Pretty Bloody

by K. A Knight

  The location, as it turns out, is a house on the edge of a cul-de-sac. The two on either side are empty with ‘for sale’ signs. The houses themselves are huge, detached, and at least forty feet from the next one. Not a place I would have thought for a blood house, as Ciar calls it, but I guess it makes sense. Who would look here?

  The house Ciar has led us to is a three-story, modern build comprised of red bricks, cute white windows, and an attached garage to the right. It even has a fucking mailbox at the end of the driveaway. I can feel the music from here, with pumping bass rising from the ground up to my feet and matching my heartbeat. As we creep closer, using the dark, I can taste the blood and sex on the air. My heightened senses pick up moans, screams, and laughter from inside and the stink of nightwalker.

  I can assure you, Bella, I do not stink, come and smell though if you aren’t sure, he purrs inside my head.

  I ignore him, concentrating on the house. “How do we get in?” I whisper quietly, barely above the wind, but I know he can hear me.

  We could play master and blood slave? he teases, but I roll my eyes.

  “Only if you’re the blood slave, I ain’t anyone’s slave. I say we kick down the door and kill everyone. Just think of all the blood and shocked faces,” I murmur.

  And people say I’m crazy. Subtly isn’t your strong suit, is it, Bella?

  “I prefer a shock and awe tactic to subtly.” I grin. Both of us are perched behind a neighbour’s fence, watching the show. “I’ll show you subtle, blood sucker,” I tease before standing up and striding right to the house.

  I hear him growl and then hurry after me. “Keep up if you can,” I call over my shoulder, as I hop up the steps and pound on the front door.

  “Who’s there?” a deep voice calls from the other side.

  “Box of puppies,” I deadpan.

  I hear Ciar laugh as the door swings open, showing me a frowning vamp, his fangs hanging over his lower lip, which are small in comparison to Ciar’s.

  So glad you noticed. Let me show you what else is bigger than everyone else’s.

  “Who the fuck—” The sucker starts with a growl, his eyes leering at me as he runs them down my body, but I just dart forward and smash my fist into his mouth.

  Motherfucker!

  Pain explodes in my hand, the bastard cut up my knuckles with his fucking fangs. Reminder, never punch a nightwalker in the face.

  “I would think that was obvious,” Ciar drawls, before stepping around the growling blood sucker. Ignoring him, Ciar takes my hand and examines it. Seeing my blood, his eyes narrow and he flashes fang. “He tasted you,” he snarls.

  He leans down, his eyes on me as he licks the blood from my knuckles, groaning and closing his eyes before he straightens, lets go, and turns to the man. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

  “She fucking attacked me, the stupid—” Ciar grabs him by the throat and effortlessly holds him in the air, cutting off whatever word he was about to call me.

  “Not the smartest tool in the shed, are you?” Ciar sighs before his other hand shoots forward and he rips the man’s throat out. Next, he grabs his heart from his chest, tossing them both into a pile in the corner, and then he looks at me. “Leave yours with mine there, we will torch them after,” he suggests before, with a swipe of his now sharp nails, he cuts off the man’s head, which topples to the floor and rolls until it hits the body parts stacked into the corner.

  Ciar drops the headless, heartless, throatless corpse and looks around. Nightwalkers are frozen everywhere obviously watching and wondering if they should intervene. A woman is lying on the coach with tears in her eyes, and a vamp biting between her thighs and one at her neck, her body bare and covered in blood and bruises.

  Ciar straightens his suit, frowning down at the blood. He delicately takes off his jacket and hangs it on the hook to the left and then rolls back his sleeves to his elbows. “Shall we begin?” he inquires, looking at me.

  “Ladies first.” I grin and then I blur, wanting to show off a little, but also pissed as fucking hell and wanting blood for what’s happened to these women. Just because they have the ability to feed nightwalkers doesn’t mean they have to, and no one should get their choices taken away from them. Freedom is all we have, otherwise the world will just descend into chaos with everyone taking whatever and whoever they want.

  It’s what separates us from the animals, although sometimes even animals are fucking better behaved than us.

