Finding Blood (City Underdark #1)

The Cell

To say that he felt things when he was under would have been a lie. He didn't, but that didn't mean that he was left of no memory of his time there when he would awake. It wasn't dark, because there simply was no sight in that space, but it was oppressive. It was the weight of six feet of earth weighing on the dead. But he wasn't dead. Somewhere, buried below, was an awareness. He knew that it could remain there forever, just waiting. It would be a fate worth than death.

A pulse. It wasn't his. Or maybe it was a memory of the time where he had one? It was too weak to be the one of his dead heart. It came from somewhere else. There was some pain with it, as well, even if it was diffuse. It was like sandpaper rubbing on sandpaper, the friction of which remained lodged in his chest cavity even after the pain was gone. Oh, and so was the pulse. Gone, that was. He wished it had stayed.

Please.

He couldn't move.

He didn't breathe.

A drop of life snuck through his lips. Suddenly, he was aware that he had lips, very aware, because the warmth remained there. A drop turned into a sip. He felt that go down his throat, down to his stomach. It cooled as it moved and, when it reached its destination, almost instantly evaporated.

It jumpstarted him. If he had a voice, he would have screamed of pain as each nerve ending of his body returned online at once. He was dragged through the six feet of earth, up to the surface, and that earth was, in fact, sharp rocks and shards of glass.

Yet he needed more. Again. Anything but going back.

He was given more. This time he sucked and tasted the blood for the first time. It exploded in his mouth, making him shiver as it went down. This time, it was the feeling of his muscles coming back to life, of his senses returning. Everything assaulted him at once. The first moment of his rebirth was a jumbled mess. He wasn't just given blood: he was taking in the whole world, and himself.

That was a lot.

He opened his eyes as a reflex. There was movement - something drew away from him. He no longer was being fed too, but that was all right for now. He turned his head, he moved, there was just enough light here for him to understand that the shape above him was a man.

Slowly, as if scared that if it went too fast he'd break reality, he shifted on his side and sat up. He was confused. Scared? Maybe. Everything came to him like through water. He was laying on some rags - a cell. This was a cell. He carried no bindings. All his limbs were there. His chest hurt like all hell was having a party in there. No bolt. Wait, no bolt?

No bolt, he realized with a touch on his chest. Why would he have a bolt? Where was he?

Hugo?

Who was that?

He was ravenous. He still had no blood in him. It was all already gone, so fast. He could have cried real tears of pain he wanted more so bad. But there was a pulse. A pulse. A heart was never empty when it was alive.

He looked up. This was Hugo, the man standing there that was. Barmond saw nothing but him. Already his vision was narrowing, telling him he didn't have much time. He jumped off his bed at him with a growl. He didn't even remember anything except his name, just that he was alive and that Barmond wasn't.

Hugo didn't flinch. He rose his arm, getting it in the way of Barmond attack. The latter latched on to it, finally, finally, sinking his fangs into something warm. He clamped down, expecting a fight, ready to not let go until he was decapitated.

Nothing happened. He tightened his jaw. Blood beaded at the base of his fangs, Hugo's blood. It almost sizzled with life. In fact, now that his memories were coming back, he didn't recall having ever tasted anything so delicious. And... the other wasn't fighting him. He was just standing there.