Word Count: 2224
~Avila
My bedroom door slamming open has me shocked out of my sleep.
"Quick, get up."
It's Crimson, only the edges of her figure visible in the darkness. It must be late. I swear I only fell asleep a few hours ago, although my delirious mind is still struggling to comprehend what is going on.
Crimson's hands are shaking my arm, tugging me from the bed. I stumble out, the covers winding around my legs, nearly sending me falling over.
"What time is it?" I grumble, rubbing my hand down my face.
"Shh. Follow me." She pulls at my arm, her filed nails digging into my bicep.
I halt, frowning. My mind isn't entirely capable of figuring out what's going on right now, but I know that were we in danger, it would have been a guard coming in to usher me out.
So what's Crimson doing here?
"Do I need to change?" I ask croakily.
"No. Hurry."
My feet stumble over each other as I'm dragged from the room, the biting cold of the night air seizing my bare arms.
"What's going on?" I ask. The hallways is lit, allowing me to see my mother dressed as she normally is, without a single hair out of place on her head.
"Don't ask questions. This must be done."
She takes me downstairs, a hardened look of determination on her face that has unease digging into the nauseated stomach. Being woken so abruptly has me whirling, and her lack of supplied information is only adding to the confusion.
We wind through the hallways to the western wing of the house, which I haven't explored that thoroughly. It's where my father conducts business while he is here, apparently.
As we enter his office, it's immediately clear that my mother has converted this into a den used for...I have no idea.
There are four men standing around a table, picking at various jars and containers. Some are filled with dried herbs, others with undistinguishable liquid. Scattered amongst the jars are books, dried branches, pale white animal bones and many other strange things.
"What-"
"Sit on this chair and don't move." Crimson pulls out a chair from behind me, pulling me down by my shoulders.
"What's going on?" This doesn't feel right.
The four men exchange glances before continuing to pick through the items like I'm not even there. They look far too ominous to be here for an innocent reason, and Crimson is in on it.
"There are some old friends of mine." My mother steps around me so I can see her. "It won't hurt, they are simply checking for dark magic."
My eyes flare wide.
"What do you mean by dark magic?"
I still haven't even discovered what dark magic means to these people. No one seems willing to explain it to me compressively, which I now think is for a very specific reason.
"This is bringing us one step closer to ascertaining what happened to bring you back to us." Crimson reaches out, brushing my hair behind my ear tenderly.
I flinch back, scowling at her, and then one of the men who turn around, a bottle of pale white liquid and a knife in their hand.
"What are you going to do to me?" I contemplate running for the door, but I'm not sure where I can go exactly. Who knows who else is involved in this.
The man uncaps the jar, placing the blade of the knife in the liquid before he pulls it out.
"It's not going to hurt," Crimson assures me, looking toward the man. "Right?"
His expression is unmoving, the white liquid dripping from the blade and onto the wood floor. Repulsion eddies together with fear as I wonder if that knife is destined for me.
"I don't want to do this..." I insist.
One of mother's other lackey's has resumed a position near the door, looking ready to grab me if I decide to take off.
Crimson grabs my arm, turning my palm upward.
"Stay still. This must be done."
The man steps forward, pressing the blade against my palm lightly. I immediately flinch, but there's no running from this. He pulls the knife back, revealing a single slice that stings to the point I almost try out.
"Ow!" I growl, wanting to pull my hand back, but Crimson's grip on me pulls me short. "You said this wouldn't hurt."
"It's all part of the process," she soothes.
The man brings a vial of blood to me, his dark eyes surveying me before he tilts my hand so the blood can slowly drip into the glass. I wince, a burning sensation trailing up my arm.
Once he's collected enough blood, he backs off before starting to chant an unrecognisable language under his breath, the others joining in.
"This is scaring me. There's no dark magic," I insist, looking at the blood still gathering in my palm. I just let it drip down the sides and onto the floor, trying not to let panic overwhelm me.
Crimson presses a white cloth in my hand, absorbing some of the blood. "That is still to be determined."
The man turns back around, holding a small glass of red liquid. I physically recoil at the sight. My hand will heal from the cut, but I have no idea if what's in there is poison.
"You must drink this. The side effects may be difficult to manage, but you will be fine," he murmurs lowly, trying to hand it to me but I keep my hands far away.
"What side effects?" I ask apprehensively.
"What the fuck is going on?"
We all turn, looking at the door. Vade stands in the threshold, a wild look in his eye as he drags his gaze over the room. I can't even imagine what this looks like to walk in on.
"Vade, this is a private family matter," Crimson says quickly.
Disgust lines his expression as he looks between Crimson and I.
"Is this a ritual?"
"We are determining whether dark magic was used in her resurrection." She says it so casually, like this isn't something absolutely disturbing. I'm still trying to figure out why this even matters.
"There's no guarantee there was a resurrection. You're just putting her under unnecessary stress," Vade insists. He looks so angry, like he wants to flip the table.
Crimson seems to notice his distress too, edging a little further back. "She is fine."
"Come with me, Avila." Vade's voice is a quiet command.
He doesn't need to tell me twice. I lurch from the chair, still clutching the white cloth in my hand.
