22. The Songbird

Leaving us with our coven leader’s dead body for who knows how long, is meant to hurt us. Eying the blood that pools from the gaping wound in his neck before making its way down the drain makes us drool. I can feel hunger taking hold. I haven’t eaten in two days unless you count munching on Oz when things get frisky. No, a larger amount of blood is what I need. Vampire blood will work if I can just get it.

If the chair wasn’t bolted down, I would knock it over just to get a taste.

It wouldn’t be so bad if you would accept me.

Other Wren is trying to make a point. I’ve been fighting her for so long, but here I am, relying on her strength. Sure, I’ve been ‘trying’ to merge us the way we should be, but if I am being honest, I could’ve tried harder. Part of me is afraid to let her in, to lose that level of control.

I’ve lost it anyway.

Sensing my agreement and apprehension, I can feel her almost soften towards me. I am not the enemy. I am you. We are one soul separated and will not be our strongest until we are united.

Everything is right.

So why can’t we merge now?

I want to. She wants to.

We are stuck.

I worry that the raw unstoppable urge to kill, rip, and destroy– the one that consumed me on my first several feedings. Will it worm its way back to the surface and take control of me?

It’s your fear.

My fear is what is stopping us?

Well, we are royally fucked then. I can’t just make my fear of losing control go away. I’ve killed far too many people and don’t want to be a murderer anymore.

With me, you will have that control. We don’t have to kill.

Everything I’ve seen so far tells me otherwise.

A pit forms in my stomach. I don’t like where this is going, and it won’t get us any closer to merging. If we can’t do that, then we need to plan. We need to come up with some other way to get out. We can’t just rely on me clinging to the darkest parts of my soul.

He’s going to torture us.

I shudder, remembering the bare description Oz gave me. I can only imagine what Emerson has planned for me.

Oz will be here soon. I know it. We can make it out of here.

You’re weak.

Excuse the fuck out of me?

You think this darkness is to be feared, that it is evil, but it’s your fault we can’t stop ourselves when we feed. I need you to keep me grounded, and if you don’t merge, we will just keep killing. It doesn’t bother me, but if it bothers you and you won’t do what you must to stop it, you’re weak.

I ignore her. I am done with this conversation.

Our arms are sore from being locked behind us all day, the thirst is taking over, and I am arguing with myself.

I don’t see how the fuck we are going to make it until Oz gets here.

Oz.

I tried calling him at the mountain, and I try again now, but I can’t sense anything. I am so weak, maybe he can hear me even if I can’t hear him. I am doing my best not to give up. She doesn’t want to help me plan, and I don’t have the energy to convince both of us that this is our way out anymore.

A door slams shut, and Emerson’s heavy steps grow closer. We straighten our posture, trying to hide the weakness brought on by our separation and hunger. We won’t give him the satisfaction.

“I trust my guest had a nice relaxing day.” A sadistic smile spreads across his face as he takes us in. He can tell that we are wearing down.

Turning to Leland’s body, Emerson fingers the hilt of his creator’s sword. “It seems rather poetic that I took his life with his weapon.” Pulling it from its sheath, he places the point at our throat. “Would you like to have fun with it too? I’ll rip you open with it if you want.”

He is truly despicable.

Squaring our shoulders and jutting out our chin, we silently challenge Emerson. We are going to do our best to keep it together. Show him that we aren’t afraid of him.

Even though we are.

“Don’t say I never offered,” Emerson sheaths the sword and grips our neck, getting in our face. His hand grabs us by the jaw, squeezing hard enough that I could hear our bones straining. “Come on, sweetheart, show me a little fear.”

We lash out and bite his cheek.

Pulling away, shouting, skin tears from Emerson’s face. The flap hanging in our teeth still, we spit it on the ground and lick our lips of his blood. Eyes filled with fury, I can only watch as he raises his hand and slams the back of it against our face as hard as he can. Head swinging from the force, our vision is now trained on the hallway.

“You’ll pay for that, bitch.” Holding a hand to his cheek, he stalks from the room. His heavy footfalls are music to my ears. Denying him power over us is magnificent.

Two of his coven enter and undo some of our chains, leaving the ones that keep our wrists together nice and tight. We are dragged to a different area. Part of me is grateful that I won’t have to look at Leland’s body anymore, and part of me is mad as hell because I want a sip of that blood. We are so hungry…

Our stomach rolls.

They take us down one hall and then another. I don’t see a single window. Are we underground? There is an industrial feel to the place. Probably somewhere on the edge of Callery, where a lot of noise can be made, and no one around will give a singular fuck. Finally reaching a small room with a drain and nothing else, they shove us inside and slam the door shut, locking it.

I fume.

Are we no longer a threat?

They’ve bled us and starved us. I guess they think we are too weak to fight back.

