Antithesis: The Vampire Alliance Book Three - FIRST DRAFT COMPLETED

Antithesis Chapter 6: Eve Blakethorn-Sullivan May 2013

Eve Blakethorn-Sullivan, May 2013

“How did it go?” Johan asks the moment we enter his office.

“Pretty well,” answers Craig, throwing himself into the swivelling chair opposite our leader. “The humans escaped and we all got out alive so I’d say it was a success. Obviously the humans weren’t in great shape. Most will be re-captured or die anyway but they have a chance.”

Nodding, Johan admits, “That’s as much as we can offer at the moment. We don’t have the people to protect them nor the facilities to shelter them even if we could persuade them that we aren’t all evil.”

Perhaps he can smell my frustration, my anger and my distress as he looks at me next. “Eve, are you ok?”

Opening my mouth to say I’m fine is an automatic reaction but on this occasion the assertion dies in my throat. “No,” I finally manage to state, “no, I’m not fucking ok. I haven’t been fucking ok in years.”

With that declaration I spin on my heel, stalking out of the office and slamming the door hard enough to bend the door handle and put hairline cracks in the concrete around the frame. Sometimes vampire strength is a bloody inconvenience. Stomping through the corridors I must look as enraged as I feel. Noting without amusement that people are clearing a path for me, I wonder how furiously my silvered eyes are glowing. My fangs have dropped too, making it impossible to grit my teeth against my irritation. If anyone says the wrong thing to me they may very well lose their head.

I need to find some release for this frustration, this incensed anger which comes from bearing witness to too much pain, too much suffering, too many nightmares. The dojo is an option but practising solo katas is not something I’m in the mood for and I doubt anyone is about to let me pound their face into the floor under the pretence of sparring.

Maybe the gym then? There are punch bags in there, specially designed punch bags with wire mesh embedded in the outer coverings and extra heavy chains running through their cores and attached to the steel beams overhead. Vampire proofing punch bags is something of a craft, apparently.

The room’s occupants scarper within moments of my entrance. I wonder if it’s the way I lay into the bag that chases the others away, especially when I don’t react to my bare knuckles splitting with each blow. Or is it the fragrance of my tumultuous emotions that spooks them? Maybe it’s simply because I’m me, Eve Blakethorn-Sullivan, descendant of the last true Strix. I am the Lamiae, the child killer, the destroyer of men, the bringer of doom and misery. I don’t even need to know people to destroy their lives. My existence alone is enough to bring forth doom, despair and damnation.

That poor woman. She’d been innocent and thanks to me she’s dead.

The chains holding up the punch bag creak and groan under my onslaught, protesting at the pounding I’m giving the bag. I long for the layered leather and mesh surface to be Charleston’s face, or Upton’s or Donal’s, or a Redeemer’s. I pour my fury at the woman’s death out through my fists. Or I try to at least, the well of pent up rage seems to be bottomless.

When Rob and Tul enter the gym their concern is tangible. Unfortunately for them I don’t want to be comforted or held or reasoned with. I want to fight. Even though I don’t desire a fight with them, I know that if they stay I’ll cause one. My mood is too volatile to rein in my temper.

“Don’t bother,” the snarl is harsher than either of them appreciate but I can apologise later. “Just let me work through it. I’ll be fine.”

“Evie,” Rob starts but I cut him off, ignoring his worry.

“Stop. Please, just stop. I need to get this out of my system and I don’t want to fall out with either of you. Just let me be for a while.”

At my urging they do, reluctantly, turn away and make their way out of the door. Tul turns briefly back, just long enough to whisper, “We love you Evie. We’ll be in our room if you want to talk.” With that they disappear, leaving only their ongoing concern in their wake.

The constant touch of their anxiety only makes my anger worse. This is the world we live in, filled with apprehension, dread, never knowing what tomorrow will bring or how we’re going to cope. We worry for friends, for family, we struggle and lose and all around us everything turns to shit. Then others suffer, for our mistakes, for my mistakes. If I’d never become a whore that girl might still be alive.

My fist collides with the bag again and the steel hook connecting the chains to the steel beam cracks as it breaks. The punch bag flies away from me, crashing into the rowing machine opposite and smashing the equipment.

“Fuck!” I scream, fighting down the urge to demolish everything else in the gym as well, out of sheer frustration. The urge to destroy, kill, raze, is overwhelming. Wondering how close I am to the out-of-control rage young vampires are prone to, I consider the possibility I should find Rob and Tul after all. Or perhaps lock myself in a cell. I’d rather use my anger though, let it out upon the world, upon certain parts of the world.

I could do that. There are people, monsters, out there who deserve to feel the force of my anger.

