Blood and Water - The Darkling

Chapter 14: Price of War

*Unedited

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𝕸𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 from the corner of my eye jars me from the absolute devastation that I'm feeling. I see two blots of shadow that must have slipped free of the Darkling's hands. They slither over the lip of the balcony, undulating like serpents, heading directly toward us. I raise my hands and slash out with the cut, obliterating one side of the terrace. But for once in my life, I am too slow. The shadows slither lightning fast across the stone and dart into Nikolai's mouth.

His eyes widened. His breath hitches in surprise, drawing whatever Aleksander released into his lungs. We stare at each other in shock.

"What-what was that?" he chokes.

"I-"

He coughs, shudders. Then his fingers fly to his chest, tearing open the remains of his shirt. We both look down, and I see shadow spreading beneath his skin in fragile black lines, splintering like veins in marble.

"No," I hiss. "No. No, Nikolai."

The cracks travel across his stomach, down his arms.

"Lana?" he says helplessly. The darkness fractures beneath his skin, climbing his throat. He throws his head back and screams, the tendons flexing in his neck as his whole body contorts, his back bowing. He shoves up to his knees, chest heaving. I reach for him and try my best to wrap my arms around him as he convulses.

The Prince gently shoves me off of him as he releases another raw scream, and two black shards burst from his back. They unfurl. Like wings.

His head shoots up. He looks at me, face beaded in sweat, gaze panicked and desperate. "Svetlana-"

Then his eyes - his clever, intelligent, brilliant, hazel eyes - go black.

"Nikolai?" I whisper.

His lips curl back, revealing teeth of black onyx. They form fangs.

He snarls, but I refuse to stumble backward. His jaws snap closed a bare inch from me.

"Hungry?" the Darkling asks. "I wonder which one of your friends you'll eat first."

How dare he. My beautifully cunning Prince, reduced to whatever this is. Also, need I remind the Darkling that I am one of those friends?

I raise my hands toward him, "Nikolai. Don't do anything you'll regret. You don't want to hurt me or anyone else for that matter. Stay with me, Durachka. Stay with me."

His face spasms in pain. He is in there, fighting himself, battling the appetite that has taken hold of him. His hands flex - no, his claws. He howls, and the noise that comes from him is desperate, shrieking, completely inhuman.

Slowly, I hum, "You know me, Nikolai. And you know who you are. Hold strong, my dear friend."

With another shriek, he beats his wings and rises from the terrace, monstrous, but still beautiful, still somehow Nikolai. He looks down at the dark veins coursing over his torso, at the razor-sharp talons that have pushed from his blackened fingertips. He holds out his hands as if pleading with me for an answer.

"Nikolai," I cry.

He turns in the air, wrenching himself away, and races upward, as if he can somehow outpace the need inside him, his black wings carrying him higher as he cuts through the nichevo'ya. He looks back once, and even from a distance, I feel his anguish and confusion.

Then he's gone, a black speck in the gray sky, while I remain trembling below.

"Eventually," the Darkling says, "he will feed."