ONE

Astaroth

DARKNESS WAS AN OLD friend I had come to greet quite fondly. It haunted me like a fever dream, always lingering in the back of my mind. I waited for its embrace every day; the solace of knowing that its tantalizing gaze never wavered, as if to promise me that I would soon be welcomed by its eerie coldness. Never forgotten. Always yearning.

And now, I sat on the cold, damp stone of the sewers beneath Aeroburn, the city of a thousand whispers, waiting for darkness to drape itself over me. My breaths came in shallow gasps as sweat beaded my brow, causing the ginger strands of my bangs to plaster against my pale face. My fingers were slicked with the blood of my fatal wound, hidden underneath the layers of my black coat and silken red blouse. The laceration had torn through flesh and deep into muscle, showing off the sinew that seemed to peek through. I pressed my hand deeper into the wound, hoping to slow some of the bleeding as I scooted against the mildewy wall caked in layers of slime.

I could hardly remember what caused it, just the echoing scream of my bodyguard, Anton Malik, who grabbed my shoulder and yanked me away as he surged his hand forward, a steel dagger coated in thick pulses of sapphire blue lightning jabbing into the face of my assailant. My body toppled over before the assailant’s body even hit the ground, blood pooling around me. Anton’s hollers faded in and out as she towered over me, pulling at my jacket to see the damage.

He had carried me here, letting my blood soak through his plum-colored coat that swirled about his knees. Anton sifted through his mercenary bag, his dark brown hair tousled from the stress of it all, and cursed to himself with each glance at me. I forced a weak smile, though the metallic taste of blood caused me to cough.

“Shit! Fuck, Astaroth,” he said, yanking a black box with a set of silver dragon wings etched onto it out of the bag. His fingers fumbled with the locks before the box popped open to reveal medical supplies.

My eyes fluttered shut. A nap sounded wonderful.

“No, don’t you fucking dare,” Anton growled. Grabbing a bottle of antiseptic, he twisted the cap off with a pop and pried my hand from the wound. He poured the syrupy liquid onto it, and a scream so raw ripped from my throat like a guttural animal. It felt like my nerves were firing electric bolts throughout my entire body. I tore open my eyes to see Anton’s icy blue eyes peering at me as tears gathered in their corners. He blinked them away and set the bottle down.

“Stop fidgeting,” Anton snapped.

Through gasps, I growled.

Anton shot me a pointed glare. “I can’t heal you if you don’t let me.”

“Fuck off,” I hissed.

“See, this is why you don’t sneak out without me,” Anton said, setting the bottle down. He tore open the white pack and pulled out the surgical needle and thin threads.

A weak laugh escaped me. Sure, I had snuck out. I was a prisoner in the Castle of Eminence. The only freedom I had tasted out of fear, causing me to run and escape into the wild recesses of the city.

Anton grumbled as he fitted the thread into the needle. He pressed the tip against my flesh before glancing at me. I grimaced and gritted my teeth. There was no time to numb the wound, so I would have to suffer. Turning my head, I closed my eyes and tried to shift my mind back to a simpler time.

Yet the piercing pain that shot through me as Anton pushed the needle into my tender flesh. I threw my head back, cracking it against the slimy wall, a scream tearing from my throat. Instinctively, I reached over to grab Anton’s hand, but he smacked it away and worked as diligently as he could to seal the wound. Black dots speckled my vision. Tasting bitter metal on my tongue, I spat out a thick coating of blood onto the ground.

“Fuck!” Anton hissed.

A few moments passed, and I sat there, dry-heaving from exhaustion as Anton wiped the blood off the needle and placed it back into the white packet.

“We need to get you to the nearest hospital,” Anton said.

I shook my head. “No. Father wouldn’t hear of it. Take me to Dante,” I choked out between gasps.

It was a simple request. Dante had the best healing gifts of a runi; no dragonthorn could compare.

Anton stared me in the eye. “That’s at the Auction House. You have to—”

Glaring, I grabbed his wrist, which still held the white packet. “No means no.”

He snatched his wrist away and set the packet in the box, closing it. Anger rose from him like a venomous aura. Putting the box into the bag, he looked at my wound again. Once satisfied, he gave a nod. Nervous, Anton lifted my left arm and draped it around his neck. He spoke in a calm voice, letting soothing words comfort me as he hoisted me to my feet. I let out a thick grunt, grasping at his jacket as pain shot through me.

“I didn’t give you painkillers, so take it easy,” he warned.

Black spiderwebs clouded my vision again as each step felt like an eternity wading through agony. Minutes passed by, and each stretch of the sewers looked like another line of hell. Each second sounded like a gunshot drumming in my ears. Before I knew it, an hour had gone by and Anton was struggling to keep me standing. The muscles in my legs were jelly, shaking with each passing moment. I stumbled when Anton stopped and leaned against the wall.

Anton slipped my arm from his neck and helped me to sit down again. Groggily, I smiled at him. He forced a smile back, brushing a strand of my hair away from my eyes.

“I’m gonna be right back,” he said. He took off his bag and set it next to me. “The cellar door to the Auction House is right there.”

He pointed toward a rusty ladder leading toward a wooden door with a metal latch.

“Once I enter, I’ll be only a few moments,” he continued.

His words drifted away, and I tilted my head back against the wall, watching the ceiling spin. A giggle erupted from me. Anton touched my face again, mouthing something I couldn’t decipher. His eyebrows furrowed, and he pulled away from me.

Then, darkness swallowed me.