Forsaken Blood

- REVELATION -

"Follow me, Layla," Marco said as he led her back to the privacy of his room. "There has been much talk amongst the coven that your blood is unique."

"Tell me, Marco," Layla said, "I need to know!"

Marco's head hung low as he searched for the words to say, "it's been said that... there is demon blood coursing through your veins..."

Layla's eyes widened and she started breathing frantically. She began pacing in circles with her hand held over her mouth in terror.

"No, no, no, this can't be true," she stammered, "how is it even possible?"

"I honestly don't know, Layla, but I overheard Dimitry talking to Kane and Anastasia a few weeks ago about your mother."

"My Mom... my mother is dead Marco," she whispered. Her eyes widened and she gasped at the sudden realization, "wait, has my mother's death got something to do with me?"

Marco stood in front of her, took her shoulders in his hands and stared deep into her eyes.

"Don't you ever think for a second that your mother's death is your fault, Layla," he said. "If you wish, I can tell you all that you need to know."

Layla stood tall as she looked into him, "yes, I'll do anything, please!"

Marco took her wounded hand and flipped the bleeding palm face up. He looked hungrily at the still fresh blood and plunged his face into it. He savagely drank the blood and Layla could feel herself flowing into him. She screamed as he viciously drank and pulled away in pain. He looked up and she saw the veins in his eyes grow fat and bulbous. Blood pulsed in the sockets and the whites turned deep red.

He threw his face back into her palm and she cried out as the agony of his fangs crippled her.

"Stop Marco! You're hurting me... Stop!" she screamed.

Marco was entranced and couldn't stop even if he wanted to. Her blood was an addiction, an elixir, a siren calling to the vampires.

She slapped his face with her free hand and he let out a roar that filled the room. A thousand ancient voices raced from his gaping jaw, evil souls trying to escape, vibrating right through to her very core.

Layla freed herself and ran to find an escape. She hurtled down the hallway and found the vampires still in celebration. The distraction would be her one chance.

Marco was still dazed in the room as if he were caught somewhere between purgatory and earth. Layla didn't wait, she dashed down the hall and tried to remember her way out through the warehouse. A few wrong turns and she began cursing her memory. She was weak and her pace was slow.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she desperately searched for freedom. She found the car - the way out was near! The metal doors to the outside world stood right in front of her, she pushed herself as fast as she could, trembling in terror. The handle was in her grasp as she pushed it open with all her might, trying to be as quiet as possible.

She slipped out into the backstreets and sighed in relief. The icy night air had never felt so liberating. She strained her ears and could hear the lapping of water in the distance. The river!... She sprinted with all her might knowing that at any minute the vampires would be aware she was missing.

She continually turned her head hoping no one was after her. She ran through the twisting maze of alleys and streets before flying out to the water's edge, and there it was... the boat in which she rowed herself over on. She threw herself into it and rowed like a Viking warrior.

By the time she got to St. Lucy's, the realization dawned on her that she had no money, ID, or phone.

O'Leary's, the waitress will help me...

Layla made a dash for the Irish Pub and slammed her way through the door.

The barmaid stood wide-eyed as she crashed into the bar.

"Woahhh, are you ok, love? You look like you have seen a ghost," she said.

"Please," Layla wailed, "I'm in danger. Can you call me a cab? I need to get home."

A shadow slipped out from the corner of the bar.

"I'll take her," it said.

Layla's muscles seized and she froze to the spot. It felt like she was having a panic attack. She felt a cold hand on her shoulder and it slowly turned her around. But when she saw the face her heart melted in relief.

"Jeremiah!" She said.

She threw her hands around him and sobbed as he squeezed her tight. He pushed her back and looked into her eyes.

"We have to go, Layla," he said, "it is not safe here."

He dragged her out the door and they ran over to his Harley Davidson bike. She fumbled around trying to sit on it with her long gown and began to sob when she realized it wasn't going to work. Jeremiah cursed, ripped the bottom of the dress off and threw Layla onto the bike. He slipped in front of her and kicked the engine to a roaring start.

"Hold on," he commanded and the bike spun off into the night.

***

"Where are we going?" Layla cried.

Jeremiah roared the bike off the freeway and headed west toward the hills. He didn't say a word and pretended to ignore her. She knew this wasn't the way home but didn't want to make things any worse. She leant her head against his back and squeezed his waist.

The bike twisted up narrow country roads and zipped past trees as they climbed higher and higher. The city spread out below them and her breath became short.

"Hey, where are we going? Tell me please," she yelled through the gusts of wind rushing through her hair.

"We are heading toward an old monastery, you will be safe there," he shouted back.

A monastery... Please don't let him be like my father...

Thoughts of her father flooded to her mind. She hadn't seen him in weeks. Not since Mom died... he must be losing his mind...

Guilt started to consume her. He had always been either too hard on her, or never around, yet she felt for him. She needed to see his face, she needed to hear that everything was okay.

"I need to see my father," she snapped. "He's just lost everything, I need to make sure he's ok."

"He's fine Layla," Jeremiah called back, "Sophie had me check on him. You will see him soon."

"Sophie? How the hell do you know my auntie?"

Jeremiah kept silent.

They crossed over to the other side, to the hills above the city. The moonlight cast the land in silver hues, and the rolling hills were jewelled with lush wildflowers that sparkled in the clear night.

Jeremiah steered his bike up winding dirt trails and she saw the crest of the monastery. It dominated the hilltop like an ancient fort. Its high stone walls and squared towers loomed up into the sky. Jeremiah slowed down and they pulled up in front of the great wooden doors.

A monk stepped out from the shadows and greeted Jeremiah. He turned his gaze to Layla and looked her up and down. His brown monk habit hid his features but she could see he was old. And when he pushed his hood back his grey hair caught the moon. His blue eyes sparkled and he smiled at her.

"Ah, you must be Layla Sinclair?"