Sands Night 3 part 11
Consciousness returned gradually. Sands, by instinct, played possum. Confusion reigned supreme. He had no memory of what was going on, where he was, why he was there, so he let his thoughts roam freely, relying on instincts to fill in the gaps.
Okay, so he as angry. Nothing new. He was in danger. Right.
All these half-thoughts flashed through his mind in half a second. Hearing began to return. There was a huge throbbing hum. He tried to pin it down. He knew that sound. Engines. Airplane engines. So he was flying somewhere. Funny, he didn't remember planning a trip.
Trip. He had fallen. In a field. Cold, wet mud. Enemies.
Keep calm, he told himself. They didn't kill you outright.
That almost wasn't helpful.
Memories kicked in more clearly. Viscalli clan's attack. Jacob. Victoria. Victoria! Risking it, he took a very quiet inhalation. He couldn't catch Victoria' scent, but he could smell several unfamiliar vampires. Not good. Okay, don't freak out. Fuck! I am freaking out.
Voices intruded upon his rising anxiety.
"He could be awake," a gruff voice spoke from off to Sands' left.
"If he uses drugs maybe," a higher, softer male voice snickered. "I hear this guy is bad, man."
The sounds of footsteps were muffled by the over-riding engines and a thick carpet. He could hear them breathing beside him. Play dead, Sands instructed himself, despite the rising anxiety.
"He's still tied tight," the softer voice said with a tone of satisfaction.
"Damned all Abberlines," the gruff voice commented. This one was right above him.
"I've never had anything to do with 'em. This is the first time I've been close enough to see one clearly. You ever talk to one, Jonah?"
"Naw," Jonah replied. "They'd as soon stake you as talk to you. Remember that, Keno. They hate us all, we're not good enough to be vampires in their books. We're not pretty enough, not smart enough. They are the scum, fucking fancy buttfucking boys, all of 'em. Probably wearing women's underwear." He laughed gruffly.
"Viscalli says they're the aberrations," Keno reminded his buddy. "This one is pretty, isn't he? It's not natural."
It was all Sands could do to keep from growling in anger. He felt someone touching his head. He wanted to jerk away. Don't freak out, he mentally repeated. Stay in control. I am Sheldon Jeffrey Sands. I'm the one in command of the situation.
"Our orders are to not harm him," Jonas said in a softer tone, almost a whisper.
Well, that's a fucking relief. Or is it?
"I'd like to cut him a little," Keno said. "He's at least three-hundred, right? I'd like a taste of that."
I bet you would, asshole. You Viscalli kill each other off quicker than we can get to you. And your damned master won't allow any of you to age. You're all a bunch of fucking infants. Stupid, ugly, fucking infants.
Jonas laughed. "I bet you would like a taste, but the Master says no."
"Maybe if I took a little nip from somewhere that wouldn't show," Keno suggested with a snicker.
Like fucking hell! That did it. Sands opened his eyes and found himself looking up into the eyes of a scrawny, vampire with long dirty hair. Sands tried to move his hands, and discovered that he was strapped down to a flat surface. He flexed his muscles; the bonds did not give.
"Looky here." Keno's voice was filled with venomous glee. "He's awake."
Play it groggy, Sands. Make them think you're helpless. Fuck, I am helpless. Almost.
Another face swam into view above Sands, whose vision was still a little blurry from the drugs they'd used to knock him out.
"You won't get out of these, buddy." Jonas rattled the chest strap tying Sands down. The Viscalli brute's broad chest was covered with a faded t- shirt. His bushy beard and punk jewelry reminded Sands of a Hell's Angels poster boy.
The captive vampire blinked slowly. Unwanted images flooded into his mind. Memories. Mexico. Dr. Guevara coming at him with a drill. Hatred flared and something snapped inside Sands, something red and hot, flowing through him like lava. Demons awoke.
His dark gaze bored into Keno, locking hold of the younger vampire, pinning him like a bug on a board.
"Don't look at him like that!" Jonas slapped Sands hard enough to send his head rolling to the side. Quicker than lightning, Sands turned and bit into the hand, drawing blood, clamping down like a pit bull.
"Fuck! Get him off me." Jonas used his free hand to grab Sands' lower jaw. Keno shook himself free of the effect of Sands' hypnotic gaze, and grabbed their prisoner's long dark hair, yanking his head back. Jonas managed to free his hand, loosing a hunk of skin in the process. Sands spit it out at him, the other vampire's blood staining his lips.
"You fucker!" Jonas kicked the stretcher to which Sands was strapped.
"Don't touch me!" Sand said slowly, his voice a sandy growl. His gaze focused on the weaker of the two, Keno. If he was lucky, this guy could be of use. He'd already demonstrated a will that was easily taken over by a stronger mind.
"What is going on back here?" another voice joined the party, this one accented, European, Hungarian or Romanian, Sands wasn't sure which. It didn't matter. He kept his eyes staring straight at Keno, his will seeping into that laser-sharp focus. Keno's face had gone slack. He appeared to be paying no attention to Jonah or the newcomer. You are mine, Sands willed.
