She really didn't think she would be able to sleep in the cell. But sometime later – must have been the next morning – she wakes up on the wooden bench. Her whole body aches.
She's hungry and thirsty and cold. And yet, despite how awful she feels, weirdly, she can't help thinking about Darius Cole. About the fact that she's facing 25 days like this, when he endured 25 years.
Did vampires feel the cold? Did they feel hungry and thirsty like this?
She's still thinking about this when the door to the cell squeals open. She must have become accustomed to the dark, because she has to screw up her eyes at the sudden invasion of light. A man is standing in the doorway.
'Darius Cole?' Merle says, her voice sounding scratchy thanks to her bone-dry mouth.
Despite growing up in a house of vampire hunters. Despite learning to fear Cole above all vamps. Merle had never seen a picture of him. She has no idea what he looks like. Vamps don't photograph and all the drawings that were done of him were handed over to the Black Emerald Clan by Cobalt along with Cole himself.
The man doesn't reply. Instead he takes another step into the cell and Merle can see him properly. He's smiling and he's so damn vampirey it hurts. He has a swirl of silver hair, a refined jawline and a stance that is almost too erect. There is a strange sour smell in the room that seems to have come in with him. But is he Cole? Merle feels pretty sure he isn't going to tell her straight out.
He is carrying a small wooden tray that holds a plate of toast and a glass of water. Merle bites at her dry bottom lip and finds herself staring at the water.
The man sets the tray down on the floor and takes a few more steps towards Merle until he's standing right in the middle of the cell. She finds herself shrinking back against the wall.
'Hello, Miss Cobalt,' he says. 'Are you hungry? We don't really have much food, I'm afraid. I sent Kristina out last night to buy something for you – but she didn't really do very well.' He looks down at the tray with an expression of disdain.
'That's OK, really. Could I have the water now?' Merle stands up and takes a step forwards.
'Sit down!'
Merle sits right back down at once. The wisp of intimidation that she had felt from the moment the cell door opened suddenly explodes inside her chest. God, he can be scary when he wants to be.
'No manners, really,' the man mutters to himself then he meets Merle's eye. 'You should be chained.'
'What? Why?'
The man doesn't bother to answer. He just walks over and in a simple and business like way begins to unfurl a set of manacles mounted into a bracket above the wooden bench. The chains are rusty. They clatter and clank as he picks up one wrist cuff. This close up, the sour smell coming from him is almost overwhelming and undercut with a taint like rotting meat.
'I'm here of my own free will,' Merle says, trying to talk and hold her breath against the stench at the same time. Not easy. 'You don't need to chain me up.'
'Yes I do. For –' he pauses and looks thoughtful for a moment'– for authenticity.' And then he snaps a sudden cold metal bracelet around Merle's right wrist.
Merle stares at it in disbelief. Feeling the weight of the metal along with the weight of what he is saying. 'Authenticity! You mean they kept you chained for 25 years?'
'He was chained. You should be chained so you know how it was for him. That is the point of this, I believe. That you should know what they did to him. How he suffered for you.' He starts on the second cuff.
'"For me"? "How he suffered for me"? So you're not Darius Cole? And why was it for me?'
The man doesn't answer. Answering Merle's questions is clearly not his thing. He snaps shut the second bracelet and takes a step back. The cuffs around her wrists are attached to long chains, so long that the manacles would really only be a mild inconvenience rather than a restriction. The man smiles. 'Very nice. They suit you.'
Merle shakes her head with exasperation. She just wants to know now. She doesn't even care about the manacles or his creepy comments. 'Are you Darius Cole? Was it you who was chained up down here for 25 years?'
The man laughs. 'Maybe.'
Merle frowns. She looks past him at the tray on the floor. Suddenly she stops caring about who this man is as the glass of water starts calling to her dry throat. She looks up at her captor. 'Are you going to let me have something to eat now?'
'Maybe. If you earn it?'
'If I earn it. How do I earn it?'
'Kiss me. Kiss me nicely and I'll bring the tray over.'
'Kiss you. I'm not kissing you, Cole, you murdering traitor.'
'Ah, so I am Cole?'
'They said Cole would play stupid games, so, yeah.'
'But all vampires love to play games with humans. Perhaps I'm just a friend of Cole's. Perhaps I just wanted to play with his new toy while he was busy. Perhaps I actually find you just as repulsive as you do me, blood sack.'
'So, you're not Cole?'
'Kiss me and I'll tell you.' The man bends down, his lips inching closer.
'Get away from me!' Merle lashes out at him, not really thinking about anything except how really, really grossed out she is. But she hits the man right in the face. Not so very hard, but it is enough of a shock that he staggers backwards. Away from her, taking his death-smell with him.
When he recovers himself – backing up even further – his face is livid.
Merle is shaking.
'Oh, now that wasn't nice,' he says. He turns and makes to leave. As he passes the tray on the floor he kicks out with his foot. The water spills, the glass breaks and the toast scatters on the dirty floor. 'Oh dear,' he says. 'That's a shame.' As he reaches the cell door and opens it he turns. 'See you tomorrow, Miss Cobalt.'