Abraham was suddenly dismissing us and I was so caught off guard that most of the girls had already descended from the stage by the time I followed. A staircase wound down behind the wooden platform, disappearing into the depths of the amphitheater. I was grateful to be away from the cameras, hurrying down the steps into the bright room below.
Cheers followed us that made my neck prickle and music started up again, blaring through the stadium.
We followed the white corridor, arrows guiding us toward the outskirts of the stadium. The noise faded into the distance, but the occasional cheer went up, as if the crowd were watching a football match. I didn't want to imagine what they were actually cheering about.
We eventually reached a wide set of doors that led outside and I hurried through the group, desperate for an ounce of freedom. I made it outside, the frozen air assaulting my lungs and clearing my head. We gathered on the concrete path that was separated from the island by a high fence, topped with razor wire.
Mercy Helsing appeared from a door behind us leading to an elevator. She was dripping in jewels that glinted in the moonlight and a coral dress clung to her curves. As she approached, she flicked a blonde strand over her shoulder, tiptoeing forward on skyscraper heels.
She was definitely smirking at me so I quickly straightened, not wanting to appear weak. Some of the girls around me looked pale and dazed, but others seemed confident, like this wasn't an unusual occurrence for them. Twyla-Rae and Thames included. That struck me as odd. But I didn't have time to debate it as Mercy unfolded her goosebump-lined arms and addressed the crowd. There were thirty five of us altogether, a third more than I'd been with on Raskdød.
“I've been given the joyous task of taking you all to the resort. Please don't bother to ask me questions, I'm not going to answer them, and I'm more likely to feed you to a V if you piss me off.” She turned on her heel, the girls scowling at her bare back. “Follow me.” Mercy raised a manicured finger in the air and beckoned us on.
I gazed around the crowd, looking for a friendly face as we started following her, veering around the amphitheater toward a group of dark shapes. The moon was hidden behind clouds, the only light the floodlights attached to the wall.
I spotted the Indian girl, Eesha, and my heart lifted with hope. It sunk immediately as I found her close to two other girls she evidently knew, keeping in a tight-knit group. As I gazed around, it became obvious many of the girls had similar allies. And it hit me, that of course, like I had arrived on Raskdød with Kite and Cass, some of these girls were also amongst people they knew from prison.
A longing for Cass at my side reared up in me so quickly that I barely had time to suppress the tears that filled my eyes. No one had my back here. The one girl, Amanda, I'd tried to build bridges with was already dead. Which put me in a seriously vulnerable position.
Perhaps I could team up with some of them. And, I bitterly thought, after a round or two, maybe some of the girls wouldn't have allies any more. Not much to hold out for, especially considering I myself had to survive those rounds, too.
I clasped my arms, shivering as I followed Mercy along the path, her hair bouncing as she strode as fast as she could without breaking into a run. As we approached the dark shapes along the track, the whinny of horses caught my ear.
Black as night, iron carriages were lined up in a row, hugging the wall of the amphitheater, each of them drawn by two ebony horses with a black feather attached to their heads. They pawed the ground impatiently, their hooves scraping across the concrete. Some of them snorted their frustration and puffs of vapour filled the freezing air.
Mercy directed us into the carriages, splitting the girls into groups of eight. The bars on the windows drained my courage as I led the way into one, gathering the heavy skirt of my dress into my hands. Drones buzzed overhead as our entourage was filmed, probably fed back to the arena for the spectators to see.
I took a seat, locking my ankles together beneath my dress, biting my lip as more of the girls filled the space.
Thames sat next to me, now wearing a plain cream dress evidently having succeeded in getting a replacement for the lime-green one. Her eyes danced left and right across the other contestants who joined us. She leant into me, muttering, “Did you see all that blood?” She cracked her knuckles. “Kinda makes me hungry. Ketchup, right?”
My gut writhed uncomfortably, but I faked a smile, knowing I needed to make friends as soon as possible. Even if they were insane.
