Shiver

by Yolanda Sfetsos

“I said put me down!” She didn’t give him a chance to respond, instead she squirmed hard enough to force her way out of his grasp. She landed on her feet and struck a defensive pose. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He paused, raising both hands. “I was saving your life.” Her untrusting blue eyes bore into his as if she didn’t believe him. Knox couldn’t blame her. “Look, the arena’s going to blow—”

  She smacked him in the face—a quick and powerful jab. “Well, thanks, but I don’t need anyone to rescue me, okay?”

  Knox shook his head, wiping the blood from his mouth. He didn’t give chase when she spun around and disappeared into the alley ahead. She moved even faster than the bloodsucker inside the arena.

  If he didn’t hurry, the arena would blow him to pieces.

  Not even vampire toxin can put anyone back together after an explosion.

  He distanced himself from the arena’s opening, ignoring the protest of every aching muscle in his body. He should be running as fast as he could, but his limbs refused to cooperate, slowing his movements to a crawl.

  When the force of the explosion finally hit, he hadn’t cleared enough of the area. The momentum swept him off his feet and sent him into the air. He flew through a wooden door at the end of the alley, landing headfirst on a stiff surface.

  Knox could no longer feel his body, but at least he would die a free man.

  Tired, disoriented, and weakened, everything washed out of him and he drifted into darkness.

  Knox woke with a start. He absently lifted a hand, hoping to stop the annoying stroking motions against his cheek. Instead, he came face-to-face with a scruffy, gray dog. It took a cautious step back and barked, its penetrating black eyes staring into his.

  “Did you just lick me awake?” Knox rubbed the slobber from his prickly face and neck, staining his fingers with a sticky layer of pink drool. “You gross dog! You just licked my blood.” At least this wasn’t one of the Recast trying to pass itself off as a dog.

  The canine responded with a bark and a wag of its furry tail, its dark eyes shiny with intelligence and maybe a little amusement.

  Knox waved an arm. “Shoo! Just get away from me, you mutt.”

  When the dog didn’t move but its pointy ears swiveled like antennas, Knox sighed and attempted to stand up. Something cold pressed against the back of his head.

  “I don’t think so. Stay where you are,” a male voice said. The old, grizzled man slowly made his way around, readjusting the end of what turned out to be a dirty shovel, until the metal tip put pressure under Knox’s chin. “I want to see your hands. Keep ’em where I can see ’em.”

  Every muscle in Knox’s body tightened, but he wasn’t about to make any sudden movements. Getting knocked out again wasn’t at the top of his to-do list. He slowly raised both palms, trying to show he wasn’t a threat. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “What’re you doing in my stables, stranger?” The bearded man and the dog were staring at him as if he were some kind of criminal, and they both wanted a confession.

  He wasn’t a criminal. He’d killed to stay alive, but never by choice. Knox cleared his throat, trying to ignore the parched sensation and the hunger scratching inside his empty stomach. “I’m sorry.” He licked his dry lips. “The explosion threw me. I didn’t mean to end up on private property.” How long had he been unconscious?

  He glanced at the doorway and found the splintered door propped against the opening.

  The man’s scraggy face hardened. “Were you part of that arena and what happened two days ago?”

  “What? It can’t be days, it just happened.”

  “I don’t think so. It’s been a couple of days since the blast. I couldn’t move you, I thought you was dead. You was bleedin’ all over my hay.” The man lightened the pressure on the shovel. “Figured as long as you were breathin’, I’d let you be. And if you carked it, I got someone to take care of that too.”

  Knox looked up. “Do you know why it happened?” He recalled the chippies all over the stone walls of the arena. Did anyone take responsibility?

  His eyes narrowed. “What happened is that Jenks Maine finally got what was comin’ to him, that’s what happened.”

  Jenks Maine. Knox had never met the ruthless bastard responsible for everything that went on inside the Clash Arena, but heard enough about his cruel operation.

  He inclined his head toward the doorway. “Should I expect trouble out there?”