"Get this idiot out of here," the new arrival said, grabbing hold of Keno and shoving him towards the front of the plane. "Can't you two idiots follow orders?"
"He bit me," Jonah said sullenly. "We was just looking at him and he bit me."
"Out, both of you. Send Barlow back with his kit." The European turned to meet Sands' intent stare. "There's some of us who can follow instructions." He pointedly turned his face away and stood holding onto one of the seatbacks, his back to Sands. "You will not snare me, Abberline shit."
"So one of you has some fuckin' brains," Sands said, studying the man's profile. He had dark straight hair, a hooked nose, and narrow long face. This one dressed in an expensive suit. "What the fuck to you expect to accomplish? Trying to start a war?"
The man refused to respond to him. Sands watched him wet his lips.
Well, if he wouldn't look, Sands could always use his voice to hypnotize the fellow. He focused on the right tones, the rhythmic cadence, and began to speak. "You don't have to put yourself in danger. There is safety for anyone who wants it. We're not your enemies. We just want to live in peace." He saw the man's eyes open and close slowly. "You know you want to be my friend."
"What's all this then?" a Brit asked, coming into view. He snapped his fingers under the other man's nose. "Hey, Chenris." He flashed a quick look at Sands, who lay quietly, the blood of Jonah still on his lips. "Causing trouble, are we?"
"We are tied down. How can we cause trouble?" Sands retorted.
The Brit walked around behind the head of whatever Sands was strapped to and tossed a black cloth over his face.
"What the fuck!" Sands jerked his head from side to side to rid himself of the material, but the Brit adjusted it, catching it under his chin, and wrapping it more firmly around his head.
"That's your muzzle," he told Sands. "And if you continue to talk, which I seriously doubt you will after I medicate you, I'll gag you, too."
Expletives poured out of Sands as anger reasserted itself.
"Chenris, I told you, he has more than one way to hypnotize," the Brit said in a conversational tone.
"He didn't hypnotize me," Chenris protested.
"He did, mate. But don't worry, he won't do it again any time soon."
"You just wait," Sands calmed enough to converse rationally. "My clan will destroy you. All of you. You'll regret the day you laid hands on me."
"Oh, I think not," the Brit said. "Hands here, Chenris."
Feet shuffled behind him, then Sands felt a weight on his forehead. As he opened his mouth to protest, something sharp jabbed him in the neck. The words he was about to speak drifted away from him and he fell into utter darkness.
Consciousness returned gradually. Sands, by instinct, played possum. Confusion reigned supreme. He had no memory of what was going on, where he was, why he was there, so he let his thoughts roam freely, relying on instincts to fill in the gaps.
Okay, so he as angry. Nothing new. He was in danger. Right.
All these half-thoughts flashed through his mind in half a second. Hearing began to return. There was a huge throbbing hum. He tried to pin it down. He knew that sound. Engines. Airplane engines. So he was flying somewhere. Funny, he didn't remember planning a trip.
Trip. He had fallen. In a field. Cold, wet mud. Enemies.
Keep calm, he told himself. They didn't kill you outright.
That almost wasn't helpful.
Memories kicked in more clearly. Viscalli clan's attack. Jacob. Victoria. Victoria! Risking it, he took a very quiet inhalation. He couldn't catch Victoria' scent, but he could smell several unfamiliar vampires. Not good. Okay, don't freak out. Fuck! I am freaking out.
Voices intruded upon his rising anxiety.
"He could be awake," a gruff voice spoke from off to Sands' left.
"If he uses drugs maybe," a higher, softer male voice snickered. "I hear this guy is bad, man."
The sounds of footsteps were muffled by the over-riding engines and a thick carpet. He could hear them breathing beside him. Play dead, Sands instructed himself, despite the rising anxiety.
"He's still tied tight," the softer voice said with a tone of satisfaction.
"Damned all Abberlines," the gruff voice commented. This one was right above him.
"I've never had anything to do with 'em. This is the first time I've been close enough to see one clearly. You ever talk to one, Jonah?"
"Naw," Jonah replied. "They'd as soon stake you as talk to you. Remember that, Keno. They hate us all, we're not good enough to be vampires in their books. We're not pretty enough, not smart enough. They are the scum, fucking fancy buttfucking boys, all of 'em. Probably wearing women's underwear." He laughed gruffly.
"Viscalli says they're the aberrations," Keno reminded his buddy. "This one is pretty, isn't he? It's not natural."
It was all Sands could do to keep from growling in anger. He felt someone touching his head. He wanted to jerk away. Don't freak out, he mentally repeated. Stay in control. I am Sheldon Jeffrey Sands. I'm the one in command of the situation.
"Our orders are to not harm him," Jonas said in a softer tone, almost a whisper.
Well, that's a fucking relief. Or is it?
"I'd like to cut him a little," Keno said. "He's at least three-hundred, right? I'd like a taste of that."