"Don't you want answers, daughter?" Crimson asks, shuddering slightly as she looks over me, like she sees something wrong in my physical appearance, like she can see dark magic bubbling beneath my skin.
"Not like this..."
Vade doesn't wait around to hear Crimson try to lure me back into the room. He grabs my arm and leads me back down the hallway.
"Where are we going?"
"My room. No one will disturb us there."
I twist to look up at him. His face is a cold wall of stone, rage threatening to crack his perfect exterior. It's now that I finally notice he's dressed nicely, his hair smooth and styled, his clothing dark and lavish.
"Oh..." I don't know how late it is, but late enough for the rest of the house to be asleep. "You're dressed up."
"I was out," he responds tightly.
Every part of me wants to ask where he went, but I hold my tongue. Instead, I follow him wordlessly upstairs and into his wing, which is close to my own.
"This is nice," I muse as he closes the bedroom door behind us.
It's hard to find much special about this room. There's just a single bed with a white duvet, normal furniture and not much else. In fact, he has a trunk suitcase against the far wall, right near the large floor to ceiling window, clearly unpacked.
My heart falls down to my stomach. He's thinking about leaving...
"I should probably consider decorating since I'm staying here permanently," he says, seeming to notice my disheartened expression.
He only wants to leave because he doesn't feel a connection to me. I wish that were different.
"Do we have to stay here? Can't we get a place of our own?" I ask. It would be nice to be anywhere Crimson isn't. After that stunt she just pulled, I don't feel very safe here anymore.
Vade falls silent so I look at him, sitting down on the end of his bed.
He looks startled, drawing his lower lip between his teeth while he considers something. Him and I are to be married, I wouldn't think wanting to live together properly would be all that abnormal.
"You have everything and everyone you need here," he breathes, looking like he wants to say something else, but refrains.
I clear my throat, smoothing my not bloody hand along the duvet cover.
"Thanks for saving me. That was insane."
"Your mother has lost her mind." Vade shakes his head, starting to pace back and forth. "Dark magic? No one has used dark magic in years. Decades even."
If anyone would know about dark magic, it seems like Vade would. He looks like he owns that word, as if he's capable of wielding it himself. I know he doesn't, it's just something about him...
"What if it was dark magic?" I ask softly.
He shakes his head, moving to crouch down in front of me. I still at the tender gesture, at how close he is to me suddenly.
"It's not. And if it was, it wouldn't matter," he assures me, gentle but firm enough to know I should believe him. "You're Avila. That's it. Now come on, you need to bandage your hand."
"Thank you." I follow him into the bathroom, peeling the cloth off my hand and discarding it. "Sometimes I feel like an imposter. Like this body doesn't belong to me."
I lean up against his vanity while he finds some medical supplies. Part of me wonders why he even bothers keeping them in his room when we have healers downstairs, but I'm grateful it's him treating me and not them.
Especially right now.
"Who wouldn't feel that way in your situation?" He dampens a cloth and wipes the drying blood from my hand. Thankfully the cut isn't deep, and should heal without a problem.
"You're being far too nice for someone who hates me," I murmur, watching his face as he concentrates on his task.
Fuck. He's so handsome.
He looks up at me beneath thick, dark lashes. "Trust me, I don't hate you. Quite the opposite."
I hold my breath, not even flinching as he dabs on a cream that stings viciously. I'm too enraptured by him, by the vulnerability he is finally displaying.
"You act like you do."
"I just don't spend time with you because it feels wrong to," he admits, cutting into some bandages. "It feels wrong to pretend like this marriage is something that it is not. Especially when feelings are involved."
My eyes widen a little. What feelings? I feel the need to ask him, but I'm scared he's going to back off more.
"Can't we be friends?" My voice is barely above a whisper, the bathroom deadly quiet.
"I'm not the type to have friends. Not recently." He winds the bandage around my hand and secures it in place before washing his hands, stepping back into the bedroom.
I follow him. "Why not?"
"It doesn't feel right to be close to anyone at the moment." He rubs his head as he looks around the room, like he's looking for something. "I've got a lot I'm dealing with."
I've been so wrapped up in what's going on around me that I haven't even noticed. Guilt spills through me and I have to physically withhold a grimace.
"You can talk to me. About any of this," I assure him.
His answering smile is genuine. "Thank you."
"What are you doing, by the way?" I ask, watching him sweep around the room, picking up pieces of clothing from his suitcase.
"Letting you have my bed. I'll sleep in a spare room."
Disappointment curls into my chest. I was hoping he would share the bed with me, that we could talk more. I want to feel closer to him, but clearly he doesn't feel the same way.
"Oh...you're not staying here?"
"No." He grabs his pillow before striding up to me, resting a comforting hand on my shoulder. "You deserve peace tonight. Your mother won't come in here."
"Okay..."
I let out a deep breath. He's doing this to be nice, respectful, because that's who Vade is.
It's a shame that I desperately want him to be disrespectful.
"Sleep well, Avila." He kisses my cheek, his hair brushing against before he pulls away. He slips through the door, leaving me feeling a little stupid.
"Goodnight, Vade," I mutter under my breath.
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