  I head straight to the nightwalkers with the woman. Ripping the one from between her legs away, I tear out his heart and throat like Ciar did, and toss them behind me before grabbing his head and ripping that away too. The one at her neck snarls at me and snaps my way, so I dart in, pressing a dagger into his mouth, and keep it from shutting and opening. Then, I wrench out both fangs as he howls in pain and falls back. He gets added to the pile too.

  I turn to Ciar who’s watching me, looking hungry and proud at the same time, before a nightwalker rushes him. He’s a blur of movement, elegant even as he fights. Lethal, deadly, and oh so precise as he tears through the surge of nightwalkers streaming from the house, apparently brought by the yells. I jump into the fray, ripping and fighting with both hands and daggers before I get bored and bring out the big guns.

  My chain.

  Removing it from where it duals as a belt on my trousers, I wrap the silver end around my wrist and flick it out, cutting through necks and body parts. The end is sharp and the tip straight. Spinning, I slash through the masses, then I glance over at Ciar to see him cleave a man apart with his bare hands.

  Oh, he wants to go? We’ll go.

  Flicking the chain at the floor, I concentrate, and within a couple of seconds fire crawls along the silver, covering it. Everyone gapes at me and I grin. “Come and get it, boys,” I purr, as I burst back into action, the flames setting fires as I split them to pieces until ash is floating down around me.

  I don’t think, I just move, letting my power and strength go. All my anger releases with each kill or cut I make on these soulless bastards.

  By the time we are done, the living room—which the front door leads to—is a blood bath. The walls, floor, and furniture are all covered in blood. Our pile of body parts is toppling over in the corner and ash coats the floor. Dead bodies litter the room and I step over them to the woman huddled on the sofa, her face blank but tears and fear in her eyes.

  “Ciar, wipe her,” I demand.

  I turn and head farther into the house, my chain slithering on the floor behind me, burning into the wood as I go, leaving a permanent memory of what I did here. The kitchen is empty, but I freeze at the woman in here. She is lying half on the table, half off it, her neck and thighs ripped open. Her body is bare and clearly abused. They killed her.

  Rage pours through me, the fire snapping on my chain as I turn, deadly quiet, and head upstairs to search for more. Each stomp of my feet on the steps echoes loudly, the only other sound is Ciar whispering to the woman on the sofa. I look over to see he has wrapped his suit jacket around her for modesty and my heart softens for him before I turn to face the stairs.

  The landing at the top is quiet, but I can sense some lives up here. I hear their heartbeats. I don’t know who they are, woman or nightwalker, but I can sense them. The landing leads to one long hallway in front of me. I spot at least six doors.

  Guess my whole kick down the door plan is going into action then. I pick the one on the left first, and raising my boot and kicking it down. I hear a scream inside and spot a woman huddled in the corner with a bloody sheet held to her chest. I smell sex, blood, and death in here.

  “I’m here to help. Go downstairs, they won’t hurt you anymore,” I order, before backing out and turning to face the door behind me. I hear her rushing past me and stumbling down the steps. Each room has a lock on it, probably to stop the women from escaping.

  I kick down the door, and in the split second it takes for the boom of it breaking to register
to the occupants, I’ve scanned the room and I’m moving. A nightwalker, a female, is pinning a human male to the bed, drinking from his throat and grinding on top of him, her dress on the floor beside the bed. A shackle holds his hand to the bedpost and he’s turned towards the door. When he spots me, he doesn’t scream or beg for help, he simply watches me, expecting me to hurt him as well.

  That, more than anything, enrages me, and I grab her hair and yank her away from his neck. He observes in mild interest, his eyes too stained and shattered to belong to such a young face. He can’t be older than eighteen.

  The nightwalker snarls, blood dripping from her chin, her eyes wild, but I hold her still with one hand and stare into his too old eyes. “Hey, everyone is downstairs, you’re safe,” I say softly.

  He scoots out from underneath the woman, bringing his bare legs up to his chest to hide his nudity, and I grit my teeth. The fucking piece of shit. I force myself to relax, even as I rip some of her hair out with my hold. Her claws slash at my hand, and blood drips to the bed from her swipes, but I focus on him.

