Reckoning (9 page)

“A vicious, terrible beast to rule by his side.
 
I think some part of Vladimir thought that if I could become like him, I might actually be able to love him.”

She begins to pace, her fingers needing the muscles in her crossed arms through the soft robe.
 
“Perhaps it was more than that though.”

“What do you mean?”

“This global army you speak of, maybe he did involve me and I never knew.”

Nicolae purses his lips.
 
“It is possible.
 
You said yourself he wanted you to rule by his side.
 
That would be the ultimate chance for you to lose control.”

She snorts, tossing the towel into the bathroom.
 
“He has waited for centuries for me to find my inner evil.
 
I will not give him the satisfaction.
 
At least not until I bury my sword in his chest and watch him slowly bleed out.”

Nicolae grins.
 
“So you’re kinda badass then, huh?”

A tortured smile crosses her face.
 
“Something like that.”

Chapter 9

Gabriel groans, cradling his inflamed abdomen.
 
His intestines are the charred remains of their former self, burned from within by his rising body temperature.
 
His blood boils as his cells rupture and fuse back together.
 
His stomach is a distended balloon filled with useless air.

Willful starvation.

Time is his enemy.
 
How long has he been a prisoner?
 
A day?
 
Four days?
 
A full week?
 
How much longer can he endure?

Till death
, his mind answers.
 
Is that even possible for him now?

Gabriel sighs heavily, at the reminder of his transition into the supernatural world.
 
When he first awoke, he tried to reason out the changes within human parameters.
 
That quickly became impossible.
 

No.
 
There is no denying the fact that his humanity is gone.
 
Perhaps his mind will linger in that world, but his body has left it entirely.
 

He can no longer return to the art studio he built over his parent’s house, or fight with his stepfather over his football scholarship to Notre Dame.
 
Graduation is certainly out of the picture.
 

Gabriel knows he can never go back to his human life.
 
He is something more now…but what?
 
A vampire?
 
No.
 
He refuses to consider that option.
 
Sorin may have believed the lies, but not Gabriel.
 
There must be another explanation.

He is certain his captors know.
 
They speak, in hushed voices, of his transition.
 
Judging by the reinforced cage that they have built to control him, they have the answers that he seeks.
 

Gabriel’s cravings have long since passed into manic obsession.
 
The packet of blood threatens to consume his thoughts, shoving Rose and his questions to the side.
 
Still he fights the urge to drink.

His thirst gnaws at him, day and night.
 
It is getting harder to resist.
 
His mind plays tricks with him, imagining what it would feel like for the thick plasma to slide down his throat.
 
How the burning will ease, his shrunken stomach will expand and the pain will be gone.
 
Wouldn’t that fact alone be worth giving in?

No. He cannot let himself be tricked.
 
It is a trap.
 
It must be.

Gabriel groans, cradling his abdomen.
 
His bladder is screaming for release.
 
The pressure of holding it in has begun to swell, affecting his inflamed intestines.
 
The agony of waiting now outweighs the pain of movement.

The hope that this effort might relieve even an ounce of his pain is enough to get him moving.
 
Casting a disparaging glance at the blood, Gabriel pushes up off his cot.
 
He teeters, using the wall as he shuffles forward.
 

The privy is a small hole carved from the floor.
 
The stone opening spirals into the ground, disappearing into the depths of the earth.
 
Gabriel strains to hear the splash, but none rises to meet him.
 

How deep is that hole?
, he wonders as he pushes back from the wall.
 
His arms pinwheel as he overcompensates.
 
Catching himself on the edge of the table, Gabriel comes face to face with his new self for the first time.
 

A small mirror, warped with age and dusty from disuse hangs on the wall.
 
The planes of his face are familiar, but more refined.
 
His blond hair hangs into his eyes and shaggy stubble lines his jaw.
 
A light tan seems etched into his new skin, accentuating his gaunt cheeks.
 
Deep bruises form crescent moons under dull ice-blue eyes, void of their usual iridescent quality.
 
He turns away, too weary to fully examine his new body.
 

Six feet separate him from the cot.
 
Much too far.
 
Gabriel slides his foot forward.
 
The muscles in his thighs quiver, sending spasms down to his toes.
 
His right leg twitches violently, tangling with the table leg and spilling him to the floor.
 

His cry brings instant response.
 
Hard-soled sandals slap against the rock floor of the hall beyond.
 
A fist pounds frantically on the door.
  
“Gabriel?
 
Are you ok?”
 
The fear edging the man’s voice surprises him.
 

Keys, fumbled from within folds of clothing, jingle.
 
Gruff protests slide under the door.
 
“You can’t go in there, Sias.”

That name.
 
It sounds familiar,
Gabriel frowns, digging through his hazy memories.
 
He does not have a chance to grasp it before the arguing continues.
 

“Step aside, Ordin.
 
This does not concern you.”

“It’s suicide!”

A slight hesitation.
 
“I am aware of the consequences.
 
Now please, return to your tasks.”

The unseen companion sucks in a breath.
 