I bet you would, asshole. You Viscalli kill each other off quicker than we can get to you. And your damned master won't allow any of you to age. You're all a bunch of fucking infants. Stupid, ugly, fucking infants.
Jonas laughed. "I bet you would like a taste, but the Master says no."
"Maybe if I took a little nip from somewhere that wouldn't show," Keno suggested with a snicker.
Like fucking hell! That did it. Sands opened his eyes and found himself looking up into the eyes of a scrawny, vampire with long dirty hair. Sands tried to move his hands, and discovered that he was strapped down to a flat surface. He flexed his muscles; the bonds did not give.
"Looky here." Keno's voice was filled with venomous glee. "He's awake."
Play it groggy, Sands. Make them think you're helpless. Fuck, I am helpless. Almost.
Another face swam into view above Sands, whose vision was still a little blurry from the drugs they'd used to knock him out.
"You won't get out of these, buddy." Jonas rattled the chest strap tying Sands down. The Viscalli brute's broad chest was covered with a faded t- shirt. His bushy beard and punk jewelry reminded Sands of a Hell's Angels poster boy.
The captive vampire blinked slowly. Unwanted images flooded into his mind. Memories. Mexico. Dr. Guevara coming at him with a drill. Hatred flared and something snapped inside Sands, something red and hot, flowing through him like lava. Demons awoke.
His dark gaze bored into Keno, locking hold of the younger vampire, pinning him like a bug on a board.
"Don't look at him like that!" Jonas slapped Sands hard enough to send his head rolling to the side. Quicker than lightning, Sands turned and bit into the hand, drawing blood, clamping down like a pit bull.
"Fuck! Get him off me." Jonas used his free hand to grab Sands' lower jaw. Keno shook himself free of the effect of Sands' hypnotic gaze, and grabbed their prisoner's long dark hair, yanking his head back. Jonas managed to free his hand, loosing a hunk of skin in the process. Sands spit it out at him, the other vampire's blood staining his lips.
"You fucker!" Jonas kicked the stretcher to which Sands was strapped.
"Don't touch me!" Sand said slowly, his voice a sandy growl. His gaze focused on the weaker of the two, Keno. If he was lucky, this guy could be of use. He'd already demonstrated a will that was easily taken over by a stronger mind.
"What is going on back here?" another voice joined the party, this one accented, European, Hungarian or Romanian, Sands wasn't sure which. It didn't matter. He kept his eyes staring straight at Keno, his will seeping into that laser-sharp focus. Keno's face had gone slack. He appeared to be paying no attention to Jonah or the newcomer. You are mine, Sands willed.
"Get this idiot out of here," the new arrival said, grabbing hold of Keno and shoving him towards the front of the plane. "Can't you two idiots follow orders?"
"He bit me," Jonah said sullenly. "We was just looking at him and he bit me."
"Out, both of you. Send Barlow back with his kit." The European turned to meet Sands' intent stare. "There's some of us who can follow instructions." He pointedly turned his face away and stood holding onto one of the seatbacks, his back to Sands. "You will not snare me, Abberline shit."
"So one of you has some fuckin' brains," Sands said, studying the man's profile. He had dark straight hair, a hooked nose, and narrow long face. This one dressed in an expensive suit. "What the fuck to you expect to accomplish? Trying to start a war?"
The man refused to respond to him. Sands watched him wet his lips.
Well, if he wouldn't look, Sands could always use his voice to hypnotize the fellow. He focused on the right tones, the rhythmic cadence, and began to speak. "You don't have to put yourself in danger. There is safety for anyone who wants it. We're not your enemies. We just want to live in peace." He saw the man's eyes open and close slowly. "You know you want to be my friend."
"What's all this then?" a Brit asked, coming into view. He snapped his fingers under the other man's nose. "Hey, Chenris." He flashed a quick look at Sands, who lay quietly, the blood of Jonah still on his lips. "Causing trouble, are we?"
"We are tied down. How can we cause trouble?" Sands retorted.
The Brit walked around behind the head of whatever Sands was strapped to and tossed a black cloth over his face.
"What the fuck!" Sands jerked his head from side to side to rid himself of the material, but the Brit adjusted it, catching it under his chin, and wrapping it more firmly around his head.
"That's your muzzle," he told Sands. "And if you continue to talk, which I seriously doubt you will after I medicate you, I'll gag you, too."
Expletives poured out of Sands as anger reasserted itself.
"Chenris, I told you, he has more than one way to hypnotize," the Brit said in a conversational tone.
"He didn't hypnotize me," Chenris protested.
"He did, mate. But don't worry, he won't do it again any time soon."
"You just wait," Sands calmed enough to converse rationally. "My clan will destroy you. All of you. You'll regret the day you laid hands on me."
"Oh, I think not," the Brit said. "Hands here, Chenris."
Feet shuffled behind him, then Sands felt a weight on his forehead. As he opened his mouth to protest, something sharp jabbed him in the neck. The words he was about to speak drifted away from him and he fell into utter darkness.