Taken: The Vampire's Concubine: Part Three

by Desiree Broussard

  “Fuck that,” a vampire replied. He was on the ground and standing at the rear of the wagon. Zander was careful to remain motionless. “There's no way in hell I'm walking across sand dweller territory, although it would be a lot faster than the snail's pace you've been keeping.”

  “You think you could do better, asshole?” the driver scoffed before jumping off the wagon and gesturing grandly toward the seat. “Go ahead, be my guest.”

  Asshole had a change of heart. “Look, all I'm saying is that this is bullshit. That worn out path through the sand that they call a road isn't any kind of protection against the sand dwellers. They're going to scent us as soon as we hit it, I just know it.”

  The rowdy group of vampires were quiet as they pondered on his words. Finally the driver spoke up, breaking the silence. “The money is good, but it's not that good. So I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to take him out far enough to guarantee he's eaten, and then we're going to dump him and the wagon. We'll just tell the others that we were attacked, and the wagon was destroyed. After all, the only thing they're concerned about it is making sure this bastard is destroyed. I doubt anybody is going to lose any sleep over a wagon.”

  The other men snickered at his words. “You got that right,” one of them agreed. “Sounds like a good plan to me. I can be back in Diabolos within the hour and in a whore's bed in two.”

  “And be done with the whore in two hours and five minutes,” another vampire chortled. “And four of those minutes will be spent feeding.”

  “Fuck off,” he shot back, much to the their amusement.”Just because you can't last doesn't mean I can't. No wonder the whores are so friendly when you walk in the room. With you, they don't even have to fake it. All they've got to do is lift up their skirt, and you're done.” His smug voice trailed off, certain he'd put the other man in his place.

  The wagon started off, Zander's body screaming in protest. It was too bad he couldn't feed off one of them, it would have went a long ways toward initiating the healing process. Just thinking about it made his mouth water, though he grimaced in distaste at the source. Feeding from a bunch of scruffy men wasn't his ideal way of taking nourishment, but they would have to do.

  The wagon moved slowly, the horses reluctant. They could sense the dangers waiting just beneath the surface, and they didn't like it, but who could blame them? The sand dwellers were scary as hell and damned near invincible.

  Horses weren't native to Legionnaire, but they'd been transported from Earth, centuries before. They had thrived in Legionnaire, growing larger and stronger than they'd ever been. They weren't immortal, but their offspring had done well, too. Legionnaire was now full of them, and many of them were tamed, although wild herds could often be found. They were only used for recreational riding, but it wasn't very often. Most vampires preferred their own natural speed over riding, which was why his current mode of transport made no sense.

  The others didn't appreciate the delay. With a lot of roaring and cursing, his captors finally convinced them to move a bit faster. “You know, Laryn is going to be pretty pissed when we don't arrive with the prisoner. What if we took him back to Diabolos with us? What do you think Laryn would do with him?” The vampire on the bench resumed talking, as if he couldn't take the silence.

  “As healthy as he is, he'd probably put him in the caves to mine,” the driver replied. “Or maybe he'd earn his keep flat on his back in the brothel. Or maybe his stomach. Hell, who knows? Maybe he's already had him.” He stopped to cast his passenger a meaningful look. “He was pretty messed up when we got there. Makes you wonder why Laryn wanted his tongue cut out.”

  Zander stiffened at his words, his fingers curling silently in the gravel. Over his dead body. He'd never play whore for anyone.

  “He's not my type,” his buddy said as he dismissed his words. He rubbed his hands together, as if he were anticipating betting things. “When I'm fucking, I like to feel some tits bouncing, the bigger the better. I always take my whores from behind. Hairy asses just don't do it for me, you know what I mean? Why would I want to look down at one, when I have one of my own?”

  Despite his pain and anger, Zander couldn't help but roll his eyes in exasperation. The man was an idiot. With his never ending chatter, Zander almost felt bad about his plan to destroy him, it was clear he was a few bricks short of a load. Maybe he'd just feed off of him, instead.

  The wagon made a sharp turn, pulling Zander from his thoughts. His lips curled up in a feral smile, his body thrumming in anticipation. Soon.

  The vampires on foot remained behind, watching the wagon as it moved down the desert road. The odds had suddenly evened, much to his delight. The two in front of him were unaware of the danger behind them, confident they'd soon be rid of him. Zander was one of the best fighters on Legionnaire, his body conditioned for battle. He focused on everything but his injuries, keeping his mind free of the pain.

  The wagon continued on, much to his relief. They needed to be far from the remaining vampires, it would give him an advantage. Zander was confident he'd be successful, so long as he moved fast. Getting past the others would be a problem, but he dismissed it from his mind. One step at a time.

  “Shit, did you hear that?” chatterbox murmured in the darkness. The bench creaked as he moved his head from side to side, searching out the desert. “Do you think it's a sand dweller?”

  “It will be if you keep yapping,” the driver hissed back angrily, urging the horses to move a little faster. “I wish we could dump the bastard here, but it would look too suspicious. We need to make it look like we were attacked, just in case someone decides to come back and check out our story. If we go further in, our story will be more believable. After all, this area isn't called the dead zone for nothing.”

