Death Row

Chapter 2

He could taste betrayal on his tongue, it tasted of blood and guilt. And it was sweet, horribly sweet. Sven punched a wall, and hard. He felt his knuckles shatter against the bricks but didn’t care, his vampire abilities wouldn’t allow him to be in pain much longer, and everything would just heal back into place. He needed pain now, that was all, he wished that he could just stake himself, but knowing that vampires are unable to commit suicide he just punched the wall, wishing the pain would last longer than it did.

“I’m sorry Clayton”

He inculcated him, and his demonic side subsided. He lay there in a trance, with blood dripping down his neck and clothes.

He had killed him, he was sure. He drank too much blood, and now his only true friend was dead.

“Don’t, don’t be…sorry” replied a fractured voice.

Sven spun around rapidly, finding the voice belonged to Clayton. He was alive, Sven almost cried but choked back his tears.

“Demon blood is the sweetest thing anything will ever hope to taste, you couldn’t help yourself, I forgive you Sven.”

“You’re alive?”

“Barely, thanks to you”

The night was drawing on, and the pair decided that they should sleep the night so they could enjoy the downpour the day after. They did, but in the night Sven could not sleep, the demon blood was driving him crazy, and he had promised never to bite Clayton again. When he did find sleep it was restless and agitated, and awoke in cold sweats. He decided that Clayton was sleeping deeply enough to not be agitated by him leaving the room.

Sven crept down the hallways and down the stairs to the bottom floor of the inn. There he found a band of travellers who had just arrived, sodden from the rain and cold. There were only a few; four or so young men and a young woman, whose beauty would be hard to match. She had flowing blonde hair and deep green eyes. She smiled at Sven, her teeth were perfect and well kept. Sven smiled back, then ordered her a drink.

One of the men, who was dopey looking and resembled a tree trunk in build, snarled at Sven. Sven smiled at him politely, then ordered him a drink also. Sven chatted to the tree trunk man, whose name happened to be Wentworth, or “Went” for short. He had told him of their travels to Bainsbury when their horse lost its footing and broken its leg. They had to kill the animal out of mercy; doctors were not overeager to help a wounded animal. “Went” introduced Sven to his travelling companions, Arlington, Bartholomew and Anastasia, the pretty blonde who belonged to Daniel. Another member of their group that Wentworth described as irrational and unpredictable, and handsome as men went.

“These days most men are as attractive as a tree trunk”

Wentworth continued, Sven nodded as he took another sip of his ale, regarding the hypocrisy of the conversation. Wentworth was not a bad fellow, but was much like a tree trunk in build and intelligence, and this Daniel sounded as though he was strong, handsome and intelligent. But Sven would refuse anyone to be superior to him in those departments.

This man had striking blue eyes that seemed to pierce into Sven’s very soul, and tousled red-brown hair that could only mean he came from Ireland or somewhere close.

“Salutations friend” Sven called out to the man. Ordering another two drinks, another for his self and one for Daniel. By this time every member of their entourage besides Daniel had a drink, and Sven was happy to pay. He would do anything to win the favour of a woman, and was even once told he couldn’t spend his life between a woman’s legs, of course Clayton was the one who had told him this. But as being older and far superior to Clayton he ignored the comment and cuffed him for speaking loudly.

“I’m not your friend” The man said in a surprisingly heavy English accent. He put an arm around his lady and Sven realised immediately what they were. Werewolves. Bullshit the horse broke its leg, they probably just ran here and used the excuse because they ate the damn thing.

He could smell it on all of the men, and only thanked himself that were’s could not smell the vampire scent. But as for Clayton, he had tried but Clayton had no smell. He had heard rumours of demons having no scent and he was grateful. Word about demon blood was getting around with the inhuman, and had heard cases of addiction to it, which hardly surprised him.

And it wasn’t as if scent had mattered at all. The way in which they spoke, their body language, the almost silent growls of communication gave it away. Sven could feel the ardour of a fight slowly intensifying with every alcoholic beverage consumed, and with every flirtatious notion towards Anastasia; who was impartial of who she belonged to.

Sven finished the last few drops of his pint, and considered throwing the first punch, when Daniel beat him to it.

“Don’t touch my woman!” He growled, as Sven massaged feeling back into his cheek.

“Dare you address her as only a woman when you already know her name” He replied with a smirk.

This Daniel didn’t like being challenged, and Sven could tell the moment the pretentious fuck entered the room. Sven being Sven only wished to instigate a fight and prolong it in order to entertain himself until dawn.

Sven bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood, the taste of which excited him.

Daniel’s eyes flashed gold, and Sven’s red. They balled their hands into fists and prepared to fight, when the rest of Daniels pack paced around them, bar Anastasia who was sitting daintily in a bar chair.

Sven knew that the outcome of who won the fight was the adjudicator of who won the woman.

Sven steeled himself for fight, thinking nothing more than the taste of Anastasia’s blood that he would enjoy in a few minutes.

(Kinda short, sorry been kind of busy procrastinating and i've had writers block :P)