“Stop it,” he snarled, his voice guttural, his arms tightening around my legs to prevent me from moving.
Inch by inch, I moved, hope filling my heart when the tips of my fingers brushed the handle of the broom.
Then something sharp pierced through the fabric of my pants, into the back muscles of my right shin. I stiffened when the vampire began sucking, paralyzed with fear. That was how vampires controlled their prey and made them slaves. By drinking their blood.
With a cry of despair and outrage, I pulled myself again with renewed determination, the frame of the closet creaking with indignation, the vampire's fangs tearing through my muscles like scissors on thin paper. My hand brushed the handle of the broom again, but it slipped away. Finally my left foot came free and I stomped on his head once, twice, the muscles of my shin tearing with every kick. My leg slid, though his fangs still sucked, caught on a frenzied feeding and embedded in the tendrils of my ankle. The pain was so overwhelming, it almost outdid reason. I pulled myself again, crying out with the agony of tearing flesh. I reached and grabbed the broom, and with a herculean effort of will, flipped my upper body and began thwacking the vampire on the side of the head until the handle broke and I had a makeshift stake in my hand.
I quickly stabbed him in the shoulder, and, as if he had just now realized I was fighting him, he let go of my leg and shot straight up and away.
I picked the other side of the broom, the one with the bristles—considerably shorter—and got up slowly, almost sinking back down when I put some weight on my right foot.
The vampire reached back and unhooked the handle of the broom from his shoulder, his malnourished face contorting with anger. There was an alien redness in his eyes, his fanged, opened mouth dripping with my blood.
I took a step back, careful to put as little pressure as possible on my right side. Regardless, I almost passed out when the pain zinged through the entire leg. My vision dimmed once, and I had to swallow bile twice. If I passed out, I would be waking up inside a cage. That is, if I ever woke up again.
Then all of a sudden, there was no more weight on the mangled leg. My relief lasted for less than a millisecond, the moment it took for me to realize I was dangling by the throat, the vampire's bloody lips about two inches away.
It took my brain precious moments to shift gear and process the fact there was no longer any distance between us.
Shit, he was fast. There hadn't been even a blur.
When someone dangles you by the throat, it hurts. It hurts a lot. I felt like my body was trying to detach itself from my head. Gravity pulled me down while his hand kept me upright. I grabbed his bony wrists, trying to diffuse some of the pressure, and was about to kick him again when I made the mistake of looking straight into his eyes.
Aside from the reddish alien sclera, the pupils had a red thin line surrounding it, which might have been there before, but I don't remember noticing it. Even as my inner alarm went off telling me to break contact, I was wondering why I wanted to. I stopped struggling, let my hands fall limply to my sides and felt my face slacken. I was suffocating but couldn't give a damn about it. I knew my leg throbbed like a motherfucker, but the pain wasn't registering through. My receptors were malfunctioning.
The vampire put me back on my feet, which wobbled with the weight, but he wanted me to stand, and for him I could endure anything.
Mind control wasn't what I had expected it to be. I was totally there and aware, I knew it was wrong, I just didn't care. I watched as the vampire's pupils dilated for a moment, engulfing every part of his irises before contracting again, this time becoming a barely-perceptible pinprick. Trapping me inside. I watched and was mesmerized. The warning in the back of my mind was still there, a hardly audible alarm.
Then something happened—the feel of his control changed. I could feel him perusing inside my mind—a tickling-prickling sensation—as he leafed through my thoughts and memories as if I were an open book, just as casually as he had been leafing, only moments ago, through the magazine. I felt, rather than saw, him laughing at the comparison inside my head, and heard my inner voice screaming at me, “Do something!” But I was helpless, aware of his invasion, cringing from the violation of my most private thoughts and memories. I felt like a ghost, following someone through a haunted mansion while he checked this room and that, ignoring the phantom completely.