That’s why I find myself leaving the facility again. Zachary questions me when I pass his bank of CCTV monitors but he doesn’t stop me. Smart man. Although he obviously contacts my husbands and my phone is ringing before I exit the new perimeter fence. I can feel the fear pouring from them, the fear that I’m running, that I’ll disappear, even before I answer my ringing mobile.

“Stop panicking,” I tell Rob immediately, “I’ll be back shortly, I just need a walk. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t feel like someone going for a stroll in the woods, Eve, you feel like someone with a purpose,” he accuses me and in this instant I regret the strength of our connection.

“I’ll be back soon.” They don’t believe me, but what can they do? Especially as I turn off my phone.

It’s almost dawn when I reach the suburban street where Charleston’s fortified and guarded house stands. As much as I wish it was, it isn’t Hardy I’m here for. Even as I approach the perimeter wall and leap lightly up onto it I know that it would be foolish to try and enter the house. If I get caught inside I’ll be defeated, killed or captured, I don’t know which. After seeing the girl at the farm the last thing I want is to end up as Charleston’s prisoner.

Out here there’s another possibility though, and that’s what intrigues me. Hardy wasn’t the only man responsible for what I lost, for what I became, for what led to the unfortunate girl’s role.

Making my way silently to one of the trees in the garden I climb up into its boughs. As I lie here, silent and camouflaged among the leaves, the world passes me by. Charleston’s guards circuit the house, casting cursory glances around the garden, but they don’t see me. They aren’t looking for me, probably feeling that no enemy, especially me, would be foolish enough to come here alone.

When the third pair of patrolling guards passes I can hear them discussing our attack on the Redeemers’ farm. My malicious grin is perhaps more than a little wicked as one of them asks, “Can you even believe they did that? There were only the five of them, apparently. The whore walked up to the front door, bold as brass, and the moronic guards didn’t even recognise her. They just let them in.”

“I heard all of the livestock escaped and the incompetent fuckwits running the farms have only managed to round up a fraction of the humans they had in that place,” the female guard replies. “And of course he’s furious,” she nods her head towards the house.

“I heard,” the male answers, “rumour has it they found his slut dead. Apparently she blew her own brains out. Tipped her over the edge I suspect, being freed by the harlot she was disfigured for.”

Suppressing the growl of rage isn’t easy but letting the patrol pass unhindered is my only choice. They’ll pay eventually but tonight I want to have a chat with one of those responsible for my scars and for Rob’s. This is long since overdue and thanks to the decisions he’s made I now know exactly where I can find Donal Murphy. All I need to do is wait and then I’m going to kill him here, in this garden. What better way is there to show Hardy that I’m coming for those who’ve hurt me and mine? I want him to know just how closed I can get, just how brutal he’s made me. Let him be warned, let him learn to fear, just as he makes others fear.

What has he turned me into, that I can crave his terror? Don’t think about that. I can’t think about what I’m becoming. Not now. I have a job to do here and that’s all I need to focus on.

As the day wears on I can feel Rob and Tul grow ever more anxious. No doubt they’re trying to phone but I’ll ask forgiveness for being incommunicado later. As long I’m not fearful or in pain they might wait for me, rather than rushing out to do anything stupid like trying to follow me. That’s provided they aren’t trying to track me down already, of course. It wouldn’t really surprise me if they were. 

The sun is high before Donal makes his appearance, walking the well patrolled path around the house with his partner. His red hair flames in the sun and I wish fire would consume him. I’d happily watch him burn, watch him writhe and scream and suffer. I don’t have time for that though. As much as I’d like him to hurt, for Andrea, for my parents, for Rob and me and Tul, ultimately I just want him incapacitated so that he can’t do any further harm. He needs to die, simply put, and with that goal in my head I drop lightly, silently, to the ground. My sword is drawn before I hit the floor.

His partner doesn’t stand a chance and I take his head before he even realises I’m coming. Donal though, he’s luckier than that. He hits a button on his radio, presumably to call for back up before raising his own sword to deflect my blow.

“How’s Sullivan?” he laughs mockingly, his eyes swirling with their strange mix of silver and blood red. The strange colouration shows he’d been made into one of the Strix using the Senate’s synthesised concoction of compounds. For that I’m relieved. I would have loathed it if he’d truly come from my blood.

“Haven’t you heard? He helped take out a farm today with Rob and I. We’re all doing fine. All of us. Me,” I jab at him, furious as he side steps the stroke, “Rob,” I swipe at him again and steel rings against steel as our swords clash, “and Tul.”

“I saw the CCTV footage. He was using throwing knives,” Donal goads, “and a gun. A sword is still a bit much for him, is it?”

How could he taunt? Tul had been his friend once and now Donal finds it amusing that he’s been maimed. He finds it entertaining that he’s responsible for the suffering of men who’d saved his life. I couldn’t imagine any amount of jealousy driving me to be so very cruel. Angry, maybe, but not so cruel.

