Blane Bloodworth's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

The chain bit into Blane's ankle. He lay on the cold stone floor of the bunny-shaped den, and the thorns had sealed the door behind him. Corvin Blackhare stood over him, calm, flexing one clawed paw. This was the hunter who killed his maker. Now Blane was the catch. Corvin walked to a shelf and poured himself a drink. The glass filled blood-red, with a thorn sprig on the rim. He sipped it like a man with all night to spare. "They all fight the chain," he said. "The chain always wins." Blane yanked his leg. The links held. He twisted, pressed both hands to the floor, and pulled until his ankle burned. Nothing. Corvin chuckled and turned back to the shelf. That was the moment. Blane stopped pulling against the chain. He reached down and bit the chain instead. His fangs, longer and sharper than any true vampire's, closed on a single link. He ground down. Metal shrieked. The link bent, then split. Corvin spun around. "What—" Blane's foot came free. He rolled up fast. A small winged creature, fat and dark, darted from a rafter and flapped between them, startled by the noise. Corvin swatted at it. That half-second was all Blane needed. He drove forward and slammed the hunter into the stone wall. But Corvin was no soft thing. He kicked Blane off and snatched a blade from his belt. They circled. The green glow lit both their faces. Blane bared his teeth, the teeth that had chewed through steel. "You're the first," Corvin said. He almost smiled. "The first to break my chain." Blane feinted left. Corvin slashed. The blade caught Blane's shoulder and opened a cold line. Blane did not stop. He grabbed Corvin's coat, pulled him close, and sank his fangs toward the throat— Corvin jerked his head aside. The fangs caught his ear instead and tore it. He howled and shoved Blane into the shelf. Glass shattered. The red drink spilled and ran dark across the floor. For one breath they stared at each other, both bleeding. Then Corvin lunged for the door, slapped a hidden stone, and the thorns peeled open. He bolted into the briars, one ear ragged, coat flapping, and vanished down the dark path. Blane stood alone in the wrecked den. He had not finished it. The throat he wanted still ran loose in the night. But he was not chained anymore. He pressed a hand to his torn shoulder and looked at the open door. He thought of Starr Gaze, the witch who had pointed him here and warned him none came back. He had come back. And now he knew something new. His teeth could cut steel. Corvin could bleed. Next time there would be no chain to break, and no ear to settle for. Blane stepped over the broken glass and followed the hunter's trail into the thorns.