27 - Every Last Drop

Fraser

I pace my cell, back and forth and up and down. Impatience sparks in my spine, putting fire in my veins as I hung on every sound, every creak, every drip of water from above.

It's only been roughly 21 hours since I've seen Ailsa, but it feels like an eternity.

Knowing full well that I've simply become dependant. I am well on my way to becoming completely obsessed with her, and that is partially to blame for me current mental anguish. This information does little to comfort me because I know the real reason. I fear for her lufe.

Never before have I let myself become attached to a human. And not only is she human but she's delicate and breakable she's like a small piece of pottery that already has a crack in it, slippery to hold an easy to crush.

Now that I know of her sickness, and I've been told the full scale of it and how serious it is, the fear is tenfold. Knowing now that Ailsa's condition could so easily kill her, every minute that she's away from me is torture.

It's almost enough to confirm my ever growing suspicion that she is my mate. If she is, i can't imagine more horrible timing and circumstance to find one's mate. The moon goddess either has a twisted sense of humor or knows exactly what she is doing. I suppose I shouldn't question her.

Either way, I won't know for certain until one of two things happen. Blood exchanges or sex, and I seriously doubt that either of those things will happen any time soon.

I would be lying if I said I didn't picture myself sinking my teeth into Ailsa's skin when her heartbeat flutters under her pale skin.

But that's not possible. Even if it were, I wouldn't let it happen, I'm sure of it. I can have a clear mind. My self control will win when I know how fragile she really is.

Damn it all to hell. Why did she have to be born with such a sickness?

I'm a beast with immeasurable power and she's a slip of a lass who could could be killed by the next breeze of wind.

It's the worst kind of irony.

A clank and a bang and a short lived relief slices through me. It's there and then it's gone as heavy footsteps echo off the wall. It's not Ailsa, and there's only one other person it could be.

Laird Sinclair waddles to me. His figure round and rotund, his hand carrying a lantern high in the air as he surveys me. The evil man grins.

A lanky servant follows him, carrying a heavy satchel at his side. Whatever's in the bag clunks together with each of the boy's quivering steps. I don't take any further glances, my seething gaze fixed on the man before me.

I didn't think I could hate him anymore than I did. I was wrong.

Seeing him and knowing what he plans to do to Ailsa, what he is planning on forcing his own daughter to do, I can't focus on anything else.

Usually when the Laird arrives I play the pitiful, tortured prisoner that he expects.

I don't act this time, and it has nothing to do with the fact that im already standing at my full height.

Maybe part of me wants him to see that I'm not as weak as he believes he's made me. I roll back my shoulders and stiffen my spine. I let him see my full potential without a word.

Laird Sinclair narrows his eyes at me, but I don't look away and I most certainly don't back down.

I tower over him, and even he can see that, even with these bars separating us. Surely he knows that if not for the barrier I could easily kill him,'and I would do so gladly.

However, my motivations have greatly shifted since I last saw him.

"So spritely today, eh? Not wallowing like the pathetic creature you are?" He barks, chuckling to himself and elbowing his servant until the boy joins in to please his Laird.

I smile darkly to myself when I think of how he's just trying to compensate. He must feel absolutely pathetic from viewing my confidence alone. It pleases me more than it should.

"One day, I will escape this hell and I will kill you. Mark my words. This is a vow, Sinclair." I murmur, saying deep into his eyes as the flames of his lantern fangs across the round rolls of his face.

Laird Sinclair continues to laugh, until he looks over at the servant boy and his nervous face, and then his laughing ceases immediately, and he swallows loudly. Sweat begins to bead across his forehead.

I take a slow step forward, feeling like a prowling Jaguar ready for a strike.

"And when I do, I'll make it slow. You think this is torture?" I gesture to the place around me, letting out a loud exhale of a laugh. "It won't even compare what I will do to you. When I'm done having my fun, I will rip your throat from you and feast on your blood. Every last drop of it."

I take a deep breath in, inhaling a new aroma that makes a smirk grow on my lips. His fear. It tastes good. I wish I could taste it all night long, but I doubt this is all he is here for.

My threat hangs heavy in the air as silence follows. I wait for Laird Sinclair to declare his purpose, but he's momentarily stunned. He's frozen to the spot with rounded eyes and trembling hands.

I let it play out. The wonderful stench of terror fills the space without me having to utter another word. It pleases me greatly.

Time passes, the minutes ticking by as the two human heart beats calm to steady paces.

"All you have done is proven to me that you are no more than a blood thirsty monster. Scum of the Earth. No one will miss you when I'm through with you." He sniffles after his speach.

There are so many things I want to say to him, and they almost leave my mouth or their own accord, but I pinch my lips together to keep them from spilling out.

The first thing I want to say is that he has no right to call me a monster when he uses his daughter as a pawn. What kind of a father would use his daughter to gain power? What kind of a father would let his daughter die without a second thought?

I know what kind of father would do those things, but I'm not supposed to know that. I won't let him know that I know these things about him. I can't risk Ailsa that way.

At the thought of Ailsa I say a silent prayer she won't show up and be caught.

Once Laird Sinclair nods at the kid, I double that prayer. The young boy lifted a knife from the bag, the silver of the blade glinting in the firelight. His other bony hand delves into the bag and I don't even have to guess what it is once the sound of sloshing reaches my ears.

Damn it.

I clench my jaw. It was easy to drink dead man's blood when I was starving, but now that I'm well fed, thanks to Ailsa, I have no desire for it. The desperate need for any kind of sustenance is gone. I am completely satiated, but the Laird cannot know this, I won't let him find out.

Ailsa has risked everything to help me, and I will not betray the trust she had put in my hands.

"We will see how threatening you are when you're bleeding." He sneers at me, lifting his set of keys that holds that key to my cell.

I try not to narrow my eyes as I focus in on the little gray key, keeping the rest of my face impassive as he steps closer.

It has a short handle and the prongs that stick out are short and rectangular,'I try to memorize it as best as I can, memorizing which pocket he has pulled it from as well. This information could be deferential to my future.

The disgusting man nears me, sliding the key into place but not twisting it as he eyes me.

"You may pretend to be strong, but I know you're not. Your power is weakened. You'll drink this blood because you can't control yourself at all." He states. Eyes gleaming. Bulging body relaxing.

He's confident that once the dead man's blood is uncapped that I'll be the mindless animal I have always been when he's offered me the tainted meals. And why wouldn't he think such a thing? It's been at least 2 weeks since he fed me, and in that time I've had several meals from my sweet little, human visitor that he has no knowledge of.

So when he tosses the flask to me like a bone to a starving dog, I steel myself and prepare for downing the disgusting drink as if I'm starving.

"Do hurry. We have some tests to run on you once you are finished." Sinclair practically giggles with excitement as the knife makes its way into his hand.

So that's what it's for. Oh good.

I picture Ailsa in my mind, telling myself I must endure this for her, and I tip the flask back, ready for any torture that comes my way if it will keep her out of harms way.