Shadow Blooded-Once Bitten

Chapter Three

WARNING- Trigger alert for abuse chapter may be slightly explicit.

Marcella lay bent over on her face practically with her forehead pressed to the cold stone floor. Desperately trying not to cry anymore. Tears wouldn’t help her and she wanted to find a way out of this cursed place. Her hands were chained to the ground on either side of her with thick metal cuffs attached to a short length of chain that protruded from the floor. Her back was torn open in multiple places from where her father had whipped her. She couldn’t force herself to do it no matter how badly she wished she could.

After father had presented her to the elders, she was to take the ceremonial chalice and fill it with the blood from the stone podium that was bathed in the light of the full moon. To be offered the blood of the elders was an honor not to be taken lightly. Most true-blooded vampires are pure blood and their shadow demons usually emerge on their own when they turn 13 with an insatiable thirst usually followed by a mass m******e. To avoid random mass casualties, a feeding is usually held under the guise of a grand party where most invited are simply humans meant to be devoured. Along with a couple of elders and other high-ranking members of society meant to officiate the whole process. Honestly, most of them were just glutens and looking forward to a mass feeding.

Since Marcella was half dark witch it was likely she wouldn’t have a demon. Since most dark witches feed off the life force of such creatures. To stay with her family, she would be forced to convert to a vampire and give up being a witch. If it failed and she somehow managed to survive, she would be sent to live with her mother’s family in the human world. Where she was to be raised as a witch and far away from any disgrace, she could bring on her father.

She would be banned and exiled officially from her father’s realm in the shadow kingdom. She didn’t want to leave her parents and the thought of feeding off another’s life force disgusted her just about as much as the thought of drinking another’s blood did. Her dad didn’t take any chances of her not turning. Inviting the oldest and strongest of their kind to offer up their blood in exchange for hers. She would be bound to them for the rest of her life, but a formidable vampire, no doubt.

All she had to do was drink. The putrid smell invaded her senses, making her openly gag at the thought of putting the foul concoction into her mouth. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on breathing through her nose. Just one sip, she thought. Choking back the bile that was already logged in her throat, Marcella attempted to force herself to drink.

The closer the cup got, the more nauseous she felt. Oh, goddess, she thought as she involuntarily dropped the cup and started to violently vomit in front of everyone. It took all of ten seconds before the elders started demanding answers from my father. Going on about the grievous offense I just committed. Deals this and deals that. It was hard to concentrate on what was being said as my stomach lurched forward once more, forcing me to empty the contents of my stomach again.

Silence my father, king Lucius Commodus demanded of the group. My father was a vain and egotistical womanizing ass, but he was also a formidable opponent, and few lived to defy him more than once. Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, father had moved with all his vamp speed and was holding me up by my hair. A disgrace such as yourself isn’t worthy of such an offering. You’ll drink and accept this blessing or ill drain you dry and feed you to the shadows witch, he snarled in my ear.

He dragged me the short distance to the pedestal and shoved my head into the shallow stone basin that sat atop the stone pedestal. I did what I could to fight back, but I was no match for my father. I struggled not to breathe as the rotting blood burned my eyes and invaded my airways. On top of the already persistent urge to vomit. I could only hold my breath for so long before the urge to be sick took over, causing me to choke and drown in a pool of blood and vomit.

My father released me and I fell to the ground at his feet. I was coughing and crying as I dry heaved having nothing left in me to spew up. He kicked me in the stomach, knocking me over as he roared in rage. By the time my father’s anger had been placated, I had been chained to the ground like one of the human sacrifices. I’d been beaten, whipped, and fed off of until I was almost drained dry by all ten of the elders. They left here chained to the floor surrounded by the corpses of the feeders.

According to practice, I was to remain in the chapel for the rest of the night. By moon rise the next night I should have my demon. If not, I was to according to my father, carve my heart out with the ceremonial dagger he threw at me or die like the useless feeder I am. Leaving me in my current predicament of being chained to the floor sobbing covered in blood and vomit, surrounded by corpses, trying to figure out how to unchain myself when my body felt as if it had been weighed down with led. I struggled until I was exhausted, and everything ached too much to move. I couldn’t afford to pass out from the pain again.

There was no telling how much time I would lose if that happened. So, I did the one thing we are told never to do. I focused what little energy I had left to call the shadows to plead with them to save me. Begged the goddess, not to forsake me. I promised her I would do my best to follow her path if she didn’t turn her back on me as she did on the others. I closed my eyes and tried to block out the stench of decaying flesh and rancid blood. To regulate my breathing and stop crying as I bowed deeply while I prayed to a goddess most vampires would swear abandoned us a long time ago.

I felt my mind slip into the void that the shadows lingered in as I desperately pleaded for their help. With nothing to offer them in return, getting an answer back seemed hopeless, but left with no other choice, I searched as far as my mind could reach, calling out for help. I listened to the distorted sound of the shadows echo through my mind as I looked. None dared to answer me fear of my father keeping them away. There she saw somebody run by. It was nothing more than the briefest flicker on the very far edges of her mind. Still, it was the sliver of hope she needed.

The shadow seemed to be heavily veiled in a deep dense fog. There she could feel profound sorrow. The depths of their despair verging on madness seeped into her core, causing her to gasp and pull back involuntarily. Damn it, Marcella mumbled to herself as she tried again. It took a couple of tries before she could find a weak spot in the barrier.

There she could barely see him, but he was there. He seemed to be a lone figure kneeling with one knee up and his head down resting atop both his hands that laid over a sword that stood in front of him. Almost as if he was pledging his loyalty to someone. The man was made of old stone. The stone had cracks along it that were covered in moss. There were spots where it had started to crumble and flake away. Around the statue were thorny vining roses that wrapped their way around him as if to restrict his movements, even going as far as to cover his eyes and mouth. Almost as if in an attempt to silence his pleas.

Marcella’s head hurt as if it was splitting open. Her eyes burned and her eye sockets throbbed, but still, she held on to the image desperate for help. The harder she looked, the more she could see. Eventually, she saw two statues and then three. All together there were five statues different in looks but sitting in a similar position. When viewed as a whole, it became obvious, they were kneeling in a circle.

Marcella felt like she was walking through a brick wall. As she tried to push through the fog that surrounded the statues. It was dense and every fiber of her being felt as if she had been beaten again, but still she pushed forward. The next thing that came into view was a statue of a woman holding a crown. She was looking up at the sky with long flowing hair falling down her back.

She wore a renaissance-styled dress. That had asymmetrical sleeves. A corset top and a skirt that flowed freely down to just above her bare feet. She stood atop a small platform slightly taller than the pool of water that surrounded her. Making her more a fountain than a statue, Marcella realized.

Her lungs burned and breathing was almost impossible. It felt as if she was being crushed and pulled in separate directions all at once. She was so close she couldn’t give up now, she thought. Shoving at the mental barrier with as much strength as she could manage. Clouds of black began to blur her vision as she fought to stay conscious.

Just as she felt like she was about to pass out, she felt the barrier snap like it was a broken rubber band. Then she screamed. Falling forward through a black void. Until she landed face down in a stone-covered courtyard. Her already beaten and bruised body protested as every inch of her body ached. Unable to stand the pain anymore, Marcella relented and gave into the blissful nothingness that being unconscious brought with it.