by Dave Ferraro
***
One by one, sounds trickled into my head.
Somewhere to my left was an incessant beeping. It was steady, sounding the same pitch every time, and a hazy image floated across my mind.
It’s a heart monitor.
I tried to open my eyes, but they felt swollen shut. I reached out with my mind to the rest of my body. My limbs were far too heavy, like I was made of cement. My legs felt bare. I managed to wriggle a toe and then a finger, tracing coarse fabric. I was laying on something lumpy, with my neck supported by a fluffy bump.
A mattress, a pillow… I’m on a bed.
More curious than ever, I pried my eyes open. Everything was a blur and much too bright. Blinding white lights overlooked me, glaring down on me as if I was lying right under the sun. Dust particles floated on the air, sparkling like diamonds. There was a buzzing in my ears that I wasn’t aware of when I had my eyes closed. My ear drums tingled like I had been at a rock concert without any ear plugs.
Slowly, I picked up other sounds: the trickling of an IV, the low hum of a television, the sharp clip-clop of approaching heels, accompanied by a sultry, French-accented voice.
“She’s coming around,” the woman said, though “she” sounded more like “zee.”
A dark blur appeared above me, shining a light into my eyes. I hissed and shrank away. “Where am I?” I croaked. My voice sounded like I had swallowed broken glass.
Just as I was about to demand she turn off that damnable light, it vanished. The blur-woman disappeared behind the spots firing before my eyes, not saying anything. I heard her scribble something on a piece of paper, so rough it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. I ground my teeth together and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sound. Why were my ears and eyes so sensitive? I had migraines sometimes, but they were never this excruciating. I tried hard to remember what had happened, but kept drawing a blank.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the French woman said sarcastically. “Does that bother you?”
I looked to my right. My vision was beginning to clear, and I could make out the tall frame of a young woman who appeared to be in her mid twenties. She removed a stethoscope from around her neck. “I forgot how disorienting it can all be. I’ll try to be more considerate.” She gave me a fake smile, pressing the cold metal a little too hard against my sore chest.
I immediately decided I didn’t like her. She seemed awfully hostile for a doctor. “Who are you, and where am I? What happened?”
She straightened, pulling away her stethoscope. “I’m Dr. Paris De Lange.” She whipped out a board and wrote something on it. “And you’re in a hospital.”
I looked around. The walls were cinderblock, and all the wiring was sticking out, giving it a crude appearance. The bed was basically a cot, and the only chair in the room looked ancient, like whoever had assembled the place had done so in a hurry, as more of an afterthought.
More like a dungeon than a hospital. “Why am I here?”
Paris moved to check my IV and heart monitor, ignoring me. The mist in my eyes was slowly disappearing, allowing me to see more details.
She was gorgeous – like in a classy, “1930’s Hollywood” kind of way – with red lips and long auburn hair swept up in a clip. Her skin was rosy, practically glowing it was so clear. Red-rimmed glasses sat low on her sharp nose, and her nails were perfectly filed and painted a deep red to match her glasses. A gold wedding band adorned her ring finger, and there wasn’t a single wrinkle in her crisp, white lab coat. On her right shoulder was a red cross and a winged staff (I’d seen it before on other medical supplies, but I couldn’t recall its name), followed by four gold chevrons stitched down her sleeve. I caught the flap of a white military jacket beneath her coat, along with a skirt. But there was something off about Paris, a weird, almost “telekinetic” aura that radiated from her, like loose energy.
Maybe it’s just your imagination.
“What am I doing here? What happened?” I repeated.
She tilted her glasses down and peered at me over the rim. “You’ve changed,” she said with a small, cold smile. “Don’t worry. We’re going to take good care of you.”
My flesh chilled. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong with me?”
I desperately tried to remember what had happened, but I couldn’t recall anything past waking up here. I felt the first strands of panic as my pulse began to race.
My heart monitor picked up speed. Paris was next to me in an instant, needle drawn. “Amnesia is normal, and usually brief. You need to calm down,” she snapped.
“No!” I yelled, staring at the syringe. “Get away from me!”
Amnesia? Had I hurt my head? Was I in some sort of accident?
A shadow moved from the corner of my eye, and I looked up. All the air left me, like I’d been punched in the chest. “You!”
Features flashed through my memory: platinum hair, eyes as blue as the ocean, and thin lips hiding a pair of fangs.
I leaped from the bed, ripping the IV from my hand. I winced, but kept my eyes trained forward.