I saw him watching me as a child, on the yellow swing in front of the house, laughing at a beautiful blonde woman dressed in a dark green business suit with eyes as black as mine. Mother had just come from work and was telling me she'd gotten me a gift. I jumped out of the swing and ran to her, hugging her with gratitude and that innocent unconditional love only a child could give so freely. Then the image fast-forwarded, and I was now holding a big teddy bear and mother was telling me a bedtime story about fairy princesses.
Images of my childhood flashed by faster, jigsaw pieces of a life long tucked away, kept apart from all the torment and pain that had followed and practically destroyed me. Mother taking me the first day to school, the bus that picked me up the very next day; my first-grade teacher; Tommy, the boy I used to have a crush on; my best friend Vicky, the troubles we got into together; me falling off a tree I had climbed on a dare from Vicky. Faster and faster my memories moved as I grew, but I knew the vampire was absorbing everything, every detail, enjoying my helplessness.
The day the Paranormal Scientists Society came and took me away screaming, while my mother watched helplessly, framed by the front porch while it rained; the first time they threw me in a cell with a rabid wolf. Dr. Maxwell's angry face the day I spat the concoction he wanted me to ingest back in his face; Dr. Maxwell injecting a concoction through an IV, monitors connected through small plugs all over my naked, shackled body as I lay helpless on the cold stainless examination table. Professor Anderson, my “tutor” in the years I spent in the PSS.
Fear began slowly transforming inside me, growing from a quivering puke green color… into yellow… into orange… into red. And it wanted to be let go.
My rage grew as the vampire explored every detail of my life—every private moment—and I didn't care about the dangers of letting myself go.
I didn't care that I might not be able to suppress it.
So I reached inside myself for that growing anger, trying to take hold of it—but I couldn't touch it.
I tried again, but it remained unreachable, yet just a hair's width away. For all the PSS's claims of me being a super predator, there I was, unable to shield my mind, or move my limp arm and punch him… no nothing, not even an impotent twitch.
My anger, the thing I had learned to fear for the past ten years, that destructive otherness I kept suppressed inside in chains and strong will at all times… had become nothing but a useless emotion.
I was helpless to stop the vamp as he navigated through my memories. The memorable and the detestable.
And when he was done, instead of just pulling away, he began building suggestions in my mind. Making me want things. And oh, but I wanted it. Craved it, in fact. I'd just suffocate if I didn't do as he said.
I wanted to go with him.
But not to the PSS.
No, we were going to be a team. He was going to teach me all sorts of things.
I was going to obey him. Everything he commanded, I would obey.
Chapter Two
“Master,” whispered a voice in my head.
“Master.” My lips moved, forming the word.
Then an image of him feeding from my neck, my eyes blank as he took his fill filled my mind. As if it were a reminder, my leg throbbed painfully.
No. Nooooooooooo! Screamed that tiny voice. Louder and louder it screamed. Until—until…
My rage peaked, ready to explode like an active volcano. I felt his surprise, and for the tiniest fraction of a second his control wavered.
It was all I needed.
I embraced that raging otherness inside me.
And I let t
he explosion take over.
I started slowly gaining on him, and once I got going, I didn't stop. I gained speed and momentum like a free-falling object. But, unlike a free-falling object, once I reached the limit—once I had pushed him all the way out of my head—instead of impacting and bouncing, I wanted to keep going. So I followed him and pushed into his mind, through the mud-like molasses that wanted to impede my forward progress. I roared with rage and triumph to the other side, to the maze of hundreds and thousands and millions of cobwebbed lights—the network of thoughts and memories.
My rage had the control seat. For a timeless moment, I moved neither forward nor backward.
The mind was a beautiful thing. A sea of lights, contrasting everywhere with shadows and colors, some like a dot on a map—barely significant, others shining as brilliant as the sun.
