“So sweet. Now I see why Vincent has such an interest in you. You’re not entirely human; I can’t take over your mind. You have seen my dead. It may be lonely now, but it won’t be when I’m done. You’ll stay close to me forever. The best part is I can’t block the pain. I won’t even try, I want the screams to echo through these tunnels.”
“I have two people following me. They’ll stop you,” I spit out at him. Try to be brave, Amy.
“Ah yes, a hunter and a vampire who hasn’t been able to catch me for centuries. They may find me, but it won’t matter much to you,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because,” he says as his claws rip through my shirt, shredding the material and leaving my breasts and chest bare. The silver necklace suddenly flares to light, and he backs off. The metal pulses, and it seems to be burning into my skin it is so hot. I cry out in pain, but clench my jaws together – this is keeping the creature away.
“So, you are not completely defenseless,” he says, with a touch of amusement in his tone.
He takes a sword that has been sitting by his bed and walks closer to me again, shielding his eyes. I hear the crackling of his own skin as he moves the tip of the blade under the chain. The cross sticks to my skin and burns brighter as he pulls the chain up. There is a sucking noise as the cross comes off my skin, then the necklace is jerked, the chain broken, and both chain and charm go flying somewhere into the sewer, losing their glow. I can smell burning flesh and look down to see what looks like a brand on my skin.
“Now that we have that out of the way,” Elric says as he leaps forward towards me. I begin to struggle as he breathes down my neck. It’s like my nightmares, but I am unable to move. Past him I can see the dead girls, looking at me with remorse, holding out their arms to me as if welcoming me to their sisterhood, even though I was their last hope. His elongated canines tease the flesh at the side of my neck.
“If I bite you, you will become one of my kind.” Elric laughs, and then he scrapes his claws along the side of my neck. He plays with the blood leaking from my neck with his claws and his tongue and I am revolted. I am in agony. I can’t move, I can’t get away. I want to escape from this anguish – I’ve never wanted death so badly before in my life.
Chapter 14
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Elric does not just maul my neck; I start to feel his sharp claws digging into my lower torso, beginning to sink into the flesh there as if my skin is water that gives under his touch. He draws his face away from the wound, looking into my gaze as his claws sink in deeper. It is a new type of pain, blossoming from the tips of his claws and spreading throughout my abdomen with horrible swiftness. I squirm, writhing under his touch as if it can ease the pain.
“I’m going to rip out your small intestine and make you eat it,” he whispers to me, stroking the side of my face with his free hand.
Elric is suddenly knocked away from me by a force I can’t see. He’s down on the ground with Vincent on top of him. I can feel blood dripping from my neck and look at the puncture wounds on my stomach – they’re not as deep as I’d feared; he was toying with me, after all, he wanted to make it last. But still, blood is trickling from the puckered wounds.
“And I thought tonight would be dull,” Elric says. He’s up on his feet, Vincent close at his heels, and my eyes can’t follow their movements. Vincent is enraged, primal growls escaping his lips as he lunges for the werewolf. I hear the slam of their bodies connecting, and my hair blows past my face, letting me know they are fighting. Elric’s laughter sends shivers up my spine. There is a terrible crunching sound before a hand suddenly falls in front of me and I let out another scream. I can’t tell if it is Vincent’s or Elric’s, but the fighting doesn’t stop.
I follow their movements through the drops of blood that are left in their wake. I can tell that Vincent is trying to keep the fighting away from me while Elric pushes towards me. I’m the weakness.
“Don’t hold back,” I whisper, because I don’t have the ability to speak any louder. “Please stop thinking about me.”
For the first time, I feel something brush against my mind; maybe it is because the loss of so much blood has weakened me, but I believe Vincent is there. His presence in my head is not invasive, it is warm and soothing. A strange comfort, as if he has taken me out of this hellhole to someplace warm and clean and safe, where I can wash away the blood and grime. There is a promise to take me there, no words spoken, just a vow to make up for all the pain he has caused me.
The fighting intensifies as the vision fades. I relax back against the chair, my pain still with me, but dulled somehow. And then I feel someone cutting at the straps that hold me in place. I open my eyes, and Damon is in front of me. He’s sweating, out of breath from running.
“You found me,” I murmur.
“You just…vanished. But Vincent smelled your blood and took off after you. I’m not as fast,” he says. I can hear the defeat in his tone. He touches my cheek, removes his shirt and places it on the wound on my neck. “Amy, I’m so sorry.”
Then he is pulling away from me and now that his shirt is gone, I can see how heavily armed he is. Various weapons are strapped over his chest, secured around his waist, bound to his forearms. Somehow he is able to track the blurred movements of the fighting creatures, and he pulls out one of his guns and takes aim at Elric. The gun goes off, and my ears hear nothing but ringing as the sound reverberates through the sewage system.
For a moment, Vincent and Elric pause in their fighting. Vincent is holding a gleaming silver sword, and I’m happy to see it is Elric’s hand that is missing. But Vincent is severely wounded – It looks like Elric’s claws have sliced halfway into his neck. Elric’s clothes are shredded to pieces. He is drenched in vivid red blood. I can’t tell if more of it is his, or mine, or Vincent’s.
