The Bonded

by John Falin

  I’m shaking my head, trying to let his words get through the bubble and ask, “What did you say?”

  He replies with pleasure, “I said your mother begged for death!”

  The message is received and I reach into my coat and feel the pliant hilt of my sword, pleading me to use it. A spark passes from me to Angeion, but instead of recoiling from the shock, I wrap my hand around the hilt and unleash it from the scabbard. There is no peaceful connection that sedates me, no feelings of completion; it’s a shared fury that multiplies with momentum as the circuit is in a closed loop. With no sound but a muffled drumbeat from a furious heart, I look at my surroundings to gauge the atmosphere. Quilici is staving off his primal urges with the scientist caught in laughter, mocking my dead mother. The pressure is immense and a small part breaks free, igniting my sword as blue arcs of electricity jump from me to Angeion and back again. I fix my eyes on the doctor, seeing his sudden fear overwhelm his laughter, and raise my sword with both hands over my head. I feel the sting as shards of blue roll over my teeth and down my throat, reconnecting with the source while the ice-blue inlays on the sword pulsate with my heartbeat.

  I can hear a faint scream somewhere in the distance that swells into a “Nooooo!” The deep bass vibration lets me know its Quilici, but it’s too late. I bring down Angeion with such speed that the doctor only has time to lift his arm in defense as the electric sword cuts through his wrist and through the top of his head, slicing his body completely in half from head to groin. Steamy, blood explodes all over the room like a fragment grenade while his body begins a slow incineration. Ashes flake off, changing color from orange to grey as they float through the room and out the unhinged door.

  When the moment is over, I hear the remnant of a battle cry and realize it’s me manifesting the escaped demon. Stumbling backward, I release Angeion. The current is lost as I let the sobering effect of revenge wash over me. Quilici catches me before the fall, moving me to the couch where I lounge, gathering my strength. We lock eyes and I say, “Let’s go.” There are no other words needed, and none that would be appropriate, so we run. I don’t run to avoid a confrontation with whoever is on their way. I run for Percy.

  Moments later, we reach the bikes and I’m a tad winded from the exertion with Angeion. Quilici says, “We need to regroup and think through another strategy. We’ll go to my retreat and rest there.”

  I harden my will and peer into him resolutely. “I’ll not be joining you, Quilici. I’m going to get Percy and I’m going to kill Cassius.” The tone is flat, devoid of emotion, and he senses there will be no negotiation.

  There is a lingering second that stands between us; then he says, “I understand, but do you? We will not survive the night if we simply go charging in to his community without a plan. We are hopelessly outnumbered and you do not have the skill nor strength to kill Cassius, let alone Seth. It is a suicide mission, Adriel.”

  I hear the pleading in his voice and I know the reasoning is sound, so I continue. “I can’t let them hurt her. If we plan, it will be at least a day or two before we can take action and that isn’t acceptable. If I die tonight while trying to save her, they will kill her due to her uselessness. I would rather her die than live with what they will do to her. I know she shares this sentiment as well. I’m leaving. You can choose to die with me or go home.”

  I pull out my motorcycle goggles from my right inner pocket and swing my leg over the bike while starting the engine. I don’t even bother to look at him as I throttle the gas and throw dirt from my rear tire. It ends tonight!

  Chapter 16

  The motorcycle purrs appreciatively from the idle rest as I find myself at the beginning of another dirt road. I’m not concerned about stealth or ninja-ing my way through the forest to avoid any unnecessary attention. This time, I’m going straight into Hell and I’m going to kill whatever gets in my way. I take a very deep breath through my nose, steeling my nerves in preparation, when the unmistakable sound of a Harley Davidson rattles the air. I inwardly sigh with relief, thankful for his loyalty.

  Quilici smoothly pulls in next to me, takes a second, and then says, “What’s the plan?”

  “We ride in there and call them out. Then we kill every motherfucker we see. When we’re done, we get Percy and I cut Cassius’s head off.” Clean and simple.

