Author's Note
I don't normally do this. If you have a bit of a gag reflex or are a bit squeamish, be warned: there is some gross content in this chapter.
Eric stepped into the tense meeting room, maintaining a deceptive calm. His vicious glare remained fixed on Deacon, never wavering. From the head of the table, his father's voice cut through the air, a harsh whisper pitched so low that only the surrounding vampires could possibly register the command: "Sit."
"Why does he look as if he may kill me?" Deacon asked Miguel, his voice low with apprehension as he wondered why Eric was looking at him so aggressively. Normally, those looks were reserved for Jasper. Deacon quickly looked to both his right and left to make sure that Jasper wasn't nearby and that he hadn't simply been mistaken. He and Eric had always maintained a stable relationship.
The polished bone of his mask gave nothing away as Miguel looked between Deacon and Eric, noticing the obvious hostile gaze emanating from the latter.
Of all people to betray him, Eric did not think it would be Deacon. They normally had a rule of not getting in each other's way. He kept tapping his fingers against the wood table, a rhythmic action in the hopes of settling his raging soul. The moment they were allowed, he intended to take off Deacon's head. He had enough to deal with where Jasper was involved, and now Deacon had decided this was the time to be his enemy. Did he know? If he knew that Daniela had a God's Gift in her chest, that meant Eric would have to kill not only Jasper but Deacon too. It was fortunate that they were currently on vampire territory.
"Why does everyone look angry?" Landon asked his brother, Lindon, who shot him a withering look.
"We are discussing war against the Trolls. No one wants their land invaded, brother," Lindon admonished, wishing his brother would only pay a bit more attention.
Jasper rubbed at his shoulder, feeling the mild ache there without causing too much notice to himself. He stretched his neck and then slipped his fingers inside his suit jacket as if he was simply rubbing his shoulder. He felt the damage to his skin, and his brows furrowed in confusion for a brief moment before he realized that this meant something was wrong with Daniela—specifically, the pendant he had given her. That gem contained a piece of his power, and his power was significantly linked to his physical condition. If his power dissipated naturally by itself, it was fine. But if it was destroyed by something else, it would cause a backlash to his own body. Subtly, he ran the tip of his finger over the marred skin, allowing his power to cover the area so no one would be able to smell the blood.
With his father's oppressive eyes bearing down, Jasper knew he couldn't detach himself physically to seek her out. His gaze quickly scanned the room until it locked onto his manservant, Hermes, standing at attention.
Jasper stared him down until the short little imp came over to him.
Hermes bowed his head while standing on Jasper's left, his ear close to his Crown Prince, ready to hear his request. "Crown Prince?"
Jasper pressed his thumb against Hermes's hand while whispering. "Find me lunch from the town," he said flippantly, waving Hermes away.
Understanding, Hermes bowed and left the room. But he didn't understand why his Crown Prince would press some of his essence into Hermes's hand, as if he needed to spy on him. Hermes could easily find a bar wench to bring back for the prince's pleasure; it was a simple task.
Once he was down the hall, the little swirl of black smoke on his palm spoke to him. He could hear his master's voice through the inky shadow. "Find her now!" His words were a harsh growl, and even though this was just a piece of his master's power, it was enough to rattle him. He bowed to the power coalescing in his palm before rushing off to find Princess Daniela.
As he ran through the halls, the smoke on his palm remained, slinking down until it wrapped around one of his fingers, taking the form of a living ring.
Daniela was kicking herself. She had made loose ends today, and they needed to be tied up quickly. The fact that she could access the God's Gift in her chest was troubling, and she had had to use it three times now, neither time truly intentional. She just thought her normal violent thoughts; this time, they just happened to come true.
She needed to talk to Jasper and figure out what to do about the guards and the necromancer that saw her. She should have killed them. If she hadn't been covered in bugs and decay, she might have been thinking a bit more clearly.
"Princess Daniela!" Hermes called down as he saw the princess a floor below him.
Daniella scrunched her brows as she looked up to the upper floor, seeing Hermes's very sweaty face looking down at her. She didn't understand why he was calling out to her like a sheepherder, but he was as good as Jasper at the moment.
