by Lu J Whitley
Inside, there was barely enough room for her to stand upright, but at least she’d found, on her last few allotted trips, she could maneuver her hands up to her face to lift the pillowcase. She choked down a few unfettered breaths of frigid air before the circulation in her hands started to be cut off by the binding zip ties. Wherever they’d landed, it was cold. Like sno-cones in the arctic cold. The small aircraft didn’t seem to have much by way of insulation, and they’d managed to haul her off wearing only Jami’s T-shirt and a sheer lace thong and bra, not exactly appropriate attire for international travel. She’d sell her soul for a pair of pants. Her ass had to be in the first stages of frostbite from sitting on the grooved metal floor. In a perverse way though, she was glad about what she’d been wearing. At least she had a piece of Jami with her. It was warm and soft and smelled like him. She drew strength from his scent invading her senses, trying not to let her thoughts wander too far in his direction.
For most of the flight, she’d been wondering where he was and secretly anticipating the moment when he’d rip the wings off the damn plane and force it to land. Like some swashbuckling action hero, kicking ass and taking names on the way down.
Yes, she knew it was ridiculous. No, it didn’t stop her from praying.
In truth, she didn’t know if he’d gone back for her at all. The sun had been above the horizon by the time they’d dragged her from the darkened cabin and thrown her in the back of a black sedan. He would’ve been burnt to a crisp if he hadn’t taken shelter before then, so maybe he hadn’t planned on coming back. She shook her head to clear the thought. Jami was an amazing distraction, but how long could that last? Long enough for him to return her to his mysterious superiors? Find a way to activate her and use her as a weapon against the very things that had her trussed up in the tail-end of an airplane? She had to stay focused, and if she started thinking about the way her body burned for him or the aching hole he’d left where her heart should be, she’d be lost for good.
Instead, she got down to business. She knew she wouldn’t be able to draw out this visit for long, not doubting for a second that they’d come in after her if she overstayed her welcome. These guys weren't exactly shy. Spreading her fingers as wide as she could within the confines of her bindings, she ghosted her hands over the counter tops. The walls. Even the rim of the commode. Looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Fighting while they’d been in the air would’ve been pointless. She knew that. It’s not like she could fly a plane, so where would she have gone? But now they were safely back on land, the beatings would commence. With extreme prejudice.
As it turned out, airplane lavatories were frustratingly free of anything weapon like. Fucking TSA. Her best bet was a long, stiff, plastic tube that attached to the soap pump. It was small enough to conceal and had a sharp pokey point on one end. In the words of her mother, she could do worse. She slid the tube up between her bound wrists, concealing it as best she could and breaking out in a sweat in the process. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this espionage bullshit. She finished her business (she really did have to pee), washed up, and moved back out into the cabin, not even getting fully through the door before Mr. Slappy was all hands again. He gripped her by the bicep and pulled her toward the front of the plane. Her knees knocked into seats. Bare feet caught on the rough steel. “Easy,” she groaned, “I doubt your boss wants damaged merchandise.”
“He is not my master,” the thing hissed.
“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”
“Urrrgh,” the menacing growl accompanied a fierce shove, and she nearly toppled headlong down an icy metal stairway, the arctic wind biting through her now she was outside the cocoon of the aircraft. Jami’s T-shirt whipped around her hips. Her feet stuck painfully to the frozen platform. She went to take a step forward – blindly – her vision entirely cut off by the pillow case and the surrounding darkness. But she was caught up. Arms wrapped around her, enclosing her in a rough sort of fabric. Or plastic. Was that a tarp? Oh, hell no! Greta didn’t give a rat's ass about her cut arms or frozen feet. She’d be damned if she was going to let these bastards haul her off in a tarp.
With everything she had, she fought, using her bound arms as a club. Kicking and biting when she had the chance. Luckily, she had the advantage of higher ground. As long as she kept moving, they couldn’t seem to get a lock on her. All of them except good old Slappy, of course. He was pushing at her from behind, trying to herd her toward the men at the bottom of the stairway.
