CHAPTER 27
The first sensation to hit me when I woke, was the fowl scent of something acidic. Under that was a layer of something musky, wet, and metallic. The combination of the two made me gag.
Every square inch of my body seemed to be pulsating. My head hurt the most, so it took me a muddled moment to remember what happened.
Oh, right. I let that bitch kick my ass.
"Wakey, wakey," she cooed.
Speak of the she-devil.
Her soft, silky voice set off lightning bolts of pain in my head. I groaned in agony and brought my hands to my head. Metal jingled as I did this, and I realized I was wearing shackles.
I opened my eyes. "What the hell?"
Trish sneered, "I don't think so, cupcake. You won't be going anywhere until Atlas says you can."
My eyes darted around the room, trying to catch a glimpse of Atlas, only he wasn't here. It was currently just Trish and me. We looked to be in some medieval-like chamber, but it was most likely just a basement. A basement pimped out for an executioner. It was every bit as creepy as the ones in horror films. Scarier, actually, being that I was in it.
Well, this sucks, I realized.
It was going to be difficult killing Atlas manacled to the wall. If I’d had a little more time to think this through, I would have realized that letting Trish take me was the stupidest decision I could have made. If I hadn’t been so desperate for a solution, I’d probably have thought up a much more successful strategy.
I inwardly groaned at my lack of diligence.
Trish started to pace back and forth in front of me, her yellow baby-doll dress bouncing in time with her stride. For a vampire, she didn't dress like one. I personally felt a crimson corseted dress and a stake through her heart would suit her best.
We didn’t speak a word to each other for the next fifteen minutes. There was still no sign of Atlas, and Trish was getting antsy. I was, too, for that matter.
"Is he showing up today, or what?" I asked her mockingly. "I drank a lot of coffee and I have to pee."
"Piss yourself for all I care," she snapped back, her cold eyes narrowing at me. Trish was a lot crankier than I remembered her. Either she hadn’t eaten in or while, or Atlas put her on edge. It was possible that both were the case.
"No need to be so vindictive, Catrisha."
Every muscle in my body went taut at hearing the deep, callous voice that traveled down the stairwell in the far left corner. My heart began an incessant hammering against my ribcage as I watched Atlas leisurely descend into the basement. His cold silver eyes locked on mine, turning me to stone. Figuratively, of course. He was scary, but he was no Medusa.
He greeted Trish with a smile as icy as his gaze, and I actually feared for her. I wasn't sure why. Trish was a vampire and Atlas, well, I didn’t know what he was, but he didn’t look exceptionally strong. At least, not stronger than a vampire. All Trish had to do was sink her teeth into his thick bronze neck, and drink him for all he was worth.
Yet, Trish's hesitance in taking Atlas's hand told me she held the same level of wariness towards him as I did. There was something foreboding about him that made the bravest of men—or vampire—uneasy.
Once he'd finished "welcoming" Trish, he strolled over to stand before me. He looked down on me, both literally and metaphorically. In his tailored suit, perfectly conservative haircut, and severe features, he looked like a high and mighty politician.
His baritone voice was ruthless. "Don't think you'll be getting away this time little hunter.” He eyed me like a prized trophy, and I couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down my spine.
I felt sick. I’d gone into this with the mentality "kill Atlas or die trying". I had the sinking realization that dying was one of the more positive outcomes. What if he didn’t kill me—what if he had other, more nefarious plans instead?
An ominous chuckle bounced off the basement walls, as he registered the increasing dread that was growing on my face. Atlas had won and he knew it.
With a dangerous glint in his eyes, he turned to Trish. "Clean her up, will you?" he said with a tinge of irritation.
It was then that I noticed the acidic smell had been coming from the vomit in my hair. Lovely. There was nothing more debasing than looking like a victim when you already felt like one. I did my best to look unaffected, determined even.
“But Your Greatness,” she began.
I surprised us both when I cut her off with a laugh. Your Greatness? Was this bitch serious?
“Does something amuse you, Miss Price?” Atlas glowered. There wasn’t even a hint of mock humor in his steely glare.
How nice. Atlas must have done some research if he knew my last name.
“Not at all," I replied, trying to sound bored. I was shackled to the wall, and was in no position to piss him off when I couldn’t even fight back. The creative part of my brain, however, seemed to think it was a step in the right direction. A fatal beating was probably better than anything else he would have planned for me.
Might as well go out with a bang,the crazy part of my conscience thought. I quickly tossed that notion aside. I’d deal with Death when I met him.