  “Well, it’s not the most sophisticated of strategies—let’s do it!” I barely hear the last word because he revs the engine so loud that people in Baltimore know where we are. We look at each other one final time, allowing the severity of the situation to wash over us. With murder on our minds, we give a nonverbal gratitude of our friendship and leisurely ride into the vampire neighborhood.

  Stealing a busy minute to enjoy what may be our final moments of life, we twist and turn through an overgrown road. Untrimmed branches reach for us, snagging our shirts and scraping paint off the bikes, attempting to slow us down so we can rethink this suicide mission, but our resolve pushes us through. In my mind, all I can see is Percy, whimpering from torture and trying her best to hide her pain from those that would relish in her submission. The vision gives me fuel for hatred and hatred will give me blood.

  I physically snarl at an invisible enemy, fantasizing about a killing when the tunneled road opens into the community landscape where nine houses sit in a crescent, facing us as if they were specifically placed there to greet potential threats. The memory of my first evening here rushes in, as the stars still shine unhindered in a cloudless sky and the air is silent with anticipation. We leisurely coast to the center and give the bikes one last throttle to ensure everyone is aware of our presence and then shut them off as the booming exhaust echoes off the trees.

  Without acknowledging one another, Quilici and I dismount the bikes and walk ten yards toward the houses. My head is down in a vacant and mindless stare at the ground as I absorb the environment through my hyped-up senses. I can hear the restless pitter patter of activity in the hidden lower floors and smell the anxiety that always accompanies war. My eyes lift as a sudden reaction to a scent that has become all too familiar when several vamps and two waers cautiously materialize from the undulating shadows. All of them are excited and nervous, but the anxiety isn’t the result of my presence; it’s Quilici. The waers look to him with conflict in their minds, debating the justification for murdering an Alpha without a fair trial or opportunity to hear his perspective. I hope Quilici doesn’t grant sympathy for their apprehension or hold back in hopes that he can persuade them with reason to let us go or at the very least, leave this place. Personally, I hope their inner turmoil gives us the split second advantage that we need to kill them.

  One of the vampires says, “You have made a grave error in coming here. I admit, none of us thought you would be stupid enough to do it, but here you are.”

  My words won’t be as meaningful, so I decide to let Quilici handle the preamble as he ignores the vamps and addresses his waers. “Friends, you don’t have to do this. I can sense your conflict. Leave now before you do something that you will regret.”

  The vampire is infuriated that he is blatantly dismissed and says, “When I speak to a waer, I expect to be acknowledged.” He distastefully annunciates waer. “They are here merely as backup. For some unknown reason, Caedmon and Cassius feel that you may create a challenge, but I see nothing more than a bookworm waer and his scrawny friend.”

  The waers take offense to his degrading remarks, but one seems to digest his words with more scrutiny than the other. The other says, “Back up or not, you will not survive this night, Quilici. You’ve betrayed your own kind and have been issued a death sentence by Caedmon himself, the new and strong Alpha leader. You may be a worthy opponent, but there is no way you can survive these odds.”

  As his words trail off, the doubtful waer locks eyes with Quilici, nonverbally communicating that he has made a decision. He bows his head in respect then shifts attention to his friend, saying, “I will not fight you, brother, and I cannot in g
ood conscience kill him without a hearing. Deadly force was only to be utilized if there was equal resistance; it was never a death sentence. The rules are being stretched to accommodate an agenda and I will not be a part of it.”

  There’s a minute of dismay when I decide to get things started. I reach into my inner coat, grab the hilt of Angeion, and unsheathe it from the scabbard, the sharp zing of metal vibrating the air. With hatred leaking from my mouth, I say, “I’m tired of this shit. Who wants to die first?”