Damon fires another round into Elric, missing the heart, and Elric charges at him, only to run into the steel force of Vincent, who pushes him against the wall. Elric claws at Vincent, and I see bone where there should be flesh, but Vincent is unflinching.
“Hurry up, hunter. I can’t hold him for long,” he snarls.
Damon pulls a silver dagger from one of the holsters on his pants. He moves with the grace of a mountain lion before slipping between the two. Quickly, he plunges the silver into Elric, who lets out a wolf like howl. Vincent lets go of him, and both men stand back. I watch the werewolf scream in agony before his body slowly becomes lifeless.
The figures of the murdered girls start to vanish. I watch them wave to me, their bodies reconstructing themselves into what they looked like before they died – beautiful, young girls who had lives, futures ahead of them. Jane smiles sadly at me as her form vanishes from sight.
Strong arms scoop me up out of the chair. The chest I am leaned against is cold, and I look up to see Vincent, who looks frightening, hurt badly enough that he can’t pretend at a human form.
“You need a hospital,” he says, though I can feel the want in his eyes as he looks at the open wound on my neck.
“And you’re not in the best condition to take her,” Damon says, sword drawn and placed against Vincent’s throat.
“Correct. I must feed,” and he stares at me longer than I’m comfortable with. I put a weak hand over my neck to cover the wound. “You’ve lost too much blood, Amy. Don’t fear from me. I have enough control to lead both you and Damon to the nearest hospital.”
“Maybe I should carry her,” Damon says.
“We will move quicker if I do it.” And I feel Vincent’s arms holding me closer to his form, as if he does not want to let me go, as if he wants to make sure I’m still real and alive.
“Let’s not fight, and just get on with it,” I say, resting my head against Vincent’s chest and closing my eyes. I feel so dizzy.
Vincent walks fast but not fast enough that Damon can’t keep up. We turn corners in the tunnels, splashing through the gunk befo
re stopping at a ladder that leads up to the real world. It is here that Vincent hands me over to Damon, with some reluctance, to push the manhole cover away. He takes me from Damon again and crawls up, setting me on the sidewalk outside a hospital. He presses his lips quickly against mine, sending a wave of unwarranted pleasure through my aching body.
“Until we meet again, Amy,” he says, then he jumps down into the sewer. Gone as if he was never there.
Damon comes up the manhole, shuts it, and picks me up, walking towards the hospital. I don’t know what he did with all his weapons, but he only has a gun at his side. I suppose walking into a hospital fully armed wouldn’t be the greatest thing in the world. My head falls against his chest, listening to his beating heart and taking comfort in how alive it feels. My eyes close and I can’t help but welcome the darkness that overcomes me.
Epilogue
I stay in the hospital for three days. I’m not sure what story Damon told them of how I got the marks, but the doctors don’t ask me many questions. My neck is stitched up, and the holes in my stomach get staples. There will be a scar where the cross burned into my skin.
Everyone but the person I wanted to see and thank comes to see me during my stay. Vincent keeps away, but I can’t help but hope that I will be able to see him again. I don’t even get any mysterious flowers that will let me know he visited my room or at least checked up on me.
I move half my stuff into Damon’s apartment, my own not feeling safe or mine anymore. I don’t know yet if I’ll stay there for good, or if I’ll rent a new place of my own. But for now I am glad to be with Damon, to fall asleep and wake up safe in his arms. Rick finds me an instructor to help me with hand-to-hand combat, but Damon begins to train me as well, to defend myself against the supernatural. I’m not going to become a hunter, I know that much, but he wants to make sure I am prepared if the need to defend myself against what goes bump in the night ever arises again.
I go back to working as a forensic investigator, but suddenly my job seems less satisfying than before. I am still proud of my work, and I know that I do a lot of good on the police force, but something is missing. I’m not saying I want to be a superhero, and it is nice not having nightmares, but I have scars now that tell stories. I have been touched, and there is no way to return to normal after that.
Especially not when my boyfriend comes home scratched up and bleeding from some fight with the undead. He never tells me the stories but on those nights, I can see the horror in his eyes. Damon hasn’t closed himself off from me, but he is still unwilling to share his nightmares.
I guess that’s how some relationships work – there is always something to keep hidden. I am not sure exactly what I feel for Damon, but I’ve never felt so connected to another man before. I have never felt so safe and wanted, even though he doesn’t have the time to take me out dancing.
And I hide things from him as well. There are nights when he was gone that I do sneak back over to my apartment and wait. I expect to see Vincent return, remembering how sweet his lips felt pressed against mine in front of that hospital, and the promise he made me.
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Mysteries of a Vampire
Martha Woods
© 2016 Martha Woods
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
For permissions contact: [email protected]
Chapter 1
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Sara Bishop was standing over a pot of boiling broth, stirring it while the aroma wafted through the house. That morning, before she went to school, she filled the pot with chicken bones, carrots, onions and celery, along with a healthy helping of garlic and peppercorns. Then Sara covered it and set it on low. When she got home from school, she would smell it all the way up the street.