  “What’s your name?” I question.

  “Fucking let me go!” the woman screeches, so I smash my fist into the side of her head, knocking her out.

  “Mine’s Isabella,” I continue, like nothing just happened.

  He clears his throat, looking from her dead weight to me. “Scott, my name is Scott. Are you going to kill it?” He looks pointedly at her, anger and humiliation coursing across his face before it goes blank again.

  “I was going to rip her to pieces, then burn her,” I admit.

  He nods casually. “Can I help?”

  Erm, traumatised kid said what?

  “You want to?” I ask.

  He nods. “I’ve dreamed about it.”

  Yep, I get that. “I was the same, it’s what got me through.”

  He looks at me then. “Did you kill the person who hurt you?”

  I nod. “One of them, the others were taken away before I could. It made me feel better though, crushing his smug face.”

  I probably should offer some advice, comfort him through it, but I honestly don’t know how to. I’m fucked up, always have been, and this is the only way I know how to help, so instead of sending him downstairs like the others and probably like a normal person would do, I pluck my dagger from my side and hand it to him, handle first before breaking the shackle holding him.

  “Don’t cut yourself. Want me to hold her while you get a few shots in? I’ll have to do the heavy lifting, like decapitating her.” I shrug.

  He tests the knife, his shoulders rounding with confidence simply from holding the weapon. He gets to his knees and I keep my eyes on his face, giving him the respect and dignity he needs. I drag the woman up and in front of me as she hangs like a ragdoll from my grip.

  “Here, stab wherever you want, get it all out. She won’t get to you.” I grab both of her arms and twist them behind her back so she can’t swipe him. I heal, he won’t.

  He hesitates for a moment before darting forward and cutting along her exposed stomach. It’s a small cut, but it starts to bleed before healing. I watch, letting him get it all out, since it’s what he needs. He’s the same as I was, bottling it all up, and it eats you up inside until you snap.

  I did and people died. Bad people, people who deserved it, and I don’t regret it to this day. It helped heal me. I took my pain out on their skin until their touch no longer hurt me and I was free of them. He needs that, needs to see that she can no longer harm him.

  That he is free and powerful.

  Not a victim, but a survivor.

  He lets out a grunt, swinging the dagger again, this time crisscrossing cuts over her body, faster and faster, watching the blood flow before it staunches and heals.

  I see the moment his restraint snaps, the moment he realises she can’t hurt him. He lets out a scream, one that’s so fucking raw and ragged it will haunt me, and plunges the dagger into her stomach, twisting before pulling it out and doing it again and again.

  The nightwalker wakes up and starts to struggle, screaming and snapping at him, but he’s in a rage, unleashing it all on her body until he sags back into the bed, observing his work, breathing heavily and still clutching the knife. Blood coats him now, like clothes, and when his eyes meet mine they have more life in them than I saw before.

  “Feel better?” I ask over her snarling, and he nods before a smile breaks through and he directs it at me.

  “I do,” he whispers, his voice raw.

  I drag her from the bed, pulling her down the stairs to see Ciar working his magic on the second girl. I quickly rip out this one’s heart, throat, and head, and then leave her in the body pile before heading back upstairs. The young boy is pulling on a shirt, and already has some trousers on but no shoes. He looks at his feet then me. “I couldn’t find any,” he whispers, sounding so sad.

  “We will get you some. For now, go downstairs, my friend is there. I need to clear these other rooms,” I advise him. He looks frantically at the stairs and then me, his eyes flying wide.

  “Can’t I stay with you?” he begs.

  Fuck.

  Glancing at the remaining doors, I know this is a bad idea, but I can’t seem to say no. “Fine, stay behind me, and don’t stab me or lose that,” I warn, gesturing at the dagger in his hand. He tightens his grip, nodding and looking fierce.

  I unwrap my chain around my hand again, this time without fire, and walk to the next door. “You know if any of these are full?” I inquire, not bothering to lower my voice, knowing everyone up here will have heard me by now.

