Bloodlines (Demons of Oblivion)

by Skyla Dawn Cameron

  He was so fucking dead. I didn’t know when, didn’t know how, but I’d kill him.

  I kept my attention on Ilona. Her dark eyes were glassy. Skin went pale as blood pooled on the floor around her. “I do not wish to become that,” she said softly, slipping into Romanian. I hadn’t heard my native tongue in years, didn’t think I could speak it, but caught the meaning of her words. “Ana...do not let me become one.”

  Behind us, several men came into the room. They scooped up Dragomir and returned him to his cell. I paid them no notice as they looked over Ilona, then returned to Sean to make their findings known.

  “Her neck is badly torn, sir, but she’ll live,” one of them said. “She has lost a good portion of her blood.”

  “Well then, she’ll be ready for the change,” Sean replied.

  “Ana, please,” Ilona whispered. Tears formed in her dark eyes, then pooled down the sides of her cheeks to hit the floor.

  I understood. Understood what she asked me for. Understood her reasons for it. Sean was right; we didn’t have any other choice. We weren’t getting out and my allies were dead. The only people who would dare track down someone like Sean were Hunters, and they would kill us all in the process. Energy drained from me; my shoulders sank, head dropped. We weren’t going to win.

  I nodded and she started to smile.

  “Thank you, child.” Her eyes closed.

  I placed my hands on either side of her skull. Felt silky hair and smooth skin beneath my fingers. With a sudden twist, I wrenched her head free from the last bits of muscle, flesh, and remaining bones that attached it to her body.

  And Ilona was dead.

  Dragomir gave out an anguished howl in the other room, as if somehow he felt her passing. Enough of his true self was left to allow him to mourn the death of his love, but, so help me, he’d be joining her if I ever got the chance to kill him.

  “Come now, Zara,” Sean called. “We really ought to return you to your room.”

  I stood, keeping Ilona’s head clutched in my hands. As I turned, I flung the skull at him and it struck him in the chest. Anger blazed in my eyes, daring any one of the other people there to come near me.

  “Looks like Ilona is AWOL.” I didn’t fucking care if they saw the tears rushing down my cheeks. If they thought me weak. A joke. “I guess you’re down one recruit.”

  Sean looked down at the bloody mess on his designer suit, then at the vampire’s head. He gave it a swift kick back into the room, straightened his collar, and gazed at me, uncaring. “We now have you to make up for it. Put her back in her cell.”

  His guards—whose numbers had doubled to six—came in and surrounded me. They braced themselves for a fight, but two of them had Tasers, the others still had guns and stakes, and I was pretty sure that if I had a chance to break free, now wasn’t my moment. I went willingly from the room, crossed the expansive hallway, and returned to my cell.

  Sean entered the room after me. “You ought to lie down.”

  I walked to the table and leaned against the edge. “I kinda feel like standing.”

  With a few muttered words from Sean, my back shot down onto the table. Struggle as I may, my body remained frozen under the spell, and I could only watch as the warlock strolled over and released the heavy shackles from my wrists and ankles. From there, he pinned each limb down with a set of thick metal cuffs attached to the table. He re-buckled the three straps across my chest, stomach, and lower legs. As the spell wore off, I yanked and twisted, but it was no use. My arms, legs, and torso were each strapped down too tightly for me to move any more than half an inch, and could do nothing as he brought out a pair of surgical scissors and sliced at my clothes.

  Chilly air touched my skin and I squirmed. “You know, if you’re going to starve me, the least you could do is let me wander around my prison a bit.”

  “The blood in your body will keep you in your normal state an extra couple of months,” Sean said. “I’m done with experiments—I need my army ready now. Since you’re of Dragomir’s bloodline, it shouldn’t take long.”

  Jamie came in then, wheeling a machine with several long, skinny tubes running into it. He pulled off my boots and socks while Sean slid off the last of my clothes, then two men took the free ends of the pipes and drove them into the veins of my arms, legs, and even my throat.

  Agony burned as Sean flipped the machine on and blood pumped from my body.