“You disgust me,” I hiss as I lunge and dodge.

Donal simply laughs then licks his lips. “I wonder if you’ll taste like your sister. I couldn’t help myself, you know? I did as the Senate asked, but only after I had a quick bite. The Senate didn’t mind, they were already prepared to lie about whose venom was in her blood. It’s just a shame she screamed so much. Maybe I’ll have a sip of you before I kill you. You won’t scream, will you girl? You’re better trained than that, whore.”

“Bastard!” I hiss, as I swing for him again, missing entirely as my rage momentarily blinds me.

More Senate thugs stream from the doors of Charleston’s home. Not as many as last time but I presume Hardy doesn’t currently feel that threatened. Considering the Alliance had already attacked somewhere in the last twelve hours, he’d probably though it safe to presume we wouldn’t launch an assault against his home too. He should know me better than that.

All the same, there’s more than enough enemies to make dodging bullets difficult and I wince as a projectile embeds itself in my side, briefly, before it’s expelled again. The flare of pain, the burn of silver, focuses my attention and I realise something; Donal is fast, certainly, but I know I’m not yet moving at full speed. Not only that but I can pre-empt his moves, I’m sure of it.

They speak to me, the echoes of a conversation held so very long ago. “Focus,” Lucius hisses, “on the enemy. Predict his moves, his next action. Move before he can act upon his decision or his instincts.”

Aemiliana’s voice answers defiantly in my head, heated by frustration and anger. “I don’t know how!”

Lucius’ tone is more insistent, determined to offer her a fighting chance, despite him being responsible for her incarceration. “Of course you do, it’s in your blood, in your soul, it’s who you are...”

It’s who I am too. Strix, seer, it’s all part of who I am meant to be. Donal is utilising stolen strength, chemicals inducing power his body shouldn’t posses. Me though, I’m different. I’m the first Strix in almost two millennia and I’m the first seer in at least one, according to Johan. Donal is nothing compared to me.

With a growl I twist out of his way, picking up speed as I spin around him to avoid his blade. I let him realise that he’ll lose, I let it dawn on him that he cannot rival me as he thrusts and strikes at me without coming close to hitting me. Only then do I bring my sword down, slashing through his wrist, through flesh and sinew and bone, in one easy stroke.

That one’s for Tul.

Donal’s sword rattles down onto the gravel walkway, his blood staining the path with a steady stream red life until his arm heals itself. He lunges for his hand, knowing that if he reopens the wound at his wrist he may be able to reconnect the pieces of his body, just as the Senate had re-attached Rob’s head. We could have done the same for Tul if anyone had thought to pick up his hand in our rush to escape. My family’s blood is a miraculous thing but sadly we’d been rather preoccupied with staying alive that night, rather than utilising its healing properties.

Kicking out I knock Donal onto his knees. I ignore the bullets raining down on me as the group of Senate guards race towards me. I must look demonic, especially as I advance towards my flailing enemy, intent on his destruction. Smiling, I absorb every detail of Donal kneeling in Charleston’s garden, panic struck and weapon-less. Inhaling his fear, I enjoy the scent of true terror for the first time. I don’t notice the sourness of the scent, I simply revel in the fact Donal Muphy is helpless, and he knows it.

This man had taken everything from me, had manipulated and used me and hurt every single person I loved or love. He deserves my vengeance.

For his part he doesn’t beg or implore. He doesn’t try appealing to my better nature. Perhaps he knows it would be useless. Instead, Donal simply stares blankly at me as he murmurs, “They don’t deserve everything they’ve been granted.”

He remains jealous to the last, in the seconds before I cleave his head from his shoulders. Bending, I pick up my grim trophy by the hair. There’s no point leaving his head here where it could be reattached and render my work a waste of time and blood.

Glancing at my oncoming foes I hold Donal’s head aloft while yelling, “Tell Hardy I’m coming for him.” Then I finally do the smart thing and I run.

The bullets pounding into my back hurt and each healing wound burns as I move. Slowing down to alleviate the pain would be foolish though, so I launch myself back over Charleston’s garden wall as quickly as possible. As I race from the scene of my crime I can hear the Senate’s Strix and Enforcers debating whether to follow me. I begin to wonder if, perhaps, I’ve made a mistake. I can’t outrun them all forever, not while being repeatedly shot.

I’m lucky, I guess, that they’re employed to guard Charleston and charging after me would leave him under-defended. My pursuers are undoubtedly sure I’ll be caught and appropriately sentenced eventually, and so they fall back. The assumption is probably accurate, but my future is not something I want to look into. At all. Ever. Not if I can avoid it. I’d rather not know what Charleston will do to me if he should get his own way.