  The foreplay is officially over and the remaining waer ferociously jumps on Quilici, flailing his arms like a kid in his first fight. Quilici is cool and collected from years of battle experience and rolls back, kicking him off with a powerful thrust and sending the young waer helplessly in the air. The waer gains a semblance of control and lands on his shoulder with a crack as ligaments rearrange themselves in response. To his credit, there is no cry of pain as he skids carelessly to a halt and indolently stands with his useless limb hanging limp to his side. While he is recovering from amateur hour, one of the vamps charges in with more finesse and sword raised to finish what the young waer started.

  I shift focus to the remaining two vamps that are already circling me as vultures over a carcass. I hope their thinking is premature. I place both hands on the hilt and raise Angeion with my wrist to a vertical position with the top of the blade barely over my head. With a breath of relaxation, I put all the concentration I can muster into the fight and execute the only strategy that I like… offense!

  I begin with the one behind me, knowing they would expect the opposite, and shift so quickly that she stumbles backward from the surprise. I take advantage of the misstep with a flurry of thrusts and lunges that would have made Seth proud. She is just competent enough with a sword to scarcely block each attack with befuddled parries, but I can see the fear dance across her eyes. In a reaction to instinct, I arch my back, feeling the prickly breeze created by the other vamp’s sword that was meant to render me disabled for a couple of months. I mule kick as a response and feel his ribs crack while he is launched in the other direction, surprised from an attack that didn’t utilize the sword. Now I know the weakness of their training. They only prepare for attacks from other vamps or waers, never with someone outside of their culture.

  By this time the female has somewhat recovered, perspiration starting to gather around her hairline. She swipes with all she has straight down, trying to split me open. My natural speed is so much superior that I easily avoid the strike, moving to the side and twisting around and gaining momentum for my own attack. I scowl with blood lust, injecting more strength behind the move, and feel the skin and bone separate as her head wobbles for a moment then falls to the ground. The scent is too much to bear and I grab her headless body and drink her spewing blood like I’m parched at a water fountain in the park. Her blood is nectar, sweeter than a human’s and more invigorating as my body hardens in preparation of more.

  With her lifeless body smoldering and twitching on the gravel, I look to my opponent with crazed lust, wondering how to crack that shell to drink his blood too. He is nothing, not a person or an animal; he is only food… and I’m starving.

  Quilici has already killed his vampire with a tight squeeze that literally popped his brain from his head. It was a show of physical power that was meant to deter his young waer from any further aggression, but was lost on misguided loyalty. The waer had already healed enough from the shoulder wound to resume his attack and Quilici lets him assert himself. I’ve seen many accomplished warriors fight similarly. They fight with defensive patience, frustrating their aggressive opponents until a fatal mistake is made and capitalized upon. Quilici blocks and counters every white-belt move the other waer has practiced and is now disastrously attempting. It’s a master versus novice and I see the regret and sorrow in Quilici’s eyes that he will have to kill this one.

  In rehearsed fashion, the waer does a simple combination of moves and Quilici accepts one slice, fawning with pain. Smelling the victory, he runs in for a killing blow and realizes at the last moment it was a setup, and he has been had. The rest only takes a couple of seconds as Quilici uses his claws to slice open his stomach, letting the entrails slide out, and with his other hand, severs his esophagus as air and blood shoot out, never to return. Quilici watches sadly as the young one falls to his knees and then face first into the blood-soaked gravel.

  I return to my situation and find the vampire panting heavily with concern. I stare into him and say, “Don’t worry; it’s just you and me.” I could pull out some electricity, or maybe some wind, but I’m afraid it will drain me before the real fight begins so I stick to swordplay as my only strategy.