  “May I have a moment with her?” Jamie asked.

  “By all means.” Sean gestured dramatically my way, then went to stand at the door.

  Jamie dragged a hand along my bare flesh, making my skin crawl, then leaned down so he was within inches of my face and grinned. His eyes sparkled as if he wasn’t, you know, just standing there watching me be drained of my blood.

  “Probably hurts, right?” he asked.

  “Not like you’re going to when I get out of here.”

  “Aw, still retaining hope...that’s so cute.” He bent his head down further to whisper in my ear. “No one’s coming for you. They’re all dead, but they wouldn’t have cared anyway. You know what Junior said just before Sean killed him? He asked about Mishka. He cared more about salvaging his memory of the woman who tried to kill him than he did for you. While he was having his flesh torn from his body, believe me, you were the furthest thing from his mind.” He pulled back, taking delight in whatever pain he saw there. “It’s too bad about this. Had the circumstances been different, darling...well, you get it.”

  “You are such a little—” I gasped mid-sentence as I felt the last bit of my blood being stolen from me.

  “What was that, honey?” He leaned a bit closer, turning his ear to my face in a pretend attempt to hear me better.

  I pulled a ball of spit into my mouth and spat it on the side of his face.

  “That really was gross, Zara.” He wiped the spit off on the sleeve of his shirt.

  “Weasel,” I finished my previous sentence.

  “Whatever you call it, at least I’m still alive, my dear.” He tipped his face down to mine to plant a kiss on my lips.

  I opened my mouth to return the kiss. How he missed the fact that my fangs were still elongated from my fight with Dragomir, I’d never know. I slammed my teeth down into his lower lip, biting straight through to the other side and tearing off a mouthful of flesh.

  Jamie yelped. His closed fist slammed into my cheek and pain bloomed, spreading across the side of my head.

  “You fucking bitch!” he growled.

  “Whatever you call it, at least I’m not a wormy little prick, darling.”

  He smacked me across the face again, but I was beyond pain at that point. “I’ll be seeing you, sweetheart.” He started for the door.

  You’re damn right. I’d get out. I always got out—I wasn’t over three centuries old for nothing. I’d find a way to escape and I’d kill him.

  Sean moved out of Jamie’s way at the door, but just as he did, two Tasers shot at him. The vampire fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

  “Looks like we have an opening in one of our rooms, Jamie,” Sean said as he looked down at him. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy your new accommodations.”

  The guards dragged Jamie away and I almost smiled. At least there was some justice for the wicked.

  “I never much liked him anyway,” Sean said as he unhooked me from the machine that now had all my blood.

  “Me either.”

  He wheeled the pump back out into the hallway, then regarded me from the doorway.

  “Do you think you could at least bring in a TV?” I asked. “If I’m going to be here a while, that is.”

  “No, I’m sorry, I really ought to conserve electricity.”

  “So are you just cheap, or are you an environmentally friendly evil-mastermind-wannabe?”

  “Actually, I’m a sadist. I was thinking this might make you feel a bit more at home.” With that, the lights suddenly shut off, the door closed, and I could no longer see outside the
room.

  My cell was pitch black. I was confined. Couldn’t move. The cold from my lack of blood overwhelmed me and then I knew what Sean meant. I was there again...

  Back in the dark place.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ghost

  I struggled against my bindings. Cried out. Sobbed until my eyes could form no more tears. I shook the table in an attempt to tip it, my thinking being that they would at least have to come in and fix it...but I was weakening fast. Nothing could be done, darkness closed in, and I was royally fucked.

  The hunger consumed me only hours after Sean left. All rational thought left my mind. I tasted blood, remembered the feel of it filling my mouth and running down my throat. I thought of how it felt in my stomach as it was pulled into my veins, warming me through and through. But the mere thought of it made me hunger more, and I started to shake from the cold.

  I can only say that I went insane. Completely. Sometimes I thought I was back in my sarcophagus in the Fidatov crypt. Other times I swore I was back in Dragomir and Ilona’s cellar. I carried on entire conversations from my past, with people I hadn’t seen in centuries.