Trish offered up a few more scathing glares, before proceeding again. "As I was saying…Your Greatness. You have the girl. I’d like my reward now."
He gave her his undivided attention then, and she squirmed beneath his stare. “The money is in a suitcase by the front door. Is that all?"
Still fidgeting, she managed a particularly sinister smirk. "And what about that drink you promised me?"
Crap. I had completely forgotten about that part of the deal. Honestly, I thought she’d been taunting me, just to get me worked up. Out of impulse, I receded as far back as I could, but the cool cement wall hindered my progress. Trish's eyes were hungry, while I had no appetite at all. God, things really couldn't get any worse.
"Of course, Catrisha," he replied indifferently. With his arm, he lazily motioned for her to approach me. "Help yourself."
Note to self: never get on a vampire's bad side. Yeah, guess it was a little too late for that. I wondered if she’d accept my sincerest apologies. Call it a hunch, but I didn’t think so.
Her long blonde hair swayed as she advanced in a graceful, predatory manor. She leered, "How does it feel to be the one in the hot seat, hmm?"
Minus the fangs and the hateful scowl plastered on her face, Trish could potentially look harmless. Normally, her soft features, even when they were contorted in anger, weren’t enough to strike fear in my heart. Normally, however, I had the means to defend myself from becoming a late night snack.
My heart beat a fierce and erratic rhythm. This only delighted Trish further.
When a few inches, at most, separated us, Trish milked my anxiety. She was so close I could see her pupils dilating. Taking her time, she drew up one of her perfectly manicured hands until it rested lightly on my neck, of which she began stroking. My pulse quickened at her touch.
Licking her lips, she whispered in a smoky voice, "I’ve been told this hurts."
When she lowered her head into the crook of my neck, I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself. I knew she would make me suffer. If Atlas truly didn't care if I were dead or alive, she might even rip my throat out.
I felt sharp pricks just above my collar bone, followed by a wave of excruciating pain that erupted in my neck, and seemed to spread like wild fire through my veins. Someone was screaming in the distance. Or was that me? I couldn't tell. All of my senses were focused on this one thing—Trish's fangs buried in my flesh. It was the worst physical pain I'd ever felt.
After what felt like hours of agony, when I thought it couldn't hurt any worse, it did. As she pulled back, she clamped her jaws down, and I felt flesh ripping away. My eyes were still clamped shut, and there was a perpetual ringing in my ears. Blindly, I brought my bound hand to my neck, applying pressure to the wound. Another shriek erupted through my lips. Turns out open wounds hurt like a bitch to touch.
I didn’t want to think about what I’d felt—an unrecognizable, bloody, meaty mess. Probably because that’s exactly what it was. The ringing in my ears continued and so did the pain. But just beyond the ringing, I could hear shouting. It sounded like World War II in this basement.
I was able to catch a few words, but they didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Not because they weren’t shouting loud enough, but because my thoughts were foggy. The trauma to my neck, but mostly my blood loss, had me going in and out of consciousness.
An unfamiliar voice yelled, "Intruders!"
Then Atlas was growling something like, "Your fault…followed…!"
I forced my eyes open just in time to see Atlas slam a metal rod—where had he gotten that?—into Trish's chest. She hit the floor, indefinitely dead. Couldn't say I'd miss her.
Motion at the other side of the room caught my attention. My eyes flitted towards the stairwell, where two of Atlas' vamperic guards stood waiting.
I forced myself to keep my eyes open, even though they kept trying to roll back into my head. Eventually, I glimpsed what the guards were preparing for, and my heart leapt. Nathan, Larson, and Vigil were charging down those very steps.
For a moment, I accepted the possibility that I was seeing things, that the damage done by Trish's bite had caused me to hallucinate. However, when Nathan caught my eyes from across the room, I knew I wasn’t imagining it. The horrified expression he wore at seeing my condition was too torn and tragic. I couldn’t have imagined such an expression on him.
My brief sense of hope shattered as I studied his features. Nathan’s normally brilliant blues had frosted over with a bleakness I recognized, and feared. I was definitely dying.
Larson and Vigil jumped into the fray, while Nathan rushed to my side. Before I knew it, I had slumped against his chest, magically free of my shackles.
Too weak to support myself, I collapsed into his grip. I couldn’t even keep my eyes open. Which was fine. I could just take a quick nap, until I wasn’t so sleepy anymore.
"Hey—hey, look at me,” he murmured.