  “Yeah, okay,” the first man agreed. “The sooner the better. I've seen a full-grown sand dweller devour a man before, and I've got to tell you it left me with nightmares. Their mouths stretch over a body, and they don't eat fast. It's almost like something is slowly suckling their prey in, from within, and our strength and immortality don't mean shit when they get a hold of us.”

  “How the hell did you end up seeing that?” the driver asked curiously, his voice disgusted.

  “My mom was a slave and so was I, at least back then. The vampire that owned us was cruel, his judgments harsh. He was so bad he makes us look like angels. Anyhow, the bastard wanted to teach us all a lesson. So he randomly selected one of the slaves and made us bring him out here. He was here, too, but he remained far enough back that he wasn't in any danger.”

  He stopped and gulped loudly. “The other slave fought like hell, but we knew what would happen to us if we didn't force him into the sand. So we did, and every time he tried to climb out, we pushed him back in. It didn't take long. A sand dweller reared out of the sand, his head reaching up as high as a tree. When he came back down, he engulfed that vampire's head in one swoop before lifting his body clear off the ground. We could hear him screaming, although it was muffled.”

  His voice dropped a notch, so low Zander had to lift his head to hear it. “I kid you not. That slave screamed for a long time, and all the while, the vampire that owned us was grinning. It did something for him, something unnatural. He enjoyed it, and we all knew it.”

  “Damn,” the driver growled, the word drawn out as if he found the idea extremely repugnant. “I really could have lived without hearing that story, you stupid fuck.”

  He wasn't the only one. Zander wiggled his toes, pushing the story from his mind. The razor sharp pain reassured him. At least he could feel it, something he originally hadn't been capable of. Zander could handle pain, but he couldn't take helplessness. In their world, helplessness got you killed.

  The two men continued to swap tales, but Zander blocked them out. Slowly he changed the position of his head so he could see behind them, his movements quiet. Luckily in Legionnaire, their deserts weren't flat. Between the hilly terrain and the desert trees, they we
re completely isolated. He could take his captors out and hide. Maybe if he waited long enough they might even give them all up, marking them off as lost to the sand dwellers. The Seiyadians weren't exactly known for their loyalties. He highly doubted these would be any different.

  When the attack came, it came without warning. A sand dweller burst out of the sand, his head and body as wide as the wagon, before striking in their direction with the speed of a space plane. He immediately engulfed the guard closest to him as he funneled his way over the top of them, sending the driver flying out into the reddish sand. The wagon broke underneath his weight, but luckily for Zander the sand dweller moved on. Otherwise, his weight could have crushed him.

  But he'd be back. If not him, it would be another one, just as hungry as the first one. Zander sprung from the wreckage, landing on the hard ground with a grimace. The driver was face first on the sand, blood gushing from the gash across his forehead. He was clearly knocked out. An unconscious vampire was rare, and that more than anything told Zander that he needed to move his ass.

  The other vampire's blood tempted him beyond belief. Despite the mortal's beliefs that vampires were cold and undead, they were actually very much alive, and they had the heartbeats to prove it. Zander could almost taste his blood. He imagined suckling it deeply from his artery as the force from every beat spurted it into his mouth.

  Coming to his feet, he scanned the desert for the sand dwellers as he focused on something, anything besides the temptation so close to him. The horses fought desperately against their harnesses, drawing his attention. He quickly released them, each horse frantically running back in the direction they'd came from. With one last wistful look at the other vampire's forehead Zander sprinted away, moving away from those still waiting for their comrades.

  His movements were agonizing, but Zander didn't let it slow him down. The frenzied actions of the sand dweller as he fed was a beacon to the others, and they wanted to get in on the action. The surface of the sand rippled as more sped toward the road.

  The road was sparse with no place to hide. Thousands of years before, some of the vampires had attempted to settle in the desert, unaware of the hidden threat underneath the ground. The settlers had been attacked that very first evening, most of them perishing. The few that escaped returned to Golden Harbor, with stories of creatures that even the vampires couldn't defeat.

  Luckily for them, the sand dwellers couldn't leave the desert. Had they been able to, they would have wiped out an entire world of beings. As it stood, though, an uneasy truce had been struck between them, of sorts. In other words, the vampires kept their asses out of the desert.

  Zander hadn't been alive when the old ones had attempted to settle there, but the stories had been passed down. Legionnaire had been inhabited by vampires from the beginning of time. Like most civilizations, they'd went through wars, leaders, and laws before eventually settling into their current way of life.

  A way of life he wasn't going to enjoy, if he didn't make it back out of the desert, Zander reminded himself grimly. The ground was vibrating from the force of the sand dwellers. Although he could no longer see the driver, he had no doubts he was dead. He wouldn't have lasted five minutes.

  But two full-size bodies weren't enough to hold them off. A large one shot out of the sand, barreling quickly in his direction. Zander leaped out of the way, only a second before he would have had him. The sand dweller dove into the ground on the opposite side of the road, no doubt turning around for another go.