  “I don’t think any more…customers, but there might be a few of us left up here. They lock up the ones who are most likely to escape or people’s favourites so only they can visit them,” he spits.

  “How long have you been here?” I thought they tossed their victims?

  “A year,” he whispers brokenly. “That...that thing was obsessed with me and she was the main guy’s plaything, so he let her keep me. Usually the others either die or get wiped and removed.”

  I leave him to his pain. Nothing I will say will make it better, so instead I kick down the door, breaking the lock and taking in the scene. I wrap my chain back up when I realise the room is empty and move on to the next, breaking down that door. This time the room isn’t empty, but I sure as fuck wish it was.

  A girl, no older than twelve or thirteen, is huddled up in the corner of the room, her eyes locked on me and swimming with tears. Big baby blues take up her whole face, her lower lip is trembling, and her dress is ripped at one shoulder. She has a bite mark on her neck from what I can see.

  She only cries when I pick her up and troop downstairs, her little body shaking with the force of it until I can’t handle it anymore. I sit her down with Ciar and he takes her hand, instantly talking to her in a low voice. She sobs and throws herself into his arms. He starts to sing, his tone soft and low and filled with pain as he rocks her.

  It’s so beautiful, I can’t watch, so I turn away and walk to the pile of parts over in the corner. It’s nasty, but even with their heads off and hearts out some nightwalkers can survive, so you have to burn them, I know that.

  So I burn the pile. I set it alight and watch in glee, but the small victory doesn’t make up for knowing they hurt that little girl, but it’s all I can offer her. I have no songs or kind words like Ciar, it’s just not in me, but I can give her safety. To know they will never hurt her again.

  That is more than enough, Bella, Ciar whispers gently in my head.

  Grunting, but feeling better, I head back upstairs and clear the other rooms. I find a woman’s cooling body, but other than that no one else is left for me to kill or save, so I head back downstairs and stand there, feeling useless as he wipes their memories.

  “I have called a friend, he will get them home and safe, and I will make sure they are taken care of and never hurt again,” he whispers, knowing I can hear him.

  “Good,” I r
eply but then Scott steps down, closer to me.

  “I don’t want whatever he is doing to them,” he snaps, shaking again as he watches each sobbing woman transform into a peaceful, blank person before going to sleep.

  “It doesn’t hurt, it will only take a second, and then you won’t have to live with all this.” I wave around, turning to him.

  “I’m not worried about it hurting, I can handle pain, they made sure of that. I don’t want to forget. This is who I am, scars and nightmares and all. If I forget, I won’t know why I feel like this.” He smacks his chest. “I don’t want that to go away, I want to know what hides in the dark, I want to remember everything I did to survive. I want to have the right to choose that,” he finishes fiercely, staring me down. I feel Ciar moving to my back, obviously done with the others and sensing the boy’s raising anxiety.

  “You understand what you are asking?” I reply calmly. “You will remember everything, but you’ll never be able to tell anyone.”

  He nods, looking only at me. “You said you understood, I saw it, you knew the pain I’d been through. Don’t ask me to let you take that away. Did you keep yours? Would you let anyone make you forget?”

  “No,” I admit with a sigh. “That pain and horror is what made me me. It’s my past and my reminder, it’s a part of who I am.”

  He nods. “Exactly. Please, Isabella, don’t take that from me. It’s the last choice I have.”

  Sighing again, I look over at Ciar. “Can you give him the same deal, protect him but don’t wipe his memories?” I plead.

  He glances from the kid to me and inclines his head. “He will be looked after, do you want to go home?”

  Scott shakes his head, backing away at the mere mention. “No, my mom sold me to them. Please, I’ll go anywhere else.”

  Ciar sighs then steps away, leaving for a moment. He returns quickly with a piece of paper in his hands which he passes to Scott. “Go here, it’s my house, it will be safe and stocked with everything you could want. Make yourself at home, use whatever, keep an eye on the place for me, will you?”

  Scott blinks back tears, holding the paper to his chest. “Thank you.”