Chapter 40

                                    

                                          
Blood slowly dripped onto the dirty stone floor. My fingers were frigid where blood flowed from my torn nails, and my back screamed as foul air brushed over the torn flesh. My throat parched, pleading for just one sip of water as I blinked the man back into focus. Lothar's face was filled with wrath, his blond hair clinging to his sweat-soaked skin as he hurled the blood-stained pliers across the cell floor. The metal banging against the cold stone caused rodents to scatter in all directions. 
"Where. Is. He." Lothar bit out every word as he took a step closer, his fingers curling into fists by his side. 

"Why do you suddenly care?" I inhaled, my lungs screaming as blood flowed from the whipping cuts on my back. The skin is doing its best to heal and mend itself. 
"Where is Marco?" Lothar seethed, his fist striking my jaw so hard that stars appeared in my vision, but I merely smiled at him. The wrath in his eyes grew stronger and more ferocious as he wheeled towards the table against the wall, grabbing the one blade that wasn't covered in my blood. The dark metal consumed the small amount of light emitted by the lone bulb. Palladium. Has Lothar finally grown tired of this game? Will this be the end of his wretched torture? Will I eventually be able to die knowing I never broke, never caved? It's been nearly three days. I saw and heard no one except Lothar, and I wasn't sure if the others were still alive. "Tell me what you did with Marco." Lothar demanded as he approached me, his blade firmly resting against my throat, but I didn't balk from it. 
"From what I've learned, you couldn't be less concerned about the child. So, why would you want to know?" I pushed, the smell of urine and waste filling my nose and fighting the bile that wanted to enter my throat. Lothar's brown eyes shone with scorn and hatred as he stepped near enough for our noses to touch. I could smell the garlic on his breath, and my stomach roiled. 
"Because that half-bred bastard is now the only thing I have left of my brother." He bit out, pushing the blade deeper into my skin without piercing it. Half-breed. Imperfect. A waste of space. A disgrace. That's what he thought of the child. My blood rose at the prospect, at the images my mind conjured up of what would await the boy if Lothar ever found him, and then I sneered. 
"Marco is alive and will be protected from your vengeful claws. Loved and cared for in ways your kind never can!" I spat the words at him, matching his hatred with my own, and when his eyes flared with fire and brimstone, I knew what was coming. He took the blade from my throat, roaring his rage at my face as he lifted it. A direct shot to my heart, a blow I was prepared to accept. I was ready to die with a smile on my face, knowing that I had never succumbed to the anguish and misery. 
No! The word rang through me, the voice shouting as it compelled me to move. Only enough for the dark metal to penetrate my shoulder, all the way to the hilt. That would have been a fatal blow. I gritted my teeth in pain as the poison seeped into my veins and caused my wounds to stop healing altogether. Lothar merely stared at me, rage and grief in his eyes, before turning around and storming out of the cell, leaving the blade in my shoulder. The metal door slammed shut. 
I jerked up with a start, the sound of the door slamming reverberating in my ears as my breath caught in my throat. I noticed the bedding beneath me, the moonlight illuminating the room in silver, and then the body beside me. I grabbed for my nightstand, where I always keep the blade strapped to my thigh while sleeping, but the wood surface was bare. That's when the body stirred, a massive, calloused hand brushing against my cheek, and instinct drove me to bite down on it until blood pooled on my tongue. The figure hissed air between his teeth, but instead of yanking his hand away, he powered through the pain and turned me to face him. Worried silver eyes confronted me, a muscular jaw feathered, and raven black hair fell over one shoulder. I knew him, his eyes, and the tattoo that snaked up his neck. I knew him as well as I knew myself, but my body refused to relax as he leaned in closer. His lips were gentle and familiar as they brushed my cheek, the metal ring cold against my flesh as it had been so many times before, and suddenly the mint found me. My body relaxed, and my jaw opened to release his hand that I kept hostage between my teeth. A shudder rushed through my body as his name entered my sleep-addled mind. Xander. I must have passed out and dropped into a dead sleep. I watched his hand's wounds heal almost immediately before he whispered against my skin.