Beautiful Death

by Christina Moore

  The jikininki made an angry noise with what was left of its vocal cords and then suddenly there were hands under Tristan’s armpits, jerking him upright. The jikininki that had been wrestling for his gun slipped off and wrapped himself around Tristan’s leg, hanging on for dear re-life. Happy to have his gun hand back, Tristan lifted the weapon to fire at the closest jikininki.

  The biggest fucking bear paw of a fist he’d ever seen reached out and grabbed the gun from him as if he were just handing it over. The other gun in the shoulder holster under his right arm was taken and tossed away with a stomach-dropping thud. He only had two left now.

  “Shit,” he hissed. He knew he didn’t stand a chance. It was no surprise, but he had hoped to put up a bigger resistance. Just proved how underpowered he really was. And they didn’t even have guns.

  Everyone froze for a moment, distracted by the sudden music and strobe lights. Tristan felt instantly dizzy from being manhandled and the lights. The music almost made him nauseous it was so loud. The beat, like something from a rave, didn’t help. All they needed was Wesley Snipes and a rain of blood to round out the effect.

  God, he hoped they didn’t want to use his.

  Behind him, under the shit your intestines out bass, Tristan thought he heard a cry. Then he realized it was Ash. Did she call his name? He tried to turn to see where she was, and to get away from the two stinking monsters clinging to him, but a not quite human warm arm slid across his neck, ratcheting his chin into the crook of a thick muscle. At the same moment, a hard fist found his side. All of the air was knocked from him and he doubled over as the stomach wound from days ago shot pain throughout his whole upper body and he felt stitches give.

  So much for that pain spell.

  The jikininki with no finger tendons thought it was a good time to bite Tristan right then. Even with half of them missing, those jagged teeth tore right into Tristan. The leather pants gave and the skin underneath was like butter. Tristan screamed as much as the arm at his throat would let him, making a ragged almost gagged, gurgling noise. His blood was hot and sticky down his leg, gathered in his boot. Something in him then just switched on and the pain dulled to a distant throb. He felt it, whatever it was, like a surge of warm vitality that made the inside of his skin tingle. Not even the disorientation of the flashing lights and bass so loud you couldn’t think could distract him from the sudden relief he felt.

  Interesting little potion.

  A satisfied smirk took over where the pain left and Tristan ran a hand down his right thigh, searching for the backup weapon he had there. The arm at his neck kept him upright, making his reach strained, but it didn’t hurt anymore. Sure, he still couldn’t breathe, but he could go without the air for a few seconds. Fingers found cool metal and he ripped the gun from the holster, shoved the barrel against bone and fired twice. The jikininki on his leg let go and gave a satisfying thud as it collapsed to the floor in a pile of useless bones.

  Wasn’t so hard to kill it after all.

  Without thinking it through, acting on instinct, he kicked the other jikininki, breaking its jaw free and sending it away from him while he raised the gun to shoot over his shoulder at the one at his back. The other thick muscled arm of the one holding him shot out and knocked the gun out of Tristan’s hand from below, sending it over their heads and behind them. Down to one gun and the knives.

  Angry, he groaned deeply, struggling in his captor’s hold. “Get the fuck off me, you dead piece of shit!”

  A masculine laugh sounded in his ear and Tristan flung his bitten leg backwards, hoping to surprise the other enough to loosen his grip. While his leg was still in the air, Tristan’s captor jerked backwards a big step, pulling Tristan off his feet for just a moment. He gasped, though no noise came forth as the strain of the jerk on his larynx cut off his breath. The other laughed into his ear again, sending a needle of pain straight to his brain like a hot poker, only to be quelled seconds later by the pain spell. He was starting to find the power of the spell annoying, the ebb and swell of pain and relief. Guess it was better than the alternative, constant pain.

  A small fisted hand flashed on and off as it emerged from the depths of the fucked up lighting and pow, smacked him right in the stomach. Even bracing for the pain, it took Tristan off guard as more stitches gave and he felt the warmth of his own blood spread down. Again. He slumped in his captor’s grip, coughing and gasping for air while he waited for the spell to kick in, but then that flashing on-and-off hand came for him again. He saw the face then, the one that was hitting him. God, he was only a kid.