  He starts this time with a lethargic attack and I am more than capable of avoiding it with his friend’s blood coursing through my veins. I catch his anxiety when I let slip from my control a small spark that runs from my hand to the tip of Angeion. In that moment he hesitates and I make a bold thrust with a swiping low leg kick as he crumples to the ground off balance and vulnerable. As I make a full circle, my sword follows, missing his neck by a centimeter, but severing his sword hand at the wrist. His look is fear mingled with resignation as he says, “You will never see her again! They will…”

  I ram the sword through his mouth to shut him up and withdraw it as fresh thin blood steadily drips from the edges. I know it isn’t enough, so I slit his throat and watch in pleasure when he struggles to cover the wound with his remaining hand while slowly bleeding to death. I glance over to Quilici, squinting through the smoke and ashes as they mix in the stagnate air, and hear him say, “This is only the beginning. Here they come.” He nudges his enormous head, pointing me in the direction of the third house so I can watch as Cassius steps into full view with earned confidence.

  Behind him, walking around the corner, is Seth, Franz, Reuben, and finally, about a dozen more vampires join him in a crescent shape that emulates the houses around them. We are not surrounded because there is no need. They know we’ll not be retreating.

  I say with venom on my tongue, “Let her go, Cassius!”

  A soft laughter billows from his loser minions, and with a hand gesture from Cassius, they instantly cut it off. He replies, “No more games, Adriel. If you will surrender right now, I will make his and her death quick and painless, but if you decide that a futile challenge to all of us is in order, then they will die in tremendous agony.” His smile begins to slither upwards, delighting at the thought, and I look over to Quilici for confirmation.

  He corrects his slouch, assuming the posture of an Alpha, and says, “I’m with you, Adriel. A waer dies in battle, not as a coward!”

  I shift my focus back to Cassius and whisper through my teeth, “I’m going to kill you.”

  His smile reacts in disbelief that someone would actually defy him or even threaten him in public. He snarls, “Seth, you may beat him to his last breath, but no more. Reuben, kill your pathetic, dethroned leader.”

  To my surprise, Reuben warily approaches Quilici, giving him a fighter’s respect, and says, “I’ve spent the last hundred years in your service, Quilici, and take no pleasure in killing you this night, but make no mistake; the orders have been given and you will be exterminated.” He hulks over Quilici by about three or four inches up and across and has no signs of pre-battle anxiety. It’s just business, but very, very serious business.

  Quilici considers his words and sighs at Reuben’s determination, knowing it would be impossible to utilize mediation at this point, so he says, “I understand, Reuben. Let this begin.” He growls so deeply that his throat vibrates in response. They start to circle each other, feeling for timing and distance to ensure they don’t overextend or create an opening for an advantage. Reuben is the initiator, diving into Quilici and wrapping his gorilla arms around his waist and pressing his shoulder into Quilici’s stomach to knock the wind out of him. They scrape the ground, slashing and grunting in a no-holds-barred fight so raw and powerful that all
of us pause for a moment in fearful appreciation.

  I refocus, searching for Seth, and find him directly in front of me, holding a poker face that has only one tell, an arrogant disdain buried deep within his eyes. With sword already unsheathed, he lowers the tip in slow motion, stopping an inch above the greening grass, and says, “Are you ready for your final lesson, Adriel?”

  I have no clever comeback. We both know he’s the superior swordsman, so I dismiss the conversation and get to it, relying on speed and luck for survival. I fling myself to him so quickly that he lives only due to his immense skill and experience. I chop down while flipping over his head. He wastes no time in admiration and reacts by dodging and then lunges for my heart.

  There’s no banter or words to fill awkward silences—we just fight. Swords are clinging, gravel is thrown from shuffling feet, and we move together in a ruthless dance to death. He moves in for a disabling thrust to end this expeditiously, but I can see his movements in high definition, just slightly slower than real time, so I adjust my weight to my back foot and reverse swipe, slicing his chest from left hipbone to right shoulder. His shirt is absorbing the blood and turning a darker shade of red as he retreats to evaluate the injury.

  I know that this may be the only window of opportunity, so I charge in while he pats his chest making certain no vital organs have spilled out. I bring down Angeion with enough force to slice through his thick bones, but he moves to the side, avoiding my effort and rewarding me with a fist to the jaw. His eyes are burning with enmity now. His chest is healing, but his pride sports a fresh wound. I know I have just emancipated him from restrictions.