Location: Unknown, 1987
THE SILK WEBS STRAPPED ACROSS my naked body cut into my flesh like thin wire with the slightest movement. Even when the Lilac, Jasmine, locked me in the cage, her webs remained latched to my skin imprisoning me here for the last sixty-one years.
Pain became my existence, my way of knowing that I was alive. But if I ever escaped this place, the man I had been no longer breathed inside this body. He’d died a long time ago and the only reason I hadn’t gone insane was my Ink.
The tattoo rested on my shoulder and neck and it fed off my anger, bringing the calm steadiness back into me. Without the snake tattoo, I’d be crazed with rage by now, determined to kill anyone—good or evil—in my path if I were free.
But I wasn’t free.
The unimaginable torture of standing contained in Jasmine’s webs was pure torment. When my legs gave out the sharp silk strands cut into my flesh so deep that only the density of my bones stopped them from cutting me into pieces.
She’d removed the neck-prong device yesterday. I’d stood immobile for days, unable to turn my head or the prongs would drill holes into my flesh. Every few months she put it back on me just to watch me suffer.
Jasmine loved to see me in pain.
I inhaled and the webs sank deeper into my flesh. I clenched my jaw, eyes staring forward into the darkness of the subterranean room where Jasmine kept me hidden.
It was a void, filled with the scent of wet stones and musky, soiled air. The room was the size of a large closet, with a low ceiling and walls made of cement. Beyond that was soil.
And I was a raw piece of meat hanging on a hook in a cold cellar beneath the earth.
The candle flickered when the door opened, then footsteps descended the stairs. The smell of lilac wafted to me and my stomach curdled.
Jasmine appeared in front of me and her thin lips curved into a smile, then she clucked her tongue. “You’ve been fighting the webs again, Waleron.”
She slipped her hand past the webs and like the Red Sea, the strands pearled and parted so she could stroke my naked chest. “Now look what you’ve done. All these cuts for nothing. You know it’s pointless to fight.”
I remained frozen, unable to pull back, unable to do anything but feel her sickly touch on my skin. “I have news concerning your Delara.”
My muscles tensed and my breath froze in my lungs.
Jasmine caressed lower, over my abdomen to my pelvis, then lower. Her finger slid down the length of my cock then her hand cupped my balls.
I stared past her, coldness consuming me as she intimately touched me. She stepped closer so her body rubbed against mine; she squeezed my balls then released them to wrap her fingers around cock. She tightened her grip and stroked up and down.
I gritted my teeth and clamped my jaw.
She wanted a reaction from me. She wanted me hard and that’s why she’d mentioned Delara. Her movements became faster and my dick hardened despite me fighting it.
Jasmine stopped and squeezed the base—hard. I groaned in pain, but it wasn’t physical pain, it was emotional.
It was a test. One of her sick games.
“I feel sorry for you, Waleron. The love of your life fucking another man must be difficult for you.”
A deep growl emerged from my throat as I thought of Delara in another man’s arms. I’d been gone for sixty-one years and everyone thought I was dead. Delara thought I was dead, and she should have a maite.
But fuck, she was mine. She would always be mine.
Jasmine licked her lips, released me, then cupped my chin, forcing me to meet her unforgiving eyes. “Perhaps it would be easier to imagine your sweet, precious Delara lying in a ditch. My source says she was beaten rather… severely.”
Every muscle tightened and the webs cut farther into my skin. What the fuck was she talking about?
“She still breathes, although I imagine it is quite painful.” Jasmine laughed and stepped back. As soon as she did, her webs tightened around me again.
“Fuck you, Jasmine.”
She sighed. “Waleron. Swearing? That is so unlike you.”
I struggled against the webs, knowing there was no escape but unable to stop myself.
“I considered bringing her here, letting you watch her die. Wouldn’t that be fun?” My stomach lurched. “But the Vivian Forest is far from here and she wouldn’t survive the trip, I’m afraid. Once she’s gone”—Jasmine twisted my nipple hard, but I barely felt it. All I could think about was Delara—“you will no longer see any reason to fight me. You will be mine, Waleron. One way or another, you will be mine and submit to me.”
