Imprisoned

Here’s a little story in the same universe as my Moreland Pack story.  The main character here is a vampire named Quinten.  The word prompt, from the WriYe DreamWidth for this story was iron.

**

Quinten woke feeling strangely weak.  It seemed to take all his strength just to force himself upright.  The moon shone down through a window somewhere above him.  He blinked around at the dimly lit room.  Then, he realized what he was seeing: a cell.  Iron bars at the windows and the door.  Stone made up walls and floor.

He pushed himself to his feet.  He was about to speak when a voice called out to him, cutting him off.  “Vampire,” the voice said.  “What’s your name?”  He couldn’t tell if the speaker was male or female, old or young.

“Why?” Quinten asked, his own voice faint.  A figure stepped into view behind the iron bars that formed the door to his cell.  Now, he could see that his captor was a woman.  She was older, but not feeble.  Quinten could sense her magic.  He took a step back, shaking his head.  “What do you want?”

“Only to give you a chance to live,” she said.  Then she held up a piece of paper.  Quinten didn’t need to read it to know what it was.  It was a contract, the sort people used to bind his kind.  “You’ve a choice, vampire,” she said, “sign this contract or I leave you in this cell: nothing to eat, the sun shining down on you.  How long would you survive?”

Quinten shivered at the thought.  He wouldn’t immolate in the sun, but it would burn him.  Without something to eat, those burns would kill him in a matter of days.  He didn’t answer her question.  Instead, he shook his head in disbelief.

“You won’t sign?” she said, arching her brows.  Then, she nodded and turned away.  “Very well.”

“Wait,” Quinten rasped.  In a moment, he was at the door of the cell.  She turned to face him, her gaze locked on his eyes.  He swallowed thickly and nodded.  “I’ll sign it.  My name…” he trailed off, bowing his head.  “I’m Quinten O’Connor.”

His winced as she wrote his name on the contract.  A moment later, it was pushed through the bars, along with the quill.  He hesitated for only a moment before he signed the bottom below her name.  He could feel the magical bonds forged by the contract as soon as he lifted the quill off the page.  In their own way, they were stronger than the iron bars of the cell.

She opened the cell and turned away from him.  “Come along, dear one,” she said, her voice soft.  Quinten sighed softly as he trailed along behind her.

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