She traveled through unfamiliar lands with Roman, the baby cradled protectively in her arms. Malik, Reyna, and Rosie flanked her, their expressions a mixture of determination and unease. The backdrop of their journey shifted—a dense forest, a windswept plain, the ruins of an ancient stronghold.
Salvatore’s finger grazed the water’s surface, tracing Olivia’s image with unsettling tenderness.
“You’re so beautiful, my love,” he murmured, his voice softer than I had ever heard.
A surge of jealousy roared through me, hot and venomous. He had never looked at me that way, never spoken to me with such reverence. His gaze on her cruelly reminded me of everything I had never been to him.
Snapping back to the present, Salvatore’s expression hardened.
“I need a darker minion,” he mused aloud, his voice filled with quiet disdain. “You two have been useless. Balthazar would have been perfect for this,” he added, almost as if speaking to himself. “He’s consumed by revenge.”
Mathias’ chains rattled violently as he lunged forward, the slender belladonna branches constricting his arms and torso straining against his movements. His voice broke through the tension, desperate and raw.
“No! I can do the work,” he pleaded, his words echoing through the chamber like a prayer begging to be answered.
“Quiet!” Salvatore snarled, turning on him with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I know you can, Mathias. But remember this—Balthazar is nothing now. He doesn’t have his memories. I returned those toyou.” His words were a blade, cold and cutting. “He remains lost, trapped within the fragments of his mind.”
“Salvatore, my lord, listen,” I interjected, struggling to keep the tremor from my voice. My chains rattled faintly as I shifted, trying to steady myself. “Mathias and I will find the scrolls. We’ll outpace them all. We’ll succeed.”
“Will you now?” Salvatore’s dark eyes bore into mine, heavy with scrutiny and disdain. The weight of his gaze pressed down on me like a smothering shroud. “If you don’t, Alina,” he said, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper, “I will slaughter everyone you hold dear. And I’ll come for you when you’re alone in your grief.”
The threat hung in the air, sharp and suffocating. Though spoken softly, it roared louder than any shout, each syllable reverberating through the chamber with chilling finality.
“Understood,” I replied, the word barely escaping my lips. My voice was low, but within me, a silent vow flared to life—I would endure for my son. For Angelo. For the flicker of hope that stubbornly refused to be extinguished.
The cold stone beneath me leached the warmth from my body, a cruel reflection of the chill that seemed to permeate my soul. Desperation gripped me as my mind raced for any edge, any chance of survival.
“We need to find Lazarus’ weak spot,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging within me. “Does he have children?”
Salvatore sneered, his disdain palpable in the dimly lit chamber. “No. Once upon a time, he had a wife, Amara, and a daughter, Theadora. But I saw to their demise myself. They’ve been dead for centuries, by my orders. The only things Lazarus cares for in this forsaken world are Olivia and Roman.”
I summoned what little resolve I had left, my voice trembling but determined. “I promise we will get what you want. We will find the scrolls.”
“Of course you will.” Salvatore’s reply slithered through the air like a serpent coiling around its prey.
Pain erupted across my body as snakes materialized seemingly from the shadows, their scaly bodies slithering around my limbs. I cried out, my struggles futile as they coiled tighter with each frantic movement. Their crushing weight drove the air from my lungs.
“Silence!” Salvatore yelled.
Before I could fully comprehend the command, a cloud of wasps materialized from thin air, descending upon Mathias and me like a nightmare. The wasps crawled across my skin, their tiny stingers puncturing me repeatedly, injecting venom that burned like fire. My face, neck, and limbs swelled grotesquely with throbbing pain, each sting amplifying the agony.
They burrowed beneath my clothing, their stingers finding the most tender, vulnerable places. I writhed helplessly, unable to escape their relentless assault. Beside me, my father let out a guttural sound of pure agony as the wasps inflicted their torment on him as well.
Time blurred. I didn’t know how long we endured the torture, the searing pain making seconds stretch into eternity. And then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the wasps vanished, leaving me drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. My skin pulsed with pain, every inch of me swollen and raw.
Salvatore turned his back on us, his cloak billowing dramatically as he strode toward the dungeon’s heavy iron door. It creaked open, and three small figures stepped into the oppressive chamber.
“Come, my sons,” Salvatore called, his tone chillingly calm.
The boys couldn’t have been older than seven or eight, yet their eyes held a darkness that defied their youth—a reflection of their father’s malevolence. They moved silently, their small forms eerily composed amidst the chaos.
“Did you see, children?” Salvatore asked, his voice calm but filled with menace. “This is how we treat those who defy us.”
He gestured grandly toward Mathias and me, our broken, bloodied forms serving as a grim exhibit. The boys’ gazes flicked to us, unblinking, their expressions devoid of pity or fear.
Satisfied with the lesson, Salvatore and his sons turned and departed, their footsteps echoing faintly down the stone corridor. The heavy door groaned shut behind them, leaving us alone in the suffocating silence of the dungeon. I sagged against my chains, my body trembling as I tried to gather what little strength I had left. My mind raced with dread, wondering what horrors awaited us next in this chamber of doom.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