She spun on her heel and walked up the stairs. I heard the door creak open and slam shut so hard it blew out the candle, leaving me in darkness.
Delara cannot die.
“Noooooo!” A bellow of rage echoed in my stone underground prison.
Oblivious to the threads digging into my flesh, I fought against the cocoon, ignoring the pain of my skin tearing as I roared.
I had to get to her.
Blood slid down my skin to drip onto the floor as I stood, chest heaving, raw emotions ripping through me. There was no choice. I had to call on my Ink.
I’d always thought I’d rather die than use it, but I’d rather die than lose Delara. The hitch was, using my Ink meant I’d never be with Delara again.
But if she died, then I wouldn’t be anyway. It was worth the risk. Anything was worth the risk to save her.
The tattoo, my Ink, was a gift from the Goddess when I was born, although I’d always seen it as a detriment. It was different than the other Scars’ Inks; mine held darkness. The snake fed off my rage. It sat silent and unmoving on my skin, feeding on volatile emotions.
The Goddess gave it for protection, so I’d never lose control. The Ink would absorb my emotions when they became too powerful.
If my Ink hadn’t been feeding on my rage for the last half century, I would’ve already gone insane. My Ink was a shield that kept my oath to protect the Scars in the forefront of my mind. It also was unable to leave my skin like the other Inks.
According to the Goddess, if I ever called upon my Ink for help, it would continually fight to possess me. The absorbed darkness, rage, and anger would live as part of me. I’d never be the same man again.
But if I could save Delara, then I had to take the risk. The Scars and Wraiths could lock me away for the rest of my immortal life, if need be.
My mother, Arossa Urrutia, a sadistic witch and one of the first Scars, had begged the Goddess to put the Scar on me. The ultimate torture, Ink I could never call upon without severe consequences. All the bitch cared about was for me to live by my oath. To be my oath to the Goddess.
There were thousands of silk threads across my body and each one had to be broken individually.
Fuck, I didn’t have hours. I had minutes.
The Goddess had warned me that if I awakened the snake it would never lie dormant again. The rage it had fed off for years would be impossible to control. My rage was already uncontrolled as I thought of Delara beaten and dying.
“Light giveth to my soul. Coiled on my skin the darkness to keep away. Shine through your radiance, aid my plight and burn these threads.”
Nothing.
I repeated the words over and over again, but still my Ink lay motionless.
Closing my eyes, I calmed my breath, my heart, and said the words once more.
The coiled snake tattoo slowly unraveled its massive body. Its sleek, black form felt like the flame of a candle held over my skin as it awakened to my call.
The first thread across my neck snapped.
My heart pounded and sweat formed on my brow. There was no return from this. I’d never be with Delara again. Not with my Ink awakened.
Each thread snapped, painfully slowly. It was two hours before my body was free from the sticky webs, and then another hour before I managed to gain my balance and stand on my own.
I held the wall as I climbed the steps, the slightest movement agonizing as the cuts tore open.
Finally reaching the door, I lifted the latch. Locked. Of course, it was locked. It hadn’t been to keep me in, though; Jasmine was confident her webs could never be broken. It was to keep any humans who discovered this place from coming in.
“Burn it,” I ordered my Ink.
Heat erupted inside me and there was a low hiss as my Ink slithered to my shoulder then down my arm. I placed my palm on the door and the snake’s fire heated the surface until it sparked, then caught fire.
I stepped back, watching as the wood crackled and burned, until the moonlit sky finally peeked through the charred, crumbling door.
I kicked the final pieces away and stepped through the opening.
Standing naked, I closed my eyes as the fresh air I’d been denied for sixty-one years replenished my body, feeding my blood, lending its strength.
I opened my eyes and peered up at the stars then used the power of nature and that of my Ink and Traced to the Realm. It was the only place I could go without healing first. I’d need Zurina to heal my open wounds so I could Trace to the Vivian Forest and find Delara.
If she was alive. If I wasn’t too late.