He smelt amazing. No scent in this world even compared. I inhaled his aroma again, and sighed heavily. It was all I could do, breathing him in.
“Christ, Viky. Open your eyes," he pleaded.
I couldn’t, but I managed a few words. The meaning behind them was fuzzy, but I knew there was a joke in there somewhere. "I thought…you didn't like…parties?" Trish's parting gift had left speaking difficult. My working throat muscles caused the wound to burn.
"Let me see," he said, brushing my hair back. His reaction was a string of curses, which didn't help ease my concern.
"Is it…bad?" Of course it was bad, I hadn’t forgotten the look he’d given me. Still, I hoped, even now, as I began to grow cold.
Was it his body that was shaking, or mine?
Nathan’s voice was a pained whisper. “It’s…”
But he didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. I didn’t even have it in me to cry—not for the pain, not even for the realization that I was dying. Maybe I was in shock. Or denial. Or perhaps I’d simply skipped the first four steps of grief, and had gone straight to acceptance. Whatever it was, I wasn’t afraid.
I hoped Kat hadn’t been afraid.
I felt a trickle of liquid slide down my cheek. Apparently, I still had enough in me to cry for her.
"I cannot fix this, Viky…though I can help with the pain. Hold still." Nathan placed a cool hand over the source of my agony. The fire was back, but lasted only for a moment, before a rejuvenating, weightless sensation muted my discomfort. Even though I remained a little light-headed, some of my energy had returned.
I blinked, Nathan’s face coming into focus. I had a moment of déjà vu. Just like the night in the alley, he looked like a beautiful stranger. The grim, desperate lines etching his features made him nearly unrecognizable.
"See? Good as new," he smiled, but there was no masking his grieved tone.
In my haze, I did my best to give him a grateful smile. “Thank you.” I reached out my fingers to smooth down his worry lines to no avail. “I’m going to be fine, you’ll see. I already feel better.”
“That’s what I like to hear, love.” Larson appeared, standing over Nathan’s shoulder. He peered down at me, wearing his usual cocky smirk, but the look in his eyes was less believable. Some part of his confidence wasn’t so sure about my current state.
Larson knelt down beside me and Nathan. He flashed his fangs and asked, “Now, what do we say to death?”
I gave a small, painful shrug and winced. “Fuck you?”
His laugh was full and rich. “Not the answer I was looking for, but good enough,” he said, before biting into his wrist.
Dark, almost black, blood poured from his self-inflicted wound. He raised his hand to my lips, clearly offering it to me. Before I could voice my bewilderment, Nathan stopped him, capturing Larson’s forearm in a firm grip. He fixed the vamp with a furious glare that made even my blood run cold—well, colder. It felt like all heat had left my body.
“What do you think you are doing,” Nathan growled.
Larson took offense. “Is it not obvious enough? I’m saving her life.”
A muscle twitched in Nathan’s jaw. “Turning her is not the same as saving her.”
I nearly bolted upright, or would have, if I could. I looked at Larson, eyes wide. “No, no turning,” I rasped.
“The chance of that is only slight,” Larson admitted, staring daggers at the man beside him. “The longer we stand here and argue, the greater that chance becomes. My blood will heal you. Only if you bleed out and die before it finishes working its magic, will you have a problem. Personally, I feel it’s a chance worth taking.”
I looked back and forth between Nathan and Larson. By Nathan’s expression, I could tell he hated the idea, but at the same time, he wasn’t telling me not to do it. This decision was mine to make.
“Don’t mean to rush, love, but you might want to be quick about it. You’re dying, and we sort of have a situation in progress.”
Larson was right. I could hear the grunts and shouting of men, which meant Vigil was holding off Atlas and his henchmen on his own. He probably wouldn’t last much longer without help.
I decided being undead wasn’t the worst that could happen to me. I couldn’t let Atlas win. If I died, or if he managed to get the upper hand, all of this would be for nothing. And, as oxymoronic as it sounded, immortality didn’t have to be forever. All it took was a stake to the heart. If being undead wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, I’d have a way out. Plus, super-speed, super-strength, and super-hearing would only help me in future situations like this.
“Alright,” I said.
Larson gave me a proud, determined nod. Since he healed so quickly, he had to reopen a vein for me again. He placed his bleeding wrist to my lips, which I parted and pressed to the wound. I began sucking, slowly drawing his blood into my mouth. Nathan made it a point to look anywhere but at me.
