19 - One Whiff

Fraser

Time drags on in a way that I did not expect since Ailsa has disappeared.

Each day feels like an eternity spent in this hell. I glare at the wall everyday, even putting my hands on the indestructible bands. Normal metal they are not, they are made from pure, sterling silver.

In normal circumstances, I would be able to bend the bars. The lack of food and light from the moon has weakened me too much for escape. The bars would burn my hands, so badly that I would need to let go immediately.

I've never wanted to escape more than I do now, and it all has to do with how miserable I have become without that girl here.

That girl. The sweet, honey haired girl that visited me despite her best interests. Her innocence, sweet smile, displaying her kindness, and I turned her way.

I growl at myself, pushing it from my brain or at least, trying to. I am unsuccessful, and the image of Ailsa bursts free again. It's all I think of now, that's why the time seems to crawl on forever, like a spider with one leg.

When I last saw her, I had reacted poorly to the discovery. Ailsa, sweet as she is, is the daughter of Laird Sinclair. Overreacted is an understatement. I lost all control as I yelled at her.

But how was I to know? How could I have realized that she was the daughter of the devious man who had imprisoned me here, and made my life absolutely miserable?

She had never told me. Obviously when it came to light, I had every right to be upset about the revolution hadn't I? She kept it from me. It led me to believe that she had something to gain from keeping it close to her shuddering chest.

No. No. Now I know that Ailsa's tenderness could not be a farce. I've had time to reflect, to relive the night I lost her. As much as my mind had reeled against the news of her bloodline in that moment, I should never have jumped to such rash conclusions.

I shake my head at myself and my deteriorating mind. I stare at my hands, and think of the way her face had contorted with deep sorrow as I threw accusations at her left and right. Ailsa hadn't even defended herself. She didn't fight me, had no rebuttal for me. She didn't beg me to believe her. She simply showed her expression of genuine hurt. Real, raw anguish painted her face. I had hurt her.

Then, she fled.

Days had gone by after the incident before I realized my grave mistake. By then I assumed that our bond had grown so strong that she would return to me. More days pass me by, days morphed into a week and then two, still, she hadn't returned to me.

And why should she? I curse myself and my mean temper. I hreatened to kill her. The threat was idle, a lie, it was a result of my outburst from the fit of rage that had taken complete control of me. But the look in her eyes, the fear blossoming in Ailsa's blue eyes, it still haunts me. Her gaze told me that she believed me. She knew I could kill her.

I didn't know how much her absence would affect me. In the beginning, I hadn't quite yearned for her presence as I do now. I have grown attached. I have to realize that, have to work through it. I can pretend no longer.

As much as I hate the idea, absolutely loathe the image of being tied down by a human girl, a Sinclair no less, it's the truth.

I don't know what this feeling is, this emptiness without her here.

I love my clan, I cannot live life without my brothers, but this feeling is somehow different. It's new, a budding sort of relationship that I've never explored. Although my clan means the world to me, I do not consider myself an emotional man.

I would never believe this kinship with a human girl, but here I am craving her presence.

Facing Sinclair was harder without her here. Knowing as I did now the abuse shes endured at his hands. I hadn't forgotten the horse incisident. I couldn't let on that I knew this about Sinclair, that I have discovered that not only is he a monster, but also a monster of a father.

Hurting one as sweet as Ailsa seems unforgivable to me. I suppose I will always hold my sin of snapping at her on my shoulders.

Although I couldn't say anything to Laird Sinclair as far as Ailsa went, I could still hate him thoroughly.

Even if there was more venom in my voice then previously, the evil, human laird hadn't noticed. He was too distracted by his fury directed at me.

I killed one of his men. He was not too keen on that. He hadn't forgotten the offence, and he let me know that future recurrences would not go unpunished.

The lashes had gone on for hours. The whip found my back over and over. I was so weak from drinking more dead man's blood that I couldn't move. I couldn't move out of the way. The whip found its mark every time.

The only thing that had saved me was Laird Fraser's lack of strength and endurance. He was sweating and panting after a handful of hours. He took breaks often throughout the punishment, but it hadn't been enough. He still gave up, promising more vengeance that was soon to come.

It was the last time I saw him. He hasn't returned since.

Until now.

He has arrived again in my cozy little dungeon, visiting his favorite vampire prisoner.

"Monster." He barks at me, and the tantalizing scent of blood wafts towards me once again.

It sloshes like an angry ocean, nearly spilling from the copper bowl held tightly by Sinclairs broad palms.

A faint tinge of wrongness followed the delightful smell.

Dead man's blood. Figures. I am not surprised.

"Where do you keep getting this blood?" I ask slowly, my words bursting with boredom. It's a ruse. I don't want him to know how much I want the answer.

"Hush. monster. Drink your meal." He says, tone grumbling and insistent.

He comes closer. Now that I can get a better look at him, I begin comparing his face and appearance to his daughter's.

While her hair is light, his is dark. Though her eyes are as blue as the sky on a sun filled day, his are a pale green.

Not even his frame is similar to the tiny human girl. Her father is meaty. His bones are heavy and covered in thick fat.

And his temperament is another thing. How can someone so cruel, someone so unfeeling create Ailsa. She is light where he is dark. She shows kindness where he displays harshness.

It feels... wrong to me. I don't understand how they belong in the same world, let alone the same family.

"Drink." He demands now, pounding a grand fist into the door, making it quiver despite his delicate human strength.

I comply, liftin the bowl to my lips despite dreading the weakness that will surely follow.

Even if I hate it, I need it. The sour nectar will fuse my leaking wounds. It won't heal as quickly as it would if i had real blood, real, living red blood that would bring so much power that the lashes would be gone in hours.

This wrong blood will take days to make me whole, but it will still help.

Even if I didn't want to ingest the offering, my starving senses are fraying at the scent. It's too late to turn my nose up at the meal. It's time to satiate my thirst now.

I guzzle the blood, closing my eyes at the ecstasy, no matter how wrong it feels to enjoy such tainted liquid. I have no room to complain. In here, this prison, this hell, a meal is a meal all the same.

Although the bowl blocks my view, I know that Laird Sinclair is looming over me, likely grinning. He is always pleased with himself when he poisons me. My pain brings him great joy.

As I drink, another pressense tickles my senses like a whisper of breath against my ears.

It sparks my curiosity, but I can't shut off the thirst that's finally being answered. I won't deny this instinct, even to dare a glance at the newcomer who hasn't made their presence known.

The effects start even before the bowl is empty. The room begins to turn, careening to the side. I choke on the next swallow of spiked blood, spraying droplets of maroon as I couch away the obstruction.

Laughter echos around me, the deep sign of humor mocks me. There seems to be three men standing before me for a brief moment, the man blurring to the point of multiplying.

"Monster. I'll be back. I have a clan to run and a daughter to marry off." He growls with mirth, and soon he's laughing again. "Until next time. Enjoy your supper."

The words bounce off of the wall, thudding around me like thunder. He's suddenly gone with a flash and I blink in confusion. My hands go to my head, trying to keep it from rolling off my shoulders as it spins aimlessly.

Noises find me, and the presence from earlier is stronger now. I narrow my eyes, trying to pinpoint the silhouette that stands too far in the shadows to be made into an actual person.

One whiff, and the search is over. I know who it is that's come to me. I can't be sure if it's real or in my imagination, but in my state I can't seem to care.

"Ailsa."