One thing that has always irritated me is being underestimated by men. We lower our arms as far as we can and slide our legs over the chain to at least have them in front of us. The muscles in our arms relax, though they are still sore and very tender. Grateful that at least we have healed from our initial assault, even if the lack of blood is slowing the ability to heal from our current wounds.

We need to focus and come together. Begin to plot our next move. At some point, one of Emerson’s men will come through this door, and we need to ensure they don’t leave here alive.

Wren, can you hear me?

Oz’s voice echoes in my thoughts.

Relief pours over me.

Yes, I can hear you.

My coven is here, they are going to get that motherfucker, and I won’t be brutally raped and cut open.

Probably.

Hopefully.

We will start the attack soon. Where are you? Where’s Leland?

Pain swells in my heart…

Leland is dead.I show him the whole bloody scene. I’m downstairs, in the basement, probably. There are no windows I’ve seen. I recount the path we took from the original holding room to this one, hoping they can find us if we can’t get ourselves out. Not having seen the upper floors, or anything other than the first room and a couple of hallways, my account of the layout is lacking. It isn’t much, but it is better than nothing.

When we get in there, fight like hell.

Nodding, even though he can’t see it, I know he can sense the feeling of agreement.

We can do this.

Ican do this.

But we need a plan for when they come for us.

My creature purrs and stretches, almost like she is gloating. I am going to have to merge with her soon. I have to get over my fear of the unknown and embrace myself, but I don’t know how to let go of the things holding me back. So until I can, we need to do something else.

Anything else.

We devise a plan. It’s not without risk, and there’s a good chance it won’t work, but we have to try.

I refuse to rot down here.

Ten minutes pass before I hear the first shots come from above. The party is starting. Glass is breaking, men are shouting, and I hear someone call over a radio outside my door. A guard must be out there, getting the order to fetch us. It is time to put our plan into action.

We watch as the door handle turns and a surly-looking broad-shouldered vampire enters. “Get up,” he demands, poking his head into the hall to see if anyone is coming. “We’re moving you.”

Slipping a purr into our voice, we say, “But I’d rather stay here with you….” He turns to face me, and confusion covers his eyes before he sees me and my hands. I rub my nipple, allowing the nub to harden. He can see it perk under the thin fabric of my t-shirt. “I’d rather touch you. I’d rather feel you.”

Lowering his gun, the guard shut the door behind him. The lock automatically engages with a loud click. “What are you doing?” He may be asking, but he knows. An involuntary step forward urges us to continue.

Spreading our legs wide, we slowly slip our chained hands into our pants. We are reaching, tracing, rubbing. We close our eyes, throw our head back, and moan as our fingers brushed against our clit.

His eyes are wide like he doesn’t believe what is happening. Not yet. We have to make him feel it. We have to make him want it. Standing, we shimmy out of our pants, revealing that we have no underwear on.

“Fuck,” he groans. I can see him harden under his pants. He wants it. He wants our body.

Stepping toward him, still touching ourself, sighing as we continue stroking, watching his eyes slide from our hands to our face. Another step, biting our lower lip, letting a quiet moan escape. He is losing his resolve. He has to be. He hasn’t demanded we get dressed, and he hasn’t grabbed us and dragged us out. He is ours, and we are so hungry, so ravenous. Not for his touch, but for his blood, and we will claim it before long.

We are in his face now, our hot breath tickling his skin, mingling with his own heavy breathing. Oh, so close to his mouth, his lips slightly part, we tease our lips against his. We press our breasts and body into him, letting another quiet gasp slip through. His mouth crashes down on ours. His hands slide over our bare ass as we sigh into his kiss. We use our hands to grope him through his trousers. He moans with longing.

Men are predictably easy.

Taking our hands and sliding them into his pants, we reach for him, stroking him. “God, that’s good,” he breathes in our ear. He pushes us against the wall, grinding himself against us as we move our hands up and down his length.

“Please,” we say, our voice quiet and begging. “Please, won’t you fuck me?”

He shudders under our touch. He wants to and he is so close to biting the baited hook. He is almost distracted enough.

He starts kissing my neck and reaches a hand down to touch our pussy.

Perfect.

I have to force myself not to stiffen at his touch. To pretend to want this, to want him.

We gasp, encouraging him.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, so deep,” he growls into our neck. His other hand wraps around the small of our back. We lean against it under the guise of capturing his lips with our own. Our grip on his cock tightens, and he thrust against us. We tighten our hold more, and he cries out. It has to hurt a little, but he apparently likes a bit of pain with his pleasure. He tries desperately to run his fingers over us, hoping to ignite more passion.

We quietly moan into his ear. He is butter beneath our touch. All melted and pliable.

Poor thing.

We pull hard.

He screams loudly.

Our claws tear into him, and we quite literally dis-member him.