Jagged breaths puffed from her lungs, condensing in the fabric that cloaked her face. Soft pinpricks of cold fell and scattered across her bare arms and legs as she wheeled and ducked, keeping just beyond the reach of those entangling arms. Oh great. Now it’s snowing. Her wrists were bleeding in earnest, rivulets of warm liquid running down into her palms and soaking her fingertips.
Jami’s voice echoed in the dark recesses of her mind. ‘If they bite you, they die.’ She wheeled around, spinning on the balls of her feet and catching Mr. Slappy in the face with her clasped hands. She aimed blindly for his mouth and connected with his chin. It was a solid blow, but she knew it wouldn’t take him down. Throwing all of her strength into the next movement, she spun back the other way, hoping he hadn’t moved too far from his original position. With a resounding crunch, her interlocked fingers smashed against the Taker’s teeth. The pain was incredible, but she resisted the urge to pull away. A sharp twist of her shoulders rammed her fingertips into Slappy’s mouth, causing him to bite down reflexively to stop her from pushing further. The sickening slide of his tongue sent shivers down her spine. He reared back, her fingers coming loose as he let out a shrill cry. Pain and anger intertwined. The grasping hands, now at her back, stilled. Gasps of shock and horror expelled around her. Garbled groans of pain replaced Slappy’s shrieking and then quieted altogether. Over the moaning wind, she heard a faint popping – wet and thick – like a pot of soup beginning to boil over. Greta was entranced by the sound, wondering what was happening around her and cursing the damn pillowcase over her head. She began to feel a radiating warmth. An oozing heat slipped over her toes and seeped through the holes in the stairs. Steam wafted up from it, bringing the smell to her nostrils. The metallic tang of blood and the sickeningly sweet aroma of roasting flesh made her gag, her sour stomach retching upward. She didn’t have to see to know what’d happened. She’d melted him. Just like Jami had told her she’d done to the Taker when she was five.
Without thinking, she took a step backward, trying to escape the miasma of bodily juices flowing over her feet. She stumbled, feet losing purchase on the icy metal, her body tipping and falling. One hip collided with hard metal. Her arm cracked solidly on the stair railing, the pain rocketing through her. Until her momentum was stopped dead by the rough tarmac, the back of her skull slamming to the ground with a thud. The concussive force jammed her teeth together with her tongue sandwiched between. Blood filled her mouth. She tried to sit up, but the world around her whirled and winked out in a cocoon of enveloping blackness.
★ ★ ★
The deer’s head snapped to the side, popping loose fragile cartilage and bone. “I’m sorry,” Jami whispered as the light extinguished in the animal’s eyes. The moonlit forest went eerily silent around him. He was disgusted with himself, but the urge to feed was overwhelming.
The beast purred, awaiting its meal. It had been gaining strength from each kill Jami had made over the past few hours. Jami shook his head, trying to block the memories and focus on this one last kill. The beast would be strong enough now, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was stronger as well. His skin had healed in a matter of seconds after he’d taken that first long pull of blood.
Vampire. He’d tried to evade the moniker for so long, but now, the word rattled around inside his mind trying to take root. He envisioned it formed on Greta’s full lips. His stomach turned at the thought, acid rising to the back of his palate.
She’d been right. Sitting in tha
t cabin, her eyes glazed with fear. She'd looked at him like he was some nightmarish monster come to life. He was exactly that… Or worse.
He’d thought he'd been so strong, keeping the demon imprisoned in his mind for century after century. Now, he realized what a fool he’d been. It’d taken only seconds for the beast to tear his defenses apart, rising to the forefront of his consciousness until he was nothing more than a passenger in his own body. He hadn’t had the strength to fight back, something he imagined the beast knew all too well.
