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The Bride
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Exhaustion swept through Bride’s body, and the electricity at her fingertips barely flickered to life. Vale was right behind her at the next turn, waiting for her to spark up again. They had been at this for weeks now.
“I’m in need of rest,” Bride said through gritted teeth, irritated that her energy was running low.
“We can stop for a little while.” Vale raked a hand through his blond curls, moving his lower jaw side to side. She knew he wanted to keep going—as did she.
“I’m frustrated too, Vale.”
His hand cupped the side of her face, and his thumb rubbed gently against her cheek. “You’ve done beautifully, my Bride.”
His words were the key to lifting her spirits as her shoulders relaxed. Vale was pleased with her work, their work. Such elation flowed through her that it felt as though she was floating.
“Where will we go for the night?” Bride asked, fiddling with the buttons on the front of her dress. Dirt and filth covered the hem of her white gown, proof of their long and strenuous journey.
She brushed a curl from his forehead—even if he wouldn’t admit it, he was tired too. A smile, not quite a full one, but close enough, slipped onto his face after her touch. It was a precious gift reserved only ever for her.
“There is an old house a few miles from here that Red is securing for us.” His smile dropped, his face becoming unreadable, as he awaited her answer.
A low growl escaped her throat, catching Vale’s immediate attention. There was something about Fannie that Bride didn’t like, more than the way the immortal was toward her.
“You know she means nothing to me.” Vale lifted her chin with a touch of his fingertips. “If I could get rid of her in a second, just for you, I would. But my father wants her here.”
With a nod, she clamped her teeth down on her lower lip to keep from speaking words she would rather keep to herself. She had been having more and more thoughts slide in recently, but when she nearly grasped them, they vanished.
Vale held her gaze for a moment longer—his yearning mirroring hers—before he released her face, leaving her missing his warmth. He then silently trekked ahead of her and led the way as she followed behind.
Statue after statue stood frozen, their glass shining beneath the glowing ball of sun in the sky. She smiled at their work, at how complete devastation lingered in their path. Houses destroyed, trees fallen, and streets broken beyond repair. Her smile faltered when a feeling seeped down to her bones—she wasn’t fulfilled by the chaos. She needed more.
Perhaps sleep would renew the spark within her.
They eventually stopped in front of a Victorian two-story house, surrounded by lush green bushes and a strong iron fence. Bride’s feet twitched with a strange warning and for a moment, as she waited at the bottom of the old wooden porch, something within her begged her to run. This would be the perfect opportunity to escape—Vale wasn’t paying attention to her. But where would she run to, and why would she want to?
Bride clutched the side of her head and took one step back, then another.
Vale turned to face her and watched her intently. Something like affection sparked in his gaze. “Is something wrong?”
Before she could answer, he scooped her up into his strong arms and carefully towed her through the front door.
The feeling that was inside her vanished, and the sense of safety washed over her instead. Vale was her safety. She rested her head on his shoulder as tiredness took over, hitting her even harder. Bride closed her eyes for a second before Vale set her gently on a soft green couch that her body sank into. She opened her lids and gave him a warm smile.
“Give me a moment,” he said and exited the room.
Bride reclined against the back of the couch. The clack of familiar heels sounded as they descended the wooden stairs. Fannie. But Red to Vale. Unfortunately, Bride’s moment of peace was now ruined.
Bride hoped if she ignored the immortal that perhaps she would go the other way, but that wouldn’t be like Fannie at all.
The immortal bounced into the large living room like a peacock. She appeared clean, her dress pristine, and her red hair wilder than ever. Fannie narrowed her eyes and stepped in front of her.
Bride clenched her jaw. She wanted to tear the immortal’s head off with her lightning.
“You’re still here, I see. But it won’t last. Nothing ever lasts for him.”
Baiting her. That was what Fannie was doing again. But Bride stayed.
Fannie sneered, her face turning a bright crimson. “Don’t worry, you’ll get what’s coming to you.” She turned on her heels and stormed into another room. The immortal seemed to relish in repeating the same things about Vale to Bride, but when Bride didn’t react, that only ignited Fannie’s fury.
When they had first walked out of the Glass Vault weeks ago, Fannie had tried to take control, pushing Bride out of the way as much as she could. Bride had stood her ground and Vale had put the immortal in her place once more.