Blood loss from the sheer number of bullets I’ve taken and expelled eventually begins to take its toll. I suppose that was always inevitable. I grow dizzy, so woozy I can’t bring myself to care about wandering around in broad daylight like some bloodied nightmare from a medieval battle scene.

Cars actually move away from the kerb to pass me at a distance, and I figure the human drivers can all guess my species. The sight of me probably confirms their concerns about us. Even more so, perhaps, than if I had been stood on the roadside with my fangs in someone’s throat. Funny, that my slaughter of another vampire could make me appear more monstrous to a human that feeding would’ve done.

My pace is slowing dangerously when a familiar black range rover appears. It’s a relief to see it as it pulls to a stop next to me. Winding down the window Tul’s eyes flick over the patterns of bloody holes in my clothing and he glares at Donal’s head, which is still hanging from my hand.

“Your version of going for a walk is rather different to mine.”

“Yeah. I had some steam I needed to let off. This needs destroyed,” I add, hoisting the head. “I didn’t want to leave it where they might use it to bring him back, arsehole that he was.”

Rob leans forward, quirking a brow at me as he asks, “And are you done letting off steam now?”

“For today,” I reply mildly, climbing into the back of the vehicle. “I still need to see about Charleston. Upton too, in the long run. I didn’t think marching into Charleston’s house would be wise though.”

They both stare at me and from their combined frustration I know there’s a lot they’d like to say about the wisdom of going anywhere near Charleston’s house at all. They want to reprimand me, to tell me I’ve been reckless, that they were concerned for me. They don’t though, everything they want to say is easily read from their emotions and they understand that. I’m getting an emotional ticking-off, without any need of verbal chastisement.

“As much as I hate saying it, she’s right. Even if she was reckless in going after Donal, we have to dispose of the head,” Tul comments matter-of-factly as Rob pulls away. For his part, Rob just nods in response, perhaps unwilling to open his mouth and risk unleashing an angst filled tirade.

We’ve driven almost back to base by the time Rob pulls over next to a track which leads into the woods. Following in the sinister tradition of serial killers worldwide, we take our grisly prize into the gloom to hide it. We can’t just conceal it though. What if the Senate find the blasted thing? Johan has protocols. He has had ever since the Paladins first came to light and we all know we have to destroy Donal’s head.
I appreciate this and yet while killing him hadn’t phased me, chopping his head into tiny pieces is not my idea of a good time. I guess my anger has cooled a little now I’ve managed to exact my revenge. Not that I need to be concerned by my disinterest in the task at hand; the two men next to me have more than enough anger for the various ways Donal had betrayed them and they’ll make sure he can’t come back.

We stop walking only once we’re well away from passing cars and the light is dappled by the canopy of leaves overhead. Rob takes the head of his one-time brother from me and unsheathes his sword as he throws the bloody object to the mossy earth. He’s more methodical than I would have originally counted on. If I’d been through what he has I don’t think I would be as controlled. He’s certainly enraged. This is certainly a twisted from of vampire therapy for him, just as killing Donal had been for me, but he’s precise. He doesn’t hack or chop or yell his fury. Instead he gives two downward thrusts, straight through Donal’s skull and into his brain. Rob has to hold the head down with his booted foot to pull the sword free following each blow but after the second strike he calmly hands his weapon to Tul and comes to stand by me.

“That was very serenely done.”

He shrugs at my surprised observation. “Keep needs this more that I do. It covered the things Donal did which hurt me most.”

Frowning up at him I wonder what he’s thinking. I have my suspicions as his eyes cloud at my searching look. Very tenderly he leans down, touching his lips lightly to mine as he whispers, “You’re my wife. I can’t bear the thought of him using you.”
“I only let him do it through fear,” I whisper back, tears welling. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Rob answers as he takes my hand. “None of it’s your fault, despite what you think.”

Looking back at Tul I can feel his pain, his anger, his shame building to a scorching burn in his chest. He’s lost so much, feared so much and been guilt ridden about so much over the years, all because of Donal’s actions. Perhaps he’s suffered the most in the long run. Especially now, with wounds that aren’t ever going to be healed.

As he hacks at the head each stroke he makes with the sword sends flesh and blood, fragments of skull and chunks of brain, flying into the undergrowth. Tears stream unashamedly over his cheeks but we pretend not to see. He won’t appreciate our sympathy. By the time he stops there is little left but a puddle of red gloop and yellow-white grit where Donal’s head had lain. A few gory objects lie in the ghastly pool, ginger hair and pearly teeth are mixed with the blood, making a truly gruesome sight. There’s even half an eye, just lying there staring blindly at nothing.

I hope maggots eat what’s left of Donal’s flesh.

“Come on,” Tul requests quietly, handing Rob’s sword back to him, “let’s go home.”