Hunted Blood II: Dark Reign Ch 4
There was another sharp flash of pain. Stone tried to open his eyes, but the lids were too heavy and seemed to be stuck together. His head spun, even though he was fairly certain that he was sitting still. Something pulled at his right shoulder, extending down the brachial nerve into his upper arm. There was a dull, aching pain in the left side of his neck. His mouth hurt, jaws aching. He remembered.
He and Mariko had entered the top floor of the club. They had searched through the floors, in descending order, until they reached the bottom. Then all hell broke loose. Vampires poured from the sub-floor. The two hunters were attacked from all directions. Stone was sure that they had killed several. He was not so sure that several hadn't killed them. If he could only open his eyes, he would know for sure.
A snapping sound brought him back to The Now. He concentrated as best as he could. Stone opened his eyes, realizing that his left eyelid tore apart from what could only have been dried and crusted blood. He waited a few seconds for his vision to focus. He realized that he was weak, and his head was pounding.
The room he was in was dimly lit. There was a shape on the floor in front of him. It appeared to be a body. A form was really all he could see. The floor was bare tile, the walls gray and non-descript. A single light bulb hung from a fixture in the ceiling. The place smelled. It stank of blood. His blood, he realized.
Michael discovered that he was sitting in a straight backed, wooden chair. His arms were bound to the chair arms by thick, plastic "zip" ties. He attempted to move his feet, then found that they too were bound to the legs of the chair in the same fashion. He gazed down and realized that his kevlar/spandex bodysuit had been removed. He was clad simply in a loose-fitting pair of pajama pants. He saw that his thigh pack, the holster and the H&K had all been removed. He could only wonder where his sword could be. He grimaced, letting the realization sink in that he had been captured.
The snapping sound came again. Stone wearily looked up to where the figure lay in front of him. He now saw that there were two shapes. His vision sharpened, and the realization of what lay before him hit him. Stone felt the bile rising in his stomach at the same time as a cold chill ran down his spine.
The figure lying on the floor was Mariko. Stone could see her black hair, tousled and wet with blood. Her once beautiful mouth was now slack with the grimace of death. The other, Michael saw, was a male vampire fastened securely to Mariko's neck. It sucked greedily, drawing the very last drops of blood from her body. Stone saw Mariko's head hanging limply as the creature cradled her shoulders unceremoniously, pulling her limp form to it as it fed. Michael realized that the snapping sound he heard was Mariko's neck breaking as the unholy animal pulled her head farther back to expose more of her throat.
Michael tried to move. He was too weak. In his mind, he saw himself leaping upon the vampire, gouging out its eyes with his fingers, tearing its evil fangs from its mouth with his own hands. He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry, and he only managed to hiss. The fiend didn't even look up from its feeding.
Another sound assaulted his ears. The sound of the room's only door lock being thrown back from outside even managed to get the attention of the feeding vampire. Stone saw it look up as the door opened.
A female vampire, a pretty Japanese, entered the room, followed by a fair-haired male. They, in turn, were followed by a tall male with chiseled, European features, and jet-black hair that was held in a tail down his back. The tall one spoke first.
"That should be all," he said to the feeding vampire. The small Japanese gave one last look at Mariko's corpse and dropped it to the floor. Stone felt his jaw muscles clinch, a movement which brought a tinge of pain.
"And now," the tall one said, "for you, Mr. Michael Stone, Hunter of Vampires. How shall you die?"
Stone said nothing. He only stared impassively at them.
The tall one stepped closer. "Yes," he said, "I know who you are. I know many, many things about you". The tall one leaned down, inches from Stone's face. "You may call me Akuma," he stated.
Stone only looked at him, regarding the vampire Akuma as nothing more than a piece of dogshit. If he was anything more, then the vampire would untie him, and face him. Why was he tied, Michael asked himself. He was secured because Akuma feared him. And well he should.
"I would like to know more about The Organization," Akuma stated.
Stone stared at him, an expression of total blankness on his face. Michael was conditioned. His mind was hardened. He would tell Akuma nothing of the secret society of vampire hunters. Stone would die first.
"I thought as much," Akuma said. "I knew that one such as you would not willingly divulge any information about your secret organization. That is why I have this," Akuma told him, holding out his hand. The female vampire laid a hypodermic syringe in Akuma's palm.
Stone said nothing. He knew what was coming. They planned to torture him, with the use of truth-extracting drugs to force him to talk. Stone knew that he must prepare himself. He immediately sent his mind deep within himself, and began reciting poems, literature, dissertations, anything that would serve as mental armor. He began to let these seep into his subconcious. Although he was awake, he didn't even notice when Akuma plunged the hypodermic needle into his right arm.
The drug entered his bloodstream. Stone was aware of a burning at the injection site, and then the warm feeling that began to course through his body. His concious mind became cloudy, fuzzy, hard to focus. Soon, he was passing into sleep.
--
Anita woke with a start. She looked around her bed chambers, secure in a manor nestled in the Spanish city of Segovia. The heavy drapes were drawn, and the shades were down, for it was daytime, and no light should enter the room. She rubbed her eyes, wondering what had awakened her.
Then she felt pain. It was detached and quiet, yet it was pain. She found her fingers caressing the small crucifix that she wore around her neck, a gift from her beloved. The touch brought feelings to her, like tiny electric sparks. Then her body was suddenly alive with the pain, and it filled her with dread. Michael Stone was hurting. He was in agony, fleshful agony. And he was becoming worse.
Within an instant she was dressed and dailing on the bedroom phone. Quickly she descended into the underground parking garage, where a human "friend" drove her blackened-window car toward an airport. At the airport, a plane awaited. It was a plane that her and others like her used for transport around the world. She only hoped it would fly fast enough.
It was only a few minutes after her careful, cloaked boarding that the Gulfstream IV taxied into position for take off. It was not long after that the aircraft was climbing to cruising altitude, heading East.