The boy from the Red Sector stepped into the light. He was taller than I remembered, wearing what appeared to be a jet-black military uniform. Four golden chevrons darted down his right arm. He held his hands up, one of which was bandaged from the Scarlet Steel wound. “Easy. We’re not here to hurt you.”
I narrowed my eyes, tensing up.
“Careful, Aden,” Paris said. “That cut on your chest isn’t entirely healed yet.”
Aden. So that’s his name.
I reached for my hip, where the dagger should be, but gripped only a thin hospital gown. I remembered fighting the boy – Aden – in the house, right before he took the dagger from me and…
My hand flew to my neck, touching a fresh bandage. I gasped, locking eyes with him. “You bit me.” All the color left my face. “You drained me, didn’t you?”
The boy froze, not saying a word.
“Oh, my God.” The air in the room thinned, and I stumbled.
No, no, no, I can’t be one of them.
“It’s okay,” he said, voice soft as a lullaby. “You’re still human, with nothing more than a virus.”
“A virus which can’t be cured!” I screamed. “It might as well be cancer!”
He grimaced, and my stomach churned as the room spun. Sounds hurtled toward me, impossible sounds I shouldn’t be able to hear, like Paris’ heartbeat, the strong swoosh as her heart’s chambers opened and closed, siphoning blood in and out, in and out.
I held my hand up to my face. The bloody gash where I ripped out my IV had already healed, leaving a thin pink scar. A sob escaped my throat, which felt like it was getting tighter and tighter as I stared at my hand in disbelief.
Aden stepped forward, watching me with a mixture of pity and concern. Paris looked from him to me, making to move but I threw a hand out. “No! Stay back!”
The boy didn’t stop. “Please. I had no choice.”
“No choice?” I yelled back. “Are you kidding me? You had a choice! You could’ve not turned me!”
“It’s not that simple,” he growled.
My face twisted in hatred. I opened my mouth to speak, but noticed Paris was gone. Behind me, I heard the soft click of a heel and I spun. Paris’ eyes widened right before I kicked her as hard as I could. She went sailing backward into the wall, dropping the syringe as she hit the floor.
I ran. My legs felt wobbly, my balance skewed, as I bolted out the door and slid into the wall. Aden cried out to me, but it only made me run harder. I tore down the hall, pushing aside patients and hospital personnel as I went.
The walls were also cinderblock, with cheap black and white tiles laid out in a checkerboard pattern along the floor. The air smelled sterile, but it was mixed with something else, something not quite human. It was the same energy I had detected on Paris when I first awoke.
Someone stepped in front of me, and I met his eyes as I passed.
They flashed red, and I gasped in surprise. Slowly, my eyes widened as I scanned the curious faces that had turned to stare at me, meeting a pair of red eyes each time.
Vampires. They were all vampires.
Where the hell am I?
I swore under my breath. This couldn’t be happening. Maybe I was having another nightmare, and any minute now I’d wake up. But as the bleach on the air burned my lungs, I knew I wasn’t dreaming.
Paris, the boy, the people around me… they seemed normal, should be normal. They looked like me. Some of the teenagers even looked like the types of friends I kept back home (not that I had many).
But they’re not like you at all, are they? They’re not hunters. You have to stay calm and find a way out.
I turned a corner and plowed straight through a group of nurses, meeting with rude comments as I shoved people aside. I ran and ran and ran, my heart beating faster and my breath coming in short, quick spurts as I raced for the exit sign at the end of the hall. Two young women walked out of the door, chatting amiably with one another.
“Move!” I yelled, slipping between them.
They looked at me, startled, as I burst through the door and shakily raced down the stairwell, taking two steps at a time.
Hundreds of thoughts wrestled in my head. Find a payphone and call mom. Alert the Scarlet Guard. Where am I going to sleep tonight? Can I even sleep anymore? You should let Leo know. He could rescue you.
I seized up.
Leo.
A hard knot formed in the pit of my stomach. What would he do when he found out? Pity me? Help me?
Kill me?
The stairwell ended, and I burst through a door into another sterilized hallway. Across from me was a sign with two arrows, LOBBY pointing left and ER pointing right. I went left, spilling into an empty, window-lined room a few seconds later. My eyes darted around. The windows ran parallel to a hallway, at least, from what I could tell. There was a reception area, with little potted plants spotting the carpeted floor. At the center sat a petite, innocent looking receptionist at an oak desk.
I looked past her and my eyes locked on a set of doors, about fifty feet away.
Go. Now.
I didn’t hesitate. Glancing around, I jogged across the room, my bare feet barely making a sound against the carpeted floor. The receptionist said something, but I didn’t hear her. All of my attention was focused upon those doors and the enticing promise of freedom they offered.