I didn't go for his memories, his thoughts, his knowledge. I ignored the lights, the darkness, the shadows and colors. As I traversed through, I caught glimpses of the memories I came closest, of a beautiful brunette with blue eyes the color of a summer day sky, dressed in a midnight blue gown with bell sleeves. Of a man with green eyes and long dark hair, dressed in another era's clothes. I felt the love he felt for her—Angelina Hawthorn of Bond Street, daughter to a diplomat—then the horror, the pain and fear when Angelina turned into a nightmare with fangs and struck, such a delicate thing, sharper than a rapier. I watched as the woman struck, needle-sharp fangs pierced the delicate part of his throat like a hot knife on butter, as his green eyes widened in shock, as his life force began to drain away. Regardless of how much I wanted to stay and pry—intrude into his private moments—my raging otherness wasn't interested. I kept going straight to the end, to what the roaring otherness sought, to the middle back where there was a strange glowing red point, one that had a brilliant net protecting it, keeping it apart from all the others. I felt the vamp's will pushing at me, trying to get me out of his mind. He was strong and had centuries of knowledge and power, learnt and built throughout the years. It felt like he was scraping my insides with forked claws.
I screamed, either literally or mentally, I don't know, but he heard me and responded with a roar of his own. Because of his arrogance and sense of superiority, I was able to keep moving, my fear of being recaptured and sent back to the dungeons—or of losing my freewill to a vampire who had god-knew-what in mind for me—along with the raging otherness inside of me, gave me the strength I needed to keep pushing and gaining ground.
The net looked thick—cable-like and pulsing with a dark substance that seemed to emit its own throbbing hum, which I could hear even above the roaring. It gave even my raging otherness pause. But not for long. It coiled to spring like a snake, and then slammed into it.
This time when I screamed, it was from the agonizing pain searing inside my head. It went on and on. Like I was being electrocuted from the inside out.
Then… silence. Nothing.
The roaring was gone. The screaming was gone. The humming was gone. The cobweb of light was gone. The thick, cable-like net was gone. Nothing but a blob-like red ball that no longer glowed like a beacon.
I reached for it.
And I began squeezing, squishing, compressing it from all sides as if I had encased it inside a diminishing box of metal sheets instead of a psychic attack.
Some part of me was horrified with what I was doing, the part that understood what this meant, but was quickly shut down by the otherness inside.
It was either him or me. My freedom or his life.
An excruciating pain began building between my eyes, but it didn't stop or diminish the hold that otherness had of me. I was aware of the warm trickle of blood running down my nose, my eyes. Concern that I wouldn't be able to wrestle control back from that otherness inside of me began to make a presence.
The blob decreased in size, giving way to nothing, until … there was no more.
There was an explosive pressure inside my head that terrified me, before everything became black.
When I awoke, dawn was already approaching. I had the mother of all headaches. My right leg was on fire. The dim light coming from the edge of the drapes was like acid in my eyes. The murmur of early birds was like knives inside my head. I closed my eyes again and I remembered at once what had happened.
I needed to get the hell out of there. I took a deep, aching breath and opened my eyes again.
When I was able to focus, the first thing I saw was the mummified figure beside me.
The faint smell of rotten meat permeated the air, along with the metallic scent of blood. I got up slowly, mindful of the mangled leg, and supported myself with a hand on the dresser. The pain I felt was unbelievable, and I did sway once when the room tilted, but a couple of deep breaths had the world, and my nervous stomach, settling again. And just like that, I packed all my belongings into my duffle bag and limped out of there. I was locking the door when I remembered my rent. I still had the envelope with the week's paycheck inside my coat pocket. It would cover the rent, plus whatever troubles and cleaning expenses would be needed to scrape the blood and mummified corpse out of there. I took the check out, placed it on the dresser along with the room key, and left. Then I limped my way outside to the back of the building where Thunder—the ancient truck a guy had sold me over a year ago—was parked and took the I-84 to head south, hoping the PSS somehow would give up on me.
Chapter Three
I stayed on the run for two weeks, stopping for nothing, making do with energy bars and gas station bathroom breaks whenever I could. But I caught no tails, saw no familiar SUVs, and no familiar faces or uniforms.