“And leave you alone with him?”
 
Gabriel glances up as the key clangs against the metal lock.
 
The door groans open.
 
A tall man stands silhouetted in the doorway, flickering candlelight veils his features.
 
A hulking figure hovers just over his shoulder.
 

“He will not harm me,” Sias replies, unbothered by Ordin’s concern.
 
His toe inches toward the threshold into Gabriel’s cage, his neck cranes for a better view into the dim room.
 
Surprise registers on his face as he is yanked back toward the shadow.

Sias’ unruly beard trembles as he grinds his teeth.
 
Gabriel can smell his rising anger as he pulls out of Ordin’s grasp.
 
“I asked you to leave once.
 
I will not repeat myself again.”

The shadow stiffens, rising to its full height.
 
With a grunt of disgust, the man retreats, his heavy footfalls rapidly receding.
 
Sias, pausing to wait for the door slam at the end of the corridor, crosses into the room.
 
“Are you ok?”

Gabriel squints up at the stranger, fighting to angle his body away.
  
The man’s movements are slow, purposeful, as he steps into the room.
 
Gabriel’s anger at his captor wages war against the compassion seeping from the man.
 
Gentle eyes stare down at him.
 
Gabriel had not expected any compassion.

 
The scent of the stranger’s blood penetrates Gabriel’s nose.
 
His face contorts.
 
“Don’t come any closer,” he howls, curling inward on the floor.
  
He buries his nose into his arm, praying for an escape from the acid thrashing in his gut.
 
The man’s spicy scent is everywhere, clinging to his damp skin and sweat-slicked hair.
   

 
“Dear God, you still haven’t eaten.”
 
Sias rushes forward, carelessly tossing his fate into Gabriel’s hands.
 
He snatches the blood packet from the floor and holds it out.
 
“You must drink this.”

“No!” Gabriel cries, shoving the table between them.
 
“Stay back.”

Sias easily dodges to side and drops next to him.
 
He shoves the bag of blood into Gabriel’s face.
 
“You must drink this.
 
It’s the only way to stop the pain.”

Gabriel crescendos into a chorus of raspy weeping as he fights to still his lungs.
 
Tears trail down his cheeks.
 
The muscles along his neck cord as his stomach spasms.
 
His resistance is slipping.
 

Sias’ calloused hands grasp his shoulders, stilling Gabriel’s convulsion.
 
“I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”
 
As if a serrated blade has spilled his intestines to the floor, Gabriel wails, clutching his stomach.
 
His vision plummets into shadow.
 
His stomach twists with need as his mouth salivates at the scent of Sias’ blood.
 
So close.
 
So delicious.
 

Gabriel’s nerve endings alight with desire.
 
His breathing becomes haggard as he struggles to keep his hands locked around his stomach.
 
His fingers dig into his flesh, securing them in place.
 

Sias moves closer, reaching out for Gabriel.
 
“Let me help you.”

Wild eyes pop open, fixating on the steady thrumming pulse at Sias’ neck.
 
The thought of sinking his teeth into this man’s throat nearly releases Gabriel’s savage desires.
 
“Please. Leave.”

Coherent thoughts form but are slippery to grasp.
 
He desperately clings to the remaining shreds of his control.

“You must listen to me!” Sias pleads.
 

A snarl breaks through Gabriel’s grimace.
 
His hands clutch Sias’ shirt.
 
With a tremendous shout, Gabriel tosses him out of the door, draining the last of his energy.
 

“Stay out,” he orders.
 
His eyes roll back into his head.
 

Rose, help me
, his mind calls as darkness sweeps in.
 

Chapter 10

Hired companionship is a poor exchange for happiness.
 
Or false love for that matter.
 
Apparently, it sucks at erasing memories too.
 

Fane’s stomach churns with self-loathing.
 
The young girl writhing on his lap disgusts him.
 
He turns his face away from her frantic kisses.

Glitter globs on the end of her fake eyelashes.
 
Her blood red lipstick smears from her swollen lips.
 
Thick clumps of foundation appear along the sweat line of her brow.
  

The girl cannot be much older than seventeen, perhaps even younger.
 
Fane curses his youthful appearance, wishing he had not allowed this street urchin to seduce her way into his hotel room.

“What’s wrong?” she pouts, splaying her fingers across his bare chest.
 

He winces, snatching her hands away from his skin.
 
“You need to leave.”

Her hormone glazed eyes blink.
 
“I don’t understand.
 
I thought you wanted me.”
 
She leans in to snuggle his neck.
 
Her second-hand red sequined dress pulls low, spilling out ample amounts of her chest.
 
Her long slender legs, clothed in black fishnet tights, shift to encircle his waist.
 

It is not her touch that he craves.
 
Not her lips that he yearns for.
 
He closes his eyes as his heart calls to her-
Roseline.

The nibble at his ear lobe ignites his anger.
 
Fane rises from the bed, tumbling the girl to the floor.
 
He reaches for his shirt, which lies crumpled on the bed.

