Oliver's Hunger
Page 53
Amaury didn’t lose any time and wrapped the silver chain around his neck. The stench of singed hair and flesh immediately permeated the air.
“Fucking asshole!” Amaury cursed as he held the chain tight behind his neck and brought him down on the ground. The vampire was struggling, bringing his hands to the chain to remove it from his neck, but burned his fingers as he touched the only metal that was toxic to a vampire.
Zane kicked his boot against the rogue’s hip, then helped Amaury tie him up with a second chain. Behind him, the girl was still crying. Zane stood and looked at her.
Her neck was bleeding profusely, her body was covered with bruises from the vampire’s claws. He’d brutalized her.
“Shit!” Zane hissed.
A gaze to the entrance of the booth confirmed that none of the clubbers had noticed what was going on: the music was too loud for anybody to hear any of the fighting or the girl’s screams, and the mirrored partition that partially covered the entrance to the booth hid the carnage behind.
Zane looked into the girl’s eyes, focused on her mind and worked his magic, wiping every memory of this horrific event from her mind. But to stop the bleeding and heal her, he needed help. As a blood-bonded vampire he couldn’t drink blood other than that of his hybrid mate, and if he were to lick the girl’s wounds to close them, he would inadvertently consume some of her blood. It would make him violently ill. He needed a vampire who was either not blood-bonded or blood-bonded to another vampire—they were able to digest blood not coming from their mates.
Besides, the girl’s injuries were severe. She needed vampire blood to heal, simply licking her wounds and allowing the vampire saliva to close them wouldn’t be sufficient.
“We need Cain,” he said to Amaury. “And where the fuck is Thomas?”
***
Cain refrained from holding his hand over his nose and mouth, but it was hard not to puke at the sight of gore that presented itself. The girl on the dirty floor of the room was dead. Her throat had been ripped out, and it was evident that a vampire had savagely fed from her, then finished her off with his claws. As if he’d been angry. No, not just angry: furious! He’d wanted to punish the girl for something.
Her almond-shaped eyes were open, still staring at him in horror. Proof enough that the vampire who’d done this hadn’t bothered using mind control so she wouldn’t realize what he was doing. The poor girl had known what was happening to her.
Cain turned away from the bloody scene and surveyed the room for any sign that could lead him to the vampire who’d done this. Instinctively he knew there would be none. He’d come too late.
He dropped his head when he noticed a small ray of light coming from under one of the mirrored panels. He walked toward it. There was no image in the mirror—even though he was used to it, it still startled him from time to time, making him wonder whether he truly existed, or whether he was only a shadow of his own imagination. Shaking off the wayward thought, he ran his hands along the mirror, searching for any indentations or hooks that might allow him to get behind it. There were no latches, but when he pressed against the panel, it moved away from the wall, revealing another room behind it, by the looks of it a storage room.
A figure jumped at him, the movement a blur, but Cain’s reaction was instantaneous. He slammed his body against the attacker, whom he recognized as a vampire. The stench of blood still clung to him, and he was broader than Cain and a little heavier. Cain landed a right hook under his chin, whipping his attacker’s head back, then followed it up with a balled fist against his windpipe, then a kick against his thigh.
But the guy didn’t buckle as easily as other opponents had before him.
“Shit!”
The vampire shot him a nasty grin. “Better blood!”
Momentarily distracted by the odd comment, Cain couldn’t avoid the hit to his neck that slammed him against the storage unit on one wall. Pain whipped through him, but it was only momentary. He pulled himself up immediately and was thus able to evade the next blow. Cain jumped to the side, kicking his attacker in the hip, catapulting him against the opposite wall.
“Fucking murderer!” he cursed, glaring at the jerk.
The vampire growled, narrowing his eyes as he prepared for a counterattack. “She didn’t have the right blood! Bitch deserved it!”
The crazy vampire was clearly delirious, his mumblings not making any sense. Bloodlust was written all over him: his breathing was ragged, his eyes bloodshot, saliva dripping from his mouth as from a rabid dog. Unfortunately, another thing was true too: like other vampires in bloodlust, he seemed stronger and more ferocious.