His hand is still pinned behind our back, and his other goes to his bleeding crotch as he yells in pain. We shoved the remains of his dick in his mouth to get him to shut up. We quickly pull the rifle he has draped around his shoulder from his writhing form. Safety is off, and one is in the chamber. We unload it in his face and it is pretty effective. Without a head, he won’t be doing anything.

If we don’t burn the body, he can technically regenerate. Though in this state it would take days due to the level of destruction. He will be long dead by then, having had his corpse thrown onto a fire at the first opportunity we get. We take this moment to drink from him, feeling strength return where weakness once existed.

Digging in his pockets, we find a set of keys. It takes some doing, but we eventually get a good angle to unlock the chains. I release my hands on the fourth key.

Freedom.

Ready to get to the party, we almost left without putting our pants back on.

I think about how easy it is to do things with the other Wren. Is this what it will be like when we merge?

Not quite. We will be one consciousness, part of each other, less of this we stuff.

Above our head, there is more gunfire, more yelling. The death of our guard happened quickly, just a couple of minutes. Emerson would be expecting us soon, though.

We aren’t done yet. We have to get to Oz. We have to destroy this evil that has come for our family.

Oz, I think to him. I’m free from my cell, I’m armed, and I’m coming.

He may be too busy to respond at the moment. His determination is dripping into our mind. He is concentrating hard. There is a brief flash of relief though, and I know he heard me. Keeping hold of the gun, sure we will need it, we run down the hall. Peering around the corner, we see it is empty. Turning right, aiming for the double doors ahead, an explosion sounds from above.

That’s concerning.

Walls rumble and the ground shakes beneath our feet. Pieces of plaster fall from the ceiling but thankfully it holds. We steady ourselves and manage to keep our balance.

Pushing through the doors, we come face to face with the room that held Leland’s body just an hour before. He is gone, smoking ashes where he had been. We are too late. Emerson made sure his maker will never walk the Earth again.

No time to mourn. To the right is a heavy door, and to the left is another maze of halls. We go right because Emerson always came through a loud door. We need to find the stairs. There has to be a way up to the main level. While there might be better routes to hide from his men, we know in our gut that this way will get us where we need to go.

Pushing through the door, there is indeed a staircase waiting for us.

There are also two men heading for the hall I just came from, no doubt trying to see what caused the holdup in getting us from our cell.

Fuck.

Raising the gun, we begin firing.

Sharp vampire sight makes our aim true, and this weapon”s automatic firing capacity leaves the two men without their faces.

I like guns.

Other Wren purrs in agreement.

We are going to get low on bullets.

Checking pockets, we find a few extra clips ready to go. We also remove one of their pistols, stuffing it at the small of our back. Nervous and excited, we climb the staircase, padding lightly on the balls of our feet. The gunfire from above is getting loud. We peer around the corner on the next floor, unable to tell if this is the ground level.

We reach for the door to the stairwell, creeping forward only for something cold and sharp to be pressed into the back of our skull.

FUCK!

Emerson, how in the hell had he snuck up on us with his heavy ass steps?

“Let’s call your boyfriend, shall we? Drop the gun.” His voice is cold. Doing as instructed, I release my hold on the gun. He lowers the sword as he trains the rifle on me.“ I know that you’re Oz’s mate. Call him with the bond. Do it now, and tell him not to keep me waiting.”

Letting a thought slip out to Oz, we start thinking about a plan to get us out of this. The sounds of gunfire have quieted, and there are only occasional popping sounds, but they grow further apart.

Oz, I made it to the top of the stairwell on the ground floor. Emerson is here, and he wants you to come.

“Done,” we say to Emerson.

He sneers at me and motions toward the wall. “Sit down,” he commands. We do as he says, sliding down the wall carefully so as not to dislodge the pistol at our back that he seems to know nothing about.

This is almost over, but not for me, not for Oz.

Emerson is as good as dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.

He crouches before us, brushing hair out of our face. “So beautiful. Let’s make a portrait for Oz, shall we?”

I watch in horror as he pulls a blade from his boot and I cringe as he touches it to our cheek. Hot searing pain accompanies the gash as he drags the sharp metal down our face. Blood pours out of the wound, and we hiss in pain. “You know, Wren. It’s almost dawn, and I’m still not begging.”

“There’s still time,” we snarl.

Brow furrowing, lips curling with scorn, he cuts down the center of our shirt, exposing our chest to the air. Taking the blade, he starts at the top of our breasts and presses the blade into our skin, following the natural curve into the center. Not getting the reaction he wants, the frustration is evident on his face. He presses on, reaching my stomach and pushing hard. Screaming in pain, we feel how deep the damage goes. An evil grin crosses his lips, and we want to wipe it from his stupid face.

We think about all the ways we want to kill him. All the ways we want to shred him. Using the aid of a deep breath, we allow laughter to escape our mouth.

Emerson doesn’t like that and the smile immediately disappears.

It doesn’t matter. His focus has to shift, Oz is here, and we all turn our attention to the door.