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187

187 Lisa: Fae Blessed

LISA

Eternity is a bitch.

That’s the conclusion I’ve come to after being locked in this room.

Living forever, with nothing ever changing? That’s enough to drive anyone crazy. No wonder that asshole vampire is the way he is.

Sometimes, I think I’ve been awake for days; other times, I think I’ve been asleep for longer. My meals don’t seem to come at any consistent time, and Marisol’s temper fluctuates every time I see

her.

Today, she’s cold, nearly throwing the tray in my direction.

Cold soup splatters. The strawberries look wilted. Still, no utensils. to make my life easier.

At this point, I’m used to the filth of living here, and even the disgrace of utilizing a waste bucket.

Still, compared to before…

It’s pretty good.

That crazy vampire hasn’t returned, and I’m never going to complain about his absence.

It’s as if Marisol can read my mind, because she suddenly says, sounding childish and petulant, “Master’s been searching for a friend for you.”

A wilted chunk of strawberry drops from my fingers, gathering dirt

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as it rolls across the stone floor. “A friend?”

My heart rate increases drastically as I think of Ava.

“A unicorn,” she sneers.

Unicorn?

Living as I am in a tiny stone room, chained to the floor with manacles that have my wrists rubbed raw and bleeding, with no clothes, by an insane vampire–I probably shouldn’t be so skeptical at the idea of hunting down a unicorn.

But that very human side of me just stares, flabbergasted.

“A real unicorn?”

She rolls her eyes in a bratty way, and a part of me wonders if that’s how I look to my parents.

I miss them.

I try not to think about them too often.

“A Fae–blessed human. Like yourself.” She points to the underside

of her breast.

This is the most interesting conversation she’s ever offered, and I straighten, my food forgotten in my hunger for information. “Fae–blessed…? What do you mean?”

Marisol sighs, before clomping her way over and grabbing my left breast, pulling it up and poking beneath it with one elegantly manicured finger. “There. Fae–blessed. It left its Mark.”

Yanking away from her, my entire body shudders in rejection at her touch. My skin crawls, though she clearly has no prurient

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– 10) (as as far

design.

Her lips curve in dark amusement, her green eyes sharp as they take in my every reaction.

The Marisol today is nothing like the girl I met for the first time. Then she was timid, perhaps even naive, and living in her own world.

Today, there’s a wicked glint in her eye and a devious curve to her lips. She’s harder, harsher, and very much mentally present.

I don’t like this Marisol very much.

It’s then that I realize there are no bite marks on her body. No -bruises. Her skin is clear and unblemished, though still sickly, with

that odd translucent sheen to it.

Is it a reaction to his absence? To the lack of feeding?

“Look for yourself,” she says, her words too coy to be friendly. Her head tilts at an unnatural angle, her eyes not blinking as they hold my stare. “You must know it’s there.”

My fingers tremble as I lift my breast, peering at the underside. There’s nothing there except the birthmark I’ve always had–an irregularly shaped patch of skin that’s almost golden against the

rest of me.

I’ve never thought much of it before. Just an odd quirk of genetics, something that made me unique. My mother used to joke that an angel kissed me there.

Marisol clicks her tongue, a sharp sound in the stillness of the room. “You must feel so proud to have such a strong blessing.”

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10: The Fon Bassed

Her voice drips with a strange mix of envy and derision that makes my skin prickle.

“What are you talking about?” I demand, crossing my arms across my chest for the little bit of privacy it allows me. The sudden movement makes the chains rattle. “What blessing? What does my birthmark have to do with anything?”

But Marisol only looks at me, her green eyes cold and flat as glass. “Are you finished with your food?”

The abrupt change in subject catches me off guard. I glance down at the sad little meal congealing on the tray. My stomach twists, though whether from hunger or nerves, I can’t say.

“No,” I snap, “I’m not finished. And you didn’t answer my question. What do you mean, blessing? What does this-“I gesture to the underside of my breast, “-have to do with anything?”

Marisol’s lips thin. She looks like she’s debating with herself, some internal struggle playing out behind those eerie eyes.

Then she just turns away, no longer looking at me.

Like I’m not there.

Like ignoring me will just make my questions disappear.

“Marisol! What are you talking about? Explain it to me!”

The chains bite into my wrists as I surge forward, ignoring the fire blazing along my raw skin. “Why are you doing this?” My voice cracks as I scream at her uncaring form.

“How can you just stand there while he keeps me locked up like this?!”

387 Uma Fan Blessed

Marisol’s eyes narrow into slits as she looks at me again. Her lips. curl back from her teeth in a sneer that twists her delicate features into something ugly. “You think I care about the words of a slut like you?” She lets out a harsh bark of laughter. “You’re nothing. Just a toy for the Master to play with until he gets bored. You won’t replace me. You can’t.”

The venom in her words has me recoiling, stunned by the vitriol coming from such a sweet face. But the fury in my heart grows. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want to replace you. I don’t want to be here! You should be helping me escape, not leaving me here!”

“Too bad.” Marisol’s voice is cold, devoid of even a shred of empathy. “The Master gets what the Master wants. And right now, he wants you.”

She takes a step closer, looming over me, her words a hiss. A. warning. “Don’t think for a second that you’re special. You’re just a passing fancy. I’m the one he really wants. I’m his favorite, and I won’t let a little whore like you take my place.”

Why she would even see someone like me as a threat to her is a mystery to me, but this woman is unhinged.

I grab at the tray, my fingers scrabbling for a firm purchase. If I swing it at her head, maybe she’ll go down. Maybe I can replace some keys on her. Maybe I can get the fuck out of this delusional place.

This nightmare.

But Marisol is faster. She snatches the tray away, holding it out of my reach. “Ah, ah, ah,” she tuts, like I’m a naughty child. “Mustn’t touch what isn’t yours.”

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187 Lisa, foe Blessedt

I make another desperate grab for the tray, but the manacles binding me hold me fast, yanking more of my skin away.

It’s no use. Marisol dances back, the tray held easily in her hands. She’s too strong, too quick. I don’t stand a chance.

With a final, mocking smile, she turns and glides out of the room, taking the tray–and my last shred of hope–with her.

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