Burn For Me

Conditioning

Vesna's eyes fell on the basin of blood again, and she forgot about all her troubles, circumstances, or whatever the hell Zacharel meant by conditioning—and dived right back in.

All his orders about over feeding, she ignored. Why should she listen to a haughty, stick-up-his-ass Guardian when she could be enjoying a delectable meal?

Suffice it to say, when dawn broke, Zacharel found Vesna sprawled on the floor, the basin of blood emptied to a drop, and looking like the epitome of a glutenous stray.

No regrets.

She rubbed her belly in drunken satisfaction. "Mmm. This is the life."

Zacharel stood in the threshold of the chamber.

His eyes took in the scene.

An empty basin.

A blood-drunk half-vampire sprawled on sacred floors.

His jaw tensed.

One could almost feel the temperature in the monastery drop a few degrees.

"Indulgent. Undisciplined. Predictable," he said coldly.

The door behind him shut with a boom, sealing them in.

He stepped forward, boots echoing off stone like the slow ticking of a countdown.

"You were given orders."

Another step. Closer now.

"You disobeyed."

A final step, and then he stood over her, haloed by the pale morning light that filtered through the high cathedral windows.

"Get. Up."

He would not lift her.

He would not help her.

She peeked from behind one open eye. Then fanned her lashes, all flattery. She waved a hand in his direction, a flick of the wrist meant to dismiss him.

“Go away. Wanna nap. Want my nappy.” Her words came out slurred. Her blinking became sluggish. “Want bed.”

Zacharel stared down at her—at the creature who had just dismissed him, a High Guardian of the Celestial Crown, like he were some bothersome servant in her court of taunts and whim.

He dropped to a crouch beside her with smooth, predatory grace. His fingers snapped out—not to strike, but to grasp her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Firm. Unyielding.

He lifted her face to his. Forced her clouded eyes to meet his silver ones.

“You will learn,” he said quietly, with the kind of stillness that made people tremble, “that in this place, your wants are irrelevant.”

His voice was like razor silk. Beautiful and terrible.

“The Crown did not summon you here to nap. You are not a guest. And you are certainly not a child.”

Vesna blew him a soft kiss.

"You're so pretty."

He dropped her face without gentleness. Stood.

“Walk, or crawl. But if you are not out of this chamber by the next toll of the morning bell, I will drag your body through every hall until you learn to stand.”

He vacated her presence like he couldn't get away from her fast enough.

What was the Crown thinking? This was a creature devoid of any sense and propriety.

***

“You could spank me,” Vesna let out before the doors closed behind the Guardian.

She laughed, throwing her arms over her head and stretching like a feline.

She rolled over on the stone floor. Pondered his warning. Then shrugged. She wanted her nap. And so she would get it. He could drop her from the skies, but then he’d have to catch her again. His words!

He could never really hurt me. And she knew what hurt felt like. True pain. This? This was a massage to her senses. A relaxing spa session.

Vesna snored through the next toll of the morning bell.

Out in the many corridors of the sanctuary, Zacharel stopped walking.

Without a sound, he vanished—and appeared in Vesna's chamber.

A beat later, Vesna’s body was no longer on the floor.

She would feel it before she saw it—wind. Her eyes snapped open, her heart already in her throat. Cold, slicing wind beat against her cheeks. The sky above was no longer stone, but clouds of pure white. Again.

They were in the sky, too high up for her liking.

Zacharel held her aloft, one arm around her waist, his grip like iron. But this time, it was not a gentle lift or a noble flight.

It was punishment. s**t. "Wait, hear me out—"

He didn’t look at her.

“You were warned.”

And he let go.

Again.

No warning.

Just emptiness beneath her.

Except this time, he didn’t catch her right away.

She dropped. And she dropped fast.

The wind tore at her limbs, her hair, her lungs.

Down, down—

And only just before the rocky ledge came into view—

He appeared, wings of fire crackling in a twist.

She collided hard against his chest, the impact jarring, rough. He did not cradle her like a damsel this time.

He held her by the collar of her tunic like some disobedient stray, lifting her to eye level, his face containing traces of fury simmering just underneath his cool facade.

“Lesson two,” he said, voice like crushed frost, “You are not untouchable. If I choose to let you fall, you will fall.”

And then, with no more ceremony than tossing a sack of potatoes, he dropped her into the shallow stream below.

She went in ass-first with a loud scream and splash.

It was cold.

Ice-cold.

"I hate you!” Vesna screamed at the top of her lungs. She emerged from the bank of river with her hair plastered all over her face.

Zacharel stood on the riverbank above, wings of flame furling in.

“Now you’re awake,” he said simply. And turned to walk into the sanctuary.

“I hope you rot in hell!” she then threatened. “I hope you are denied every good thing in this world. I hope you break a wing or two!”

With another frustrated yell, she crawled out of the water and collapsed on the soil. Snatched from her precious slumber, dropped from the air, and then tossed again into ice-cold water had her wheezing, chest rapidly rising up and down, barely able to catch her next breath.

Not to mention she swallowed some water when screaming. Coughing, wheezing, coughing again, she gingerly rose to all fours.

Then knees.

Then finally to shaky feet.

She looked around.

Up.

No sight of Zacharel.

The monastery loomed too high up, closer to the sky than land.

She then looked around. Left. Right. Then back. No one and nothing but a green forest and thick foliage.

An idea bloomed, and her heart picked up pace.

Foolish, foolish Zacharel.

Steadying her legs, she bolted into action, running straight into the thick foliage and disappearing from sight.

She swallowed her laughter as urgency prompted her legs work faster. Sweet escape, at long last!

She dodged branches and trees, quickly snaking her way through the forest.

She would make a way out of this place. This situation. She always did.

So long, sucker!