Shining in Crimson: Empire of Blood Book One (A Dystopian Vampire Novel) (21 page)

* * *

Kato was getting nervous as he watched Peter drink from Ishan. He started to worry that any moment someone else would rush in. He paced around the room, waiting for Peter to finish. The whole situation seemed to be taking an eternity. After finishing with Ishan, Peter would move on to drain Simon in order to completely seal his place of leadership. While passing Simon's bed in mid-pace, Kato couldn't help noticing a gleaming reflection from Simon's face. He took a closer look and was surprised to find tears streaming down each side of Simon's otherwise peaceful face. Peter seemed to notice Kato’s nervous demeanor. He stopped drinking from Ishan and looked at Kato with contempt, his eyes fully black with bloodlust.

"Leave us," he said. "When you wake, this city will be mine and you will be rewarded."

* * *

Simon knew time was moving faster than normal, but it came far too soon anyway. He had grown to love Rajan as his own father, and now here he was lying in his deathbed. The fever came several days before and the local Hindi medicine man had done all he could do. Twenty years had passed in Ishan's life since the first moment Simon woke to it. Through and with Ishan, he learned to build boats by hand with Rajan with no blueprints or plans. He learned to build the outer shell then the frame, improvising as he went. He had spent day in and day out in this surreal world from long ago building boats for years and yet only minutes. He felt the fire of the fever burn through Rajan's skin as the dying man gripped Ishan's hand tight. As he watched the last breath leave Rajan's body in a long sigh and felt Ishan's mourning pour out, he couldn't help feeling a spark of longing for his mother. As Ishan's tears ran, Simon felt the sensation as if they were his own tears being spent. Through those tears, he wept for all the years of hatred he had felt for his mother.

* * *

The thirst woke Hank as the smell of the ancestor's blood filled his nose. He opened his eyes trying to ignore the several points of agony fighting for his brain's attention. He found himself lying on the right side of his face and he couldn’t move his head at all. The vial took up most of his vision as it came into focus. The hand holding it was attached to an arm that stretched back to a blurry shape he knew to be Rachel. She was holding the vial just close enough for him to smell yet far enough he would not be able to reach it with his only mobile arm. Nevertheless, he still tried to reach out for it. Even though it was obvious his attempt to get a hold of it was feeble at best, Rachel edged the small transparent tube away all the same. Again he heard the voice of his Diana.

"Haven't you ever heard of tough love?" her soft beautiful voice asked. Hank clenched his eyes shut, unable to remove his wife's face from his internal vision. When he opened them to look again, everything was blurred from the tears filling his eyes. He reached out for the vial again with even more futility. As his right arm stretched out, it pulled on his left hand that was now stuck to the ground by his own dry blood. He let out a scream, unable to contain the pain.

"Give me the vial," he said in a deep, tortured tone. He closed his eyes again, infuriated by their inability to focus on anything.

Rachel answered him with bitter laughter. Then, she spoke in her own voice again.

"Oh, I will, in time. But first I want to see you hunger for it! I want to see your thirst turn you inside out. I want to see you burn for it!" Her lust for his pain dripped from every word.

Hank still couldn't reach anything with his hand. He tried to simply wipe his own tears and found he couldn't even manage that.

"Here," Rachel said. He saw a flash of movement in the blur and immediately felt a cauldron of fire boiling his left hand as it was ripped from the ground where it stuck. "Let me help you with that," she added, laughing over his screams.

He scrambled to get away. Now that he knew he could reach, he wiped his eyes with his right hand as he fell over on his back. Standing over him, he could see Rachel looking down at him and enjoying the spectacle before her. He could also see what was left of his hand as it hung from his left arm. Every single finger was broken. His middle, ring, and little finger had all broken the skin and were sticking out of the bottom of his knuckles. That was where the blood came from.

They bled freshly now as his hand throbbed harder than any wound he ever had before. He could feel nothing else. He tried to stand up, forgetting about his broken leg. Now his leg screamed at him as well. Rachel watched the scene with gratification.

"More!" she said, leering. She flashed the vial in his face, snapping it away before he could even get near it with his right hand. Then in a move that surprised, sickened, and excited Hank all at the same time, she began to strip off her clothes, one piece at a time. When she was completely nude she walked over to Hank, still holding the vial, and pushed him down onto his back. Then she put the vial in her mouth so that her two sharp canines blocked it from falling out as she straddled him. Caught by surprise, Hank didn't know what to do. Between the pain and the slight arousal, he found himself unable to act.

He snapped himself out of it and tried to reach for the vial with his one good hand. When his hand was within reach, Rachel grabbed it and pinned it down against the ground. Then she thrust her pelvis into his as her grip on his hand began fracturing his right hand. The combination of senses overwhelmed him and he wasn't sure which one was truly dominant. With both his hands now useless, Rachel let go of his right hand and sat up while thrusting once more. Then she took the vial from her mouth and opened it. Immediately his focus changed as he watched her pour some of the scarlet contents of it into her hand. She then took her hand and smeared the blood in it onto her neck in a line down between her breasts and then down to her navel. Hank tried with all of his will to bend forward to get just a taste of it. When he moved, the throbbing in both his hands brought him abruptly back down as new tears blurred his vision again.

Rachel smiled as she watched his attempt. She mockingly licked the remaining blood from her hand and then threw the vial over Hank's head. It made a distant sound behind him, letting him know it was unreachable. Then she leaned forward again, rubbing her body against his and keeping her torso far below his face. She moved up to the side of his face, careful to stay out of reach of his tongue, and whispered in his ear in Diana's voice.