 
She splutters behind him, her ankles buckle as she fights to pull herself upright on her platform heels.
 
Her fingers loop through her purse strap as she rises.
 
“What’s your problem?”

Snatching a wad of cash from the drawer of his bedside table, Fane tosses it onto the bed.
 
“Your services are no longer required.”

“Are you for real?”
 
She snatches the cash and shoves it into the left cup of her lacy black bra.
 

Fane growls.
 
“See.
 
Yourself.
 
Out.”

“Jerk.”
 
She stomps across the room and slams the door behind her.

He sinks onto the bed, burying his face in his hands.
 
What is he doing?
 
Why did he come to London?
 
To the one place most filled with memories of Roseline?
 
Was it simply to torment himself further?

No. He knows he is here for another reason.
 

Fane gingerly slips his arms through the hole of his shirt, rumpled from the young girl’s haste to disrobe him.
 
He winces as the material glides over his healing wound.
 
Although much of the muscle in his side has knit back together, the skin around the closing wound is still raw to touch.

Slipping on his shoes, Fane snatches his room key off the bedside table and ducks out the door.
 
The dingy hall, with its threadbare carpet runner and yellowed curtains on the bay window out front, is empty.

He glides down the stairs in one bound, landing lightly on his toes.
 
The clerk glances up, surprised by his sudden arrival.
 
He clasps his chest.
 
“Blimey, you certainly gave an old chap a start.”

Fane tips his head in apology and enters the wintry street.
 
High-pitched giggling reaches his ear.
 
He turns, easily recognizing the girl he picked up not twenty minutes before.
 
Her tattered dress is hiked high once more, open for business.

He hunches his shoulders and follows his feet in the opposite direction.
 
Away from the girl.
 
Away from her intoxicated friends.

It is not really the girl that he flees, but himself.
 
Everywhere he looks, he is reminded of Roseline.
 
The way her hair would tangle around her face in the gusting winds.
 
How her eyes would light up when the snowflakes melted on her nose.
 

He can almost hear her laugh dancing down the street, making him weak in the knees.
 
Now, her image just crumbles like bitter ash before his eyes.
 
He is left alone, staring at a deserted street.

Fane groans, hugging himself.
 
He misses Roseline so much it physically hurts, as if his heart has been torn from his chest and left to rot in the open wintry air.
 

His shoes punch through the thin layer of ice that has glazed over the murky snow.
 
The uneven pavement offers a challenging obstacle for any who venture out.
 
Fane trudges forward, untouched by the elements.
 

His stride slows as he reaches a corner, several blocks from his hotel.
 
A glowing neon sign lights the path ahead.
 
Fane sighs, knowing that it was inevitable that he would end up here, on the doorstep of
Torrent
.
 
This is the last place in the world he should be.
 
No doubt, he will later regret this decision to enter the immortal pub.
 

Three raps at the door.
 
It swings open to reveal an enormous man, whose girth barely fits through the doorway.
 
His face looks like a tattoo parlor threw up all over it.
 
The little bit of skin that hasn’t been inked is pierced.
 
This guy could set off a metal detector within a one-mile radius from any airport.
 
“Yeah? Wadda you want?”

“I’m looking for someone.” Fane says.
 
His eyes dart back over his shoulder.
 
The shadows seem darker than normal right across the street.
 
Maybe it is just his imagination.

The man clears his throat, pulling Fane’s attention back.
 
His pierced eyebrow rises.
 
“You looking for a Bird or a Bloke, mate?”

“That’s doesn’t concern you,” Fane responds, tossing a layer of malice into his voice.

The man squints at Fane, searching the contours of his face.
 
Fane stares back, challenging the bouncer.
 
He watches as the man’s brow unfolds, recognition pulling his lips into a smile.
 
“Haven’t I seen you here before?”

“No,” Fane snaps, “I’m not from around here.”

The bouncer tugs at the metal gauge in his left ear.
 
“Are you sure?
 
I never forget a face.”

Fane grabs the bullring in the man’s nose and shoves him against the brick wall.
 
“I said I’m not from around here.”

“Easy, mate,” the man grimaces, rising on his toes to relieve the pressure from his nose ring.
 
“Just asking a question, is all.”

“Ask less next time.” Fane growls, shoving him against the wall.
 
The man sinks back to his feet as Fane releases his grip.
 

The bouncer rubs his skull where the brick ground into his head.
 
“Well?” he grunts, tossing his arm toward the door.
 
“Wadda ya waiting for?
 
Get on then.”

Straightening the collar on his shirt, Fane enters the darkness.
 
Distant laughter pulls him forward.
 
His nostrils flare as he searches for a single scent.
 
Blood reaches him first- human, newly acquired.
 
Obviously not a regular of the club.
 

He travels through a pungent cloud of cologne as he takes the entire set of stairs in one leap.
 
Salty sweat mingles with the building’s age-old grime.
 
Fane turns the corner and freezes.
 

Inhaling deep, Fane sucks the familiar scent into his lungs.
 
A smile stretches along his face.
 
“I knew you would be here.”