She cackled a laugh, slapping a hand down on my arm, gazing around at the other girls with a thrilled expression. “Don't you get it?” She raised her brows, looking for a reaction but received nothing but glowers from the other six girls. Five of which seemed to know each other, muttering quietly in a language I didn't recognise. The final girl was gazing between the bars on the windows, seeming lost in her thoughts. Her eyes were thick with eyeliner and her face ghostly pale, her lips painted in a deep, purple lipstick the same colour as her dress. Her ebony hair flowed over her shoulders, dip-dyed in electric green.
“Just looking to lighten the mood.” Thames nudged me. “You'd think Transylvania over there could use a laugh.”
The goth-looking girl turned to her, her movements controlled, her eyes catching the light like two shiny pennies. “I am Ukrainian,” she answered in a thick accent. She tsked at Thames's appearance who was absentmindedly pulling on the tunnel in her ear.
“Same difference, Transy.” Thames said with a shrug.
The tension in the carriage grew unbearable as me and the other five girls stared between them. I was relieved when a shout went up from outside and our carriage pulled forward, the wheels rolling smoothly across the concrete.
“My name is Yelysalveta Vyhovsky,” the Ukranian girl said, tilting her head to the side, a dangerous look in her eye.
Thames licked her teeth, leaning forward. “Yah – think I'm gonna stick with Transylvania.”
My heart lurched upward. I didn't know if it would serve me better to stay out of their argument or take sides.
“My father is part of Odessa Mafia in Ukraine, and he would tell me to bring your head home to him. But your head is empty except for silly English thoughts.” Yelysalveta smiled to herself. “Not worth paying for extra bag on flight home.” She laughed a slow chuckle.
Thames threw her head back, laughing manically and I had the overwhelming feeling I was being carried off to an asylum. “I like you Transy.”
Yelysalveta turned her attention to me, her eyes sweeping up and down my outfit. “You look like corpse bride.”
I gazed down at my white gown with a frown, then shrugged. “Better that than an actual corpse.”
Yelysalveta laughed again. “You may call me Veta.” She turned to Thames. “You may not.”
“Great, I'm Selena,” I said, trying to ignore the creepy 'Im going to murder you' smile on Thames's face.
“Selena's mine.” Thames sank her nails into my arm and my heart tipped over.
I unhooked her nails from my skin. “I'm not anyone's.” I needed allies, but I wasn't going to submit to Thames like she owned me.
“You won a game before, right?” Thames turned full-bodily toward me so I couldn't escape her wild eyes.
I thrust up my chin, wanting to look like I was proud of that fact. “Yes.”
“Me too.” Thames bared her teeth and I realised it was another version of her scary smile.
Her words hit me like a gunshot and all my faked confidence dissolved. “Wait – what?”
Thames curled a dreadlock around her finger, nodding. “This is my third game. The Hunters have been passing me around from island to island for weeks.”
I suddenly had a thousand questions to ask her, but the carriage jolted to a halt and I was forced to look at our surroundings. Luxury shone down at me from every corner of the world. We had entered a beautiful resort; the carriages lined up before a modern, white-walled hotel that stretched into the sky. It sat not too far from a cl
iff, the moonlit sea shining beyond it in the distance. Sign posts marked the way to a nearby beach, pick up points for something call the 'V Experience', and even a hot springs spa.
My mind wheeled in circles as our iron cage opened and we were released into the resort. I had to remind myself that this was all born from the Helsings' design. I couldn't lose sight of the truth, even if I'd wanted to. But for the first time since I'd arrived on Raskdød, I was starting to see the appeal of the games to outsiders. So long as they remained detached from us, they could lap up the luxury and place bets on a thrilling survival game.
The Helsings' castle, the resort, the money, the thrills, the women; all of it was a great, shiny mirror deflecting the light away from the dark truth at the heart of these games.
So perhaps all I needed to do was crack the glass...
Jameson
Waking up in a cage hardly bigger than my wolf body was a barrel of laughs. Not.
What was even more delightful was having a tank of hot, human blood poured over me from a silver walkway above my head. Yeah. That was really great.
