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CHAPTER 2
My eyes open to a dim and misty, dark blue light. All around me is nothingness aside from the leather straps that bind my body to an uncomfortable metal table. My mouth is so dry I can barely speak without my voice cracking.
"H-hello?" Thirst consumes my every thought as I struggle against my restraints, though I take notice of the arument bandages that line my arms and hands. The vampires must have dressed my wounds, and probably against their will. But the pain is gone, at least. Remnants of the vampire's salve glisten where my skin meets the cloth. It seeps into wounds and reduces pain all over the body, making it seem as if I never fell off an eight-story wall.
"Ready for Distribution, aberrant?" a croaky, male voice echoes from behind.
I swivel my head and eye the black room behind me, trying to blink away the darkness like I would the vampire race, if I could.
A senile vampire with long and scraggy silver hair hobbles into my sight. His long black cloak, zipped up and with three white plus-signs stamped across the curves of its chest piece tell me that he's part of the medical class. I am in some sort of infirmary, though it's not one I have ever seen before.
"Not particularly." My strained voice construes my words. "You look about ready for a grave, though."
I cough, still terrorized by thirst. Saliva really is a blessing that I never thought I would actually acknowledge.
"Hmph," he chuckles, walking slowly over to what I assume is a supply station. "You really have quite the mouth."
I take that as a compliment.
When he comes back into sight, he is carrying a blood pack. Except, instead of blood, it is filled with water. My eyes burn with sudden and incomprehensible need as it sloshes and maneuvers in his hands. The vampire suspends a connected, bronze spout over my mouth and I lift my head up, lips quivering, agonizing over every second that passes without the sensation of quenched thirst. As he readies to release it, his hand draws back, and he laughs.
"Not very nice, am I?" he asks, and all I want to do is strangle him. "You are thinking that you need water, so why wouldn't the one in charge of keeping you alive give it to you... Yes?" His voice becomes frothy, full of amusement.
Seething, I reply, "You are mistaken. I know why you won't give it to me. Because you're a vampire. Heartless and cold and unable to empathize with another's suffering."
"Oh?" He laughs at me as I cough again.
"Unable to empathize, hm? Now that sounds familiar. If you think hard enough about it, humans are not so different from vampires," he states while analyzing the encased liquid in his hands. "This water that you humans need to survive… is it not something that you would kill over? Is it not something that you would drop your morals for if so little were freely given to you?"
He pauses for a millisecond granting me exactly zero seconds to answer.
"I thought so. Humans, like every other living thing, are selfish, but that is a requirement to survive. Likewise, in order for us vampires to live, we need human blood. Though here you are, telling me that we are heartless simply because we want to survive. Please, do explain."
"It's how you handle our lives that's heartless," I hiss. "You cage us and treat us like cattle so that you can use us for whatever you want. I may have it better because I belong to an elite, but once he's done with me, he'll send me off to the breeders so that I can spend the rest of my life making more miserable humans that I'll never name or know. I could never do that to anyone, human or vampire."
His large, clawed hand flies out and grabs me by the hair. I yelp, the pores of my scalp blistering from his yank as he brings his face close to mine. Smiling, he growls. "You must have come from the outside, which explains your pitiful ideologies."
His nostrils flare when I continue to eye him. "Tell me, do you truly think that if you lived a free life you would give your blood to a vampire in need? Even if it left you bed-ridden for hours, could you find yourself selfless enough to do so?"
I scowl at him and whisper, "In all honesty, I have never been granted enough freedom to indulge such a thought."
He frowns. "Well, let me assure you that you would not. To do so is simply not in your nature. Humans are prey. They only run, fight, or submit to the inevitable. And if they are unable do any of those, then they die at the hands of their predators."
I blink away his intimidation attempt. "I don't submit. I only run and fight."
He releases my hair to lift the water over my face once more.
"Your generation of humans are lucky... for your existence upon this earth is spared only because of the impending extinction of your race. You should be grateful that your masters have become less predatory and more parasitic over the last century."
With these last few words he releases the dam of the spout, letting water spill over my face. Although I'm ashamed, I open my mouth and struggle to funnel the refreshing droplets onto my tongue. They coat my very soul, breathing life into my spent body.
After about half the bag is emptied, an alarm sounds, and the vampire turns toward the faint silhouette of a door.
I only stare at the ceiling when he leaves, his words refusing to dissipate from the forefront of my mind. The blood and the water. In that moment he made them interchangeable. A need versus a need. My brows dip as I continue to stare in a daze at the blue light above me. I don't buy it, though. If vampires were not so vile and threatening, if they would leave me the hell alone after the fact—I believe I would willingly give up my blood so they could live. I think.
That being said, because of everything they've done to me thus far, because of everything they've taken away, right now I can't even imagine being nice to one.
