A/N: SamtheLiger: Duly noted! I translated it right, but typed it wrong, haha. Thanks everyone for the reviews!
The first thing I did upon waking was curl onto my side and vomit. I'd never had a stomach for any type of anesthetic, and what had been used on me clung to my mind and body, making me dizzy, disoriented.
"Great," a voice said from above me. "I'm so not cleaning that up."
I opened my eyes and don't see anything at first, as my vision was obscured by the blue-black darkness of whatever room I was in. I rolled onto my back and shuffled away from my sick, breathing in short gasps. My eyes began to adjust and I could see that I was in a large, dingy room. My hands and feet were tied and everything ached, each muscle screaming and stiff.
"Oh," that same voice said. "It seems our guest of honor is waking up." His face appeared above me, and I recognized it. It was the delivery man, from the company I'd threatened. I felt surprise twist the muscles of my face into disbelief. The man saw this and grinned before running a hand over his military-style crew cut. Why would he have taken me?
"Remember me, do you?" His grin faded when I didn't reply and instead held his gaze steadily, without blinking. "Strong, silent type, are we?" he said, his lip curling into a sneer. "Don't worry, it won't last."
My teeth were clenched; I had to hold myself back from responding, so I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. I felt him come closer; felt him lean into my neck. My heart all but stopped, but I managed to keep from crying out.
"It's sad, really, how fragile we humans are," he whispered, his words coming out in cool gusts that ghosted across my skin, raising goose bumps as they went. "So unable to protect ourselves when taken by surprise."
"We? I don't see you tied up on the floor."
"Yeah," he said, licking the skin over my carotid artery, a pale imitation of a vampire. "That's because they needed me, someone who could spy, steal you away in the daytime." He grasped my chin, turned me so I was staring into his plain features, dead eyes. "But it's not daytime anymore."
What happened next made no sense, and I'm not even sure how it happened, but I heaved my body under him, lifted my legs and kicked him squarely in the chest so he fell back onto the floor. He was winded; I heard him gasping, but he ignored the pain to slap me so hard my ears rang. I laughed in response, the only rebellion I could muster.
"She's a rebellious one, isn't she?" another voice said. I opened my eyes again and saw a man in a beautifully cut black business suit. He stared down at me, contemplating, while I memorized the details of him; short, blonde hair pinned back, lithe body, brown eyes, almost black. In the time it took me to paint an accurate mental picture, I realized he wasn't breathing. He was a vampire.
"What is this?" I asked. "A job interview?" I looked his business attire up and down. "I regretfully decline any offer."
"Careful," he said. "Wouldn't want to have to drain you before we get what we want." Was I that handy to vampires that one group needed to steal me from the other? "Besides, as long as you're alive, you can be used as bait, too."
The man, enjoying the horrified reaction that must have flickered across my face shifted me, leaned in closer and sniffed at my skin, my hair. "His smell is all over you."
"I could change that," he continued, drawing icy fingers over my neck. I couldn't keep my response in, muttered a few choice expletives under my breath.
"What do you say?" he breathed, and I had to forcibly hold my body still to keep from trying to writhe out of his grip.
"Thanks for the offer," I said. "But I'd rather die." He released me and I fell back awkwardly on my tied arms.
"Soon, soon." He turned his back to me, addressed the other guy. "Why don't you go keep yourself occupied for awhile? I'll make sure to take good care of our guest."
"Have fun," he said, looking back at me over his shoulder as he left the room.
"So. What are you?" The blond walked around me, tracing my body like the chalk outlines that marked the dead at a crime scene. Corpse graffiti.
"Human."
"I'm not so sure about that," he said, hopping over me like I was a river.
"Well, let's see." I tilted my head to the side. "Beating heart, check. Respiratory system, check. Slow healing, check." All signs point to human—shouldn't you have figured that out, vampire?"
"While that's all well and good, I find it hard to believe Eric would bring an unwilling human to Louisiana and keep her in his private residence unless there was something extremely special," the word was drawn out, accented and his eyes went up and down my body, trying to find a physical manifestation of why I was supposedly so important to Eric. "About said human."
"Why the interest in Eric?" I shot back, trying to get him angry enough that he would accidentally spill whatever he was planning. The mention of Eric's name brought a look of unaltered disgust across the man's face, so I dug harder.
"What, a little low-ranking vamp is mad at the big, bad sheriff?" The quip landed me with a shoe that nestled itself into my rib cage; I gasped and saw red at the pain, curled in on myself, winded from the blow. But he'd attacked, and that meant I was striking close to home.
"What, did Eric hurt your pride 100 years ago, and you're planning your counterstrike?"