“Fucking asshole!” Amaury cursed as he held the chain tight behind his neck and brought him down on the ground. The vampire was struggling, bringing his hands to the chain to remove it from his neck, but burned his fingers as he touched the only metal that was toxic to a vampire.
Zane kicked his boot against the rogue’s hip, then helped Amaury tie him up with a second chain. Behind him, the girl was still crying. Zane stood and looked at her.
Her neck was bleeding profusely, her body was covered with bruises from the vampire’s claws. He’d brutalized her.
“Shit!” Zane hissed.
A gaze to the entrance of the booth confirmed that none of the clubbers had noticed what was going on: the music was too loud for anybody to hear any of the fighting or the girl’s screams, and the mirrored partition that partially covered the entrance to the booth hid the carnage behind.
Zane looked into the girl’s eyes, focused on her mind and worked his magic, wiping every memory of this horrific event from her mind. But to stop the bleeding and heal her, he needed help. As a blood-bonded vampire he couldn’t drink blood other than that of his hybrid mate, and if he were to lick the girl’s wounds to close them, he would inadvertently consume some of her blood. It would make him violently ill. He needed a vampire who was either not blood-bonded or blood-bonded to another vampire—they were able to digest blood not coming from their mates.
Besides, the girl’s injuries were severe. She needed vampire blood to heal, simply licking her wounds and allowing the vampire saliva to close them wouldn’t be sufficient.
“We need Cain,” he said to Amaury. “And where the fuck is Thomas?”
***
Cain refrained from holding his hand over his nose and mouth, but it was hard not to puke at the sight of gore that presented itself. The girl on the dirty floor of the room was dead. Her throat had been ripped out, and it was evident that a vampire had savagely fed from her, then finished her off with his claws. As if he’d been angry. No, not just angry: furious! He’d wanted to punish the girl for something.
Her almond-shaped eyes were open, still staring at him in horror. Proof enough that the vampire who’d done this hadn’t bothered using mind control so she wouldn’t realize what he was doing. The poor girl had known what was happening to her.
Cain turned away from the bloody scene and surveyed the room for any sign that could lead him to the vampire who’d done this. Instinctively he knew there would be none. He’d come too late.
He dropped his head when he noticed a small ray of light coming from under one of the mirrored panels. He walked toward it. There was no image in the mirror—even though he was used to it, it still startled him from time to time, making him wonder whether he truly existed, or whether he was only a shadow of his own imagination. Shaking off the wayward thought, he ran his hands along the mirror, searching for any indentations or hooks that might allow him to get behind it. There were no latches, but when he pressed against the panel, it moved away from the wall, revealing another room behind it, by the looks of it a storage room.
A figure jumped at him, the movement a blur, but Cain’s reaction was instantaneous. He slammed his body against the attacker, whom he recognized as a vampire. The stench of blood still clung to him, and he was broader than Cain and a little heavier. Cain landed a right hook under his chin, whipping his attacker’s head back, then followed it up with a balled fist against his windpipe, then a kick against his thigh.
But the guy didn’t buckle as easily as other opponents had before him.
“Shit!”
The vampire shot him a nasty grin. “Better blood!”
Momentarily distracted by the odd comment, Cain couldn’t avoid the hit to his neck that slammed him against the storage unit on one wall. Pain whipped through him, but it was only momentary. He pulled himself up immediately and was thus able to evade the next blow. Cain jumped to the side, kicking his attacker in the hip, catapulting him against the opposite wall.
“Fucking murderer!” he cursed, glaring at the jerk.
The vampire growled, narrowing his eyes as he prepared for a counterattack. “She didn’t have the right blood! Bitch deserved it!”
The crazy vampire was clearly delirious, his mumblings not making any sense. Bloodlust was written all over him: his breathing was ragged, his eyes bloodshot, saliva dripping from his mouth as from a rabid dog. Unfortunately, another thing was true too: like other vampires in bloodlust, he seemed stronger and more ferocious.
