Chapter 36: thirty-six

Brayden

A sigh escaped my lips as I traversed the castle walls, a place that once felt like home. It was my sanctuary, my escape from the harsh realities of my existence. Born of a monster, I was discarded like a piece of refuse.

Cole and Atticus had taken me in, and in a way, Atticus had become a brother to me. I would do anything to protect my newfound family, even if it meant doing something I wasn’t sure I was capable of. But I had to. I had to see this through.

I arrived at the dungeons before Atticus. The walls were immaculate, as if they had never been tainted by the horrors they had witnessed. Atticus was a master of mind games, and one of his favorites was to instill a false sense of hope. The illusion that if there was no dried blood, then no torture had occurred.

I filled my mind with the atrocities Marcus, my creator, my father, had committed. He had discarded me, instigated a war, likely killed the fae, broken my legs, attacked Olivia, and now he was going to pay the price.

He was going to be tortured. In truth, he was getting off easy. Atticus could mess with your mind, but Cole, he could make you wish you were burning alive.

Atticus only wanted information, to confirm if Rayna was truly dead.

I knew Marcus had been confined here for days. Any pain he felt today would be as if he were human. We needed to act swiftly. His death would be agonizing, but Cole wanted him dead before they returned.

As I opened the door leading to the numerous cells, a putrid smell hit me. I was no stranger to the stench of decaying flesh, but this was so potent I thought I might retch.

I entered his cell and found the source of the smell. Annabelle’s decomposing head. Blood, pus, and other unidentifiable fluids seeped from the remaining flesh.

Cole wouldn’t discuss what he had done to her, but I knew it must have been horrific.

“Father,” I began. Atticus would be here soon, and I wanted to try and reason with Marcus, to spare him a slow death.

“Don’t call me that,” he spat.

“Make this easier on yourself, tell Atticus what happened at Rosewood forest and you can have a quick death,” I proposed.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think I’ll spill anything. You’re worthless and weak, Annabelle was much stronger—”

“And now she’s a decomposing head.” I shrugged.

“You helped them do this,” he accused quietly. His mind was slowly unraveling.

“You broke my fucking legs, starved me, and stole her from him. Did you really think that wouldn’t have consequences?” I retorted.

“I didn’t know who she was. If I did, I would have drained every last drop of her fairy blood,” he hissed.

“That would have been… a pity.” The door creaked open to reveal Atticus. He stalked toward us, toward Marcus.

A scraping sound echoed against the floor, like nails on a chalkboard. The room was dimly lit, but I could make out a spear, a Damned soldier trailing behind him.

“We need to have a proper conversation and we can’t do that with this distraction,” he said slowly, savoring each word.

He raised the spear, pointing the sharp end at Marcus, but then twirled it and slammed it down onto the rotted head.

I nearly gagged at the squelching sound it made, leaving behind a puddle of blood and black sludge. The Damned soldier took the spear and exited the room.

“You… Monster!” Marcus screamed, his reaction delayed by a few seconds.

“Now, now, name-calling won’t get you anywhere, Marcus. All I want to know is what happened that night. What really happened,” Atticus said calmly.

“I told you before, the humans—” Marcus began, but Atticus cut him off with a punch to the face. Marcus’s head jerked to the side, spitting out blood and a few teeth.

“A fae girl says otherwise, so now you have to convince me your side of the story is the correct one,” Atticus said, wiping his hand clean of the few droplets of blood.

“Fucking fairy bitch, I knew I should have killed her that night,” Marcus spat out, eyes widening at his own confession.

Fucking hell.

“You have three seconds to explain your actions before I call every Damned vampire in here to replace your disgusting blood with their venom,” Atticus growled, his eyes turning black.

Marcus looked at me, but I shook my head. He was hoping I’d save him, but I wouldn’t. I was only here to ensure he was dead.

“She made you weak, they made you weak. We were so close, and you were going to stop everything, you were going to send us back to the shadows while you played house with some fucking fairy.

“So, I led a group of vampires there, and killed them all, well almost all of them,” Marcus said, a sick smile on his face.

“How did you get in? Adelina had it protected,” I asked.

He snapped his head at me, “Annabelle, she befriended a pixie. The pixie showed her how to open the door and we were able to get in,” he said, closing his eyes, “Fairy blood is so sweet.”

Atticus lunged at Marcus, claws extended and fangs bared.

“Wait!” I shouted, pushing Atticus back.

“WHAT?” He screamed in my face, his breath hot. I didn’t know what the fuck I was thinking.

“Don’t do this. It’s what he wants. You know there’s a chance, Raven said some fae got through. Don’t become a monster, again.

“If she comes back, then you can’t have this on your conscience. Let me take care of it,” I said calmly. The words were just spilling out.

“His head—I want it on a fucking spike,” Atticus growled, his voice echoing in the room before he stormed out. The door swung open in his wake, and in marched six Damned vampires.

I slipped on a pair of thick gloves and began the task of undoing the chains that bound Marcus to his chair. Wisps of smoke curled up from his body, a grim testament to his torment.

The chains had burrowed deep into his flesh, staining the silver links with blood. Marcus let out a gut-wrenching scream as I worked on the last few links.

“Why are you…removing…these?” He gasped, struggling for breath between each word.

“The Damned aren’t immune to the effects of silver,” I replied, my voice devoid of emotion.

“I told the truth!” He roared, his eyes wide with fear.

“You did. But the deal wasn’t with me. I made a promise to Cole that you would suffer.”

“You created me. Killing you would cause me great physical pain,” I added, standing to my full height as the last of the chains clattered to the floor.

I turned to the Damned soldiers, “I need his head. The rest is yours.”

They lunged at him, pinning his thrashing limbs down as they sank their black fangs into my creator. His screams ricocheted off the walls, piercing the silence.

I watched as they drained his blood, replacing it with their black venomous acid. His screams gradually faded into a gurgling sound, his eyes turning white and lifeless.

“You know what to do,” I stated, turning on my heel to leave.

I made my way up from the dungeons, the echoes of Marcus’s screams still ringing in my ears. I took no pleasure in torture, whether it was humans or vampires. The revelation that the war which had resulted in human slavery could have been avoided still left me reeling.

I found Atticus in her room—the room. A small smile tugged at my lips as I thought of how a tiny fairy with broken wings and pink hair had managed to thaw the coldest heart. I hoped she had escaped.

“It’s done,” I announced. Atticus simply nodded, his face impassive. He must have heard the screams.

I moved to the window, my gaze falling on the castle grounds. A few figures were slowly making their way towards the gate.

“Who is that?” I asked, my finger tapping against the glass.

I felt Atticus move to stand behind me, his shoulder brushing against mine.

“Why, it’s Martha Sinclair.”