3. Dawn
1185 Words
3
DAWN
“Where are the bodies?” I growl. It’s not a Markula-style growl, not as loud or as low, but it does the trick.
The man’s blue eyes widen, panic shining in his irises. Spittle foams at one corner of his thin mouth, and sweat sticks his sandy hair to his forehead — his freckles look out of place on his fifty-year-old cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
He looks so sincere — so terrified — that I might believe him if I didn’t have a hive full of vampires with special powers to confirm what I found through my own research: He’s a killer. He deserves all the pain I can inflict on him. As an ER nurse, I had to see people stumble in with gouges through their skulls because of what some asshole did to them. I had to see children abused, their fragile bodies shattered by parents who were supposed to love them. I’ve always thought there was a special place in hell for the ones who hurt innocents, and until the last few months, my hunter bloodlust was sated by finding them, catching them, and getting rid of them.
Of course, I was more interested in getting them off the street, so they couldn’t hurt innocents, while my hive prefers to devour them like a side of beef, but po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe. Either way, they’re of no concern to the mortals when we get done with them.
I jam my knee between his legs and lean my weight against his balls. Tiny, like the testicles of most assholes. He howls and strains against the ropes, but Draynor secured the tethers extra tight behind his back and looped them around the chair legs. I doubt he can feel his fingers.
“I swear to god,” I snap, “I will tear your d**k off if you don’t tell me.” The families of his victims deserve some peace. They deserve to bury their loved ones. I don’t believe much in religion, but I sprinkled my mother’s ashes into the ocean as a matter of ceremony, and it was oddly cathartic.
“I don’t know,” he howls, “I swear, I don’t — ”
“I found the last girl’s baseball glove in your house.”
I didn’t think his eyes could get any wider, but I can see the whites all the way around his irises. “You broke into my house?”
Yup. It turns out that breaking into any building owned by mere mortals is incredibly easy with a few vampires on your side. They know when you’re sleeping. They know when you’re awake. And they can get in, search a house, and run back out before anyone notices the back door is even open.
“I found the shoes too — all those shoes. Want to guess how many pairs?” I shift, grinding my knee harder against his groin. “How many pairs of tiny shoes did I find under your bed?”
“I didn’t mean to,” he says in a voice that’s more of a moan. “I tried to stop.”
For f**k’s sake. I keep my knee where it is and throw an elbow into his throat. His eyes bulge as I lean my lips toward his ear. “Do you know how long it takes for DNA to degenerate?” I whisper. “The cops will know exactly what you did. You’ll go away forever.” I lower my voice further still, my lips brushing his earlobe enough that it turns my stomach. I can smell the rank musk of his sweat. “Tell me where they are. Give me their bodies. Let me give their parents some closure, and I won’t go to the authorities.”
I keep my head near his face but release the pressure on his Adam’s apple long enough for him to choke out: “Why would you do that?”
“Last chance,” I hiss. “If the next words out of your mouth aren’t a location, all that evidence goes straight to the police. And do you know what they do to child killers in prison? Do you know what they’ll do to you?”
He stills — it appears that hit a nerve. Then his lips start to move. His sour breath drifts over my cheek.
I listen. That’s it, asshole. Tell me your secrets. I’ll send the guys to take care of the bodies — to make sure that his victims get home to their families. A horrific end, but it has to be better than not knowing. Finally, the breath against my face stops.
I straighten — he’s no longer breathing at all, and he’s not looking at me either. I turn.
Red eyes shine from the shadowed corner near the bottom of the stairs. Markula takes one step into the room — into the light. At seven feet, Markula is the biggest of the group, a gargantuan Warrior with muscles for days and every inch of his body from chin to feet covered in brilliant red tattoos. His golden hair is much more Legends of the Fall than Silas’s is, but the rest of him is some scary extra-huge version of Jason Momoa. He growls, low in his throat — a growl I can’t even begin to emulate.
I push myself off the chair, which makes the child killer grunt — the extra final burst of pressure on his sack can’t feel good, but that’s going to feel like a massage compared to what’s coming next.
Markula takes one more step, and before his bare foot hits the floor again, the others are there. Silas, Draynor, and Kain all stand at the bottom of the stairs behind their leader. All smaller than Markula — who isn’t? — but each is well over six feet and muscular. Draynor — the quintessential vampire if ever there was one — has eyes like ink and long black hair as shiny as oil. Silas smiles, his violet eyes gleaming. Kain’s cheekbones are as sharp as my rage, his jaw chiseled like a Calvin Klein model. All of their pointed teeth are glittering.
“Did you get what you needed, my love?” Draynor’s voice soothes the burning in my chest.
I nod and squeeze Markula’s elbow on my way to the stairs.
“Wait!” the asshole cries after me. “You said — ”
“I said I wouldn’t go to the police,” I say to the steps. I don’t bother to look back.
Markula chuckles. The man screams, a high-pitched shriek that pierces into my brain. My sneakers thunk against the stone steps.
The shriek intensifies, then stops abruptly, replaced by the sound of wet tearing. He deserves worse than a few minutes of agony, but I need to hunt. And my family needs to eat.
This solves all our problems.
A long, low grinding, like the sound of ripping muscle cuts the air. I close the cellar door behind me.
- Writer
