Suzanne McLeod - The Shifting Price of Prey

‘Babies are such fragile things,’ he said, throwing the squealing baby into the air and catching her just before she hit the paving slabs. ‘Much like a child’s doll. Don’t you agree, my lovely sidhe?’

My heart thudded with impending dread. ‘Put her down.’

He smiled. ‘Come and join me fully in the Dreamscape.’

‘No.’ The word was out my mouth before I could think.

‘A pity. She is not as sweet as sidhe blood, I warrant, but sweet enough for me to indulge myself.’ Bastien licked his lips and buried his face in the baby’s tummy. She squirmed with a pain-filled gurgle, then he turned her to face me. Fang marks pierced her small round stomach, bright blood dripping from the tiny, neat holes. ‘Shall I feast on this plump chicken, tear its tiny limbs, suck on its marrow, crack its head like an almond and gorge myself on its infant mind? Shall I do all that while you watch and listen to its screams? Or will you join me, my princess?’

No fucking way. But despite knowing the baby was only part of whatever twisted nightmare/illusion Bastien was making, my fear of what he might make me watch unglued my feet. I took a step towards him and said, ‘Yes.’

The baby, the woman, the child-Fur Jacket Girl and the courtyard disappeared.

The white sloping walls of my attic bedroom snapped into focus around me.

It was night. The room dimly lit by the moonlight shining through the window. I was dressed in my usual sleep vest and shorts. But even as my mind tried to reject the change, a hand gripped my throat, fingers digging in, almost but not quite choking, and jerked me up on to my feet so Bastien could stare down at me. The gangly boy was gone; in his place was the grinning, teenage six-foot-plus Autarch. He flashed sharp fangs, a triumphant expression on his teenage face.

‘Well, well, my lovely sidhe princess. I am delighted you have agreed to join me fully in the Dreamscape.’ He raked his gaze down my body then his mouth twisted. He ripped my vest top down the front and prodded disdainfully at the rose-coloured bruises marking my breasts and belly.

‘Although I must remark you were prettier at fourteen; now you appear to be damaged goods.’

I punched him in the gut. He doubled over, the metallic stink of recently ingested blood belching from his surprised mouth, his fingers loosening on my throat. I followed with an uppercut to his chin, snapping his head backwards. Then I reached up, grabbed his ears, yanked his head down and headbutted him on the bridge of his nose, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone. I shoved him, wondering why he wasn’t fighting back. Was it surprise or luck? And how long before I ran out of both? He staggered slightly, and as he swiped at the blood streaming from his broken nose, fell on to his butt, laughing.

I clenched my right fist.

A ball of angry dragonfire erupted from the emerald ring on my hand.

And Ascalon sprung into my grip.

I didn’t know if you could die in the Dreamscape, but if you could, then I was going to kill Bastien.

Adjusting my grip around the knobbed hilt, I slashed it through the air, aiming for where Bastien’s neck would be when he automatically ducked.

He didn’t duck.

The sword hit his shoulder, the sharp blade slicing through his torso as if he wasn’t there. It exited the other side of his body and I moved back, automatically falling into a ready stance as I held my breath, eager for the top half of him to tumble off and blood to spurt like we were in some sort of CGI film.

It didn’t.

Instead he laughed again and, as time seemed to slow, his doe-brown eyes filled with viscous red blood, blotting out his pupil, iris and sclera. Mesmerised, I stared, expecting the blood to spill like tears down his cheeks. Instead, bone cracked as his nose reset itself, the blood on his face disappearing back into his skin as he healed. His lips curved in a cruel smile and he jumped up, stuck his arm out and closed his fingers around my neck again. His nails dug into my throat, piercing the flesh with needle-sharp pain, and I felt hot wetness trickle down my chest.

My pulse thundered in my ears. Ascalon had cut through him. The sword was blessed and bespelled to kill all unless they were an innocent. Bastien was no innocent. But Ascalon had done nothing. Did that mean you couldn’t die in the Dreamscape? Yet I’d hurt him. He was hurting me now. And I was bleeding. So why the fuck hadn’t it cleaved his torso in two? Why wasn’t he dead? Had I imagined I’d hit him? Maybe he’d moved vamp-fast and I hadn’t registered it.

Gritting my teeth, I tried again, a two-handed thrust up through his gut, aiming for his heart. Again the sword met no resistance, only this time his body seemed to shimmer translucently for a millisecond. Then he chopped at my wrists and elbows in quick succession. I cried out, agonising pain shooting through both arms as bones broke, and the sword clattered to the floorboards from my useless hands.

‘Stop moving, my pretty sidhe, else I will rip out your throat.’ He leaned closer and opened his blood-soaked eyes wide. ‘Losing the muscle, sinew, tendons, blood vessels, cartilage, windpipe and voicebox hurts. Even one as difficult to kill as you will find it hard to heal that.’

He was right. I knew he was right. I knew I might not heal it at all. I had to do as he said. It was the only way . . .

I frowned at the thoughts in my head. They sounded wrong . . .

He touched his tongue to his fangs. ‘Or don’t. I would enjoy fucking you while you suffocate and drown in your own blood.’

Panic froze me as memories of my wedding night and him killing my friend, Sally, slammed into me. I had to do as he said. I stopped struggling. His pressure on my throat increased, almost cutting off my air. I forced myself to stay still, to stare back stoically as my lungs heaved for breath, to concentrate on calming my pulse, even as my vision greyed around the edges. He watched me intently for what felt like hours, then his hand at my throat relaxed slightly. I gasped for oxygen before I could stop myself.

‘I see you understand, my pretty sidhe.’ He sighed. ‘Although I find it disappointing.’ He hooked his fingers into my briefs and tore them off. Fear clenched my stomach and I forced myself to stay still. He contemplated me like I was a bug pinned under a microscope, and started poking at Malik’s rose-petal bruises again. I tensed, skin crawling at his touch, the small pains insignificant to the fiery ones in my wrists. As his prodding moved lower, I desperately searched my mind for what little I knew about the Dreamscape. The only time I’d been here before was via Malik’s ring: I’d put the ring on to enter and he’d taken it off to make me leave. Or rather, to wake me up. While I was here, I was asleep in real life. That meant all I had to do to escape was wake up. But without Malik’s ring to remove, I didn’t know how. It hit me I was trapped in the Dreamscape with Bastien. Despair filtered into my mind. My recurring nightmare made real.

He gave my throat a quick squeeze. ‘Now, I am going to ask you a question. I know a sidhe cannot lie, but know I want you to answer only yes or no. No prevarication, do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ I gasped, my lungs struggling for breath.

‘You reek of Malik and sex,’ he said, voice soft. ‘Has my commander filled you with his seed, my bride?’

Shock sparked like lightning. ‘ What?! ’

‘Answer me.’

‘No,’ I croaked. Where the hell was this going?

He frowned then slid his hand down my belly and between my legs. I shuddered in fear and disgust as his finger penetrated for an instant. He brought it up to his nose, sniffed and then licked it.