallen companion. The archer yelled a warning, nocking another arrow to his bow.
Dulior began moving, the soles of her shoes barely touched the sand. In an instant she was next to the archer, reaching out to take the reins as her other hand took hold of his leg. The man looked down, his eyes focused on her, confused. Her fingers locked over his kneecap and pressed down. The bone cracked and caved in like a ball of fresh snow. The man dropped his weapons, the shock giving way to pain, but she did not give him time to scream. Dulior took a step back and wrenched, still clutching the limb. The man tumbled from the saddle, the horse kicking madly under him. She let go and watched as the body tangled in the stirrups and reins. The head of the man almost got bashed by the horse’s hooves as the animal galloped away. It wanted to get as far away from Dulior as possible. No matter. If the man was still alive later, she could easily find him.
The remaining pursuer had seen what she did to his brother and was cursing at her. She concentrated on his hands willing them to obey her. Slowly, agonizingly slow and while still galloping towards her, one of the man’s hands let go of the reins and reached for a knife strapped to his hip. The hand pulled the knife and sunk it into the side of the horse’s head. The animalshrieked and its legs buckled. Its whole form bent forward, its full weight crashing down onto the rider.
Behind her Silvio had thrown his sword and was running towards his friend. Dulior watched him for a moment, glad that the animals had stopped neighing and the night was silent once again. Silvio stumbled and fell face-first into the ground, he blinked and Dulior was standing over him, extending her hand to help him up. He gave out a yell—a warning or a plea, she could not tell. He kept looking away towards the other man, his mind a crashing sea ofRico,Rico,Rico. The name repeated in the rhythm of his heartbeat. He had been yelling that name so much for the past few days. In his thoughts she saw how desperate he was to reach and pull his friend out of yet another unspeakable horror. Dulior did not want this to be the last thought she read in her husband’s mind.
“Mon cœur,” she whispered and breathed the words into his head, “it is alright, I am taking you home.”
She took hold of his leg and tugged, dragging him further from the other man. Silvio twisted in her grip and his fingers dug into the ground, grabbing at it, scratching, pulling. The sand was wet with blood. Her fingers pressed down, gently, as if caressing his calf, and the bone began to snap.It will heal soon, my love, again she whispered in his mind, narrowing the distance between them.
She wanted to say more, to assure him that the worst was over, that they were going back to Paris. The crusade was over for him. He kept thrashing in her grip, his hands hitting her face and chest, trying to get away. The deserters before him were weak, falling like wet cloth in her hands when she drank from them. But he… he was strong and so full of life.
Her teeth sank into his neck, eager to taste his blood. The thirst took over as if she were eating for the first time—the flavour savoury and overflowing. It seemed impossible to stop. He grew tired of fighting her, and lay in her arms.
“Silvio,” Dulior said softly, dripping red. His name sounded even sweeter with his blood on her lips.
Pulling away, having drained him to the point of death—as her daemon maker had once done the dark trick with her—she tore her forearm and let the blood pool and drip. Smearing some of it across his face, she watched as his eyes opened, growing wide with horror. The moan he let out when the Blood found his mouth, the desperate hunger behind it, nearly undid Dulior entirely.
At that moment, she vowed she was never to let Silvio feel the sharp sting of starvation. She would have him fed and suckling on the vein of everlasting pleasures. She would nourish his appetites, fill him to the brim.
She was going to cast aside the robes of mourning and ordain herself his final wife and lover. A widow no more, her husband was going to live forever.
Withdrawing her arm, she bent down and kissed him, unable to wait any longer. The mouth which had so eagerly gulped at her blood, now stood unmoving, forced into a tight line. No matter, Dulior would get him to open on their wedding night where there were no distractions, no one else to look at but her.
Silvio lay there, prostrated on the ground, his armour and clothes broken and torn, face smeared with blood and dirt.My blood, now yours.His to keep him young and strong. A body and soul touched by death no more; hers and hers alone. The transformation was slowly working its magic, his body an amalgamation of blood and want. Her husband would need to eat, she realized, frowning. That rider she had let escape was too far away for Silvio to catch, still unsure on his legs, his new senses not fully formed. The horses were dead and even if they were not, she was not going to let the first drop of blood he tasted be that of an animal.
Silvio coughed and saliva mixed with blood splattered over Dulior’s face. He tried to stand up, grabbing at her shoulders so that he may push himself off her, shaking, panting. When heopened his mouth she saw the sharp teeth. Whatever tempest was raging in his mind now she could no longer see it, only the restless flicker of his eyes betrayed the panic taking hold of him. A comely silence had fallen between them, the familiar embrace of maker and fledgling. The same silence she had known with Rorgon.
Dulior scowled at the name. There was no need to summon that monster,that thing. She was free of him, at last. She had made another and the cycle was broken.
She allowed Silvio some space. He attempted to stand up and fell again into the dirt. He saw the dead men and horses around them and gave out a yelp, the sound dry and small. Slowly, more out of fear than lack of balance, he started making his way to where his friend had fallen. The carcass of the horse, still warm, lay in a pool of dark blood. Next to it came the inviting murmur of a heartbeat.
Slow and fading, like a lover’s calling. Enticing.
Silvio half walked, half crawled to his friend—his breath coming out in a horrid series of hisses and sobs. The other man had managed to pull himself from under the horse, the arrows still protruding from his back. His heart pumped blood into the lungs, blood ran down his mouth and nose. He looked up at Silvio and a wheez? escaped his wet lips.
“He…” Silvio turned and looked at Dulior. His green eyes bore into her, desperately searching for a remedy. “Help… help him!” He begged and Dulior savoured the sound of his voice like that. The look on his face, the hopelessness. She had given him this gift, this power over mortality, and there he stood powerless in the face of death. She liked seeing him dependent on her.
“I cannot help him,” she said. She got up slowly and fixed the skirts of her dress, only now realizing how torn and dirty her clothes were. How unfit to walk him to an altar in this state.I need a new dress. And flowers.Flowers for her hair and a ribbon to hold and bind his hand with hers as the priest blessed them.
“Please!” Silvio cried out, and she loved how raw and miserable he looked.
She did not care if the man died now or if Silvio drank him dry later, when the thirst was too much. She had no interest in turning this into a threesome, her plans allowed only for two.
“No,” she repeated softer, barely holding back a smile.
“Please… I…” Silvio muttered. He looked down at his hands, then at the places where he had been hit and cut earlier, now healed. “Do to him as you have done to me.”
“No.”
Dulior made a face. Silvio’s transformation had taken all of her strength, even if she wanted to, she could not make another in the same night. She, most certainly, did not want to makethatman a creature like her. Her husband would have to find new, better friends, and make peace with losing this one. If only he could get nearer and allow the blood to tempt him.Drink him dry, Dulior urged silently, looking from one man to another. The long haired one was barely conscious, clinging to life out of sheer stubbornness rather than his stamina.
“Then I will not go.”