But just when I thought the fun was over, an iron shutter pulled up before me and someone rammed an electric prod into my rear end. I yelped, charging forward, my paws hitting sand a moment later.
Lights blinded me.
I skidded to a halt, finding myself in a vast amphitheater, spotlights pouring down on me from above. A ten foot wall ringed the circular space, offering me no way out.
A door opened before me and I bolted toward it, unable to fully comprehend what was happening, but knowing I wanted the heck out of there at all costs. The noise from the crowd was cacophonous but my senses were dulled, my ears ringing. I was groggy from whatever drug they'd injected me with to transport me here.
My heart free-fell in my chest at the sight before me; a haggard V sped from the doorway, bony, its clothes in tatters, its mouth open and drooling fangs bared. I hit the brakes, tumbling clumsily in the sand. The Vampire lunged at me, filthy claws reaching, scraping the air.
I rolled hastily and a veil of sand flew out from my fur.
It was fast, but I was faster.
Up on my paws in seconds, I fled. The scent of human blood was overpowering on my coat, so it must have been tenfold to the V chasing me.
The crowd roared excitedly and I had no idea who they were rooting for. But whether they wanted me to be their victor or not, I was damn well going to be. Because this was not how Jameson Fairfax went out.
Nope. Not here. Not today. Not at the dirty hands of this stinking V.
Teeth sank into my shoulder and I immediately had my doubts. I snarled my pain, crunching my jaw around his shoulder. The Vampire didn't stop, despite the pain it must have been in, desperate to taste the blood on my body.
I shook it off by violently swinging to the side. It launched through the air from the force I used, crashing into the ground, rolling and rolling, spewing up sand.
The V dug its heels in, forcing itself upright and charging back at me. I ran too, flat out towards it, playing chicken. But I wasn't going to bail and neither was he. Squatting low, I sprang into the air at the last second, sailing over its head, its reaching claws grazing the fur on my stomach.
Hitting the ground with a thud, I spun around and sank my teeth into his leg.
The V crashed to the floor and I started dragging it backwards, not giving it a chance to get up. My paws left huge prints in the sand, each wiped away by the bleeding, snarling V as I dragged it over them.
Releasing my hold on its leg, I quickly pounced forward, pressing my weight onto its spine. Without thinking, I dropped down and tore at the V's neck. Blood seeped over my tongue; cold and sickly, making me want to retch up everything I'd eaten in the last week - not that that would amount to very much. I continued regardless, chomping and tugging until the V stopped fighting.
Tilting my head back, I howled my victory, my rage, my repulsion. And the crowd roared.
My heart galloped in my chest, speeding faster at the sight of two more Vs sprinting toward me from the shadows of the doorway.
My hackles rose and I lowered my head as I growled, standing over my previous kill to warn them what I was capable of.
Did it make a difference? Nope. Did it make me feel like a badass? Hella-yes.
With a howl that split the air apart, I charged down my new assailants. The female tangled her fingers into my fur, making horrible, grunting sounds of desperation. The male didn't get any closer as I launched forward, bringing him to the ground in one fell swoop. His overly long nails tore at my legs and I whined as I stooped down to end him. As I widened my jaw and crushed his skull between it with a sickening crunch, the female sank her fangs into my butt.
I yelped like a puppy, flinging myself around and tail-whipping the bitch off of me.
That's it, I thought. No one bites my arse unless I say so.
As I tore her down, a moment of regret passed through me. She was weak, confused and had no idea that I wasn't a source of food for her. But my life was worth more than a moment of pity. I would have died long ago if I hadn't learned that lesson yet.
Padding through the carnage, I turned to the crowd once more, finding the Helsings amongst them, raised up on what could only be described as a set of god damn thrones. I fixed my gaze on them, calm, waiting to be dismissed. Hoping I'd passed their sick test, despite myself.
Ignus stepped up to the podium, wearing a high-collared coat over a disgustingly expensive suit. “Let's see how the wolf fares against a stronger V.”