  I often dreamed of murdering Pavel again, but this time Jamie’s face was in place of his. I think I enjoyed that part of my madness the most: murdering both my betrayers at the same time. I could replay the scene as I originally did it, or enter any number of variations. Sometimes I would string him up and let the blood slowing drip out of his body...or I’d make him watch me kill Ecaterina, but slower than before, taking my time in torturing her...or I would involve fire, singeing his skin one inch at a time...

  Wild fantasies of escape filled my mind. Nate would come to my rescue. We would kill Sean and destroy wherever it was I was being held, and I would get to feed again. And then I could finally make wild, passionate love to Nate as he realized maybe blondes weren’t his type after all, but in fact he preferred sexy, raven-haired vampires. Or hell, even with Peter. He was pretty cute, and he adored me.

  And I hated myself for even thinking it.

  No one ever came for me—not ever.

  Something cracked and broke me in at that very thought—at knowing the only person I could consistently depend on was myself, and I couldn’t help me. Not a single person existed who might look for me—no allies, no friends. And even my wildest hopes hurt to contemplate.

  Pain soon interrupted my dreams. Pure agony coursed through my body, and I felt every moment of it whether I was asleep or awake. It was more than the hunger, more than the cold...something else was happening. Something I couldn’t survive.

  No one’s coming. Ever.

  If I couldn’t save myself, I was fucked. My entire life, I’d always saved myself. Got myself out of trouble. That’s why Zara existed instead of Ana—to rescue me. No damsel in distress complex here. But I was locked away in the dark and I wouldn’t be let out until I’d lost my mind completely.

  I wished it had been me in place of Ilona. God, I just wanted to be dead.

  ****

  Alone. All alone, always alone.

  A loud, repetitive beep sounded outside my cell. Like an alarm of some sort.

  I could’ve been dreaming. Consciousness had become irrelevant, as my hallucinations were as real as my dreams. I gave the sound little thought until my eyes opened.

  And I could see things.

  The room around me; my body stretched out on the table; a dim, orange-ish light shining through the door to my cell—the glass must have been switched back to two-way. Outside, I could distinguish little but a series of red lights flashing in time with the alarm.

  Another rescue fantasy, probably. I hated those the most; my heart squeezed and I closed my eyes, willing a revenge one to come to me next.

  Feet thumped on tile. I cracked my eyes open again; now a dark shape moved outside my door. My vision strained, tunneled, the world gray and spotty. Seconds later the door opened and someone dressed all in black stepped into the room.

  God, it can’t be...

  My throat was dry, aching, and my voice came out thin, hoarse. “Nate?”

  He had a beard and exhaustion played across his features, but it looked like him. “Yeah, Zara, it’s me.” His voice reverberated through me, shaking me to my core.

  Stupid Technicolor dreams. “No. You’re dead.”

  Then I felt his hand on my face—his fingers so hot they seared my skin—and he looked deep into my eyes. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

  Oh my god. My throat got lumpy—he came for me. I wasn’t alone. He fucking came back for me, didn’t leave me alone. Not alone.

  Nate glanced behind him as there was shouting in the hallway. “But we aren’t safe yet. Wait a sec...” He worked swiftly on the straps, yanking them free from the buckles, one after the other, but then paused at the metal cuffs over my wrists. “Do you have any idea how these open?”

  “They just...just snapped on—”

  Pain shot through me and I arched, cried; my body spasmed, muscles tearing and squeezing. White flashed over my vision.

  “Zara?” Nate’s voice sounded fainter than it had moments ago. Perhaps I really was just imagining it all...

  “Zara.” Again. Closer.

  The sound was a lifeline: I grabbed hold of it and let it tug me back to the world.

  “Shh, just relax.” Fingers trailed my cheek, calming me with each stroke. My vision cleared and I saw him still standing over me, though his brows were knitted together in a frown this time. I gathered strength and flexed my fingers. Glanced down.