Almost… there…
My fingers had just grasped the brass handles when I heard the bolt lock and a brilliant red light flared to life above my head, accompanied by a shrill siren. I swore, tugging at the doors and rattling the glass panes on either side, but they refused to budge.
Somewhere in the hospital, footsteps thundered toward me. Someone shouted, “The front entrance! Get all security down there now!”
I took a deep breath to calm myself. Think, Sloane. Stay calm. What would Leo do?
He wouldn’t have gone alone into a Red Sector, for starters.
I frowned, telling my subconscious where to shove its sarcasm, and licked my lips, deep in thought. I turned around, surveying the room for more exits, but there were none. Just walls of glass and that horrible shrieking red light.
Walls of glass…
I picked up the first chair I saw as the thought formed and raced toward a window-wall. Feeling strength I had never felt, I raised the chair over my head and hurled it as hard as I could at the window. It hit with a loud thunk, bouncing back, but it was mixed with something else, a sound so minute only my enhanced hearing could pick it up: the tiny crackle of breaking glass.
I peered at the place where the chair had struck. Sure enough, there was a small, almost imperceptible crater.
Desperation and hope flooded me. I grabbed the chair and begin banging it against the window, over and over again. With each blow, the crack spidered out, creating thin blue veins along the glass.
I felt the window start to give when they caught up to me, a flurry of voices from the other side of the room.
No! Not now, not when I’m so close!
Someone was whimpering behind me. I turned to find the receptionist cowering behind the desk, trembling as she muttered something into the telephone.
“Freeze!” a man shouted as a wall of guards took aim around me.
I could try to throw the chair through the glass, but that might cause them to shoot me, and going through the front entrance was clearly not an option, as the doors were locked.
And I was completely surrounded by vampire security guards.
I’m almost ashamed to admit what I did next, but you never know what you’re capable of until you’re pushed to your absolute last resort. I darted behind the desk and pulled the receptionist in front of my body, pinning her arm to my chest with one hand while I grabbed a fistful of her pretty blond hair with the other, yanking her head back.
“Don’t!” I snarled. “Or I’ll rip her throat out!”
The poor girl shuddered with a sob, her young face drenched in tears. I wasn’t actually going to rip her throat out – Who am I kidding? I felt guilty when I killed an insect, let alone a girl, vampire or not – but the guards didn’t know that.
I felt them tense as they eyed each other sidelong, unsure if I was really that unstable. I took a good look at them and noticed they were all wearing the same black military uniforms that Aden wore, only theirs’ had one chevron each.
Despite the wailing of the siren, I was able to hear the approach of deliberate footsteps. “Enough,” Aden said, stepping through the throng of guards. One of them separated from the group, walking up to him. “Captain Knight, what is your command?” he asked.
Captain?
This guy was their leader? He looked barely old enough to be enlisted.
Aden held up a hand, quietly silencing his comrade. His strong, cerulean eyes remained locked on mine, the hint of a smile on his lips.
“Release me!” I cried out, returning his sardonic smile with a look of pure contempt.
“And where will you go?” he asked. “There is nothing left for you in your mortal world.”
His deep, melodic voice wrapped around me, sending chills up my arms. “That’s not true,” I said, but the seed had been planted. Doubt began to grow in the back of my mind. What if he was right? My mother hated vampires, as did Leo. What happened when the only allies you had left would surely want you dead?
Aden gazed upon me with sympathy. “I am truly sorry for what you’ve lost. Believe me, I wish there could be another way.”
I opened my mouth to speak, a retort hot on my tongue, when the back of my head exploded with sharp pain, and stars burst before my eyes. I stumbled, losing my grip on the receptionist as someone planted his knee in my back, forcing me down hard. My cheek slapped against the floor, a burning sensation spreading across my jaw as it dug into the carpet. Before I could react, my arms had been cuffed behind my back.
The guards began to scatter, but through the crowd my eyes found Aden’s, his smile now shifted into a mask of cold indifference.
My face contorted in unrestrained anger, burning not from embarrassment but from rage. “I hate you,” I whispered.
His lips parted to say something and I knew he’d heard me, but before I could make out the words, there was a feather-light prick along the back of my arm and a wave of drowsiness rolled through me.
Like a close friend, darkness consumed my line of vision, the regret in Aden’s too blue eyes the last thing I saw.
Find out what happens next.
The Scarlet Dagger
Book One in The Red Sector Chronicles
The strength of Sloane’s heart is about to be put to the ultimate test.