The vampire returns, refusing me more water.
"Three hours until the Distribution, aberrant. First, you will go to the Preparation with the rest of your gender and class. Though it will be all to waste, your dormitory mothers are here to escort you."
Excitement pulses through me. I will soon be in the same room as my entire class from Nightingale. That means I will reunite with Jessica, the one person on this earth that I love more than food. She's my best friend, and the only one that I told about my escape plan, even going so far as to beg her to come with me. But Jessica was born into these walls, scouted and purchased based on potential traits and blood type when she was five years old—like most other humans in Volterra.
She couldn't understand why I wanted to leave, or why I didn't want to be the best supply unit I could be for my owner. I always knew Jessica and I were different in this way—mainly due to Volterra essentially brainwashing all of their human investments—but it never bothered me because it never affected our relationship. It was when I realized that the best I could ever wish for Jessica was that she wouldn't be sent to Saya's Breeding Houses until the late age of forty, that I truly lost all faith in happiness while living in the Stratocracy of Volterra. The only thing that awaits a human slave is forced reproduction, and there will never be a day where I'm okay with that.
The doctor removes my bindings from the table.
"Sit up."
I do, and he grabs the back of my neck, forcing me to stand on the marble ground. His claws dig into my skin with each hesitation as I readjust to the art of walking. He motions me by his grip to move forward. Although I can't see anything, I've learned to trust the direction in which vampires lead me. Most don't have the sense of humor to walk me straight into a wall.
We emerge from the darkness to a room with a curved, glass station. Dim lantern ropes trace the circular room, highlighting two women on either side of the edifice. Younger than most, and beautiful, the dorm mothers are female vampires that take responsibility for the supply dormitories, keeping all situations and issues that arise within them under control. They also prepare their assigned units for the Distribution Ceremony.
The doctor pushes me forward and I take cuff-restricted steps toward the mothers, all while cursing him under my breath. I'm sure he heard me, but what can he do about it when I belong to one of the five highest-ranking officials in all of Volterra?
The scrutinizing, black-lipped beauties examine me before motioning me toward them. One leads the way, while the other floats behind. As we turn left out into the hallway, we walk in sync with several other lines of supply units, all led by their own dorm mothers. By the vaulted ceilings, intricate designs, and deviated murals upon the bronze-stone walls, I conclude that we are still in the Selection Hall. It's a southern, temple-like structure that is used only once every year for the Distribution at Nightingale.
While distracted by the designs and architecture, I manage to run myself into another supply unit. A black-haired male whose brown eyes skirt over me with surprise. My lips barely utter a quick and somewhat flustered, "Excuse me," before I trot out of the way. My heart thrums violently.
Whoa.
I've never been that close to a male supply unit. In fact, I haven't even seen a human man since my childhood in France.
It's forbidden for the genders to mix at Nightingale, for obvious reasons, so they keep and teach us in completely separate sectors. No narcissistic, moneybag vampire wants his goods pregnant before her reproduction stage. It affects the mental health—and thus, the blood quality—of a woman when she is forced to give up her baby at birth. Loveless reproduction is something they save for later when your blood is no longer desired.
After I recover from the run-in, multiple stares and whispers capture my attention. My presence seems to be making quite the scene. Everyone else is wearing the indicative colors of their owners. All the female humans are flawless dolls in make-up, flaunting beautiful, loose and long dresses strapped with thick silver belts just under their ribs. The men's wear is similar, although theirs are more relatable to a nicer version of our standard tunics. I, by much contrast, am in an infirmary robe, and smelling about as wonderful as a dead fish. Needless to say, I'm the only one sweaty, hand-cuffed, and wrapped head to toe in arument bandages.
Awesome. More rumors to look forward to. Not that it matters anymore, since I'll probably be dead in about three hours. Well, I guess the ruthless Lord Cullen has never actually sentenced a human to the fallen chambers before… but still.
We all funnel into a room. Girls on the left, boys on the right, with a raised pedestal in the center, holding upon it the biggest waste of space I ever did see—professor Rosalie Hale. She scowls at me as I walk in, and I happily return the gesture before scanning the crowd for Jessica.
She's ahead of me, talking to another supply unit and completely oblivious. I smile as I weave through the other girls and their dorm mothers, pissing my own pair off in the process. Jessica is more stunning than usual in her mauve lipstick and purple silk dress with her number printed clear as day up on it: J89165. Unlike me, Jessica was born into this world with only a number for a name. And while most humans name themselves eventually, Jessica went nameless until I insisted I give her one, myself. I finally came up with "Jessica"—the name of my favorite doll back in my home country, but I never told her that.
Jessica's petite figure, face, and dark hair has always been a distraction from her stunning personality. It has never been a wonder why she was one of the more sought after girls in our class. She always smiled, and I never could figure out how she ended up that way… being born into this hell and still being so optimistic and likable, I mean. It's her case that led me to believe that never knowing or experiencing any better is the key to true happiness.
