Blood Rebel [COMPLETED]

Chapter Sixteen - Mind Control

The days of the week trickled by in idleness. Selene felt every action was anti-climactic after the realisation that had changed everything for her, that had shaken her awake. She wandered about the house, her heart beating frantically at every sound or step, hoping, desperately hoping, that it would be Hector. It never was.

She made an effort to act normally around Xander, and spoke to him every day. At first their conversation was stilted, rendered unnatural by what had passed between them, but he too made an effort to normalize matters: not once did he mention Diana, or the awful secret he had exposed. But despite their efforts, any attempt to ignore it was in vain: it floated between them, a wordless knife tearing them apart, preventing any real bond forming. Yes, they laughed and smiled, and talked for hours, but each was wearing an unseen armour.

And when Xander laughed, and when he smiled, a sad twinge pulled at Selene, making her wish the face she looked upon belonged to someone else.

Late one evening, only a few nights after Xander had sliced into his own flesh, Selene crept out of his room, unlocking the door with a key she had been given by one of the Varks, and made her way down the stairs, tiptoeing along the corridor, feeling the plush red carpet squeeze between her toes with every step. There was a hum of nocturnal life in the house, of Varks and Vampires moving about, carrying on with their mundane activities. The curtains in the hall were open, allowing the moon to brush every surface with its pale glow. Suddenly a scream pierced the almost-silence and Selene halted, crouched, gripping the banister with one hand.

The sound had come from Io, Hector's bedroom, and Selene moved towards the door, her heart hammering in her chest, moving its way up her throat, choking her. She pressed a hand against the door and rested her ear against it. She could hear Hector inside, murmuring, his voice incomprehensible through the thick wood that separated them. It was the closest she had knowingly been to Hector in days, and she let her cheek slide gently to the surface of the wood, as though it had been his skin she pressed against.

The girl's screams continued, staccato-ing up and down, high and low, as Hector inflicted pain. Selene could her the sound of blows, blunt thumping sounds, dulled by the soundproofing of the door and walls.

Selene gasped and took a step back from the door, suddenly realising who was inside. Lorna. She was one of Hector's other girls, and it was her eighteenth birthday that day. Selene couldn't believe she had forgotten; she had been in such a daze the past few days that anyone other than herself, Hector, and Xander had ceased to exist.

Lorna was only a serving girl; she didn't have a Vampire-facing role in society, and Selene had never considered her a threat, or competition in any way; not that she had ever really thought of the girls like that until now. Lorna was small and scrawny, almost like a child, and her nose was permanently red as though she had a cold.

Selene scraped her nails down her bare arms, digging them into the epidermis, reprimanding herself for having forgotten.

Of course there are other girls. Of course he sleeps with them, bites them, makes them do whatever he wants.

She screwed up her face as the thoughts ran through her mind, and a worm of pain raised its head.

The girls were forbidden from discussing what Hector did to them in private. He had made that secrecy a law in his own home, and as a result the girls looked at one another suspiciously, unable to become friends, and could never form alliances. The threat of the Grand Chamber, Central Control and the Bleedings loomed between them at all times.

The door of the bedroom swung open and Selene tripped backwards, pressing herself against the banister. Lorna came flying out as though she had been thrown, and landed on all fours, her hands grimy with blood and her hair a dark and knotted halo around her head. She was whining like an animal that had been kicked by its owner, and lifted one of her hands limply to wipe her mouth. Her white nightdress was ripped; shredded into ribbons, dangling about her bare knees which were covered in carpet burns. Blood stained the white gown as it trickled down her thighs and from the puncture wounds in her neck.