THE DEVIL'S MERCY

Crystal woke up to the taste of iron.

It coated her tongue with a thick and bitter texture as if she had drank a gallon of blood in her sleep.

Her body ached and her bones were too heavy, and a phantom pain pulsed through her chest stemming from exactly where she had driven her own blade into.

I should be dead.

The realization came sluggishly, like she was wading through flowing water, memories fighting to drag her under the merciless current.

The temple in flames. The bodies. Him.

Her eyes snapped open and her body jerked awake.

The room around her was dimly lit and strangely oppressive, the air was damp and heavy with the scent of old stone.

Shadows flickered unnaturally, stretching in ways they shouldn't have been able to without a distinct source.

Candles burned low, wax pooling around their bottoms like melted flesh.

And across from her, seated like this was nothing more than a casual gathering, was the devil himself.

Saint Valerian,

Ruler of the Northern Vampire Kingdom,

The prince of Darkness.

He looked at her with an expression that she would have mistaken for boredom, if not for the sharp amusement glinting in his silver-colored eyes.

One arm rested lazily on the armrest of his chair, the other drumming fingers against his knee.

"You're awake," he murmured. "I was beginning to wonder if I had been too late."

Her breath hitched.

The wound.

She had killed herself.

Despite the protest of her aching joints, her hand immediately flew to her chest, expecting torn bloody flesh, the gaping evidence of her final defiance. But there, she found nothing.

Only smooth, unmarred skin.

Saint smiled, watching the horror seep into her expression. Her almond-shaped eyes widened, and he could feel the sharp spike in her heart rate from afar.

"You didn't think I'd let you go that easily, did you?"

Crystal scrambled back, pressing herself against the cold stone wall. "No. No, no, no. You..." She shook her head, voice a rasp. "You should have let me die."

Saint let out a slow, quiet chuckle, the sound brushing over her like silk over steel. "Should have?" He stepped closer, his shadow stretching long across the floor. "You act as if you had a choice in the matter... And besides, where's the fun in that?"

Crystal's breath came in ragged bursts. She could still feel it; him, lingering beneath her skin like an unwanted brand. "I made my choice."

"And I unmade it," he said simply, crouching before her. He reached out, and though he didn't touch her, she flinched all the same. His amusement deepened. "You still don't understand, do you?"

Her fingers curled into fists. "Understand what?" she spat.

His gaze swept over her, dark and knowing. "That you were never meant to die, little warrior." He leaned in, voice a whisper against her ear. "You're mine to own."

Crystal shuddered, revulsion and something far worse coiling tight in her stomach. "I will never be yours.

Her fingers uncurled and clenched into fists again. "You..." She swallowed hard, throat aching. "You had no right."

He laughed, soft and cruel. "No right?" He took a step forward, his presence drowning out the flickering candlelight. "You think death is something you earned?"

His voice dipped lower, almost intimate. "No, you sweet clueless thing. You are mine. Your pain. Your will. Your very breath." His head tilted,

Her lips trembled as she whispered a faint, "No"

Saint sighed, almost wistfully. "You say that now." His fingers ghosted over her jaw, tilting her chin up just slightly. "But I do love watching your resolve wither."

She jerked her head away, her pulse hammering in her throat.

His smile widened. "Oh, my warrior," he chucked as his words dripped with mockery, his eyes gleamed with dark delight as he walked away from her and whispered. "I have a wonderful surprise for you."

As soon as he said that, a door creaked open behind him, heavy and deliberate as its old hinges groaned in protest.

Then there were footsteps and a scuffle.

Crystal's stomach twisted and her heart dropped to the bottom of the organ as a figure was dragged into the candlelight. An awful premonition clouded her straight thinking.

It was a woman.

Her white robes were stained with soot and sweat, her face was streaked with tears. Her wrists were bound, her mouth gagged, but her eyes; those wide, pleading eyes, spoke louder than any scream.

Crystal knew her. One of the temple's own.

Her stomach lurched. "What… what is this?"

Saint rose, graceful as a shadow, his presence filling the space between them with ease. He crouched in front of Crystal, fingers tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"This," he said softly, "is a gift."

His hand was warm where it touched her skin, but it wasn't comforting. It burned, the way fire did when your hand lingered on a hot pot for too long.

He stood, gesturing to the trembling woman on the floor. "This priestess aided my success," he said, "And betrayed your temple. Did you know that?"

Crystal's breath hitched.

Saint stepped behind the woman, gripping her bound wrists and leaning in as if he were whispering secrets. "She helped me get inside," he continued. "Told me where to strike. Where to set the fires. Where to find you."

Crystal's blood ran cold as she finally realized why she was acting strangely before she finally disappeared days before the catastrophe struck.

"Lies," she breathed, in defence of her sister in the fellowship, just as she had been taught to do.

Saint chuckled. "I have no need for lies. Not with you." His fingers trailed along the woman's trembling shoulder, slow and almost thoughtful. "She was very… thorough with her offerings, you know. There wasn't a door she wouldn't open for me."

His gaze flicked down, amusement curling at the corner of his lips. "No part of her left untouched, isn't that right, doll?." He asked the bound priestess.

The priestess let out a muffled wail, body shaking violently beneath his grip.

Crystal's stomach turned as a vague image of what he implied surfaced in her mind.

Saint tilted his head, studying her reaction with keen interest. "What's wrong, little warrior? You look as if you might be sick."

Crystal turned away. "I don't care. Let her go."

Saint sighed, disappointed. "You're missing the point, priestess of the gods." He stepped closer. "She betrayed you. Your temple. Your gods. All of that wouldn't have happened if she hadn't come to me, If anyone deserves punishment, it's her."

Crystal clenched her jaw. "Then do it yourself, take her away. Do whatever you want, just leave me out of it."

"Oh, no, no darling... you misunderstand" he murmured as his gaze darkened. "This one is for you."

Saint reached down, grabbed the priestess by the collar, and tossed her forward like a used rag. The woman collapsed at Crystal's feet, shuddering violently with her eyes squeezed shut in fear.

Crystal's stomach twisted as she turned away from the defiled warrior who used to be one of her own.

Saint leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered, "A pathetic little thing, isn't she, daughter of the gods?"

"Just let her go, the gods will judge her" Crystal whispered in a tired and broken voice as her sore shoulders sagged at her sides,

"You want me to just let her go? After everything she did to you?" He smiled as he twirled a lock of her curly dark hair around his finger like she was some antique doll he could mess around with when he was bored.

"Please, just let her go" she choked out,

He chuckled darkly as he pushed her hair over her shoulder with faux tenderness, "Well... Well... Well, look who's begging now, It's too bad that you missed your chance to negotiate",

She glanced at him and shivered as her teary gaze met his unamused one. And the next thing he asked of her wasn't just a request, but a command;

"Drink and kill."