A few hours ago, he still hadn’t really grasped the gravity of the situation when the battered door to the cabin had swung open, and the scent of prey had washed over his senses. The withered innkeeper had taken a step in, her hands propped on her hips in an expression of shocked ire at the state of one of her precious cabins. She'd begun yelling. But he'd heard no sound. He'd seen only skin and bone and sinew. Smelled only blood. The instinct to kill – to feed – had put him in a sort of trance. He hadn’t meant to. Had tried everything in his power to stop it, but he was too weak, too hungry. In the end, he’d only been able to watch, helpless, as his body had bent poor Miss Polk backward cruelly and tore out her throat with his teeth. He'd clamped his eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of her broken body sliding to the floor of the cabin. The rasp of her last strangled breaths.
He shuddered violently, the quivering in his muscles having nothing to do with the brisk autumn chill in the air. With a deep cleansing breath, he reminded himself why he was here. There was nothing he could do for Miss Polk now. Or any of the animals he’d used to slake the blood lust. Regret wouldn’t find Greta. Only blood would do that.
His jaw stretched wide. Fangs extended as he rolled the dead deer’s neck to the side, exposing the still warm artery. With a bracing swallow, he struck, sinking his fangs deep and feeling the hot spray of blood sliding down his throat. Jami tried not to think about it. How all of his muscles tensed and quaked with excitement. Blood rushed to his groin. His cock went fully erect from the sheer thrill of feeling the animal’s life force draining into him.
The beast let out a raspy laugh as he moaned. Taste good.
He pushed the dead animal away in horror, scooting backward over the leaf strewn ground and watching as the last trickles of crimson liquid fell from the two deep puncture wounds he’d created. He ran a shaky hand over his mouth, removing the last of the blood from his lips. “Enough,” he growled, glad to finally be back in some semblance of control over his own body now that the beast was lazing happily in its cage. Sated. “Show me where she is.” No answer. The thing had gone silent. Still. “Show me!” The intensity of the shout surprised even him. He let out a few stunted exhales to try to slow his breathing and stop the frantic race his heart was running.
Quiet, the voice in his skull hissed to life, and Jami did as ordered, still not in full command of his faculties, even though the beast had pulled back its hold on his body.
There was something moving. Something stalking the forest floor with the light tread of a well-trained predator. He doubted he would have heard it at all if his senses hadn’t been ramped up by the feedings. Hunkering down next to a fallen oak, his back to the mossy trunk so he wouldn’t be vulnerable to attacks from behind, he slipped his field knife out of his boot. With a sense of calm that only came from centuries of practice, he slowed his breathing and waited.
“Ragnarsson,” a gruff voice called from roughly ten yards downwind. “It’s me. Try not to stab me in the face.”
Fuck. Just what he needed, a babysitter. And it was a dirty trick sending him, Deacon knew it. The director had to know Stein was the only one Jami wouldn’t hurt, even if he’d gone off the deep end. Sly old bastard. Shaking out his tightened muscles, Jami rose from his hiding place, setting one booted foot on the moss-covered oak and sliding his knife back into the sheath. “Gods, Stein, miss me already?”
The other man ignored him, carefully taking his measure from a safe distance. But then Stein had always been a cautious sort. Even when he was a baby, he'd never put a foot wrong. Not that the untrained eye would ever see the wheels working. To the rest of the world, he just went about his day like he was doing now, standing at the bottom of a small rise like he didn’t have a care in the world. His hands were casually hooked in the pockets of his long leather trench. But Jami wasn’t fooled. He’d known the young troll for too long. Four centuries too long. He knew Stein was on edge. He saw it etched in the hard line of his mouth, pulling at his pale features. The set of his stance. And Jami had no doubt the fabric that flared out behind his friend was hiding the agitated twitch of a long tail.
“You haven’t checked in for almost four days.”
“I’ve been… Busy.” Jami looked the big man up and down as he came nearer. And he was big. Nearly three hundred pounds of solid muscle covered bones as thick as tree trunks. A shaggy mop of silver hair hung to his shoulders. Beads of amber winked in the moonlight, dangling from the braids that pulled his hair back at his temples. Nothing in the man before him resembled the troll pup he’d pulled out of a flooded stream all those years ago. Except for the whiskey colored eyes that held Jami’s gaze, daring him to look away.
