Bleeder [Blood Magic, Book 1]

Chapter 10: Keel

I awoke to the drawn-out, plaintive squeak of my cell door swinging open – very, very slowly.

Something was... different. Off.

Boras and the king were forceful and direct; neither would creak open the door as if they were costumed characters in a haunted attraction, revelling in the drama of the big theatrical scare. I opened my eyelids a crack and glanced around my cell. A lanky shape in black jeans and a hoodie slipped through the doorway. How did he get past the guard? I wondered.

The figure crept across the room towards me, hood completely masking its wearer's face, reminding me of the vampires on the truck. The key to my cell dangled from a pale white finger. Had this intruder killed Boras or the guard – or both?

I looked for traces of blood, but there weren't any. Nor were there any signs of a struggle. In fact, after a cursory once-over, I wasn't sure my visitor could have taken either of them in a fight. Whoever it was stood at least a head-and-a-half shorter than the other vampires I'd encountered.

Am I hallucinating?

Maybe my loneliness had finally birthed me an imaginary friend.

No. Can't be.

A figment of my imagination would have no need to creep.

Could this be it, then? I wondered, as I sat up, never taking my eyes off of the creature slinking towards me. Could this be the thing Boras feared: an opportunistic young vampire with an insatiable craving?

The intruder stopped a few feet in front of me, stuffed the cell key into the right front pocket of his jeans and crouched down. It bothered me that he could see me, but his face was obscured by fabric and shadow, so I couldn't see it. What's he hiding? None of the vampires wore hoods down here; they didn't have to - this was their domain.

"I always wondered what one of you would look like," rasped a male voice from beneath the hood. He sounded thirsty. Not a good sign.

"We're taught about your kind in school, you know," he continued.

"School?" I asked, voice wavering. If I'd learned anything over the last eight weeks, it was that no one ever came down here looking for conversation.

"Never mind that," my visitor snapped, keeping his voice low as if he was worried about being overheard. "I want to see what you can do."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your magic. Show me your magic"

I laughed, and it stunned me, not just because it had been weeks since I'd last done that, but because it'd transformed into a cold, brittle, mirthless sound that reminded me of the king. I suppressed a shudder. I didn't want to have anything in common with that monster.

"If I had magic, do you really think I'd let myself be kept like this?" I rattled the chains to emphasize my point.

"But..." my visitor said, pausing to puzzle it out, "I can smell it on you."

"So you all say," I said, rolling my eyes at him.

He crept a tiny bit closer. If I extended my arm, I could yank back his hoodie and expose him, but I fought the urge, unwilling to put any part of myself too close to a strange vampire's teeth. Lesson learned. Boras would be proud. I still had nightmares about what Harck had done to me in the root cellar, though these days, most of my night terrors were dominated by the king – my lord and boogeyman.

"I want to taste you," my visitor whispered. "Have a little preview, if you will."

There it is, there's the hunger. With an extra dollop of creepy.