Read Online Blood in Her Veins (Nineteen Stories From the World of Jane Yellowrock) by Faith Hunter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Faith Hunter
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bitch. He was related to one of the cityâs most powerful vampires. And the cops had sent him in undercover to find out about herâ
âI can tell you donât have tats,â Loriann said, drawing him back from his past. He turned his face to hers, trying to hide his shock. She shoved her hair behind an ear and almost smiled. Her eyes flickered down his body and back up, lingering at the V of his legs before she returned to her work. âThis may hurt.â
The first needle pierced his skin.
â¢Â   â¢Â   â¢
At dawn, Loriann put away her torture implements. Rick was sweating, shaking with the continual pain. He had no idea how people could gothrough this over and over, getting full-sleeve tats, tats on their necks and throats. Under their arms, on their privates, on sensitive, tender skin.
Loriann sighed, and he felt fatigue move through her and into his own skin, a shared exhaustion. Over the course of the night, he had become deeply aware of the little witch, pain bringing them close, making him conscious of her breath, alert to the slightest shift of her posture and position, sensitive to her ever-changing emotions, responsive to her intense concentration. It was as if they were two parts of one creature, sharing energy, breath, and his painâone part administering pain, the other part enduring it. His blood had sealed the deal, trickling several times across his shoulder to the stone beneath him.
He shuddered as his tormentor unclasped the shackles on his right arm. She stepped to his left arm and unclasped that restraint as well.
He tightened his muscles as he had done over and over in the night to relieve the pain of immobility, contracting and releasing. He dragged his numb arms up and shoved his elbows under him. Groaning, he forced himself upward, reclining on his elbows and forearms. Loriann moved clockwise through the dim dawn to his legs.
âIâm going to let you relieve yourself now,â she said softly. âEat something. Drink. Shower off.â
âClean up my blood on the stone?â he said, mocking.
âNo,â she whispered. âIt stays.â
He understood. It was part of the sacrifice.
She clicked his left leg shackle loose. He didnât tense. He didnât let his breathing hitch, knowing that somehow, through the bond established during the night of pain, she would expect what he planned. In a moment he could get away. Disable Loriann. Get to the cityâs vampire headquarters. Tell the blood-servants what was going on. Get help for the kid, Jason. But no matter what, no way was he lying down again on the black stone.
The shackle fell from his left leg with a heavy
clank
. The witch moved to his right leg. He couldnât feel sensation beyond agony in his limbs, but he forced the toes of both feet to wiggle, and he could see them move in the slowly brightening light. He closed his eyes and breathed in. Brought up his free leg. Tried not to tense in preparation for a lunge.
A
click
sounded, different from the other sounds. He opened his eyes, looked down. And cursed. With a clumsy roll, he rose and stumbled acrossthe barn. Was brought up short. He tumbled to the dusty floor. Loriann had attached a shackle to his right ankle and had run a chain from that to one of the rings in the black stone. The chain was less than ten feet long.
Lying in the dust of the stable floor, Rick started to laugh, the sound hollow and echoing. The peals sounded half-mad. And he couldnât stop.
He rolled to his back and held out his leg, shaking it, the chainâs heavy links tinkling low. If he had an axe, he could try to cut through it. Or he could cut off his foot. And bleed to death getting to help. Of course, if he had an axe, he could kill Isleen . . . and thereby kill Loriannâs seven-year-old brother, Jason. Rick was as trapped as Loriann was.
His muscles were weak from being tied down; his hands and feet were
âI can tell you donât have tats,â Loriann said, drawing him back from his past. He turned his face to hers, trying to hide his shock. She shoved her hair behind an ear and almost smiled. Her eyes flickered down his body and back up, lingering at the V of his legs before she returned to her work. âThis may hurt.â
The first needle pierced his skin.
â¢Â   â¢Â   â¢
At dawn, Loriann put away her torture implements. Rick was sweating, shaking with the continual pain. He had no idea how people could gothrough this over and over, getting full-sleeve tats, tats on their necks and throats. Under their arms, on their privates, on sensitive, tender skin.
Loriann sighed, and he felt fatigue move through her and into his own skin, a shared exhaustion. Over the course of the night, he had become deeply aware of the little witch, pain bringing them close, making him conscious of her breath, alert to the slightest shift of her posture and position, sensitive to her ever-changing emotions, responsive to her intense concentration. It was as if they were two parts of one creature, sharing energy, breath, and his painâone part administering pain, the other part enduring it. His blood had sealed the deal, trickling several times across his shoulder to the stone beneath him.
He shuddered as his tormentor unclasped the shackles on his right arm. She stepped to his left arm and unclasped that restraint as well.
He tightened his muscles as he had done over and over in the night to relieve the pain of immobility, contracting and releasing. He dragged his numb arms up and shoved his elbows under him. Groaning, he forced himself upward, reclining on his elbows and forearms. Loriann moved clockwise through the dim dawn to his legs.
âIâm going to let you relieve yourself now,â she said softly. âEat something. Drink. Shower off.â
âClean up my blood on the stone?â he said, mocking.
âNo,â she whispered. âIt stays.â
He understood. It was part of the sacrifice.
She clicked his left leg shackle loose. He didnât tense. He didnât let his breathing hitch, knowing that somehow, through the bond established during the night of pain, she would expect what he planned. In a moment he could get away. Disable Loriann. Get to the cityâs vampire headquarters. Tell the blood-servants what was going on. Get help for the kid, Jason. But no matter what, no way was he lying down again on the black stone.
The shackle fell from his left leg with a heavy
clank
. The witch moved to his right leg. He couldnât feel sensation beyond agony in his limbs, but he forced the toes of both feet to wiggle, and he could see them move in the slowly brightening light. He closed his eyes and breathed in. Brought up his free leg. Tried not to tense in preparation for a lunge.
A
click
sounded, different from the other sounds. He opened his eyes, looked down. And cursed. With a clumsy roll, he rose and stumbled acrossthe barn. Was brought up short. He tumbled to the dusty floor. Loriann had attached a shackle to his right ankle and had run a chain from that to one of the rings in the black stone. The chain was less than ten feet long.
Lying in the dust of the stable floor, Rick started to laugh, the sound hollow and echoing. The peals sounded half-mad. And he couldnât stop.
He rolled to his back and held out his leg, shaking it, the chainâs heavy links tinkling low. If he had an axe, he could try to cut through it. Or he could cut off his foot. And bleed to death getting to help. Of course, if he had an axe, he could kill Isleen . . . and thereby kill Loriannâs seven-year-old brother, Jason. Rick was as trapped as Loriann was.
His muscles were weak from being tied down; his hands and feet were
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