Stein cocked a thick eyebrow and tilted his head in the direction of the deer carcass. “I see,” he grunted, crossing his long arms over his barrel chest. “You good?” Jami pulled in a deep breath and leaned his head back, staring up into the starless sky. Dawn would be coming soon. They’d need to find shelter. “Jaromir, seriously, you good? Because I’d like to keep all my blood inside my body if possible.”
“Am now,” Jami lied, knowing the beast wouldn’t be sated for long, and the urge to feed would soon become too much to bear. He dropped his eyes, still having to crane his neck to meet his friend’s doubt filled stare.
“How many?”
“Just one.”
“Not the…”
Jami shook his head. He knew what the other man was implying since Greta was nowhere to be seen. “Not her.” The thought that his oldest friend didn’t trust him cut deep, but he understood. He didn’t trust himself either. And Stein had more reason than most not to trust him. They’d been through too much together. Seen each other do unspeakable things.
Stein let out a shallow breath of relief. “Clean up?”
“No, she lived alone. Hotel on the outskirts. I doubt anyone will miss her for a few days.” Jami grabbed his satchel and lugged it over his shoulder. “We should get going.” He started to walk back the way Stein had come, the autumn leaves crunching under his boots.
“You just gonna leave that elephant alone in the room?” The other man turned to follow him with his gaze as Jami passed by.
“She’s gone,” he grunted, not slowing his step.
“No shit, Sherlock, but where is she?”
“Don’t know yet.” Jami closed his eyes and prayed his next words were the truth, “But I will soon.”
★ ★ ★
The room slowly came into view as Greta peeled open her heavy eyelids. Her head throbbed, and the faint glow of sunlight coming in through the tall windows made her want to stick her head under the covers and stay there forever. She rolled over with a grunt, mumbling, “Five more minutes,” to no one in particular. She was just so comfortable, snuggled up in a cloud of warm down underneath a velvet throw. The luxurious accommodations baffled her. Why go to all of this trouble for a prisoner? But she wasn’t about to complain. After the way her week was shaping up, she could do with a little pampering. She was bruised and battered, emotionally as well as physically. She wasn’t used to all this hustle and bustle. She lived a quiet life, or at least she’d thought she did. Being a mystical weapon sucked balls.
“Ungh.” With a pain riddled stretch, she began to sit up gingerly, giving her body time to even out the tilt-a-whirl her brain was riding, propping herself up shortly on her hands until the ouch-factor registered. Her wrists were unbound, thankfully, but bending them still hurt like a bitch. The tight zip ti
es had been replaced with clean white bandages that extended down her fingers to where the Taker’s teeth had gouged her flesh. One mummified hand snaked up to rub at the huge knot on the back of her skull. She wondered exactly how long she’d been out of commission. And where she was.
On the glass-topped side table, there was a bottle of ibuprofen and a carafe full of water. Tempting, but as she slipped her feet over the side of the huge mattress, she had an eerie feeling that she was Alice, and if she wasn’t careful, she was about to fall through the rabbit hole. She opted not to take any ‘eat me’ or ‘drink me,’ in case they’d lured her in with comfy pillows to hide the knives aimed at her back. She preferred to stay as lucid as possible and not forget that they’d wrapped her in a fucking tarp to get her here. One just did not tarp one’s friends.
Her feet glided noiselessly across the smooth stone floors as she crept around mapping the room, looking for any monitoring devices and checking all the entrances and exits. All were locked, of course. But she hadn’t expected anything different. The large windows were out of the question as an escape route. Unless she’d magically sprouted wings in her sleep. The steep stone face of the building stretched down at least four stories, and went up at least another two, from what she could see.
And if she was seeing things correctly, she was in a castle. Like a real one. Rough stone walls encircled the main building – the one she was in – with a snow-covered flagstone courtyard between. She could see stairs zigzagging up the inside faces of the outer walls, leading to high battlements with patrols of guards walking silently back and forth. Beyond that, there was only ice. Miles and miles of ice and snow occasionally broken by a rocky outcropping. No trees. No cover.