"Please, Princess, stay put. I'm coming to you!" Herme said as he quickly jumped over the railing, landing swiftly and expertly a few paces away from Daniela.
Daniela had to remember that even though he was sweaty, balding, pale, and gross, he was still a demon, and they were fantastical in nature. That must have been three stories he had simply jumped down as if it was nothing. It was impressive.
"Where is your Crown Prince?"
Hermes paused. He was told to find Princess Daniela, but not what to do next, and Prince Jasper hadn't told him to reveal his location.
Daniela's eyes narrowed on him at his notable silence. "Do I seem forgiving, or that I am in the mood to convince you? Where is Jasper?" she bellowed. Everyone was trying her very delicate patience today.
Hermes bowed before answering her as much as he felt he could. "The Crown Prince is in war preparations... against the enemy."
Daniella sighed, resting her hands on her hips as she stared down at him. "Then you will serve my purposes. I need you to fix an issue with the necromancer and the guards that stand outside his chambers."
Hermes gave her a tight smile. "I have no idea what you mean about any necro—" He paused as Daniela's green eyes seemed to glow with a foreboding sense of danger.
"What the necromancer could have done to you, Princess. How may I be of service?"
"I was in the necromancer's room today, and he saw me, as did the guards. They shouldn't have, and they should not tell anybody what they saw. Can you help?"
"I understand the dilemma, Princess. The memory of people is so fickle. I will remind them of what they did and did not see."
Bowing deeply, he took a few steps back, only to hear Jasper's voice slip into his ears.
"Question the guards and the necromancer. Then kill them all." Hermes bowed his head to the shadow ring, understanding his prince's commands.
The grand doors were a mockery to the vile evil that lay behind them, holding back the stench of beauty lost. Standing guard were two vampires, tall and statuesque in their midnight-blue uniforms, but even their inherent aristocratic chill couldn't ward off the sudden, suffocating pressure that descended.
Hermes shuffled forward. His oil-dark hair, which he tried to push back, only highlighted the expanse of his pallid scalp. Yet, as he approached the vampires, he radiated a dominance that cracked the air like a whip.
Without pause, he lifted a hand. A silent ripple of absolute darkness erupted from his palm, not consuming the light, but replacing it. Two perfect, shimmering rings of black demon fire instantly formed around each guard, hovering inches from their bodies. The air inside the rings turned instantly toxic, yet the guards stood frozen, terrified of the slightest twitch that might bring them into contact with the corrosive heat.
Hermes tilted his head, his eyes like polished obsidian, the fire reflected in them, dancing. His voice was soft, reasonable, cutting through the immense tension.
"Who have you told about Princess Daniela being here? And what did you say?"
The guard on the left, sweat beading on his marble-smooth brow, glanced desperately at his partner. The guard on the right, the one who had moved, swallowed hard.
"Only... only the Head Guard, Lord servant," the right guard forced out, his voice thin and dry. "I simply reported that she was found in the necromancy chamber. Nothing more. That's all I knew."
Hermes listened, his short fingers lifting to brush his hair, his palm resting more on the smooth skin of his scalp than the wispy strands. It was a gesture of dignified reserve, utterly at odds with the terror he was orchestrating.
"Thank you, brave guards," he murmured, the words sounding less like gratitude and more like a period being placed on a sentence.
He dropped his hand. The black fire contracted with impossible speed, consuming the air and everything within its grasp. The two vampires, who could withstand blades and stakes, collapsed instantly, dissolving like candle wax under a blowtorch. Bone, sinew, and skin became a sputtering pool of liquid mush, which the demon fire devoured completely, leaving only a scorched, sterile circle of stone before vanishing.
Hermes stepped through the cleared doorway and into the necromancy chamber.
The stench was immediate and overwhelming—a luscious cocktail of ozone, decay, and stagnant bodily fluids. The floor was slick with layers of blood, pus, and crushed insects. With every careful step he took, there was a satisfied squelch of fluid and a brittle, wet crunch as his polished leather shoe pulverized beetles and roaches.