The vampire pulled me up again, made me watch as his teeth shifted, became deadly weapons. On Eric, the change was intriguing, something to inspire awe; on this man, the only thing I felt was absolute terror.
"This is going to be fun." The words weren't spoken, but snarled. He pushed the hair from my neck roughly, scraping his nails across my skin as he went. I heard him breathe in with anticipation, and then I felt a pain that threatened to tear my body to pieces. This wasn't Eric's gentle pull, a sensation that made my body sigh with pleasure; this felt like razors were opening my veins individually; I felt the strain in each capillary, vein and artery with every mouthful he swallowed.
Relief came suddenly, without warning when he pulled his teeth out of me, my blood painting his lips, the image of a garish geisha, and looked at me in wonder.
"He gave you his blood?" He spoke softly, surprised—and worried.
"You," I said, straining my hardest, "Are so fucked."
The bite after that was much more savage, a blow aimed to maim, not kill. I don't think I've ever been more grateful to lose consciousness, though it didn't last long enough, that bliss of darkness. What I hoped was water splashed across my face in a cold shock; it flew up my nose and down my throat, leaving me gurgling and choking for air. I spat the saliva-laced water back up and it slid sticky warm down my throat. My skin, from what I could see, looked normal but felt like it had been rubbed down with sandpaper, then covered in salt.
"Fuck," I whispered, hoping my torturer wouldn't hear.
"Ooh, starting to feel it, are we?" he asked, taking the opportunity to throw more water on me, this time soaking my clothes all the way down to my shoes carefully, so he wouldn't get any water on himself.
"You're from the north, right?"
"An astute observation." I said, or groaned. Probably closer to a groan. He raised his hand as a threat, so I shut my mouth and kept it that way.
"It's cold there, huh?" He walked away from me, over to the facing wall. I craned my neck to see what he was up to and saw that he was fiddling with a thermostat.
"In a little while," he said, making his way to a door I hadn't noticed before, "You'll feel right at home." The door slammed behind him, leaving me soaking wet in a rapidly-cooling room.
It wasn't long before I could see my breath; shortly thereafter I lost feeling in my extremities, though the numbness was better than the intense pins-and-needles that had spread up and down my body. I felt my wet hair stiffening until it took on the texture of a broom, crackling slightly as it iced-over into the floor. Vibrations made their way up my neck, so intense I tried to sit up and see what was moving me; I didn't get too far before I was stopped, like a dog on a taut rope, by my hair. Every root screamed, but I held it in, laid back down. I didn't want anyone hearing my pain.
When my body continued to jump erratically, a physical stutter, it dawned on me that I was shivering, expending precious energy and losing heat in my trunk, where the majority of my blood had rushed to protect my internal organs from hypothermia. I knew I had to stay awake, had to keep fighting, but it was like someone had injected me with morphine and the opiate was spinning inside me, a blanket of sleep that draped itself lovingly, and I conceded to its embrace.
***
A flash of light blinded me, even through the hand I put in front of my eyes as a shield. I winced and turned away as a lightning-quick headache turned my head into a vice. When I could see straight, I realized I was outdoors, in the middle of a forest, the likes of which I didn't think could be found within the confines of Louisiana. It was too dense, too wild, and the air was different, thinner, dryer. No swamp moss crept up rocks or trees; no alligators stalked the depths of water that wasn't there.
I looked down at myself with the feeling I was missing something; I spread my hands in front of my eyes, turned around and for a split second, it looked like the tips of my fingers were blue, but the hue disappeared as I looked closer. The further I chased the idea that something was just off, the less I could pinpoint exactly what that something was. I put my hands down, shook my head and stopped, frozen in place at the sight in front of me. Two men hobbled toward me, carrying a third's weight on their shoulders. All were dressed strangely, with furs and crude leather—and chainmail. Blood and dirt stained their faces, caked their similar pale hair.
I backed up, fell and scrambled, propelling myself with my legs to get as far away from them as possible, but they didn't notice me, looked right through me before collapsing as a unit, as one man pushing past the point his strength could carry him. I stayed where I was, listened to words that I didn't understand, but crept closer as a sneaking suspicion about the identity of the man in the middle grew within me. When I stood in front of him, he waved the others away, telling them to cut their losses, I guess. They refused, rallied around him and I inched closer, putting my hand on the chest of the dying man.
Eric.
Underneath my fingers, a flailing heart beat a strange tattoo, overworking itself to make up for the sluggish opening and closings of the valves. He was oblivious to my touch, to the hands that were now gripping the sides of his head, trying to take in the idea of Eric as human, as anything but what he was now.