  Tristan cringed, bracing for the hit as it took him in the jaw. His head snapped back hard and smacked the shoulder of the one still holding him around the neck like some little girl carrying her dolly. Laughter in his ear again as his own blood filled his mouth and his head swam with sparks of bright light, illuminating the room temporarily with things that weren’t really there.

  A shotgun went off in the room, but still that beating bass managed to drown out most of the sound. Under that, Tristan had to strain to hear, but he was sure there was a screech. He was happy that one of them was at least kicking ass and not just getting their ass kicked. There was that laugh in his ear again and the one holding him spoke. But it wasn’t to him and it certainly wasn’t English.

  Tristan groped down his left leg, winced when his fingertips slipped into the raw holes where he’d been bitten. By the time the pain registered, it was gone again. He bent his leg, making the wounds gush, but had to get to that last gun because if he couldn’t, then... In a flash of alarm, he realized the gun was gone. He’d lost it somewhere. That left the three knives, assuming they hadn’t been lifted already too. Damn.

  The arm around his neck tightened, choking him. Bracing for the pressure, Tristan held his breath and doubled over, pulling hard. In one quick movement, he grabbed the handle of the knife from his boot, gave a mental sigh that it was there, twisted it in his grip and jabbed it into the side of the one at his back. The other screamed again in that foreign language and released his unwelcome embrace.

  Tristan crumpled to the floor, rolling away. He caught a glimpse of the room in those three disorientating seconds. Ash at the far end, two men fighting with her. A few on the floor, not moving. At least he thought they weren’t, the strobes made it so hard to tell. He never had problems with them before, but now, they were really starting to work on him. Make him sick. Or maybe it was the thought at the back of his mind that grew larger and larger with every weapon he exhausted and new wound he sustained. He was going to die.

  “This is the true,” a deeply accented voice said and then hands grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted, pulling him to his feet again. His captor, the bear-pawed dude from before, grabbed him. He spun Tristan around and pulled his back against the front of a hard body, pinning Tristan’s arms at his sides. Goddammit, he’d dropped his knife. That left two. Hot breath caressed his cheek as the one as his back let out a deep growl and Tristan grimaced, trying to turn his face away from the stink of blood and death. He came face to face the young one again, the kid. Oh god, he was a Master, he had to be with that almost all-white hair.

  “Fuck me,” Tristan mumbled.

  The kid smirked and then dove at him, grabbing his neck. Tristan gagged, moments later the pain of those strong hands dissipated, but he still couldn’t breathe. There was no pain. There was no air. At least his passing would be… peaceful? Yeah, this was as peaceful as someone like him could expect, right? Die to a vampire, but with little to no pain. He’d take it. Over the boom of music, Ash screamed something he couldn’t make out and then something cold and metal skimmed across his cheek, opening a new wound. The vampire choking him let go, screaming obscenities as he clutched the side of his face.

  “Holy shit, Ash” Tristan gasped when he got enough air, realizing the hot sharpness was a needle shuriken. “Watch where you throw those fucking things! About sliced my face off!”

  What he didn’t see was
that that little needle of metal did nearly just that to the vampire kid who had been choking on him. Ash’s aim was precise and the shuriken took the vamp right in the soft spot between his ear and jaw, boring right into his brain. The Master vampire wasn’t dead, but nearly just with more than half of his motor skills and higher thinking stripped from him by heated metal. He was nothing more than a zombie now. One that could still feel pain.

  Ash answered with something that might have been a curse, but her words were lost to the din of the room. Feeling the other’s attention on Ash, Tristan burst into movement, kicking backwards hard enough to knock his captor off balance. Tristan hooked an ankle with his and jerked forward. The other gave a growl as Tristan rode him down and sent his elbow backwards, hoping to hit something besides the floor. A satisfying groan sounded under him and the arms holding him down opened.

  He couldn’t get to his feet fast enough and the vampire under him wrapped his arms tightly around his upper body, forcing his arms to his side again. A growl sounded in his ear. “You is the feisty one Master say he want. But we have fun first, da?”

