The Drinker of Blood

Chapter Fifteen

I moved toward Freya without a single word. As near as I could tell, no one had marked my arrival, so entranced were most with the story that Isolde was telling. My friend seemed paralyzed with fear, and I couldn't help but notice her casual business attire did not blend in. Had she been taken straight from work? What had they done to her?

I said not a word, and the first notice she took of me was when I stepped past her and struck the tall young man standing to her left in the nose. The man hadn't had a hold of her, but clearly he was the flunky who was there to make sure she didn't leave.

Well, he wasn't anymore. So hard did I strike the fellow that he was dead before he hit the floor. I looked at Freya, gently touched her shoulder, and gave her my full regard. There were no bruises, no hint of blood, so she hadn't been harmed.

Bringing her here was a warning to me and nothing more.

A cold fury grew inside of me, the kind that does not often beset me. "It'll be alright," I whispered. Then I moved between Freya and anyone who might do her harm.

The collapse of the guard had made an unpleasant thud, but it took a few moments for those assembled in the room to realize something had transpired. It was only then that Isolde turned and saw me. There was a look of triumph on her face that soon was replaced by a look of shock and fear.

Had she truly imagined I would take this outrage meekly? Did she know nothing of me at all? Others had tried to do thus in the past. My thoughts turned to my friend, Ben. And then they turned ....

I knew what I had to do. Nothing in my world would be safe or stable if Whitefarrow and his fools could walk all over me, scuttling everything I touched. Something cold and nasty gripped my ugly black little heart as I laid my hand on my knife.

For the haziest of moments my two manias collided in full, my deep yearning for revenge and my desperate affection for Freya-Lynn. For just that faint instant, every imaginable wickedness ran through my heart, thoughts of which I never imagined myself capable. Half of me wanted to grab my friend and flee, to protect her at all costs. Another half of me screamed that I should dash out her brains myself to prove that I couldn't be intimidated.

I'd never felt so much like a monster, and a brief shutter ran through me. Then I turned to look into Freya's eyes. The fear on her face had eased, and it now was joined with a look of trust and hope. And I remembered that I'd promised this woman I'd never harm her.

I often lie to myself—I wish that weren't true—but I strive never to break my word to another, especially to her.

"It'll be okay," I again whispered to her. And then I sprang.

I'm not above boasting. I'd never moved so fast, and I cleared the 50 feet to the far side of the room in a single bound, my left foot coming to rest on the newel post of a metal staircase, and I launched myself at Isolde on the balcony above.

Before anyone could stop me, my hand had found its way to her pretty little neck, and the razor edge of my knife was against her throat. For a tiny moment, something stayed my hand. The blade was sharp, but it wouldn't kill her, at least not right away, and she was strong. Not so strong as me, but if I hacked enough times before her bodyguards ....

"Please stop."

I didn't remember Isolde's voice being so deep.

"Please stop," I heard again.

There was something calm and insistent in the voice, and something familiar. The hairs on the back of my neck went up. From the corner of my eye, I saw him, my old boyfriend, Rohan. The fellow I'd been hoping to avoid.