Vale rounded the corner with a shiny metal object, taking a seat in front of Bride on a coffee table cluttered with magazines. With his emerald eyes focused on hers, he picked at his nails with the file.
Bride had noticed this habit for a while, but she wasn’t certain what made him do it. Either way, the back-and-forth movements sent a rush of heat straight to her core. As soon as Vale finished, he took out a cloth handkerchief and cleaned the file. Fannie, who had been lingering in the doorway since his arrival, watched him. The way the immortal’s eyes danced and the way her chest rose and fell, proved that Fannie was ready to rip his clothing off in the middle of the room just from watching him file his nails. But, Bride was too.
“Give me your hand,” Vale said softly.
Bride peered up from his file and back into his piercing green eyes. Without a word, she reached toward him and placed her hand in his.
He picked and removed the dirt from under her nails, repeating the same sensual cleaning ritual as before. Once Vale finished, he drew her hand to his mouth and softly blew away the small debris. Bride shivered at the feel of his warm breath on her flesh. A pleased smile crossed Bride’s face as she glanced at Fannie, who studied them with revulsion.
“Why don’t you ever clean my nails, Master?” Fannie asked while sinking down beside Vale on the table.
He didn’t say a word and Bride only smiled wider.
“Come”—Vale released her hand and tucked away his file—“I have something I want to show you.”
A new energy rose within her, sweeping the tiredness away. She stood from the couch and followed him down a short hallway, past the flight of stairs, lined with photographs of smiling faces along its beige walls. The people in the photos were dead now, their souls part of the Glass Vault. Bride didn’t linger on them long as Fannie clicked her heels. She could tell the immortal was watching her, waiting for Bride to show any sign of weakness.
They passed a large kitchen, and a rotten smell invaded her nostrils. In the center of a table rested a bowl of fruit where tiny flies buzzed around the blackened produce.
Just past the kitchen, Vale pulled open a door that revealed a set of stairs leading down into a dark cellar. Farther down, small candles, already lit, danced in the darkness, their little flames bobbing against the damp breeze of the basement. They could go out any second.
Bride’s heart became a steady pound against her sternum.
The descent was slow, and with each step she took, the wood groaned beneath her weight. Her hands slightly trembled, and she didn’t know what was happening in that moment—she never felt nervous. Gritting her teeth, she found herself once more and her hands stopped shaking.
Bride pressed closer to Vale, knowing Fannie would attempt to push her down the stairs. She refused to be humiliated by her or anyone.
“And here we are.” Vale jumped the last step with an impish grin, making his ethereal face become even more so.
At the bottom of the steps, Bride’s gaze settled on a disheveled woman tied up on the cement floor. Her hair was coarse and knotted, her yellow dress caked with mud, and her dark brown skin coated in sweat. The woman lifted her head wearily from the ground, and her brown eyes drifted between the three of them, halting on Bride before growing wide.
The mortal’s body shook as she attempted to let out a string of muffled words, despite the cloth around her mouth. Bride felt nothing at the woman’s pathetic desperation.
“Pick her up, Red,” Vale barked.
Fannie swayed her hips between Vale and Bride, knocking Bride sideways into the wooden rail. Bride’s nostrils flared at the slight throb in her back and lightning crackled at her fingertips.
With one hand, Fannie lifted the woman up by her hair, then shoved her down on a metal chair. “Hello, Catherine,” she cooed.
Fannie knew her? As Bride squinted her eyes to get a better look, the woman wasn’t a stranger—she was one of them.
“We only left you for a moment,” Fannie continued, jerking the woman’s head back. “I told you we would return.”
Bride studied the immortal’s features, when something slowly seeped in, becoming familiar... Familiar... A crack of thunder rumbled inside her head, throbbing, spreading. Images flashed before Bride so quickly that she could barely make them out. Lying on a graveled street, in a pool of her own blood, rested a mangled woman wearing a satin yellow dress. Half of her face was mutilated. But the other half? It was the same face as the woman in the chair. Bride inhaled sharply.
“Why is she tied up? Why isn’t she out on the streets?” Bride demanded. Something stirred within her, telling her she should not be there, but she ignored the nuisance. Time was being wasted because this immortal wasn’t out there gathering more souls.
“We have to send her back,” Vale finally said.
