by Amy Cross
Thinking he's distracted, I try to punch Dexter, but he pushes me away and I land hard on the rocky floor. I feel something crack in my arm, and as I roll over I see that Dexter is grinning as he watches Patrick's continued attempts to attack.
"Everything you said to me was a lie," I say to Dexter.
"Not everything," he replies. "We really are quite similar, you know, you and I. Both of us wondering if vampires are real. It's just that I had the balls to do something about it. And I'm not letting this runt be the last of his kind. Thanks to me, there's going to be a whole new generation of vampires, with me as the starting point. Believe me, young lady, I'm working with some very powerful people." He grins. "The Watchers are watching you."
"You're killing him," I say, trying to work out what to do.
"Yes," he says. "Eventually. I suppose that bullet has done some damage." He looks down at Patrick. "I'd love to put you out of your misery and end your suffering right now, pal, but I don't want to do anything else that might jeopardize the operation. I think it's best if we keep you alive. We can conduct a live autopsy and Benjamin can extract all your venom." He looks at his watch, and then he turns to me. "But what about you?" He fixes me with a cold, hard stare. "It doesn't matter what happens to you, does it? Not if the prophecy's broken." He steps over to me, eying me up as if I'm some kind of specimen. "There'll be no autopsy for you. There's nothing interesting about you. Time to finish what got started the other day." He pulls some photos from his pocket and throws them at me. I look down at them: they're photos of me while I was getting attacked at the ATM, before Patrick saved me. Some of them are zoomed in, and I can't believe how bad I look, my face cut up and twisted, my clothes torn. I knew I was hurt bad, but looking at these photos, I can't believe I survived.
"You did this..." I say, barely able to believe it.
"I had to lure him Patrick somehow," Dexter says. "All it cost was $100 to each of those goons, they didn't even ask why I wanted them to attack you. I guess their stupidity cost them their lives, thanks to your friend. Still, he got to feast on their bodies once he'd killed them, and I got to keep an eye on you and follow you down here. Now I'm ready."
He kicks me in the face and I roll away.
Behind Dexter, Patrick gets to his knees and looks for a moment as if he might be able to get up, but he collapses again. Dexter turns, see this, laughs, and then looks back at me. "Your boyfriend's not doing too well," he says. "Too bad you never fucked him. Maybe I'd have kept you alive, to see what happens. As it is, you're just a nuisance."
What happens next is seared into my memory. From behind Dexter, I suddenly see a figure rise from the floor. At first I think it can't be, but it is... it's Patrick. He's nearly trembling with the effort, and the strength is all he has left. I look at the anger burning in his eyes, and then I look at Dexter, whose smile is now edged with caution. There's a moment, just a moment, when I see in Dexter's eyes that he knows what's coming up behind him: he knows what I see, and he's filled with fear.
And that's when Patrick strikes. With his mouth wide open and his white fangs fully on display, he summons what must be his last ounces of energy and he launches himself at Dexter. He sinks his teeth into Dexter's neck, as deep as he can, and bites as hard as possible. Then, before Dexter can really react, Patrick tears half his neck away. As Patrick crashes to the ground, Dexter stands almost emotionless and for a moment I think he's going to just laugh it off. But then he collapses and doesn't move any more as blood gushes from his neck. I turn to look at Patrick, who isn't moving either. It's as if they're both dead.
"Help him!" shouts a voice from behind me. I turn to see Vincent getting to his feet, still bleeding from a wound on his head.
We run over to Patrick. He barely seems to be aware of us, and it looks like he's reaching one hand out to something far off on the other side of the cavern. I look over, but I can't see anything.
"He's dying," says Vincent, his hands caked in blood as he tries to stop the bleeding from the huge wound on Patrick's side. "My God, he's really dying this time."
"He can't be," I say. "I thought vampires lived forever."
