Prologue
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The shackles refused to give up. Erik was methodically pulling at unyielding chains which so far have stubbornly kept his hands above his head since the time he came to his senses half an hour ago.
Slick rivulets of blood slowly crept down forearms — the only thing he succeeded to achieve today is injuring himself even further. Fuck, after everything he's been through he can't die like this. Erik was fairly sure that his wounds were not that serious — he'd definitely had worse. Being a hunter was equivalent to surviving through pain. And who was Erik if not a top survivor.
A low, distant screeching sound echoed from the dark corner to his left. The door? Erik strained his ears and closed eyes for good measure — it's not as if he could see in the dark anyway. Is someone coming?
Silence fell again. More suffocating than before, whispering in his ear the quiet litany of despair, grief and still tiny, but rising voice of fear.
Erik slowly breathed in through intensifying pain in his chest.
Regardless how severe, he can control it, must overcome it and free himself before he comes. Erik gritted his teeth. Anger, potent and burning like thousand suns overpowered everything.
Shaw.
That bastard.
Their roles must be reversed. It's Shaw who must be chained to the wall in the basement of some nondescript shitty house in the middle of fucking Westchester out of all places.
Hellhole? Why the hell not? Shaw was currently laying low as far as Erik was notified by his reluctant source in the Brotherhood. Didn't consider Shaw worth their valuable time. Effective force distribution, duty and collaboration were casually thrown in Erik's face that one time when he asked for assistance. Begged, really.
But who cares now…
Erik must have spaced out for a moment which was a dangerous sign in itself.
He was greeted by the sound of the opening door.
Light flickered on.
Erik immediately recognized the woman standing in the doorway. One of Shaw's lackeys barely dressed in white stripes, too revealing for autumn here, considering the latitude. Alive and breathing.
Erik first thought was — shit, an oblivious blondie-hooker destined to become the main course of tonight's menu.
That is how his impeccable senses have failed him for the first time in many years.
She hit him. Hard. Collision with opposite wall rendered Erik wheezing. He barely avoided her second punch. Shaw started blubbering in the background by then. The usual nonsense which Erik casually dismissed. Shaw has been made of some pretty creepy stuff. Better turn him off for a moment.
Meanwhile, Erik silently cursed to himself. Succubus. Yeah, he's always lucky like that.
After all it was the red demon who's got him in the end.
And Shaw didn't even lift a finger.
Something has gone wrong with this world.
Vampires never formed alliances of any kind. Vampires seldom gathered in pairs always driven with vicious need to kill. They were meant to exist in solitude. Rare examples only cemented the ancient truth. And yet here was Shaw sitting in the plush armchair with succubus on his lap and demon as a guard dog.
The foundations of Erik's life have crumbled to dust.
"Never had a hunter before…" Erik heard a gentle whisper that did strange things to senses. And other hmm… body parts.
Damn pheromones.
"You must be quite a feast", air suddenly became hot and Erik rattled his hands one more time only to aggravate his wounds and chase away sudden lightheadedness.
"Unfortunately", she drawled, taking a measured step back, "Sebastian says we need you alive, sugar."
She sighed and evidently attempted to share some sort of succubian wisdom while he was so conveniently in no position not to listen to any of this. Probably, Shaw is a sorry conversationalist. Well, his condolences. By the way, aren't you supposed to be extinct?
Suddenly, intensely loud sound, followed by bright flashes reverberated through the walls and made Erik cringe. Eventually it got weaker and Erik, half deaf and slightly nauseous, managed to crack his eyes open.
Succubus was held in the tight grip by one bulky growling creature. Erik decided that his eyes are playing tricks, because there shouldn't be any werewolves in the house. The moon is young, for god's sake.
"Hank, let her go!" the person next to the beast somehow sounded both soothing and imperative.
Demon's appearance was accompanied by the smell of sulfur in the stale air.
In that very moment the shackles finally gave up and Erik blocked the blade aimed at his neck by pure instinct, using chain remnants as an improvised shield. Under the force of the blow he stumbled back and nearly cracked his head on the stone wall.
Growling and screaming seemed farther away now. He didn't even realize how he found himself on the ground. No, don't black out. Don't!
Through the sickening vertigo he felt the grip on his shoulders and tried to pull away.
Easy there, everything will be alright—the voice from before was suspiciously close.
How awful, he thought, to hear these words again and to lose…
Failed. He's failed her.
And then came darkness.
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