  The man shrugged. “Not unless you make trouble for yourself.”

  Knox decided not to agitate this man any more than he already had. “I’m sorry about your door.” He had lived most of his life on a farm and knew how hard it could be to make ends meet sometimes. He couldn’t pay to have it repaired, but he wasn’t a stranger to hard labor. “Want me to fix it?”

  The man’s shoulders seemed to relax, but he didn’t drop the shovel. “I can take care of it.”

  Knox nodded. He respected a proud man. Then again, the old guy probably just wanted to get rid of the pest inside his barn. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

  The side of his neck seemed to have a throbbing heartbeat of its own, but was nowhere near as bad as the thirst and hunger tearing his stomach apart. He smelled a familiar metallic tang in the air. He’d lived inside the dungeons long enough to recognize the reek of blood, but it had never made his craving worse. The two noises he couldn’t identify were two drumbeats beating out of time inside his head. Where was that racket coming from?

  “You can’t go out there lookin’ like that.” The man pointed, finally withdrawing his shovel from Knox’s chin with a heavy sigh. “Don’t you move an inch,” he said, taking a step into the shadows. “I got good aim, I can spear you with my eyes closed.”

  Knox glanced down at his blackened and blood-smeared bare chest, as well as the smoldered jeans. The man was right. If anyone was patrolling the area for escaped gladiators, he’d be stopped for sure. The last thing he needed to do was advertise where he’d come from.

  The man returned with a bundle of clothes in his free hand, while the other still gripped the shovel. “I might end up regretting this, but…take these.” The man threw a clean pair of jeans and a sleeveless shirt at him. “There’s some water in the trough, enough for you to clean up. And here”—he leaned forward and threw a well-worn set of boots that bounced off the hay before straightening up—“these will help you get the hell out of my stables.”

  “Thanks.”

  The man turned to leave.

  “Where are your horses?”

  “Sold ’em.” He walked away.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Knox called after him.

  “And take your dog with you!”

  “I don’t have a dog.” Knox stared at the lingering canine. “This isn’t my dog.”

  The old man didn’t respond, just disappeared into the shadows. The sound of his steps slowly retreated into the darkness beyond the empty stables.

  Knox reached out and the dog inched closer, sniffing his hand. He patted the top of its gray head, and the canine even let him scratch behind its ears. “I suppose you’re here to make sure I get out, huh?”

  The dog barked once, but not in the same aggressive manner as before.

  It took Knox a few attempts to get upright because of the thumping in his head. When he finally managed to stand, his vision swam. At least there was only one drumbeat now.

  Several minutes later—under the watchful eye of the nosy dog—he managed to strip off his torn, tattered jeans, and dumped them. The water in the trough was warm, and combined with a small bar of soap he found was enough to clean his stubbly face and head. He then washed away the other filth he’d accumulated during his escape, and scrubbed as much of the blood from the side of his neck as he could. Without a mirror he couldn’t tell if he’d gotten it all, or check the condition of his wounds. A quick inspection with his fingertips confirmed Amon’s bite. He didn’t dwell on what that meant.


  Knox stepped into the jeans and slipped the shirt on over his head, and winced with every move. Between the vampire’s attack, fleeing the arena, and being airborne, everything hurt. He finished up with the boots that miraculously fit him a lot better than he could have hoped.

  Knox was about to leave the barn when he remembered the only valuable thing he had left. He yanked the small bottle filled with green fluid from the pocket of his discarded jeans and stuck it into his new pair.

  The dog sat in the corner, watching and waiting. When Knox headed for the doorway, the dog raced out in front of him, then glanced over its furry shoulder to make sure Knox followed close behind.

  Stumbling out of the stable, Knox was glad for the dark sky above. The chill of the night seeped into his bones but didn’t make him cold. Walking made his legs ache and feel as if he hadn’t used them for weeks. He pushed himself to keep going because getting off this rock before anyone reeled him back into slavery was the only thing that mattered.