"Vampires are strong," says Vincent. "Very strong. They can take a lot more punishment than you humans. But there are some things..." He pulls a small metal cartridge from the wound, causing Patrick to snarl in pain. "Quiet!" Vincent orders him, and Patrick obeys. Vincent turns to me. "People like Dexter, they know how to hurt vampires. Look at this." He shows me the cartridge: it's a bullet, with small lettering engraved on the side. "This thing is from Gothos, and it has the words of a curse engraved on it. Lethal to a vampire. Right now, it's burning through his body." He throws the bullet to the ground.
"Can't we do anything?" I ask.
There's a pause, silence for a few seconds. "He needs blood," says Vincent, looking at me. "I can't give him mine."
I stare at him for a moment, and then I look down at Patrick, who seems to be losing consciousness.
"He'll die if you don't," says Vincent.
I shake my head. It's hard to believe he's asking me to do this. "I can't," I say weakly. "I don't want to... be..."
Vincent grabs my arms and shakes me. "It won't turn you into a vampire," he says firmly. "That only happens if he chooses to do it, and he won't. I promise you. It's just blood. You won't be changed, but it will save his life."
I look down at Patrick. I'm terrified by the thought of letting him bite me, but at the same time it also excites me. It's just... I don't want to become one of them, and I don't know if I can trust Vincent.
"He won't turn me into a vampire," I say. "Are you sure?"
"I promise," says Vincent. "It's a choice he can make, and if you save his life, he won't do it. He'll just take the blood he needs. It won't even be that much."
"Will it hurt?"
"Yes. But it'll save his life."
I nod. "Okay," I say. I can't believe I'm agreeing to this, but I feel as if I have no choice. I can't let Patrick die, not after he saved my life three times in as many days. "Okay," I repeat. "But you have to promise he won't turn me into one of you."
Vincent leans down and tilts Patrick's face towards us. "Did you hear that?" he asks. "Do you understand what's happening?"
To my surprise, Patrick nods weakly.
"Do you promise?" I say.
He nods again.
Slowly, I push my hair over my shoulder so that my neck is fully exposed. I look down at Patrick. His mouth opens slightly, just enough for me to see his fangs. "Okay," I say. "Let's get this over with."
"Not like that," Vincent says. "The neck is too slow. He'll die before he gets enough. He has to bite you somewhere with more pressure."
"Where?"
"The iliac artery. It runs through your lower torso and down past your groin. Here..." He uses his hand to indicate a line just to one side below his belt. "It's closest to the surface here. There's not much time. I'll give you some privacy." He gets to his feet. "Hurry," he says, before walking quickly away.
I look down at Patrick and we make eye contact. He's staring directly at me, and he's clearly dying. He has just a few minutes left to live. I try to smile, but it doesn't really work, and he just carries on staring at me.
I sit next to him and slowly, cautiously I unbutton the top of my jeans, then I unzip the fly and pull them down and all the way off. I'm not entirely sure how this is supposed to work or where this artery is, but I guess he'll find it. And as soon as I move close to him, he seems to respond. He moves his head to my hip.
"Where?" I ask him, carefully opening my legs.
He seems so weak as he raises a hand to touch the edge of the front of my underwear, just to one side of the crotch. But he doesn't seem ready to take the blood yet.
I reach down and move his hand away. Then I take the front of my panties and pull it out of the way, just a little, to expose the patch of flesh that he needs.
"It's okay," I say, trembling with fear. "Take what you need."
He leans closer and opens his mouth, exposing his fangs, and he seems more awake and alert now. He's staring at the patch of skin between my leg and my crotch. He opens his mouth further and I see the full extent of his fangs. For a moment, I see him not as a man but as an animal, and we maintain eye contact for a moment, and I try to let him see that it's okay, and just when I think he's understood, that's when he bites down and sinks his two hard white fangs straight into the flesh to the side of my groin.