The crowd clapped and hooted. Some of them were definitely drunk, pumping their fists in the air, completely off their heads. What kind of people got their kicks out of death? I mean, I wasn't an idiot, I knew this kind of shit existed throughout history. People liked blood. Some craved it as much as Vs did, I suspected. A deep-rooted desire, hidden away beneath years of social decorum and 'civilisation'. But it remained in a few, stewing in a pot that occasionally overflowed and bred a period in history that would eventually be looked back on and branded as evil. But until then, here I was, bang at the heart of their blood games. And would the spectators take responsibility for it? Hell no. They'd slink back home to their real lives, safe in the knowledge that no one they cared about knew what a sad, sadistic bastard they really were.
But I liked a challenge. And if I ever got an opportunity to turn the tables, to expose these over-compensating-for-something creeps, I absolutely would take it.
A shadow shifted in the doorway and I turned, panting, tired from the fights I'd already won. Were they trying to kill me? How many more of these Vs was I gonna have to take on?
One step, two, then the V appeared. Floodlights spilled over his face, his torn white shirt and filthy jeans and matted, unruly hair. Varick looked like shit. But worse than that, he looked hungry as hell. His eyes were bloodshot and pinned on me, his shoulders tense, his body bent over, preparing to run.
I registered this all within the three seconds before he was upon me. And he might have been weak, but goddammit he was strong.
I snarled and snapped my jaw in warning, but he was in a frenzy, desperate for the blood on my body.
As his hands came down on my back, ripping at my fur, I threw my shoulder at him, shoving my weight into his solid chest so he stumbled back.
I turned, bowing my head, trying to get him to understand. But he wasn't my friend any more, he was a hollow shell, filled with blood-lust and nothing else.
He moved like the wind, left, right, back, forth, trying to confuse me. I raised my hackles, spinning, snarling, following his every move, my eyes flashing side to side. When he launched at me again, I was helpless to his strength, already weakened by my other fights. He locked an arm around my neck, heaving me against his torso.
Sinews pulled, something popped and I made a noise I'd be ashamed of forever if I ever lived to tell the tale.
I tried to sound out his name, but all I managed was a “Vraa,” sound thro
ugh my teeth.
Varick used his free hand to shove me to the ground and I buckled, my legs failing beneath me. I kicked at the sand, writhing like a warthog in a lion's jaws.
Dead.
I was dead.
And if Varick ever regained consciousness he'd hate himself for it.
“We'll call it a tie,” Ignus's voice rang out through the stadium and a harsh buzzing sounded the end of the game.
Varick released me at once, crumpling to the floor, roaring in agony and clawing at the back of his head. His eyes were unfocused, his hair thick with sand and blood. I managed to get up on shaky legs, my heart finding a semi-normal rhythm again.
I moved to Varick's side, nudging him with the tip of my nose, but he wasn't present, lost to the agony of a silver shot injected into his bloodstream.
A man appeared in plated silver armour, holding a gun aimed at me and a pole with a loop on the end that he slid smoothly over Varick's neck.
Varick half-crawled, half stumbled after the man as he led him back into the darkness beneath the amphitheater.
My tongue hung out of my mouth as I fought to get down as much oxygen as I could.
Ignus was smiling; a horrible all-knowing smile that told me he knew I cared for Varick. And that shook me to my core.
“Please welcome, our newest attraction to the games!” Ignus called, reaching his arms out dramatically. “The Werewolf!”
At his word a needle dug into my neck from the collar. My vision swam before me and a ripple ran down my spine that could only mean one thing.
As my skin tore apart, the familiar agony blazed within my bones, bending, breaking, resetting, all so fast that it was too much pain to feel all at once. In moments, I was naked on the floor, as I had been so many times in my past, curled up, a man again, my head spinning.
My mouth was dry and sand caked one side of my body as I stood up. The spectators were clapping, some laughing, some holding their hands over their mouths in surprise.
V Games: Fresh From The Grave (The Vampire Games Book 2) Page 13
