Loved

by Morgan Rice

Chapter Twenty-Six

 

  As their yacht pulled up into the dock in Edgartown, Kyle could wait no longer. He leapt from the deck, flying twenty feet, and landed nimbly on the pier, leaving the Russian to tie up the boat.

  On dry land, he felt better already.

  The Russian was quick to follow, killing the engine, anchoring the yacht, and hurrying to catch up.

  "Hey, you can't dock your boat there!" yelled a middle-aged, potbellied man with bright red cheeks, storming up to them. "That dock is private! It's reserved for - "

  Before the man could finish, Kyle grabbed him with one hand by the throat, and squeezed with such force, that he lifted the heavy man off the ground by several feet, dangling him in the air.

  The man's eyes bulged from his head, as his face turned bright red. Kyle grimaced, and then in one motion, threw him off the side of the dock.

  The man landed with a splash, far off in the water.

  Kyle hope he killed him. He should have squeezed longer.

  "Where is she?" Kyle demanded through gritted teeth.

  The Russian looked nervously about, trying to get his bearings. He raised his nose and checked the air in every direction.

  "If you have lost her, I will kill you," Kyle said slowly.

  The Russian looked again, and stopped in the direction of Main Street.

  "She went this way," he said.

  He marched in that direction, Kyle following on his heels.

  *

  Kyle and Sergei walked up the stairs of the Edgartown whaling church, and without slowing, Kyle kicked in the double doors.

  They broke it open with a loud crack, and Kyle marched right through the parlor and into the center of the church, Sergei close behind. They stopped in the middle of the empty room, and looked about.

  No one was there.

  Kyle reached over and grabbed the Russian by the shoulders.

  "I'm tired of this!" he yelled. "WHERE IS SHE!!?"

  "Nowhere that you'll ever find," came a cool, collected voice from the back of the church.

  Kyle and Sergei both spun around.

  There stood Roger, in the entrance, staring back calmly.

  Kyle sensed the shift in energy, and knew he was facing one of his own. Finally. No more humans to bother with. They were getting closer.

  Kyle walk slowly, Sergei by his side.

  "On the contrary," Kyle said, slowly, "you are going to tell me exactly where she is, who she is with, and where she is going," he said, bearing down on Roger.

  Roger took a few steps towards them, then suddenly reached back and hoisted something at them.

  Kyle saw it coming, but Sergei was not so quick.

  Hurling right at them was a long, tapered, vampire spear. Kyle dodged in time, but Sergei did not. The silver-tipped spear grazed his cheek, cutting through skin, tearing open his cheek before continuing on. It was not a direct hit, but enough to draw a lot of blood.

  Sergei screamed out in pain, raising his hands to his face, now covered in blood.

  Kyle didn't hesitate. He took three steps forward, leapt in the air, and planted a hard kick with both feet right on Roger's chest, sending him flying across the room and crashing into the wall.

  Before Roger could get up, Kyle was already on top of him, choking him.

  Kyle felt Roger's energy, and he could feel that Roger was one of the old ones. A vampire so old that his strength had greatly diminished. Kyle outmatched him, and knew he could kill him easily. He was going to enjoy torturing him. Slowly.

  Kyle saw a sudden movement of Roger's hand, a flash of something yellow, and before he could react, he realized.

  Roger had just snuck a suicide pill into his own mouth.

  It was too late.

  Kyle felt the body go limp in his arms.

  In the greatest rage of his life, Kyle threw back his head and screeched, a primal roar that made every windowpane in the church shatter.