The pain is sharp and intense. I can feel the fangs inside me, each one hard and agonizing. And then I feel the blood flowing out of my body, and it's more painful than I imagined it would be but at the same time I don't scream or cry out, because I don't want him to stop. Just when I think he might be finished, he seems to go deeper, as if his teeth became longer, and the pain doubles but I still don't scream. As he continues to feed, I can feel his hot breath against the inside of my thigh, and he has one side of his face pressed against the crotch of my underwear, pushing up and against me. And then, without warning, he lifts his head a little and his teeth slowly slide out of the two fang marks he's made in my flesh, with blood on the teeth and a little drop of blood beading at each wound and then dribbling down the inside of my thigh. Finally, I see the strength return to his face and he slowly stands up.
Still seeming a little unsteady on his feet, he stumbles away from me, walking over to where Dexter remains collapsed in a heap on the floor. I close my legs as Patrick kneels down and picks up Dexter, then carries him over to the stop of the steps leading down into the deeper depths of the cavern.
"No," Dexter gurgles, already on the verge of death. "Someone stop him."
I almost call out to Patrick, to tell him he can't just kill Dexter like this, but then I remember what happened last time and I realize Patrick won't listen to me again. Turning for a moment, Patrick stares at me as if to thank me, and then he slowly starts carrying Dexter down the steps, and as he goes, I hear Dexter start to scream. Eventually they disappear from sight, and I hear Dexter still screaming until, suddenly, the scream is cut off dead.
Sophie
I stand up and grab my trousers, pulling them back on. I run to the steps leading down to the tunnel. For a moment, I consider going after them. Not to stop Patrick, but to see what he does. I feel as if I have to see this side of him too; I have to know how dark and brutal he can be. But as I try to decide whether to follow, I feel Vincent's hand on my shoulder.
"It's not a place for you, down there," he says, as if he's read my mind. "Trust me. There are some things you don't want to see."
"How long have you been watching?" I ask.
"Long enough," he says. "When I heard the screams, I knew it was time. Are you okay?"
"I want to see," I say. But the truth is, if I really wanted to see, I would have followed Patrick by now. The only thing stopping me is my fear. I turn to Vincent. "If I asked him to stop... If I asked Patrick not to kill Dexter... for me... would he?"
He shakes his head. "Patrick is not a beast, Sophie. But he can act like one, when he has to."
I'm about to tell him that I need to see it for myself, when we both hear a loud snap from deep in the tunnel. I turn to look, and then I turn back to Vincent. "I was wrong to stop him before," I say. "I should have let him kill Dexter the first time."
Vincent shakes his head. "You were right to stop him then. But you would be wrong to stop him now."
I nod. "I'll wait," I say. "I want to see him when he comes back up."
"I don't think you should," says Vincent.
"I don't care if I should," I say. "I'm going to stay."
Vincent opens his mouth, to argue with me, but then he seems to accept my decision. He walks away, and all I can do is stand here, at the top of the steps leading down into the tunnel, waiting for Patrick to come back, and dreading what I might see. From the darkness below, I can hear the sound of Dexter's body being ripped apart. It sounds like a wild animal, feeding on its victim.
Patrick
Everyone's blood tastes different. I wish I didn't know this, but I do. Some people have blood that tastes ordinary and bland. It's forgettable. But some people have blood that tastes rich and full. These rare ones come along maybe once a century, but they're worth the wait.
Besides, I have no choice. Every second I delay the kill, more spiders appear on the ceiling. The prophecy is asserting itself.
Dexter Logan's blood tastes old and dull. There's nothing unique about it. I'm disappointed. I expected to be rewarded for killing him so... inventively. But his blood was barely worth tasting. It was sour and thick. It almost sickened me. Perhaps that's why I let him live. But is it really life, what I've done to him? Perhaps I'll ask him one day, if I ever come back down here to see how he's doing.
Sophie
It's getting late and cold and Patrick still hasn't returned. Vincent assures me that although he definitely will come back up soon, he might take many more hours. I'm determined to see him again, though, even if it's for the last time. I know I have to see his face, and look into his eyes, because my last ever image of him can't be so monstrous.
"There's something I still don't understand," I say to Vincent, who's sitting at his desk and slowly turning the pages of a big, old yellowing book. "Why me? Hundreds of people get attacked in this town every year. How did Dexter know that Patrick would save me?"
