Dead Before Dawn: The Vampire Curse

Chapter 6 - Last Chance

Half an hour later, Yulia was back and she was not alone. Max had never seen the man with Yulia before, but he recognised some of the things the man was carrying.

"Hello again," Yulia said with a smile, "this is Thomas and he assures me pretty is not a problem."

Max tried to summon up a smile as well, but was mostly sure he failed. He was so distracted that when Yulia spoke to Thomas in Russian and the man took his things over to the table, he missed the whole conversation.

"We're going to have to sedate you and strap you down on the trolley," Yulia told him in a much more gentle tone, while Thomas got on with setting things up. "I'm sorry it is unlikely to last for the whole process, but it should help to begin with."

Not trusting his voice, Max just nodded and fought down the urge to react when Yulia produced a syringe and popped off the cap. He barely felt it when the needle went into his arm and he waited for the drug to take effect. It didn't take long, but it didn't work as well as when he had been human. He quickly felt the world becoming very fuzzy on the edge and he lay down, allowing the medication to take him the rest of way towards a restless sleep.

It was not blissful blackness any more, his metabolism was beyond that and he drifted just below consciousness, not quite aware, but also, not totally detached either. He felt a distant pain, just out of his reach, like an itch he couldn't scratch. He did his best to ignore it for a while, but, bit by bit, it dragged him towards it.

As he climbed closer to reality, the pain increased, as did his awareness of his surroundings. He could feel he was strapped down. It was almost like the first time he had woken in Yulia's presence, but both his arms were by his sides. This time he was even more securely held as well and, as he instinctively tried to move, he could barely twitch.

The overriding smell of ink mixed with just a trace of blood, and the underlying faint scent of smouldering tickled his nose.

He could feel the prick of the needle buzzing over and into his skin, but it was nothing compared to the burning in his torso. The cross on his chest could have been written in fire for all the difference it made, and with every movement of Thomas' inker it became worse. He could not yet open his eyes, but it was almost as if he could see it, as if it was etched on his consciousness, faint and incomplete where it was traced onto his skin, but growing stronger, becoming more permanent with every line being inked in. Its power was raging through him, trying to touch every part of him and it was agony.

"Max," he heard someone speaking to him in gentle tones, but his mind would not tell him who, "try not to struggle, it is almost done."

He would have laughed if he could have, but even that much control was beyond him. He knew it was almost done. Every cell in his body was being consumed by the inferno. He had to struggle; it was all that was keeping him sane. Every second felt like an hour.

"Hold on," the voice told him and he was so far gone he could not tell if it was male or female, "just a few more moments."

Someone was also murmuring in Russian. The way the words made his mind shy away, he knew they were prayers, even without translating them.

He could feel the cross in infinite detail and see it in his mind. It was beautiful and ornate and deadly to him with its purity. The power raging inside him felt as if it was destroying his very being, but it was nothing to what ripped through his body as the last stroke completed the holy form and someone said 'Amen'. That was when he heard himself scream and when everything disappeared in flames so hot he was sure he would be nothing but ash.