Chapter 81: Blood Ties
My pulse quickens as the plan takes shape in my mind, the only thread of hope in this suffocating darkness. If Aleksandr’s mark on me holds any power, any connection to him, now is the time for it to reveal its purpose. Closing my eyes, I focus on the sensation of the scar under my fingertips, willing it to be more than just a memory etched into my skin.
“Please,” I whisper into the void, “If you can hear me, Aleksandr… I need you now.”
–
The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of my solitude pressing down on me with the force of this hellish realm. Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, the despair threatening to swallow me whole once again.
I press harder on the scar, wishing I had something I could use to reopen it, to make it bleed. The scar connects us through blood, and it’s possible that I need that blood as part of the connection.
In a burst of desperate Inspiration, I begin to see what I need to do.
Maybe, just maybe, it’s not only the bite mark that connects me to Aleksandr but the act of bleeding itself, the flow of blood that had once bound us together when he marked me. Maybe blood is so much more than life–what if it’s a carrier of will, intent, and unseen bonds? If my blood could speak to Aleksandr across dimensions, now’s the time to raise my voice.
With trembling hands, I remove my shirt, my actions almost mechanical, driven by a necessity that feels larger than fear itself.
I clumsily fumble with the clasp of my bra, hastily pulling it off. I pause for a second, acknowledging the sheer absurdity of my next move.
I tear at the fabric, exposing the under wire, yanking it free. The curved silver metal, cold and unyielding, feels utterly foreign against the warmth of my skin.
I gaze down at the scar on my neck. Closing my eyes, I press the tip of the underwire against the scar, the coldness of the metal a sharp contrast to my feverish skin. I hesitate for just a moment, fully aware of the madness of my impending action. Do I really have the strength to do this? The memory of Aleksandr’s fangs sinking into my flesh flashes through my mind, the pleasure of my flowing blood as he began to suck, bonding us, joining us.
Gritting my teeth, I press the underwire into the scar. It’s not as sharp as a needle, but it’s sharp enough to pierce the skin with some force, Pain immediately, a sharp, searing agony that snatches my breath away. The temptation to stop is almost overwhelming, but this is my only hope.
too deep, fu
erupts
Carefully, I begin to press again, hard and harder. I’m cautious to not push too deep, fully aware of the vital artery just beneath my skin. The moment I puncture into that, it’s game over- Tatiana will arrive here to find a cold, lifeless corpse in a pool of blood, which probably won’t be as much fun for her as finding me here alive.
I clench my teeth in pain as I draw out the sharp curved wire, allowing it to drop to the floor. Then I raise my hands to my neck, and like a lunatic, I stab my long manicured nails into the small puncture wound, opening it further.
I cry out, almost fainting from the pain, but I continue to claw at my neck in a desperate frenzy.
As the blood begins to trickle, warm and slick against my fingers, the pain and panic seem to ebb away. I focus on my intent, envisioning the blood as a conduit, a flowing crimson river that carries my will, my plea across the immense distances that divide us,
I picture the blood coursing through veins and arteries, a network of life–sustaining connections, akin to the fragile bond that unites me with Aleksandr across realms. I try to imagine the blood’s flow, propelled by each heartbeat, as the invisible threads that intertwine our souls through time and space.
For a fleeting instant, as the warm blood slides down my neck and chest, I feel a presence, a distant, questioning voice. Aleksandr?
“ALEKSANDR!” I cry out his name, feeling his awareness pressing at the back of my mind, pushing, trying to get th
But as swiftly as it arrives, the sensation begins to ebb away, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.
“No,” I whimper, collapsing onto the cold stone floor as I begin to sob.
I was so close.
through. “I’M HERE! ALEKSANDR!”
I lie like that for ages, crying until my throat is raw. Finally, I muster the strength to rise to my feet, my gaze sweeping the room once more.
My
y eyes land on the tapestries again. Could the key to my escape lie hidden in their threads?
Chapter 81 Blood Ties
I approach the tapestries once more, this time not searching for a door, but for a clue, a sign, anything.
Now that I’m getting a closer look at them, I can see that each of the six tapestries has a similar
ar but slightly different scene.
I stand before the first tapestry, mesmerized by its stunning depiction. The angelic figure is utterly beautiful and supernaturally perfect, feminine but possibly androgynous or genderless.Emeralds, mirroring the angel’s blazing green eyes, are intricately woven into their flowing coppery–strawberry blonde hair. Holding a golden sword pointing downwards, with an emerald shining brightly in the hilt, the figure embodies a strength that’s both serene and formidable. The words “HOUSE VERDE are etched in spidery letters above the angel, on an ancient scroll that appears to float in the air.
Moving to the second tapestry, I find another angelic figure, their beauty as flawless as the first. The figures silver sword, embedded with a vibrant sapphire, points downwards, signaling a silent but powerful decree, “HOUSE ODELLA” is written above, strangely familiar, but I’m not sure why.
The third tapestry calls to me, and I approach, already knowing to expect. True to my expectations, it features another angel, their deep purple wings unfurled, the color of the richest amethyst. Amethysts sparkle in the angel’s flowing black hair, as dark as the night sky, mirroring the intensity of their purple gaze. The black stone sword they hold, an amethyst set into its hilt, seems to whisper tales of twilight mysteries. “HOUSE ALISAL” Bloats above in delicate script.
Next, the fourth tapestry beckons, revealing another angelic presence. Their white wings shimmer, opalescent, reflecting hues of pale blue and gold, while their ivory robes, adorned with moons and arcane symbols, suggest a dominion over the night sky. The backdrop, a night illuminated by a full moon, complements the moonstones threaded into the angel’s golden hair, their eyes mirroring the gold of distant stars. Holding a golden sword with moonstone glowing at its hilt, the figure stands as a guardian of the night. “HOUSE CAELIA,” declared above in spidery letters.
The fifth tapestry portrays yet another breathtaking figure, their wings a tapestry of crimson edged with fire. The rose–golden sword they wield, a ruby set within its hilt, shimmers like fire. “HOUSE FONTAINE” is inscribed above, strangely familiar, but I’m not sure why..
Finally, I reach the last tapestry. It shows an angel whose beauty surpasses that of the others. Silver wings, almost transparent, gleam with an ethereal light against a backdrop of a silver palace among the clouds. Their robes, like molten starlight, shimmer against the silver sky. The silver sword, its hilt adorned with a sparkling diamond, points downwards, a beacon of hope. As I read the name inscribed above this angel, my blood runs cold, as realisation dawns on me.
It reads… “HOUSE VASILJEV.”
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