In the center of the mess, kneeling beside a mound of decomposing flesh and bone, was a figure. He was Igor, the necromancer. His skin was gray, lacking all elasticity, draping and sagging dramatically around his skeletal frame, and his eye sockets were vacant holes of black shadow. He had just yanked off a grimy, leather gas mask hood.
Igor was currently preoccupied, his long tongue scraping across the collapsed, flat remains of a female corpse, one he called Dolly. Her dark brown hair, matted black with dried bile and blood, lay spread beneath him.
Juicy beetles and large, writhing maggots crawled visibly across the pallid skin, which had lost all true form and was little more than a liquefying pancake of flesh. The sound of his tongue scraping was thick and endearing.
As Igor looked up, his vacant eyes met Hermes's.
Hermes, surveying the scene with detached formality, flicked his wrist. A single, shimmering droplet of sweat—a microscopic, volatile dose—launched through the air and struck Igor directly on the cheek.
The necromancer's entire body spasmed.
His face, usually a mask of morbid emptiness, contorted in pure, unadulterated sensation. He gasped, his moan a guttural, gravelly sound, and he fell to his knees, rolling slightly amidst the corpses. The feeling was ecstatic—the electric jolt of a million dormant nerves suddenly firing, screaming life into his empty shell. He stared down at his own gray, flaccid hands as if seeing them, truly feeling them, for the very first time. He crashed his lips against the decaying, flat mouth of the corpse, which he called Dolly, his passion sucking up her viscous, internal fluid into his mouth, greedily dining on the taste of her complete bodily decay before throwing his head back.
"Yesss," Igor begged, his voice a breathless rasp, coming out as a moan with a gravelly undertone. "Do it again. Spray me with it. Bathe me in your sweat…" he begged, pushing away the corpse he had just used so wantingly.
Hermes stood over him, hands clasped loosely behind his back, looking down with an expression of deep pleasure, almost sexual satisfaction, at the necromancer's sudden vitality.
"If you want to feel it," Hermes asked, his voice now a deep, slow, sexual purr, "answer me."
Igor, still writhing on the ground, struggling to speak through the sensation, dragged a dead body partially onto his lap, bathing in the sensation. His pruney fingers gripped the slippery corpse.
"Tell me what happened when the live girl ended up here. What did she do, what did you speak about, and how did she get inside?"
"I... I don't know where she came from," Igor mumbled, his eyes glazed over with rapture. "But she didn't come through the door."
Hermes flicked another droplet.
Igor gasped, clutching the cold, dead torso on his lap tighter. "She wasn't nice! She nearly killed me! She choked me, Master! And her eyes were glowing green! I wanted to play with her, but she left!"
Hermes took a slow, deliberate step forward until he was directly over the ecstatic necromancer. He reached out and, with the tips of two fingers, scooped up a quantity of sweat and grime from his own pale face and neck—a lethal, overwhelming dose.
"How would a little girl like that get close enough to choke you?" He couldn't picture Daniela able to outmatch a necromancer, even with the protection of the Crown Prince's magic.
Groaning, Igor's eyes rolled into the back of his head as the blood and slime was used to cool down his heated body. The sensations were addictive. "With her glowing eyes. I feel her hands." His own hands wrapped around his own throat as if he was reliving the moment. "But she didn't touch me. Her eyes so green." He rested writhing on the ground.
Hermes didn't believe there was anything else to learn. He dragged his palm, heavy with the mixture, across Igor's sagging, gray face. The contact was excruciatingly blissful, an electrical storm of feeling that shattered the necromancer's system. Igor flopped onto his back, arms outstretched, his black, empty eye sockets staring sightlessly at the ceiling, utterly zoned out, consumed entirely by the overwhelming, drug-like sensation.
His empty sockets began to weep a thick, oily discharge. His skin began to bloom as his entire body convulsed, violently excreting all of its own internal moisture and fluids—blood, lymph, and bile—until he was left as a shriveled husk. Hermes watched as the potency of his aphrodisiac completely obliterated the necromancer's system. But as the necromancer gave in to the pleasurable sensation of death masked as pleasure, he still smiled. His teeth as black as the stone of his own chamber. His skin barely lifted upwards as it all sagged, but still, the necromancer smiled as he took his last breath.