The Thrill of Anarchy

Chapter Four

Just when I thought my day couldn't possibly get any worse, I found myself standing a metre away from three very pissed-off-looking vampires.

I didn't even have a chance to swear before the first vampire attacked. She was tall and slender, but I wasn't going to let that fool me; I knew she would have unbelievable strength hidden in her slight figure. Her fist brushed through my hair as I ducked instinctively. She responded by kneeing me in the stomach, driving me backwards spluttering for air. Whilst I clutched at my winded midriff, the second vampire stepped forward and slammed his fist into the side of my skull. The world in front of me began to blur as the force of the blow knocked me from my feet.

The situation was looking dire; passing out would mean certain death, so I did all I could to shake the feeling off. I was no longer in combat mode; this wasn't about killing my attackers any more. I just had to survive. A feeling of panic that always accompanied deadly situations began to creep over me.

I did the maths quickly; there was no way I could take on three vampires with only a knife. I was good - but not that good. My only option to avoid becoming an all-you-can-drink vampire buffet was to flee. I hated running but I could see no other option but to leg it and hope that I could somehow shake them till morning.

Unlike the young vampire from the alleyway, these three weren't making careless mistakes. They were smart enough to keep me off my feet. I took three pounding kicks to the chest in quick succession, sacrificing my ribs to protect my head. As one of the vampires raised his foot to slam into my chest for the fourth time, I rolled outwards and into the gutter. The slight drop from the pavement to the road felt like a cliff edge. I tried to kneel, but my arms and legs collapsed under my body weight. With a grunt, I realised that I'd left my escape too late and now I didn't have the energy to run. The vampires followed, laughing sickly. Their faces blocked the light from the streetlamp. I groaned and tasted my blood in my mouth, each breath taking more effort to make than the previous. This is it, I thought, the moment I die.

The light faded. The last thing I saw was three sets of pearly white fangs.

Heaven was surprisingly uncomfortable. I had expected soft cotton sheets and fluffy pillows. Unless I was in hell - not outside of the realm of possibility - but then I thought hell would feel a lot more uncomfortable than a lumpy couch.

"You're awake."

Suspicions confirmed. This was hell; Cain was here.

"No, I',m not. I just sleep with my eyes open."

My head was thumping like a pile-driver in overdrive. Pain stabbed through my ribcage every time I took a breath. I was in far too much pain to be dead. I wasn't sure which was worse; dying or having Cain rescue me. He was the only one it could've been. I only wished that he could've saved me before my epic beating.

Cain was sprawled across an armchair opposite the sofa on which I was lying. So far as I could tell, we were in a small motel room. There was a sink and a mini-fridge in one corner and a bed with brown sheets in the other. Cain had slept in the bed, whilst I had been relegated to the battered sofa. How chivalrous. Two doors adjoined the room; I assumed one was the exit and the other a bathroom. There were two tiny windows on one wall, letting in only a small amount of light. A fire safety notice was the room's only decoration.

"If you were going to kidnap me, couldn't you have at least made an effort with the room?" I asked sarcastically, rubbing my tired eyes.

Cain laughed, "Hunting isn't exactly a paid profession," he said, "you should know that."

If only that were true, I thought with a sigh.

"Besides," Cain continued, "I wouldn't call this kidnapping."