  Holy shit, I was naked.

  I looked up at him again. “Please tell me you brought clothes. Cute ones.”

  Relief flickered across his face for a moment. “You can’t move while I’m taking care of the restraints. Can you hold on for a minute?”

  I tried to nod, but wasn’t certain if I accomplished the task or not.

  He removed a mini Ziploc bag of some sort of powder, sprinkled some on the restraints, stepped back, and then muttered a few words. Sparks flew at the cuffs on my arms and legs as something crackled its way through the metal. Following a single gesture from Nate, the restraints flew back against the table and suddenly it was mine...freedom. I had a bloody hard time trying to move, but I was free.

  “What was...?”

  “Something to dispel magic. The interior of the building is saturated in it—I can’t work without dispelling them layer by layer.” Gunfire sounded outside my cell. Nate snatched a look outside the door, then glanced back at me. “Can you stand?”

  I nodded, weakly swinging my legs over to the floor and shifting to a sitting position. Fire tore at my insides, around my left ribcage. Shit, I hadn’t healed.

  Nate grabbed his gun from his belt, stepped into the hall, and fired at whoever was out there. He motioned for me to follow.

  No sign of my clothes—Sean had cut them off and not even scraps remained. I slid from the edge of the metal table beneath me; my body was already so cold that the tiles felt warm on my bare feet in comparison. I stumbled toward the door, an aching rushing through my legs. Usually strong muscles failed and my hands flew out to grasp the doorway as I tottered forward.

  “Zara...” Nate caught me and threw my arm over his shoulder. “You could have just said you couldn’t stand.”

  “Hey, I was standing fine...it’s...it’s walking that posed a problem.” I gave a wan smile. “Big difference. I’ll probably be okay in a few minutes.”

  He held me close—his hand settled on my ribs and I screamed, felt my knees buckle.

  “What—”

  “My ribs,” I whispered.

  He leaned me against the wall, felt the ribs under my left breast. “They’re broken. Have they been beating you—”

  “It’s just not healing.”

  A curse left his lips. “I’ll fix you when we get out of here.”

  I nodded and slipped away from him to peer outside the room to see five more guards enter the hall via a set of dou
ble doors at the far end. “You don’t have clothes for me, do you?”

  “Nope.” He ducked back into the cell as people fired at us. “I should probably do something about them. Then I’ll find you something to wear.”

  “Yeah, that might be a good idea.”

  After ensuring I was okay and wouldn’t be falling over again, Nate returned to the hallway, shooting down the armed men that were racing toward us. I gazed at my right hand that gripped the doorway.

  Oh hell, I must look bad. My flesh was pure white and pulled tight against the tissues it covered. Every crease, every hollow between the muscles, bones, and joints—all of it amplified.

  I was starving. Literally. And that meant I was probably somewhere in midst of the change that had taken over Dragomir. Images of the creature that had once been my maker flashed in my head, their graphic quality giving me an almost physical pain.

  “Clothes.” Nate’s voice pulled me from my reverie. I blinked, and focused on pile of soft cotton he thrust in my hands. Black yoga pants and a tank top—what I’d seen some of the other vampires wearing.

  What Ilona wore.

  They could’ve been her clothes, washed and thrown back in a pile, ready for the next “recruit.” Bile rose in my throat, but I said nothing. The pants slid on easily once I braced myself against the wall, and had a drawstring I could pull tight to keep them from falling. I slipped the tank top on next.

  “I’ve been naked this whole time and you didn’t try to cop a feel.” I shook my head. “I must be getting pretty fugly.”

  “I saw you almost naked plenty of times and managed to restrain myself.”

  “Yeah. Don’t remind me.”

  With a wry smile, Nate wrapped me in the warmth and security of one of his arms—careful to avoid my ribs—and helped me out into the hallway. Scents tickled my nose; I breathed in soap, male pheromones. Blood, thumping through his veins—oh god, I was hungry.

  I thrust the thoughts back. Blinked. Hard. Couldn’t worry about that now—had to get out.