  He noticed the entrance to the arena had been completely sealed by rubble. The air was thick with embers, fumes and smoke. He gagged, almost throwing up because he suddenly felt queasy and desperately craved something to eat. But who was going to feed a man without a single credit on him?

  The farther he walked into these stone alleyways, the more he realized no one from the arena would likely track him now. Anyone who’d survived had to be either long gone or in hiding.

  The dog barked up ahead, urging him to follow.

  “Hey, I don’t need you trailing me.” As stupid as the comment sounded, he didn’t need a dog competing for food. He might have been an animal lover once, but after what he’d seen inside the arena he preferred to keep his distance. Some creatures were more than met the eye and he didn’t need any more trouble. Even if a Recast—one that had come out of nowhere—saved his life, he preferred to stay away from animals at the moment.

  He had to shake this dog and get as far away from the Clash Arena as he could.

  Moving past the canine, Knox was relieved to find himself in the thick of a market. Amongst the crowd, he could blend in and go unnoticed.

  Unfortunately, the endless chaos of beating drums wasn’t easy to ignore.

  He’d never ventured into these streets, but finding so many market stalls still crowded at this time of night would help him mingle. If none of these people were bothered by the putrid smell wafting from the arena, they wouldn’t care about some random guy. Everyone had something to do and someplace to be.

  Their disinterest confirmed what the man in the stables had told him—he must have been out for days. Otherwise, why else would the population appear unmoved and getting on with their lives? Chaos and uncertainty should have reigned.

  Shoving past several stalls while keeping his eyes downcast, he decided to take a left turn, followed by a right. Until he realized he was following the damn dog. What the hell am I doing?

  When the canine suddenly paused and peered over its shoulder, Knox found they were standing in the middle of a deserted length of stalls.

  “Where did you lead me to, huh?” Though the real question was—why had he followed the dog?

  The canine strutted ahead at a leisurely pace, then stopped at one of the unattended stalls. Knox strolled past, glancing at the colorful fabrics and beaded curtains. Maybe now he could shake the damn mutt.

  “I can read your palm,” someone called from the stall behind him.

  Knox jumped, positive there’d been no one there a moment ago. Yet, when he turned, a crooked, old lady sat behind a small, round table. The mutt lounged near her feet as she patted its back absently with a wrinkly hand.

  “Is that your dog?”

  The old woman shrugged and the scruffy wig on top of her head shifted. “Sensor is no one’s dog. He’s free to go where he wants. Don’t you think that’s a luxury we sometimes take for granted?”

  The way she narrowed her beady eyes at Knox made him uneasy. Almost as if she knew exactly who he was, and where he’d stumbled from. She made him feel strange. A shiver crawled down his spine as if someone had stepped over his grave, which reminded him about the vampire’s bite.

  He’d been unconscious for days so the vampiric toxin had to have taken hold of him, which explained why he could so easily pick out the scent of blood everywhere. And the drumbeats…were heartbeats.

  His head spun at the thought, but Knox had to accept his fate.

  “I can read your palm,” the woman said.

  “No thanks.”

  “What about your eye or foot—”

  “I don’t think so.” He shook his head and was about to turn away when the coot spoke again.

  “How about your heart, then? I can read your heart.” The old woman’s smile revealed a row of tiny, pointy teeth. “It looks like you need some guidance, and I can hear your sluggish heart from here. I can help you. I know what you’re becoming.”

  Her creepy tone, coupled with the suffocating isolation in this part of the market, made him wonder if this woman’s trade was of the preternatural kind. He wasn’t the type who believed in hocus-pocus but he’d seen some weird shit in the dungeons. Not to mention he’d been infected by a vampire.

  “I can help you.”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “I know I can help you,” she insisted.

  “What I really need is something to eat.” It was worth a shot because his stomach felt hollow. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.

  Her dark gaze went to his throat and he pressed his fingers against what were now two deep holes on the side of his neck.

  “I can offer you sustenance,” the woman said with a smile. “For a price, of course.”