I'm nearly nose to nose with her before she realizes that it's me.
"Bella!" she gasps, throwing her arms around me, and my day is suddenly so much brighter.
Jessica belongs to James Witherdale, another of the elitist military leaders that rule the Stratocracy. In fact, all of the supply units admitted to Nightingale have to be represented by one of the five honorable rulers to be accepted.
"What happened?" she whispers, turning away from her friend, Angela, who pretty much snarls at me. She's a real gem. Like the rest of her class, save Jessica, she's made up her mind about me and there's no changing it.
"I was so close, Jess," I say, fighting back tears of lost pride. "They caught me at the last second."
Jessica leans in. "What's going to happen? Did they…" She trails off, looking around. Most supply units are expert eavesdroppers by this point. She switches to French—our secret language that I taught her over the years in our spare time together. "...tell Lord Cullen? Are you going to be able to leave before the Distribution?"
I respond in French, the nostalgia of the language warming me a little. "He was informed but they didn't punish me. Since Distribution is soon, he's going to make the decision then."
"He could decide to keep you, still." Jessica's eyes light up a little.
"Yeah, right. My happiness is at an all-time low, so even my blood quality test is going to be a nightmare. No way."
Jessica makes a funny face and it's so random that I chuckle.
"Maybe that will help the blood test," she says, smiling sadly because we both know it won't. She parts her lips again."It is insane that Lord Cullen did nothing about it, again. I've overheard the professors talking about it before. Your particular number really puts them on edge."
"I know. I don't understand it, either—except that I have unique features, I guess?"I suggest, drawing on what Caius said back in the dungeon.
"He has been known for collecting humans based on their traits," she confirms. Then she analyzes her body and picks at her fingernails. "I could be in the same boat… I hope Lord Witherdale likes everything about me..."
I fight not to gag as my ears bleed. I know pleasing her owner has always been Jessica's sole desire, but it boils my blood. However, I'm a good friend, so I don't let it show.
"C'est ridicule. What's not to like? Quit it."I say, offering what little reassurance I can. "He'll be enchanted, no questions asked."
Jessica smiles.
Witherdale, also known as the "ladies lieutenant," is not as feared by the professors as Cullen simply because he's easy to deal with while handling blood supply issues, going so far as to donate them to the front lines or send them to Saya's Breeding houses on the first offense. I guess that's to be expected when you own a third of the school's girls, and a few boys—it's easy to find any one of them expendable. Cullen, on the other hand, owns the least of all the supply units in the school. From what I understand, he usually accepts Nightingale's will to punish out-of-line supply units, but then also enacts his own form of retribution upon the staff for interrupting his affairs. I suppose he's quite the busy bee, and it brings me pleasure knowing that I have the ability to annoy him.
"Attention, brats. This way."
Everyone simultaneously focuses on the garbage standing tall on the pedestal, Hale.
"The Distribution will commence shortly. The dorm mothers have done a good job with your makeovers and your wardrobe. May our honorable council see the worth in all of you." Hale then peers down at me and says, deadpan, "Except you. There's nothing of worth in you."
Everyone gasps, and their eyes fly to me, watching me like I'm a rat feasting on the very last cracker in the box.
What do I even say to that?
"I'd rather die, anyway," I manage a recovery, quickly bandaging the wounds that those words so expertly reopened—the roots of a deep and ongoing pain that delve a little deeper into my heart. Jessica squeezes the hand at my side, lightly.
"Don't ever say that again,"she says to me in French.
I don't respond. I'll probably never get the chance to say it again, anyway.
The witch continues, moving on. "From here, each of you will file into color-coded categories based on your sponsors. There are only five choices, given the five honorable rulers, and if you don't know the color of your sponsor by now then you should already be on your way to the fallen pit."
Low chatter erupts, and a heavy anxiety settles on the room at the mention of the fallen.
"Once you come before your sponsor, the aide will draw blood from your arm and present it to him or her." She glances to the boys who mostly don gold tunics.
Should your sponsor find it, and everything else, satisfying, you will have passed the Distribution. Should they not find you, or your blood satisfying…" As Hale says this, she looks at me and me, alone. "...then you will be fed to Nightingale's fallen reservoir."
In this moment I carry all of the weight of what tonight will bring. A daunting realization so strong that my knees struggle to keep from buckling here and now. What's the point in even moving from this spot? In hours I will reunite with Lord Edward Cullen, and he will either sentence me to death or to a life worse than death. Everything. Every little hope I ever found anywhere, was all for nothing.
"I will miss you, Bella," Jessica says, because she knows that whether by death or distance we most likely will never see each other again.
"Me too."
I'm really excited for where this is going.