  Before Tristan could answer, the pair was upright. Tristan’s feet left the floor and he went airborne. He flew through the flashing lights with no clear visual of where he was going to land and then his head made contact with something solid, but only for a moment and then it gave. A shoji screen broke under his weight and he tumbled across the lawn, finally landing face down in cool grass, dizzy and disorientated. His head had been knocked around one too many times tonight. God, he really did need a fucking helmet.

  The vampire who threw him laughed and stepped out on the deck, grinning and cracking his knuckles. Tristan finally got a good look at him. He was big guy, like Desmond thick, just not nearly as tall. In fact, the guy wasn’t much over five-nine. And, boy was he one ugly motherfucker. Oh, right, and a Master vampire to boot. The place in his side where Tristan had jabbed him with the knife was already healed over.

  A jikininki appeared behind him, trailing along like a puppy. It tried to move past him and make a run for Tristan, still trying to find his feet, but the vampire commanded it to stay. When it blatantly ignored the order and shot forward, the vampire lifted a fist and hit the jikininki so hard its head came off. Pop, just like a champagne cork.

  “Dude, what the hell?” Tristan said, teetering to his feet. Man, he was working on a good concussion. That little vampire hit him harder than he realized. “I mean, not that I mind, you know, one less for me ‘n all. But those stinky things are on your side.”

  “Get in way.” The vampire stepped down on the grass, cracking the last of his knuckles.

  “All right,” Tristan said, teetering and put up his fists in ready. “Let’s do this.”

  The vampire pointed a sausage finger at Tristan. “Use knife.”

  “Seriously?”

  “More fair.”

  Tristan grinned at him and pulled the knife he had hidden in his boot. After that there was only one knife left then he was weaponless—helpless. Really, the fight was still heavy on the other dude’s side, but he wasn’t going to argue a free pass. “You mean more fun for you, you psychopath.”

  The other man didn’t even bother looking embarrassed as he shrugged. “Fair, fun… fuck. All start same.”

  “All right…,” Tristan drawled and then shot forward. The other guy didn’t even move. Didn’t have to. Tristan’s overzealous momentum brought him off balance and right into the bear-pawed fist. His head snapped back so hard he thought he had broken something. Tristan grunted, flying backwards to land on the grass. Again. Somewhere in there, he lost his knife. His vision blurred and there were two identical vampires with shit-eating grins leaning over him. They both reached out for him. He lifted a hand to stop them and realized he had two right hands. Nifty.

  The Master laughed, balling that big fist into the front of Tristan’s shirt and proceeded to drag him across the lawn in the direction of the inn. Groggy and disoriented, he could only let him. The vamp gave a hard jerk, dragging Tristan up onto the deck, making his ass jar against the edge so that he cried out. Bear Paws laughed as he continued to drag Tristan into the building through the large opening in the side where he’d been tossed through earlier.

  A voice nearby was speaking loudly in Russian and then the music cut off leaving a low ringing in Tristan’s ears. His vision cleared enough that he wasn’t seeing double anymore by the time he was lifted to his feet and spun around to face the Master vampire.

  “Were easy ‘nough catch,” Bear Paws answered as Tristan blinked at the one he’d been talking to. He was wearing a pair of leather pants set low enough that white pubic hair showed in the front, hint of crack at the back. No shirt. And a leather hood donned in bright silver studs that covered everything but his eyes. Tristan shuddered.

  “This one fear you, Gedeon.”

  The man behind the mask laughed and answered, “That one too.”

  Tristan looked up to where the hooded vamp, Gedeon, was motioning and sucked in a gasp. “Ash…”

  Her back was pressed to a pillar, arms wrenched behind and held high over her head by the biggest length of chain Tristan had ever seen. The angle was bad and looked painful as she grimaced, her toes barely touching the ground. Weapons, body parts and blood fanned out around her, like dark offerings to a deity. A deity of death.

