Chimera

05|Five

Hemlock would not panic.

Evy—"of the proud House Kaalis, not that Dregan would care to teach you about us,"—had grabbed his arm and promptly guided him away from the bustle of the party and towards a wall next to the food and drinks. Hemlock hadn't noticed it before, but as they got closer he could make out the outline of a door tucked away into the corner, likely where the servants came and went to keep the tables stocked and to rid of any dirty dishes that might mar the pretty atmosphere.

"Come," she hissed into his ear, her cheek on his shoulder and thin form pressed against his side. Her own outfit did little to cover her body—what was it with vampires and needing to show themselves off?—but somehow Hemlock's seemed more scandalous than hers when paired together. Looks from nearby guests burned like acid. Hemlock swallowed down his panic and followed her into the door after a quick glance back at an oblivious Dregan. He'd never know until it's too late.

No light flickered in the cramped hallway, but his eyes adjusted to the darkness in the span of a single blink. The walls crept as high as the ones in the ballroom, but it hardly mattered when they couldn't stand shoulder-to-shoulder, the path was so narrow. Evy hooked fingers through the dipped collar of his shirt and dragged him behind her as she walked. Hemlock had no choice but to follow; he had no clue where they were or where to go if he wanted to say fuck it to this predicament and find his own escape that didn't involve fangs in his neck. Trapped, yet again.

He would not panic.

Through the numbing silence and darkness, the walk felt endless. Hemlock intermittently heard the patter of servants rushing through the crushing labyrinthian halls, but even that couldn't stay the paranoia of not hearing anything else beyond the pounding of his heart. Dregan had built his home to deter escape, Hemlock was learning. Nothing made sense, and the twisting layout disoriented him into losing his sense of reality. How far had they gone already? Were they any further away from the ballroom than they had started? He felt dizzy.

Evy's voice cut through the quiet like a jagged dagger. "Here." She let go of him but used her overbearing presence to trap him against a wall. His pulse skipped. Her fangs somehow seemed to gleam even in the dark as she grinned, and they slowly slid fully out of their sheaths in preparation for her next meal. The sharp ends would've nicked her bottom lip had she not opened her mouth.

She stalked closer. Her breath ghosted over the skin of his chest, and he shuddered. Panic. He would not panic. He would endure this, he would, and then he'd be free. But gods, he couldn't stop the images flashing across her face, replacing black eyes with icy blue, making her loom over him instead of looking up, making her him. Teeth sunk into flesh, and she smelled of iron instead of flowers.

Thick rivulets trailed down and scorched his skin. Hemlock closed his eyes against the hallucinations and tipped his head back against the wall, unintentionally baring his neck more for her. Her noise of glee nearly sent him to the floor. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Phantom hands on his wrists and on his face and on his hips. The world tilted on its axis despite the shield of his lids hiding it away. No. No, he would not panic. Hemlock tried wrangling it back into control, but it fought against him and threatened to buckle his knees. Thrashed like a snake caught beneath a boot. It wanted to bite, to drag him down with it by its fangs, it would bleed him dry—

The whimper he let out sounded so pathetically loud in the empty darkness. Evy's laugh reverberated against his skin, but she didn't let up and continued to drink. It hurt. It always hurt. Whispers said a vampire's bite could be mind-bendingly pleasurable, or create a drugged-out fog that made you never want to flee. Hemlock disagreed. He felt each drag she took from his veins, the churn of his blood rushing to meet her fangs and be drawn to her tongue. The dizziness persisted—he couldn't think. Spots decorated his vision. Too soon, perhaps, after Dregan had indulged in his favorite snack. Or maybe the panic chose to hum beneath the surface and bring him down unawares. The fact that his mind spun in circles trying to reason with its own perceptions instead of the blood leaving his system nearly made him laugh if it didn't mean it was steadily slipping away from him, just out of grasp.