Catherine launched herself out of the chair, but Fannie yanked her by the hair and placed a knife at the woman’s throat. Fannie slowly led her back to the chair, and Catherine carefully lowered herself down. The knife stayed planted against the immortal’s flesh, and a thin line of scarlet ran down Catherine’s throat.
“Do you think they’re beginning to remember?” Fannie asked Vale.
He cocked his head and stroked his chin, seeming to consider her question.
The question nagged at Bride. Who is starting to remember? And what are they remembering? Is that what keeps knocking at the back of my mind? She kept her gaze trained on Catherine and her expression neutral as both Vale and Fannie focused on her.
Fannie’s eyes slid from Bride’s to Vale’s like a slithering snake.
“I don’t believe so.” Vale dropped his hands to his hips and shook his head. “This one wasn’t meant for the Glass Vault. Her life was built upon bringing down crime, and in the end, that need to better the world drew her back out.” There was an edge to his voice as though he was sickened by the thought. Bride was even more so.
Catherine mumbled hysterically, her muffled wails falling on deaf ears. It was as if she was trying to only tell Bride something, not the others.
“Hand the knife to Bride,” Vale instructed Fannie.
Fannie huffed, loud and frustrated. “Why do you keep favoring her, Master? Catherine is mine. She’s been mine. I should be the one to send her back to the Glass Vault.”
“Don’t you dare try to undermine me,” Vale growled. The hair on Bride’s arms and neck stood on end from the deep, enraged tone of his voice, exciting her. Bride was used to Vale’s moods with the other immortals. Fannie deserved it—they all did.
Fannie narrowed her eyes at Vale, not even a drop of fear slipped out as she spoke, “I said, she’s mine.”
“Do I need to send you back with her?” Vale appeared calm, but that single sharp note in his last word said it all.
Fannie released Catherine’s head with a forceful push. Vale then slipped behind Catherine with one hand on each shoulder.
Fannie sauntered toward Bride with the blade forward as if she wanted to plunge it into her stomach. The immortal curled her lip in disgust at the last second as she flipped the knife and passed it to Bride.
“You are forgetting what she was meant to be used for,” Fannie said, staring hard at Vale, “and you are becoming too attached to her. It’s starting to feel as if Cupid’s arrow has hit you as well.” She then stomped up the stairs, slamming the door behind her.
Bride arched a brow at the door before connecting her gaze with Vale’s, who was now watching her with a haunted look. Like an emotion was stirring within him, as though he was recognizing something.
Throat bobbing, he turned to Catherine, a new expression on his face taking root, one of pure darkness. His eyes met hers once more, signaling anticipation. “Join me?”
Bride stepped toward him, yet she was uncertain how to go about this. The woman was immortal. If Bride stabbed her, it wouldn’t kill her. She would heal. “What do you want me to do?”
Vale’s smile grew wicked, every perfect tooth on display. “This one has been a naughty, naughty little thing, trying to stop what we are attempting to achieve. Catherine here will be going back to the Glass Vault with the other souls.”
Those were not answers. “She’s immortal. Catherine can’t go into the Glass Vault, and she will only heal.”
His grin slowly fell. “Immortality can be taken away if I choose—if you choose. So will you decide this with me?”
A thrill shot through her. “Of course. And Fannie as well?”
“All in due time, my Bride.” This time, his smile became even more vicious. “We have to torture her until she is knocked unconscious, then I can send her soul back before she awakens.”
Bride clenched the knife—an emotion washed over her of how wrong it was, but the other half wanted to slice this immortal in two, then watch the blood pour out of her. Bride had only turned civilians into glass, their souls disappearing as soon as they were turned. This was different. Gleefully different.
Her hand tapped the knife silently at her thigh while her heart pounded violently at Vale’s pleased expression. She yearned for the gratitude and pleasure he would give her afterward. As easily as her next breath, with her whole darkened heart, she fully gave in to what was right.
Vale held the immortal’s head back, her throat ready to be sliced. Tears streamed down Catherine’s face as she continued to try and shout at Bride. But her words wouldn’t have mattered to Bride, only what Vale and she could do to the immortal together. Lifting the edge of the blade to Catherine’s soft flesh, digging in, Bride sliced a crisp line across her throat. Bright red crimson spilled out from the wound—a slight sickness settled in Bride’s stomach that should not have been there. But she pushed past the strange emotion and savored the rest with a grin on her face. She then plunged the blade into Catherine’s heart.