He was a warrior; all three were, judging by their dress and the weapons pinned to their sides. The other two picked Eric up and I saw his wound, the opening on his lower torso, the unlucky strike that was taking him down, drowning his body in its own blood. I followed them easily as they cleared a path into an opening, where they laid Eric down and began to build what looked like a funeral pyre. Though still only human, he was a work of art, build for grace, speed and precision, deadly to any enemy, beautiful to any friend. I put my palm on the hole that was killing him, soaked my hand in his blood and wanted to weep for his death, though I already knew the end to this story.
It was dusk when Eric's comrades lifted him onto the bed of sticks and kindling, arming him with his shield and sword, allowing him to carry it into the afterlife for warriors. The man with an ax for a weapon approached Eric, spoke softly, and though Eric did reply, it seemed to take all his energy to send out waves that had barely enough strength to reach his friend's ears. He was slipping away from life, though his eyes showed no fear. I was staring at him, grasping at a hand that did not feel when a branch snapped somewhere in the woods; the other two men bristled, shouted to an invisible assailant, and before they could finish speaking, both their throats were ripped open, allowing blood to funnel out in a red fountain that made my stomach turn. I couldn't move, wanted to throw up when a boy, no older than eighteen leapt onto Eric with the swiftness that could only be the trait of a vampire. His body was covered in tattoos, intricate, ancient; his hair was matted to the point of dreads, but somehow he was still compelling, dangerously so. The boy smiled, revealing elongated teeth, and yet Eric showed no fear. They spoke briefly, then the boy reared back, sank his fangs into soft flesh of Eric's neck and drank heartily. Eric moaned a full-throated rattle that sounded like death; the boy stopped, ripped his own wrist open and allowed the boiling, potent liquid to touch Eric's lips, trickle down his throat. Eric attached himself to the limb like a newborn to a bottle. I can't say I didn't get closer, didn't watch the progression with a morbid fascination that bordered on voyeurism.
Eric drank slowly, as if swallowing were a concerted effort now, and shuddered before stopping entirely, pulling away; the pixie boy lifted Eric's head, kissed his forehead, jumped off the pyre and began digging in earnest. I stroked his blonde hair, ran my hand over his slack skin, absorbing the residual heat that would never grace his skin again.
***
Voices murmured softly around me, stirring me from the strange dream that had touched some part of me, left an aftertaste, a film of confusion.
"Use your fucking head, Joseph. If we kill her, we won't know what she can do, and Eric will have no reason to come after her." It was a woman's voice,
"How would he know if she were dead?"
"You said she's had his blood. They're bonded. Don't you think Eric would find it slightly suspicious if his human just fell off his radar?"
"What about the spell?"
The woman sighed, the picture of exasperation, and spoke like she was talking to a five-year-old. "If we kill her, that breaks the spell entirely and he'll know; right now, he can feel her, but can't sense where she is. He knows she's alive, but can't get to her."
"Oh."
"Yeah, 'oh.' You know, I deserve a much bigger cut than what I'm getting…"
"You're getting 15%, and that's where you'll stay."
I inclined my head a little, curious as to why I wasn't cold anymore, but lost my focus when the world swirled around me in an attempt to recreate an acid trip in front of my eyes. I moved my hands under what felt like soft blankets; there was a cot underneath me, and I realized I was incredibly warm, though I realized I wore a t-shirt, not Eric's, and nothing else underneath.
"She's awake," the woman said, her shoes tapping delicately against the floor as she came over and placed the back side of her hand against my forehead. I flinched away, which only served to send a fever ache through my body.
"I'm sorry for the way you've been treated," she said, touching the back of her neck before fingering a lock of her chestnut hair. She was nervous; her eyes never really stopped on me, instead sliding back and forth like she was reading the lines to a script. "The boys got a little carried away."
Her dark eyes were warm, but it was practiced, enhanced by eyeliner to make them seem more open, more friendly. With strength I didn't have, I pointed at her.
"Good cop." I wasn't sure where the man, the vampire was, but I nodded in his general direction. "Bad cop."
"We're not—"
"You're not getting anything," I rasped, swallowing thickly. Her smile never faltered, but it fell away from her eyes, which she'd been crinkling to show me she was genuine.
"You'd better hope you're wrong," She whispered, a coo used to tuck a baby in. "Because if you're nothing special, what use are you to us when we get him?" She stood, dusting off invisible fibers from her skirt.
"When I'm sheriff," Johan was quiet, but Eric's blood had enhanced my senses; I heard him, clear as day. "You can sit next to me on that ridiculous throne of his."
"Looking forward to it," she replied, her words acidic enough to chip his teeth. They left together, and I was plunged into the dark, unsure of what day it was, what time it was, though I knew time was a precious commodity for me, and it was running out.