  “I don’t have any credits.”

  “I would like to read your heart so much—that would be the price.”

  This woman was creepy but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Starvation was making his stomach cramp. His life was doomed anyway. He hesitated for a moment. “So if I let you read my heart, you’ll give me food?” His stomach rumbled at the mere mention.

  She nodded. “But I will have to go first.”

  He was sick of wasting time, so he nodded when she motioned to the small chair across from her. As he sat down, he peered at the crystal ball between them and watched as it somehow projected his image along the shiny surface. He looked away and focused on the woman instead.

  The old coot was dressed in what looked like a one-piece, silver spacesuit that hung baggy off her bony frame. The brown wig twitched, revealing a single, blinking, yellow eye with a vertical pupil, staring right at him.

  She leaned over and placed her left, wrinkly palm over his chest, right above his heart. As soon as she did, he felt warmth flow through him and forgot about the creepy wig. Her smile disappeared, replaced by pursed lips that caused the wrinkles on her lined face to appear deeply etched. The humor faded from her twinkling eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, swallowing his uncertainty. What did she feel?

  “It’s just as I suspected. You have a sick heart.” She closed her eyes for just a moment. “And it will stop beating soon.”

  “Nah, I don’t think so.” This woman had no idea what was going on with him. Vampirism didn’t equal a sick heart.

  “When you find something to live for, your heart will stop beating for a short time. And as soon as it beats again, you will be a blood-getter.” Her dark eyes shone brighter. “That’s how the change works.”

  “How the hell—”

  “Becoming a blood-getter doesn’t mean death, but finding a purpose makes all the difference in your new life.”

  He scoffed at her words. He doubted anything would ever strike any sort of passion within him again. But he was here for only one thing. “Okay. Now, where’s my sustenance?”

  Her features darkened and the dog barked. “Don’t you want to know more about your condition? You might be facing a long life, but there’s much you don’t know. There
are different paths you can take.”

  “Listen, lady, I just want something to eat—”

  “If all your focus is on feeding, then you’re already doomed.”

  “I haven’t eaten for days.”

  She hesitated for a long moment, too long, before finally exhaling and meeting his gaze. “Fair is fair, I suppose.” She removed her hand from his chest a little reluctantly. Reaching behind her, she grabbed a silver goblet from a small shelf and poured liquid into it from a colored flask. “Here you go.”

  Knox took it from her and as his mouth filled with liquid, he gagged so violently he leaned to the side and spat it out. “What the fuck is this?” He wiped his mouth and coughed a few times, then dumped the goblet beside the crystal ball. The glass turned to red and was still reflecting his warped and elongated face.

  “Blood,” she answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Blood? I’m not a bloodsucker yet. I asked you for food.”

  “You expected herbal tea, perhaps?”

  “I expected a protein drink, at least.”

  “I delivered the sustenance you need.”

  “Did you just con me, old woman?”

  Her eyes flashed amber before returning to brown. “I am a woman of my word, so don’t you dare accuse me otherwise. The parasitic nature will soon overcome you. When the first drop of fresh blood hits your stomach and spreads throughout your body, the change will begin. The sooner you get your system going, the better. I was trying to help you along.”

  “Good thing I didn’t drink that blood—”

  “Just remember, you have a choice. Don’t let the hunger dictate who you are. Remain who you always were, Eniell Knox.” Her dark eyes flickered to amber again. The wig-thing sitting on her head opened its eye, scrutinizing him as much as the old woman. “You don’t have to become a coldblooded parasite.”

  Unable to bear this bizarre situation, Knox pushed the rickety, wooden chair back and stood. They hadn’t exchanged names, so how the hell did she know who he was? Actually, the only name mentioned during their conversation was the dog’s.

  “Remember who you are.” Her words chased him up the aisle as he made his way from stall to stall, close to collapse. “You have a good heart, Knox. Let yourself find passion or you will be lost to the bloodlust.” Her voice sounded as if it were inside his ears.