  In the distance, he spotted a large desert tree, its massive trunk thick and sturdy. Their desert trees were always bare of leaves, the dry environment couldn't sustain them, but it didn't affect their size. They were created to thrive in the harsh, sandy environment, their limbs as tough as nails. And to his relief he saw an opening in it, with any luck it would be large enough for him to hide in.

  Zander jumped on the tree, his nails digging into the bark as he struggled to wiggle inside. Despite the darkness, he could easily see inside the rectangular-shaped opening. The wood was smooth and insect-free. It was larger than he'd originally thought, with a sigh he pulled his legs in and quickly found his feet.

  From his vantage point, he was able to see the wreckage from the wagon. The other vampires were gone, as if they'd never been there. His suspicions had proved correct. In the moonlight, the sand was alive as its inhabitants searched for even a tiny morsel of flesh... Or maybe a new victim. The feeding frenzy had started.

  One of the largest sand dwellers stopped, its head raised fifteen feet above the ground. It scanned the ground with its eyes, its movements slow and thorough. Zander frowned as he watched it from the darkness. Was it just looking, or could he sense him from within the confines of the tree? As solid as the tree was, he wasn't confident in its ability to withstand repeated attacks.

  After several seconds, the sand dweller turned his head as he stared in the other direction. Then he dropped down before quickly speeding off. With any luck, the other vampires had gotten brave and decided to venture out to see what the hold up was. Problem solved. The sand dwellers wouldn't have any problems taking them out, though, Zander hoped the horses had escaped.

  Zander sank down inside the tree, wearier than he could ever recall being. Watching the snake-like creatures was disgusting. It reminded him of the time he'd passed through the Amazon and learned what a breeding ball was. That had been enough to turn his stomach, so much so he'd vowed to never step foot into a rainforest again. At the moment, he just wanted to vomit. He had a serious aversion to anything that resembled a snake, especially when they were flesh colored like the sand dwellers. They looked like penis worms, only enlarged about a thousand times.

  The minutes passed by slowly. Eventually, the area around the tree grew quiet as the sand dwellers moved on. Zander wanted to give them enough time to move on, but he didn't want to wait too long. The sooner he got out of the desert the better.

  Climbing out of the tree, Zander dropped down lightly into a crouch. He had no choice but to run his way out, and unfortunately, he'd have to leave in the direction opposite of the one he'd arrived in. It would lead him further away from Golden Harbor, delaying his return even more. If he were lucky enough to survive his desperate sprint, he'd cut across to the sea and arrange for passage back to the palace.

  And blood. Along the docks, he'd have no problems finding a fountain, although he would have preferred a willing donor. The blood fountains would hold him off, though, and that was all that mattered. He felt all but dried out.

  Zander set off, his ears attuned to the sounds of the night. His body was even weaker than he'd realized, his pace slower than it had been. As determined as he was, he wasn't foolish enough to deny his doubts about his abilities. The thought of Keely's fate, if he didn't survive, was the only thing that kept him going.

  But it didn't sustain him. Mile by mile, the dry and deserted terrain remained the same, each hill a sandy clone of the one he'd just left. And on one of those inclines Zander stumbled, his reserves depleted. He slammed into the road face first before rolling over against the base of a tree.

  Zander struggled to get back up, but blackness beat at his consciousness. He was ashamed of his weakness as much as he resented it. His mouth felt as dry as sandpaper, his arms refusing to cooperate as he struggled to push his body up. “Damn you,” he muttered harshly, despising everyone that had brought him to that point.

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” a female voice asked in the darkness, her voice smug. The superiority in her tone rankled Zander immediately, but he was too broken to turn his head. It had become an effort to even hold his eyes open. Zander bit his lip hard as he fought to stay conscious.

  She walked around his body before stopping in front of his face. She wore black boots with a six-inch heel, an odd choice for the desert, or so his dazed mind thought. Lifting her right foot, she pushed Zander over onto his back. Staring up at her, he recognized her immediately. It was Arania, the fem
ale vampire he'd been betrothed to.

  Her eyes flickered cruelly over his face and body, her foot resting painfully on his chest. She was extremely tall for a female vampire, although he dwarfed her by several inches. After her perusal, she threw her head back and laughed, her fangs glaringly white in the darkness.

  “So it's true,” she murmured in a throaty voice, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Zander had always found Arania to be handsome rather than beautiful, but it was as if his weakness had stripped her of her mask, revealing the savage woman that she really was. In the glow of the moons, she was downright ugly. How could he have been so blind?

  Because he had never really looked, Zander decided immediately. He'd been blase about his betrothal, viewing it as a means to an end, nothing more. Things like attraction and desire hadn't mattered, but one day it would have, and by then it would have been too late. How could he have been so willing to tie his life to a woman he didn't even desire?

  “So Kosmas decided to sell his prized guard into slavery,” Arania continued, her expression filled with delight. She gestured around them as she added, “But I don't see any masters here, which means your fair game.”