They Call me Verona

Chapter 2

I was hauled down hallways and stairs. They finally deposited me in a sort of chair with a very low back that appeared to be made of, or plated with, severely tarnished silver with restraints on the armrests in the center of a damp, dark chamber. I was more irritated than ever about my apparent inability to smell. I had no idea how many humans were in this room without my sense of smell. I closed my eyes and forced myself to concentrate around the searing pain in my stomach where he'd shocked me. Two of them strapped my arms to the chair. The material of the straps on my arms felt like nothing more than leather, yet when I tested them, they held securely. If it was only leather, I should have been able to tear through it as easily as tissue paper. I ignored my frustration and made myself focus. My life possibly depended upon it.

If my... what shall I call it? Sense of surroundings, I suppose. It is the odd sense that gives us vampires the ability to feel others around us. As I was saying, if my sense of surroundings could be trusted, there were four of them in the room. I was finally able to use my neck again, so I attempted to look around. I was struck firmly with a closed fist to the jaw as soon as I lifted my head.

"Don't move until we say you can," the eldest monster ordered. I was stunned, not by the words or the jab itself, but by the fact that it hurt. It had been years since something as simple as a fist had hurt me; many, many years. Well, a vampire or werewolf fist had caused me pain, but the man was human for night's sake. Without lifting my head, I looked up from under my brow and was shocked to find I could not see into the shadows at the other side of the room. It was not pitch black. There was some sort of dim light source behind me, yet I could only make out rough shapes that I could not fathom in the velvety grayness.

For the first time in an inestimable amount of time, I was afraid. No, afraid is not the correct term. I was terrified, deeply, horribly terrified. I had not felt such a thing since I was a child all those centuries ago and my brother had told me stories of monsters that stalked the night.

While I awaited whatever torture or punishment they had chosen to bestow upon me, I took stock of what was wrong with me. I could not smell, see, or hear properly. I was suddenly much slower. The telepathy which would normally allow me to converse silently with others of my kind was not functioning. I thought back to the door of the bomb shelter and how it had not bent to my will and had stung my hands. So, I was weaker, as well. I came to a horrifying realization; I was going to die here. I had not thought of death in quite some time. There was a time in my life when I wanted nothing more than to die. Now that it was not only possible, but probable, it no longer seemed appealing.

"Alright, let's get on with this," a new voice said. It was a woman. Well, why not? Though, I had never thought of female Purists before because I had always believed women to be more compassionate, caring, kind, lovely, soft, sweet, intoxicating, attractive, distracting... What was I saying? No matter, the woman came around my chair to stand in front of me. I wondered if I were allowed to move yet, but did not make an attempt. I stared at her shoes. Sneakers. Practical footwear, of course. I did not imagine that high heels or sandals were appropriate for a long evening of torture. That thought made me chuckle, which I regretted immediately, when the mountain's fist contacted the side of my head with enough force to bring forth stars in my vision. What the devil was ailing me?

"That's enough for now, Alex," the woman said. Well, now I had a name. The walking slime was named Alex.

"But, Karen, it..." Alex protested.

"I said that's enough!" Karen said sharply. "He's worthless to me if you knock him unconscious. Look at me, leech."

I obeyed her order, and lifted my head slowly to meet her irate gaze. She was quite lovely, I supposed, for someone who wanted to cause me major harm. She had olive skin and dark eyes a shade I couldn't discern in the gloom. Her hair was cut to her shoulders and seemed to be quite dark also, but since my eyes had betrayed me, I could not be certain. She stood approximately five feet six inches and was slender. An absent part of me realized it was ridiculous that I even bothered to notice she was attractive. I definitely had an unhealthy infatuation with the fairer sex.