Chapter 29 – The Half-Baked Handmaiden, the Witch Who Didn’t Die
Stop!
The jagged iron shard halted just before it could touch the black-robed woman’s throat.
Not because of Leticia’s will.
But because a hand had shot out behind her, seizing her wrist in a crushing grip.
“!”
Her heart lurched. The one who stopped her wasn’t Stano, nor herself—but the black-robed woman.
The “figure” lying on the bed was nothing but a roll of bedding. The real woman had been behind her all along.
What—?!
“Little one, you’ve got guts.”
Her voice slithered coldly, eyes glinting like ice. “Even at a time like this, you try your little tricks?”
Leticia wanted to scream that it wasn’t her idea—that she literally couldn’t stop herself. But her mouth was sewn shut by unseen threads, mute.
“Truly, I’m heartbroken, child.”
Shadows masked her face. Her rasping tone was like the wind through the desolate Wastelands Between, the place priests swore sinners were sent. “Have I treated you so poorly that you’d repay me with this?”
If anything, you’ve been… better than most freaks, Leticia thought bitterly. At least you didn’t turn me into something unspeakable. You only beat me half to death, fed me mystery stew with medicine in it, and strung me up like a chicken.
God, I’m getting used to this. Getting used to being beaten is NOT a good sign!
Sweat soaked her back. She was no predator now, only prey trembling before its master.
“You know why I haven’t killed you yet?”
The woman pried the iron shard from her hand, wrapped an arm around her waist, and with her other hand plucked a strand of Leticia’s black hair.
“It’s because you carry a scent.”
Her ruined voice curled with something disturbingly like seduction. “A scent I know well…”
Scent? What am I, a roast chicken?
“The stench of rot. Darkness. Like refusing to fester in a slum’s corner…”
Her masked face pressed to Leticia’s nape. She inhaled deeply. “Faint, but there. Repulsive… nauseating… intoxicating.”
Lady, your adjectives are killing me.
Before Leticia could roll her eyes, sharp teeth sank through cloth and flesh.
Not the neat puncture of a vampire. The woman tore at her throat.
Pain froze her body. Another second and her neck would snap.
What kind of teeth ARE those?!
Survival instinct screamed louder than Stano ever could.
“STANO BANSON, I SWEAR I’LL—!”
Crack!
Something burst—not just in her arm as her shoulder dislocated, but deep in her soul.
Agony seared her body, tears springing—but she was free. She could move.
“Get off me!”
With inhuman desperation, Leticia forced the woman’s jaws apart, mangling her own hand in the process. Then she spun, and kicked her with all her might.
Bang!
The black-robed woman crashed into a cabinet.
Yet she rose unharmed, calmly straightening her veil. She licked Leticia’s blood from her fingers, eyes half-closed.
“The taste is in your body too…”
Her tone was almost wistful, as if savoring an old memory steeped in gore.
Leticia clutched her torn neck, vision swimming, but still snatched up the rusted shard and leveled it at her.
“You call this not killing me?!” she shouted hoarsely. “If I hadn’t fought back, I’d be dead already!”
“Unromantic child.”
The woman shook her head slowly. “It was through the veil. I avoided the vital arteries. A bit bloody, yes. But hardly fatal.”
Hardly fatal, my ass!
The darkness closed in, her strength draining with every drop of blood. She fought to stay conscious.
“Who the hell are you?!”
The bed creaked. Leticia turned—The woman was there again, sitting where the bedding had been, speaking softly:
“You want to know why I haven’t killed you? Because you’re a half-baked handmaiden… and I am a witch who didn’t die.”
Her veiled lips curled, and hunger burned in her eyes.
“Your scent… is exquisite.”