Larson’s blood—and maybe all vampire blood—was surprisingly not unpleasant. Sure, it had the slight coppery undertone that human blood exhibited, but overpowering that were rich notes of dark berry-like flavors and spice. You could bottle this stuff and sell it as the world’s best-tasting red wine. Well, maybe not the best tasting. Just a guess, but most wine connoisseurs probably preferred their wine didn’t taste like there was a dollar worth of pennies at the bottom.
I, on the hand, was enjoying it. I closed my eyes, savoring its warm, spicy-sweet flavor. By my third draw, I began to feel its effects. It was almost as if someone had shot me up with a needle full of adrenaline. My heart beat twice as fast—I knew, because I could literally feel it. I was suddenly aware of every part of me: my breathing, the blood pumping through my veins, the skin on my neck as it knitted itself together. Even my sex drive perked up and responded to the new, almost erotic sensations of being so wholly receptive to my body, and everything around it. It was as if I’d gone through my whole life asleep, and I was just now waking up.
As soon as my neck finished miraculously healing itself, Larson tried to pull his arm away. Emphasis on tried. I latched onto him like my life depended on it, which, it clearly no longer did.
Larson fought to pry my face off his arm. It wasn’t enough, though. For once, I was stronger than he was. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I was supposed to stop. Maybe, because Larson was currently shouting at me to do just that. It took both him and Nathan to sever my blood connection.
“Don’t think we’ll be doing that again.” Larson rubbed his wrist, the pale flesh there ravaged.
I started to recover from my stupor, and grimaced. “Sorry.” As far as apologies went, it was a pretty weak one.
Nathan was staring at me with a mix of shock, horror, and confusion. “What. The. HELL. Was that?” Even though he’d whispered his bewilderment, it sounded as if it had been broadcasted right into my ear.
In fact, all the noise around me was really starting to give me a migraine. It was dizzying, and disorientating. I cupped my hands over my ears in an attempt to alleviate some of the intensity.
“Uh, Larson saving my life?” It occurred to me that maybe the opposite had just occured. “Oh hell, am I a freaking vampire?”
Larson glanced uneasily at Nathan, then looked back to me. “Definitely not,” he said. I could practically hear the unspoken “…but” at the end of that incomplete sentence.
I was almost too scared to ask. Almost. “But, what?”
Larson turned around just in time to avoid a clobbering by one of Atlas’s guards. “Not exactly the best time for idle chit chat, love,” he said, managing to dodge three out of four hyperspeed punches.
Larson’s opponent was roughly the same height, but twice as big. And by big, I mean his muscles had muscles. Nathan pulled me back, and had me stand behind him for protection. As much as I wanted to jump in and help Larson, I knew I couldn’t. I’d only make his job harder. Though Nathan surely had the ability, he didn’t go to Larson’s aid either. He was probably hanging back with me to make sure I didn’t have another near-death experience. How thoughtful.
Even though it nauseated me to watch—both the speed, and the possibility I might see Larson murdered at any moment—I couldn’t tear my eyes away. It was like watching an episode of Jersey Shore.
Between jabs, and kicks, and dodges, Larson barked out, “Though. I will say. Not. The typical. Reaction.”
Even with my hands still plastered against my ears, I could hear him, along with everything else going on in Atlas’s Basement of Brutality. Including a nearly imperceptible TINK of metal.
I reacted just before Larson’s shouted warning. In half a second, I knocked Nathan out of the way, as Atlas brought down full force the metal rod he’d used to stake Trish. The move brought me straight in its path.
With no time left to move myself out of harms way, I reacted defensively on instinct. My arms shot up in an attempt to keep the weapon from making a fatal blow to my head. I had very little time to allow myself to be shocked when it worked. My fingers were wrapped around the rod just inches from my face. I hadn’t even suffered a broken nail.
Atlas and I stood frozen, each of us on one end of the rod. His colorless eyes narrowed at me, his top lip curling in fury. He’d probably spent hours in front of a mirror perfecting his evil sneer. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn there was a rulebook somewhere that said it was mandatory for all bad guys to have one.
Although I couldn’t see him, I could sense Nathan at my back, his unmasked energy rolling off in furious waves. Out of my peripheral, I saw Virgil approach. He’d taken out the other guard and was going to help Larson finish off Muscles McGee. It took a whole three seconds for the two vamps to dispose of the juicehead, and they took positions on either side of Atlas.
I returned his sneer, with one of my own. “I hate to sound cliché, Your Greatness, but it looks like you’re surrounded.”