"Make love to me, Hank," she pleaded. Hank began to sob uncontrollably. That was what Diana would say while she was still alive when she wanted him. The memory of it flooded back into Hank's mind, driving a knife into his heart. He needed to ask her what the fuck was wrong with her. He needed to burn her alive and rip her apart. But he knew he first had to endure and play along. It was the only chance he had. He whispered back to her, as composed as he could manage.

"Okay."

In her own voice Rachel whispered, "No! Say it. Say it like you have said it to her!"

Hank took a deep breath.

"Gladly," he whispered.

His sobbing became more intense as she began to unzip the top of his jumpsuit. He barely noticed the physical pain it caused when she pulled the sleeves from the two bloody pulps that were his hands. He was in too much emotional agony. She continued sliding the jumpsuit down his body. As she pulled it off his legs, the sharp torment of his broken leg intermingled with the outpour of grief, causing him to double over from the force of it. Even still with all that he was suffering, his male body betrayed him in its excitement. He hated himself for being unable to control it. He knew his true feelings were quite different from what his body was exhibiting.

Her hands pressed down onto his chest as she took him into herself. Immediately the phrase "You can't rape the willing" came to mind, reminding him of the typical stereotype that men could not be truly raped. But here he was... being raped. She began to rock up and down on him. It was exhilarating and horrifying all at once. She screamed his name in Diana's voice, sending chills down his spine and chilling his heart as well. She ripped at the flesh on his chest with her fingernails and began licking the blood from them. All the while, he got closer and closer. And then as his face tightened in ecstasy and revulsion as his body went into orgasm, she leaned forward, offering the now-dry blood on her chest to him. He licked it at once, while still in mid-climax. Suddenly all of his sensations were heightened and he found himself convulsing with euphoria and hatred. In that moment, he became mentally void. When it finally ended, his body relaxed and reality came back to him.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her with absolute loathing. She returned his look with one of satisfaction. In that moment, he could tell that his hands were healed as he realized he was making them both into fists. He wanted to wipe that look off her face. Once again, he wanted to rip her apart. But this time, it was a different feeling causing it. With the blood in his system, he felt something much different than before. The intense longing for the ancestor's blood he had felt was now replaced with an equal feeling of blood lust. Only this was a different kind of blood lust. Then, he noticed something else. He could also feel something strange grazing against the tip of his tongue.
Two things.
They were fangs. In Diana's voice, she spoke with obvious sarcasm.

"Was it good for you?" All of the pain he felt thinking of Diana and feeling as though he had betrayed her filled him again. Rachel's grin widened in victory. That was all it took. He let himself give in to the blood lust. He lunged forward and bit into her neck and began to drink. He gripped the back of her head with his hands to hold her in place as she feebly clawed at his back to pull him away. Images flooded into his mind. Pleasure beyond even the climax he just experienced filled his entire being as his body tingled in strange electric vibrations. And the taste of it only added to the effect. The flavor alone seemed enough to lift all of his grief and replace it with bliss and power. He opened his eyes in the thrill of the experience, blood dripping from his teeth, and his irises were now shining in crimson.

Chapter 17

Mr. Sandburn Bring Me a Dream

T
he boys in the cafeteria weren't even trying to hide the fake vampire fangs they were all wearing. They leered and laughed at Toby as he went by with his tray and tried to find a place to sit down where, just maybe, he wouldn't have to see any of them. Of course, none of the staff members were around. Not that they would do anything about it. It was hard enough for Toby to keep himself contained during lunch without this salt in his wound. He sat down at a spot facing away from most of the boys. It was toward the back of the cafeteria which was mostly decorated in cool colors. The concrete block walls were a light blue and the tiled floor was a gentle teal.

Toby stared at the floor helplessly, wondering what kind of god could make such a world and let it persist in such misery. His stomach growled, reminding him he should probably eat something or else give his hosts more reason to lock him away in the "Safe Room" again. He wanted to do his best to get into his normal room again. It would be hard to manage with the way the rest of the day seemed it would be. But it would allow him to carry out the plan forming in his head. Logically, he knew it would never work, but he was planning to run away, nonetheless. He decided it would be better to run away and maybe have some sort of hope of getting a death sentence like his old man. Then he wouldn't have to deal with the Empire he knew to be full of evil.

After he ate what he expected was enough food to pass as normal, Toby got up and walked toward the front of the cafeteria to send his tray away. He noticed most of the boys had cleared out at that point. He was relieved to see that Craig seemed to be gone as well. He could only hope not to cross Craig’s path for the rest of the day, but he knew better. Craig made it obvious he would do his best to relish Toby's horror today. Toby put his tray on the conveyor belt and watched as it gracefully floated away. Then, he turned to leave the room and was overwhelmed to find himself standing well in the shadow of Mr. Thompson himself. Craig looked down at him with his typical sneer, which was enhanced by the fake fangs sticking out.

A switch seemed to flip in Toby's head and, with strength and power he didn't know he had, he charged into Craig, throwing punches with all of his might. The move, coming out of nowhere, had thrown Craig off guard and Toby knocked three punches into his temple in what seemed like a microsecond, knocking him to the ground. Once on the ground, holding his head with his now bloody hands, Craig was helpless to defend himself as Toby fell onto him, continuing to swing at his face and chest. A tall, burly staff member with thinning, dirty blond hair and a beard grabbed hold of Toby and pulled him off the other boy, who now lay battered and seemed to be twitching. Toby was surprised to feel no remorse for him, but was instead filled with anger that Craig had caused Toby to lose any hope of getting back into his normal room soon.