She used a mesh strainer to separate the liquid from the rest of the ingredients and poured it back into the pot. She planned on making chicken and dumplings. It was comfort food at its best because it reminded her of when she was a kid, and her mother used to make them during the winter.
Her mother just got a job at the hospital, working as an RN where they forced her to work long hours, often early in the morning too late at night and sometimes she worked two shifts to cover for some of the other workers. When that happened, Sara never got to see her at all. She usually found herself sitting in the silent house, waiting for her mother to get off work.
The silence got so bad that nothing seemed to be able to penetrate it. She tried keeping the TV on, staring at the box mindlessly but her eyes kept drifting towards the dining room clock. Music didn’t help much either. Nothing seemed to fill the void, so she did little things that she knew would make her mother’s life easier.
She swept and vacuumed, scrubbed the kitchen and cleaned out the refrigerator, anything to help her pass the time. Cooking was the one thing that made the wait easier. Sara's Mother loved it. There would be home cooked meals sitting on the table every single night. Sara would make the table a place for them to gather, setting it with flowers, candles, and little decorations to make it inviting.
She was an artist, not in the general sense. She was terrible at painting and drawing, but cooking gave her a way to channel her energies into something(omit). She imbued everything with herbs and spices that enhanced the ambiance of the evening.
Some days were coriander and thyme. Other were oregano and basil. It all depended on upon the atmosphere that night. Some dishes were comfortable like soup; others were fiery like curry. She kept all of her recipes in a faux parchment book she bought online, sitting on a shelf above the stone.
Sara reached up to grab it, trying to avoid knocking over the spice containers. When her fingers finally rubbed against the rough surface of the cover, she stood up on her tiptoes and grabbed onto it. She was too short to pull it out in one swipe so she had to stand as tall as she could and edge it across the bottom of the cupboard.
It was leaning over the brink of the shelf when it came crashing down and fell right at the edge of the hot burner. Sara snatched the book up before it could catch fire and rushed it to the kitchen table.
As soon as she sat down, her phone started ringing. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered. “Hey, mom.”
“Hey, sweetie.” She sounded rushed. “How’s it going?”
“I'm making dumplings,” she announced proudly.
“I hope you make a bunch.”
“I will.”
“Hey, listen. I’m going to head home pretty soon.”
“It’s only 6.” She never got out early.
“I know. I got somebody else to cover the rest of my shift.”
“Really?” She nearly jumped with excitement.
“Yup.”
“I’ll get everything ready. I’ll see you soon.”
“Alright. Love you.”
“You too.”
Dinner had to be perfect so she took her time, pouring her energy into getting it done. Sara sautéed chicken and mixed up the dumpling mix, carefully plopping the little balls of dough into the broth and timing them just right so they didn’t get too hard. Everything was almost finished when she heard the door open, and her mother walked in.
“Hey.” She was sweaty with her bright red hair tied up in a messy bun. “Oh, my God, Sara. That looks amazing.” She walked up and gave her daughter a hug. Sara had placed the biscuits in a basket and on the table, along with a vase of carefully arranged orchids and surrounded by a row of candles.
“Thank you.”
Bridgett sat down to catch her breath. “So how was school?”
Sara sat across from her. “Tiring. I had a calculus exam today.”
“You aced it, though. I know you did.”
“I did, but it wasn
’t easy.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“I hope so. You want some soup,” Sara started to sit up.
“Let me just go and get dressed first. I need a shower.”
Suddenly Sara heard her mum scream. She hopped over the glass she had dropped and rushed to get up to her mother's room as fast as she could.
When she reached the bedroom door, it was locked so Sara backed up and threw her shoulder into it. “Mom!” The door flew open so hard she hit the ground.
Sara didn’t see it until she looked up and its white-hot eyes met hers. It wasn’t human. It was moving underneath the pale skin of a man. The second Sara saw it, it was gone, through the open window.
Chapter 2
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“Mom!” Sara pulled out her phone and ran into the bathroom. Her mother’s pale body had blocked off the drain, sending a mixture of blood and water trickling over the edge of the tub. Sara didn’t want to move or even think. To do so would be to acknowledge that she was alive, the world was real and that her mother was actually dead. Sara couldn’t open her eyes because every time she did Sara saw her mother eyes. They were so green, they popped, sneaking out from behind the shower curtain.
Sara stood up, her back turned to the bathtub, drenched in bloody water, trying to decide what to do. They were going to have to be reunited. “I’m coming.” There was blood pouring from her mangled neck. Sara kissed her on the forehead and walked out into her room to where her closet was.
She chose her favorite black cocktail dress. She was supposed to wear it for her graduation party. She looked in the mirror. Her face might have been stained with tears and covered in blood, but it didn't match her short black hair. It still curved in around the chin, enhancing her porcelain doll features.
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