The rain hadn't let up for more than a few hours at a time, and a lot of towns I had passed by were talking about floods, inundation and higher grounds. I was still in Idaho, moving from one small town to the next, because PSS facilities were found in bigger cities, metropolitan areas with military bases. During the year and a half since I escaped, I'd been found only three times, counting the vampire two weeks ago.
I spotted a road—a waterlogged trail with tire marks and patches of dry weeds in the middle—and decided to follow it, knowing those usually took me to very small towns and villages. I needed a respite, a bed, a substantial meal to eat… a cup of coffee. My stomach growled like an engine, and I popped open my last warm soft drink and guzzled it down, knowing I'd need a bathroom break soon. The sky was beginning to darken, even if sunset was still a few hours away.
It took me a while and a little backtracking, but finally I found the town's B & B, just a rundown, two-story brick building that had seen better days—probably before the revolution. I glanced at the rearview mirror, winced at my reflection, the dark pockets under my eyes, my greasy hair, not to mention the obnoxious stink wafting off me.
* * *
I awoke to the incessant sound of my grumbling stomach and the pounding rain, and took a fast, hot shower. Then I drove to the laundromat I'd spotted last night when I'd been searching for an inn, paid the required coins and filled the machine with my stinky clothes. To give my legs some much-needed stretching, I ran the three blocks to the town's only mall under the rain.
I had just taken a bite of my turkey sandwich when there was that horrible sound of a booming crash of expanding air.
Kaboom! Like the sound of a whip lashing, followed by the rumble of the giant rocks. Then a second one, closer, louder. It felt like the world was breaking apart. I looked up at the rafters, almost expecting to find a gaping hole, but the metal sheets looked alright to me. I have never been afraid of thunder, but this one had my veins filling with icy dread.
Bad omen. I sipped from the coffee, but the uneasiness didn't wash down. I shifted in my seat and wondered what other surprises fate had under her sleeve for me. Almost as soon as the thought crossed my mind I shoved it away, afraid to tempt fate.
Ah, fickle fate, who would rather throw me into an endless abyss.
And on the next deafening kaboom, I noticed a man, coming towards
me… focused on me. A chill went down my spine, and my heart skipped a beat before I could think reasonably. This was a public place, there was no need for alarm or anxiety. I was too stressed out, that's all. I took a sip of my coffee, and the caffeine calmed me down—and had ire coursing through my veins. Couldn't I finish my breakfast in peace, without attracting any attention?
I watched him approach, doing nothing to hide my annoyance. Maybe he'd get the hint.
Yeah, right.
I resumed eating, watching as the guy kept coming in my direction.
When he was fifteen feet away, his aura flickered into existence. The food in my mouth suddenly gained a cardboard quality, and I took a sip of the coffee to help ease it down. A nervous chill fluttered in my gut. Outwardly, nothing showed. My heart began beating wildly and blood roared in my ears.
Because, oh shit, the man approaching me was not an ordinary human. The tall man dressed in the olive green wool coat approaching me was a preternatural… a mix between born vampire and wolf?
According to Dr. Maxwell's journal, a born vampire has a yellowish aura, a thin line that contoured around the body; the were-animal has a dark green one. The man now approaching had some kind of twisted double line, like a DNA helix. Not long ago, I would have assumed he was something else because of the double aura, but I learned to interpret people's aura as a necessity for my survival. It's funny how people manage lots of things when properly motivated.
Ever since I escaped the headquarters, preternaturals were the people I absolutely had to avoid, since most of them were mercenaries for hire and the PSS had no qualms hiring one or three after me. Since I couldn't tell friend from foe, I cut myself from the preternatural community – and any helpful guidance, something I desperately needed.
I took a bite from my turkey sandwich and washed it down with the coffee. I tasted neither. My stomach, which had been uneasy already, roiled nervously and threatened to return the few bites I had taken. I scanned my surrounding with a casual sweep and although the food court was almost empty, there were people, innocent people nearby, and it bothered me. Did he think if he approached me with witnesses nearby that I'd just accompany him, rather than make a scene?
Heir of Ashes Page 2