"There are some things you don't need to know," he says.
"Tell me."
Vincent closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them to look at me. "Prophecies are strange things. Dangerous things. As you've seen, they can be abused terribly. Patrick has a great sense of how things should be," he says. "He senses destiny. It's almost as if he can hear it in the distance, or smell it on the breeze. It's a unique gift, I've never known anyone who..." He trails off, as if he has already said too much.
"What's that got to do with me?" I ask.
He smiles. "If you could sense destiny, wouldn't you be drawn to it? Wouldn't you be curious? Wouldn't you want to get closer and take a good look at it?"
"He thinks it's his destiny to know me?"
Vincent shakes his head. "He doesn't think, he knows. I know too. It's all in the Book of Gothos."
"The book of what?"
"You'll learn eventually," he replies. "You wouldn't understand now, but one day Patrick will take you to Gothos and you'll see it all."
"I don't know about that," I say. To be honest, I'm not sure that I want to go anywhere with Patrick. There's something about him that I don't quite trust. In fact, I'm starting to think that maybe I'm in shock. How else could you explain the fact that after everything that's happened today, I haven't run away screaming? I'm not exactly a strong person.
"It's your destiny," Vincent continues, "just as it's your destiny to..." He pauses, and a sad look enters his eyes.
"Tell me," I say.
He takes a deep breath. "Patrick knows that it's his destiny... to one day kill you."
I shake my head. "That's impossible."
"It's what will happen," he says quietly. "One day, Patrick will kill you."
I shake my head.
"It's all true," Vincent continues. "There are forces, Sophie, that are far greater than anything we can see. Pulses and currents that run through our destinies, binding us together in subtle ways."
"I'm not going to sit around and wait for someone to kill me," I say, heading over to the door.
"You have no choice," he says. "Besides, when Patrick kills you, it'll be your fault. One day, you're going to do something so awful, so terrible, that he'll be filled with anger and he'll end your life."
"Then I'll keep away from him," I reply.
"There's nothing you can do to avoid your destiny," he says. "The prophecy of the last vampire is quite clear on this point."
"The last vampire?"
"Patrick's the last," says Vincent. "He's been the last for a very long time."
I think for a moment. My
mind is racing, and my heart's beating so fast it might leap out of my body at any moment. "1959..." I say quietly. "He was the last vampire in 1959?"
"As I said," Vincent says, "he's been the last vampire for many years."
We both turn out heads to look at the door as we hear footsteps getting closer. Patrick is finally returning.
"You can't tell him that you know any of this," says Vincent hurriedly.
"I'm getting out of here," I say, hurrying from the room. Even though I don't believe in destiny and all that stuff, I feel as if I need to get as far away from Patrick and Vincent as possible. As I make my way out of the house, however, I come face to face with Patrick once again. He’s a horrific sight. There’s blood all around his mouth, and smeared on his face and on his hands. His clothes are torn. He seems to be out of breath and totally shocked, and there’s a look in his eyes that tells me there’s nothing I can say or do right now. He stares at me, and I stare back at him, and finally I realize it's all true. He really is a vampire, and he really could kill me one day.
"I'm sorry," I mutter, "I have to go."
He reaches out to stop me.
"Don't touch me!" I shout, before turning and hurrying across the chamber. I run along the tunnel that leads back up to the forest. When I reach the clearing, I pause for a moment, feeling as if Patrick is standing right behind me. When I turn to look, however, there's no sign of him.
Book 2
Sentinel
Prologue
Dedston, September 30th 1959
I go down to the beach to wash the blood from my hands, my face and my clothes. Although it comes from two very different bodies, all the blood is the same: hot, red and sticky.
Wading into the ocean, I walk out until I'm completely submerged. The current is strong and I struggle to stay on my feet. Eventually I return to the shore.
I look up the hill toward the lighthouse. For a moment, I consider going back. But there's nothing for me to do there. And I'm so tired, I feel I could sleep for years. Plus, Vincent will be waiting for me, to learn what I've done. I'll have to tell him everything.
