The Vampire King's Captive

10

MARIA

It was in that moment that Maria realised she might actually deserve what was coming for her. Was this how her victims felt when she was about to take their lives? They had to feel even worse than this because it was her hand that was going to be chopped off. Not her life.

How many times had she stood before her victims with her arms raised ready to unleash hell on them?

Just last week, that teenage girl had sat on the floor of the palace courtroom with her head held high ready to receive her death blow. Why couldn't Maria find that boldness now? Why was she shaking life a leaf as she watched the blade inch closer to her skin?

Before today, somehow, at the back of her mind, Maria had conceded that she did evil things to people. But not once had she actually seen herself as evil. Now that she was in this position, a position even more preferable to the ones she had put people in several times, she realised that she was an evil person.

Any person who could make another person feel this way was evil. She was sweating, shaking and frankly, she was scared as shit.

The tips of the blade had spikes. It was sure to leave an ugly scar. The first time the blade touched her, she squeaked and jumped in the chair, the bands binding her to the chair, quickly pulling her back down. The second time the blade touched her, she let out a full blown scream and she didn't stop.

Pure, unfettered pain speared up her hand, sharpening at the point the blade touched her skin and then spreading outward slowly, until her hand felt like lead and suddenly became ten times heavier.

Unable to look at her flesh giving way, she turned her face away, biting at her lip to stop her scream, but that didn't help. Tears spilled faster down her cheek, falling from her face and hitting her shirt.

She couldn't look at the man who was doing this to her, neither could she look at the man that had ordered it. They were monsters, watching her suffer like this and probably enjoying every single second of it. It was that victory that she couldn't bear to see on their faces that had her staring at the floor beside her, trying to control her screams as best as she could.

She wished she could think about anything else, but the pain was so profound, so absolute and it was the only thing that she could think about.

A sob escaped her lips and she flat out started crying. Bawling her eyes out, to be honest. In front of these vile men. She hated herself almost as much as she hated him.

"Enough." Her captor yelled. She knew his voice. She didn't have to look up to know that it was him.

She tried to control her sobs, thinking that he was talking to her. It was when the man pressed the button and the blade stopped moving, that she realised that he had been talking to the man torturing her.

Immediately the blade stopped moving, she let out a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived because pain speared up her hand and she tried—and failed—to free her other arm so that she could cradle the injured one.

Her blood had pooled underneath her hand and was starting to spread out slowly on the table. Tears in her eyes, she looked up at the man who had tortured her, hating him so much in that moment.

She paused when she saw that his eyes were trained on her injured hand—on the blood, and he swiped his tongue along his bottom lip. The movement caused the two sharp fangs on each side of his mouth to become visible to her.

Gods, he was a vampire! And the idiot was fantasizing about drinking her blood.

Rage boiled like larva in her belly.