Gabriella Poole: Blood Ties (Darke Academy)

who were able to expedite matters.’ He shot a guarded glance at Jake, as if he was afraid to say too much. ‘Now, I’m sure you wish to be

with your friends, but first we have issues to attend to, you and I. Isabella and Jake, please. I must talk with Cassandra. Alone.’

Isabella and Jake glanced at each other doubtfully. Cassie tried to look up to give them both a reassuring nod, but the mere sight of her

two friends was enough to bring the hunger shooting back through her like a lance, taking her breath away with its ferocity. Staggering to

her feet, she stumbled against Sir Alric. His hand fell on her shoulder in what might have seemed like a kind gesture of support – except

that his fingers were gripping so tightly he was bruising her. Cassie barely noticed the pain though; she could feel the tautness of her own

muscles, coiled like springs in her desperation to feed, and she knew Sir Alric was actually restraining her.

‘Now, Isabella, Jake. Please leave us.’

Jake frowned at the steely edge of the principal’s tone. ‘I’m not sure …’ he began.

‘It’s OK, guys.’ Cassie reached out and took Isabella’s hands, squeezing them a little too hard. ‘I’ll be fine. See you soon. Promise.’

‘You’re sure?’ asked Jake, eying Sir Alric with open hostility.

‘Sure.’ In fact, she wanted them gone, desperately. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could last without pouncing on one of them.

‘Honestly, Jake. Please go, it’s fine.’

Taking a breath, the young American took Isabella’s hand. ‘We’ll be outside. See you soon, Cassie.’

‘Yep,’ she said weakly, gritting her teeth into a smile. Oh please, please GO!

She had a last glimpse of Isabella’s worried face as the door shut behind her friends, and then she closed her eyes, swaying with

hunger.

Cassie felt Sir Alric’s hand pressing her back on to the sofa, and she managed to prise open her eyelids in time to see the sinister and

ugly porter Marat coming towards her, bearing a small leather case. Where had he appeared from so silently? She propped herself groggily

forward.

‘You need to feed, Cassandra.’ Sir Alric’s voice seemed to echo around the room as Marat gently set the case down on the mahogany

coffee table in front of her.

‘I can’t.’

‘You’ve gone weeks without it. You’re dying. I should never have let you leave at the end of last term, but I didn’t expect this. I don’t

understand why the hunger in you has grown so fast, but it has. And you must satisfy it.’

Too weak to cry, she put her face in her hands, moaning. ‘I can’t.’

‘You must,’ snapped Sir Alric fiercely. ‘You think you’re being selfless; in fact you’re being self-indulgent. I’m sorry for what happened to

you, Cassandra. I’m sorry you were tricked into this. But I have a responsibility to the Few spirit as well as to you.’ He nodded to Marat,

who slipped a silver key into the front of the case.

Unsteadily, Cassie followed the porter’s movements. The lid of the case bore a symbol that she recognised immediately: a two-inch

pattern of intricate, interlocking lines that she’d seen before, branded on the skin of certain select students at the Darke Academy – as well

as blurred and broken on her own shoulder blade. She didn’t know what the pattern meant, but she knew what it denoted.

It was the mark of the Few.

Marat lifted the lid and Sir Alric stepped up to the case, gazing reverently at the row of crystal phials inside. Each one was also engraved

with the Few mark, and was beautiful enough on its own – but the translucent contents glowed like liquid pearl, sending shimmers of light

through the delicate crystal. For a moment Cassie was so mesmerised that she almost forgot her ravening hunger.

Sir Alric nodded to the porter again. The small container Marat drew from his pocket couldn’t have been more different from the lovely

case: a white plastic clip-lid box. Snapping on latex gloves, he flipped it open without ceremony and withdrew a sealed plastic packet. This

he tore open, producing a disposable syringe.

Cassie’s eyes widened. ‘What’s that?’

Sir Alric too was donning gloves, and he had turned cool and businesslike. ‘Call it an interim measure, Cassandra.’

Delicately, Sir Alric inserted the needle into one of the phials and drew out a small measure of the pearly liquid. ‘You must learn to feed.

But this,’ he said, lifting the syringe, ‘will give us a few days’ respite.’

‘What is it?’ She eyed the needle with dread. ‘What is that? I won’t let you put that in me!’

As she tried to squirm aside, Cassie felt powerful hands grip her shoulders, pressing her back against the sofa and holding her in place.

Marat. He’d moved behind her and she couldn’t get away. God, he was strong, his vice-like hold too strong to escape, but she still struggled

violently as Sir Alric approached her. For an instant she saw regret and sympathy in his face, then it hardened.