  Gedeon gave Tristan one last look, one that said he was smiling inside that leather mask, and turned away. He strutted over to Ash, swaying those slender hips, showing a lot of ass crack as his pants shimmied down. Tristan wasn’t even interested in the show, but it was enough to distract him from the item in Gedeon’s hand. It wasn’t until the hooded vamp lifted it and brought it down across the front of Ash’s face with a loud crack that Tristan saw the multi-tailed whip.

  Ash didn’t even cry out but Tristan went wild, thrashing in Bear Paw’s arms. He had one last knife left, his final defense, if only he could get to it before… The vamp quickly got fed up with the human and just tossed him, like a piece of trash out a car window. Tristan gasped as he felt himself go weightless and then he crashed into a wood pillar. There was a crack that he prayed wasn’t his spine as bright bits of light and pretty colors danced across his vision. He should have gotten up, fought, but he couldn’t move anymore with his head swimming. His spell potion was only dulling pain. It did nothing for the blood swelling around his brain.

  Bear Paw’s face appeared over him, upside down. Tristan sighed, blinking up at him. “Oh, it’s you,” he mumbled.

  “And you,” Bear Paw answered. He smiled and pressed his foot to the downed human’s chest.

  Tristan didn’t even have the strength to push at the tree trunk leg holding him down. He could barely turn his head to look at Ash. The leather clad one, Gedeon, was still standing over her, whip in hand in silent threat. She wasn’t moving anymore, just hanging by bleeding wrists from the post. Something in Tristan snapped and he gave a roar of anger, trying to stand.

  Bear Paw gave a dissatisfied grunt and lifted the foot he had pinned Tristan to the ground with. “Go to nice sleep.” A huge naked, dirty foot filled Tristan’s vision. Then it was naptime.

  24: Going Under

  HARD. Cool. Damp. Organic, the scent of earth.

  Tristan opened his eyes a narrow slit to gaze through the long stalks of an unkempt lawn. He gave a deep sigh, thinking how something as simple as cold grass could feel so damn good. He shifted, hoping to stretch and realized his hands had been bound in front of him, but his feet were left free. His shirt, boots and socks had all been removed, leaving him in just the leather pants. His last valuable weapon, the knife he’d had stuffed down the back of his pants was also gone. A quick glance around told him there was no one nearby. No one standing guard. Didn’t mean they weren’t hidden in a shadow somewhere out of his sight, just waiting to see what he’d do.

  They were fucking with him.

  Fighting his aching body, he struggled upright. He groaned, swallowin
g down whimpers of pain as his nearly healed stomach wound burned with a new intensity. The pain spell had run its course. He also suspected that his captors didn’t treat him very tenderly after he was knocked out. If he was them, he would have beaten on him too. God knew what other kind of weird shit they did to him.

  When he finally got upright, he stopped to look around. He was on the rear lawn of the inn, sitting under a short overhang, the building U-shaped around him. Nestled between the two wings of the building, level with the ground was a large, round hot spring surrounded by flat white and gray stones. A tall fence lined in towering bamboo ran behind the spring from wing to wing, enclosing the pool with the yard. Well, that accounted for why he was left unattended. There was nowhere to run except back inside, bound, half naked and weaponless.

  The panic hit him when he suddenly remembered Ash, the fear he felt as he watched that hooded freak beat her. He gave an aggravated groan mixed with pain as he got his knees under him. As he was struggling to stand his gaze was drawn to the hot spring. It must have been the movement of air that caught his eye, the steam that curled off the top of the water. The mist was thicker than he thought it should have been. And then he saw it. There was a person in that spring and he had a pretty damn good idea of who it was.

  So much for being alone.

  “Have a nice rest, did we?”

  A slew of nasty thoughts intended for the vampire hit the front of Tristan’s brain and a deep laugh burst from the spring. The sound carried across the night air as if it had a will of its own, searching Tristan out until he shuddered under the weight of that vampiric voice, feeling it tickle across his naked flesh.

  He took in a deep breath to calm his pulse, shake off the feeling of being touched and ended up in ragged coughs. His ribs ached down his right side. While he was trying to breathe past the pain something to his left caught his attention. He flinched and looked towards the guard he had thought wasn’t there. A very large vampire dressed in white leather was standing in the shadows of the left-hand wing. How had Tristan missed that?