Sweet Like Poison...(Mature Paranormal Romance 18+)

Chapter Eight

The pic above is of Dario...

Within the walls of this castle, time seems to be moving a lot faster than in my past life. It's already been eleven days since the first night I'd woken up here. I've had to cope, holding onto the remaining shred of sanity I still have left, taking in the ruthless glances and stares I tend to receive more times than I can count.

I decided to carry on with my human schedule, waking at six in the morning, taking breakfast alongside other workers in the dining arena, then moving up to Pharell's chambers, feeding his pet, dusting, wiping, mopping, scrubbing floors and surfaces, laundering garment, folding even more garment, arranging books into shelves in alphabetical order, then watering those roses with some sort of bioluminescent liquid.

It's fatiguing, exasperating, agitating, because this is not a life I am used to. But what is there for me to do, other than comply with destiny's twisted games.
It is only courtesy of Pharell's orders, that none has already fed from me; that I am still alive and in the flesh.

Devikah has also toned it down, opting to oblige with Pharell's words of warning, avoiding me like the plague, thank grace. One last confrontation with her, and I'm a goner; a harsh truth, but a truth, nonetheless. As for the royal families; Devikah and Pharell's parents, it seems they don't live under one roof, or in the same faction as their children, which in essence, is delightful knowledge.

Drawing back to my present, I stroke Zelzah's fur, while she tears, rips and devours the flesh sat inside the bowl. The night is drawing closer, with the sunset rays, spearing into the room through the little space left between the two draping curtains. Pharell is deep in sleep, has been all day, so I get to avoid him with much ease.

"You are a beautiful one, Zelzah, you know that? One of the last species of your kind. I'm sorry I referred to you as an 'it' instead of a 'she'" I speak, running fingers tenderly atop the cat's head.

For a minute, a brief second, she lifts eyes to look up at me, then resumes from where she left off. Once she winds up, licks the bowl clean, she rises on all paws, and makes her way back into her room, curling herself on the overly large, silk-sheet bed.

It still amuses me how well she's kept, while humans in my world, succumb to death due to starvation.
I shut the doors behind her, treading out Pharell's chambers entirely. In a matter of long minutes, climbing down spiral stairs, and further down interconnected halls, I make it into the kitchen, where I find Zala, the female with fiery-amber irises and blonde, wavy locks of hair.

She's preparing a meal, completely lost in her work, I'm assuming.
"Zala, hey."
"Oh, Zenaida, hello. I'm cooking up a new recipe I found online. This should be an interesting dish."
"I can tell. With all the aromas and blend of tantalizing scents, trust me, I can tell. Oh and, where are the rest?" I question, hoping onto the tiled kitchen counter, grabbing an apple and munching.

"Pier's in the dungeons fetching prisoners in preparation for the royals' grand dinner this eve. You know their waking hour is fast approaching. Of course, Enos and Seth are with him, aiding with the task.

Then, there's Rabbath and Hul, still cleaning and dusting the libraries in the northern wing, and Shebah, who's yet to bring in the groceries I'd sent her to fetch nearly two hours ago, a bad idea, now that I think about it more rationally."
"I see. Zala, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, go ahead," she coos in her angelic voice, smiling back at me, before looking down at the dish she's stirring.

"Uh, for a fact, neither you nor they, are humans. So, if you don't mind me asking, what are you?"
"Oh, I don't mind at all. I am lycan, hence the shade of my eyes."
"Wait, so there are vampires, witches, and now, lycans. What? Werewolves are also a thing?"

"As a matter of fact, they are."
She taps the cooking stick tenderly against her palm, licks on the gravy, then adds a pinch of salt into the pot.
"But you are a lycan, residing in the vampire faction. How come?"

"Lycans and vampires have never disputed over anything, in all my life living on this earth. And trust me, I am older than I appear. My people keep to the treaty they signed with the sigma's people."
"So, you are here on your own accord?"

"I am. I work for the sigma, and the wages he pays me on a monthly, half of it, I send to my father back home. The man's old, needs it more than I do."
She speaks with so much determination, bringing a lead to cover the pot.

"And what of you, if you don't mind me asking. I mean, I only know that you are the only human allowed on the surface."
"Yes, I am. Daughter of the president in the human faction. I left behind family; two twin brothers, my mother, dad. My old man broke a blood oath, refuted to send in any more prisoners, so I am here as Pharell's guarantee, that in the next ten years, the prisoners will be coming in."

I chuckle humourlessly, biting on the fruit clutched in my palm. Zala simply turns to face me, folding arms in front of her chest, reminding me of the cries and wails of my darling mother, compelling my brain to recall the fact that I left behind not one, but two eighteen year-old siblings. My heart shatters, breaks into uncountable pieces.

"Let's forget about what I just said," I speak with a forced smile, swinging my feet lazily, and resuming in my speech, "so, how old are you? A few decades, centuries?"
"Ninety nine years of age. I turn a century old come winter."

"Oh my, you've definitely seen all there is to see, haven't you?"
At my words, she chuckles heartily, throwing her head back in soft pearls of laughter. Her laughter turns into coughing, as she works to clear her throat, suddenly spinning on her heel to uncover the pot. I furrow brows in confusion, turning towards the doors behind me, only to find Dario leaning against the frame, in a pair of black sweats and black vest that clings to his athletic body.

"Good waking, Dario."
"Good waking, tîgre. Good waking Zala," he calls out, lifting his head to look beyond me.
"Good waking, master."
No, why do they keep doing this clichè thing where, she tries to conceal her feelings for the man, and he continues to tease her? I fight to keep a straight face, holding in my laughter.

Dario makes his way into the room, rounds the counter, pecks my forehead lightly, catching me completely off guard. He turn towards the lass, rests his chin over her shoulder, causing the female to visibly shiver.
"I may not eat the same food you do, but both you and the dish smell divine," he coos against the female's hair, palming her sides tenderly.

Well, my cue to leave. Peace...

I hop off the counters, and walk towards the entrance. Just as I move to exit the arena, Pharell's bare chest comes slamming into my face, and I stumble backwards, catching myself in time.
"Come with me, Zenaida," are his simple words.

He turns, walks away without batting an eyelash, and I tread closely behind, in silent obedience. Claw-like markings, almost invisible to the human eye, stay perched on both his shoulder blades, the sight of them peeking my interest, faithfully intriguing me.

Back in his chambers, he steps aside, allows me walk in after him, shutting the doors shortly after. I turn to face him, utterly confused by his actions, but choosing to maintain the quietness.

"Do you wish to speak with your siblings, Zenaida?" He offers, padding with grace from one corner of the room to the other, and sitting himself on the chaise, stretching his arms against the upper edge of the seat.

The question itself takes me aback, my mouth falling ajar, as I glance at the vampire in shock. Never will I be able to comprehend the inner workings of this man, not even in my dreams.
"Was I not coherent? Or do you simply not wish to have a word with them?"
"What? No! No, please, I'd love that."
"Then there's the tablet on the bedside table..."

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