The Taste Of A Warrior

Part 25

Posted: November 2003
Author: Dhvana

*****

I follow my captors' movements around the room, watching their quiet huddles, catching their faint whispers, meeting their furtive glances and holding their eyes till they flinch and look away. They're terrified of me and they hate me, but they feel bad about hurting me. Most of them have never up close and personal with a vampire before. I look just like them, I hurt like them, and I guess they weren't expecting that.

This is almost fun.

If it wasn't for the searing pain in my veins, I would consider doing this on a regular basis. If it wasn't for the man with the dark brown eyes who not only did not flinch from my gaze, but caused me to flinch, I wouldn't worry. He makes me worry. He makes me afraid. Because of him, I know I'll never leave here alive.

Oh, well. I can at least enjoy myself during the rest of my time here. George is safe. Colin is safe. I've got nothing to lose.

Almost nothing. My happily ever after with Colin is now little more than a pipe dream, but if I've learned nothing else over the past several centuries, it's how to adjust.

"Marton, you're too tense. You should learn to relax, or you're going to give yourself a heart attack."

"Trying to soften me up?" he asks absently, loading another syringe with god only knows what. I'm growing to hate those syringes.

"You're already soft enough, and the parts of you that are hard, I like hard," I say, running the tip of my tongue slowly over my lips. His eyes narrow. He has lovely eyes. Pity he's such a wanker. "But no, Marton. What I meant is that if your heart stops, your blood will get cold, and I happen to like my meals warm."

"You needn't worry about my health, Orlando. You'll be dead long before I am."

"Well, duh, Marton. I've been dead for hundreds of years."

"‘Duh'? I didn't know vampires said ‘duh'."

"What, you expect us all to speak in ancient languages and not use simple words like ‘like' or ‘what-ever' or ‘dude'? I can even speak a bit of slang in your native language, if you like." Clearing my throat, I speak in my best Australian accent. "Crikey, mate, I'm as dry as a dead dingo's donger. Stop being a pommy bastard and give us a tallie."

I laugh gaily as Marton gives me a look that would melt rubber.

"Are you trying to provoke me?" he asks, his voice dangerously soft. "Because you can't. Look at what I have to deal with--look at who I have to deal with. I put up with more crap every day than you can possibly imagine. If I've learned anything throughout these years of training vampire hunters, men and women traumatized in more ways than I can count by you and your kind, it's patience. Go ahead and talk, if it comforts you. Your time is almost up, and there's certainly no one here who will offer you a reprieve."

"Really?" I shift my gaze over to Elijah. "Is that true, cherub?"

The blue eyes widen, then look away, his hands trembling in his lap.

"Elijah," Marton says without looking up, "perhaps you should go."

After a moment's hesitation, the young man shakes his head. "N-no. I want to stay."

"Your choice," Marton shrugs, standing up, needle ready in his hand. "Now, this might sting a bit."

"Your sense of humor leaves something to be desired," I say, trying not to cringe as the needle grows closer.

"I don't have time for humor, Orlando. I have a world to save."

"How very noble. So, you're working on eliminating hunger, creating peace between the nations, ridding the world of diseases such as cancer and AIDS?"

"I'm working on one specific disease, yes."

"Rather ironic, isn't it? I mean, take into account the number of humans who die every year from famine, or war, or disease--no, let's skip the obvious causes. Take into account the number of humans who die at the hands of humans every year, and the numbers we kill don't even come close. You kill more of your own kind than we ever could. And at least we kill to survive. You kill because you enjoy it."

"So do you."

"If we do, it's because we learned from your example."

Marton's hand is a flash as it flies across my face, meeting my cheek with a force that makes my head snap. I wait for the stars to stop dancing, then slowly turn my head back so I can look him in the eye.

"Damn. Bit my tongue. One of the dangers of pointed teeth, you see. Got to be careful about these things."

He rolls his eyes and jams the needle into my arm. "Pity it didn't shut you up, but this should. Well, at least it'll keep you from talking. Can't do a thing about the screaming."

Oh, fuck, I think, clenching my jaw shut, trying to keep from screaming. Whatever is in those syringes, they're not making my list of top ten favorite substances.

I burn. I am burning. O, I burn, Horatio!

I wonder if flights of angels will sing me to my rest.

No, no angels. Just my screaming as liquid fire spreads through my already starved veins, eating up the blood that remains. I'm fading. Everything is fading. I can't see anymore. I can't hear anymore. But I can feel, and there is pain everywhere.

I want to give in. It just hurts too much. I'm not a warrior, like my Colin. I've never been one to fight to keep anything. I only fight to forget.

But maybe I should fight, just this once, for Colin. He doesn't deserve to be alone.

Focus, Orlando. Try to find something, something physical, something tangible, and focus.

There--blue. A bright spot of blue. Focus on the blue.

"Christian!"

"I'm watching, Marton. I can't believe he's still alive. I mean, look at him. His skin, he looks as if he's been dead for weeks."

"So fix it. Damnit, Christian. I thought we'd had this formula worked out."

"You never know if it'll work until you try in the field. Or have a test subject. Their blood composition is different than ours. You never know what will work."

"I'm still here," I say, my voice a gravelly whisper, my eyes holding onto the speck of blue. I don't know if I'm just annoyed at them talking over me, or if I'm seeking reassurance that yes, I am still alive.

My vision begins to clear and the blue belongs to my cherub. His eyes are watching me filled with horror, and pity, and fear.

His emotions tire me. My entire body feels tired. My heart feels tired.

"Colin," I say, looking at him. "When you find him, tell him. . ." Too tired. Can't finish speaking. My eyes start to close.

"Tell him what?"

His voice is close, gentle, sad. I open my eyes to see he is standing next to me.

"Tell him what?" he repeats.

"I love him."

He places his hand over mine, the touch agonizing, but I don't pull away.

"I will."

If there was any moisture left in my body, I would start to cry.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I," I say, trying to smile. I want to explain that I'm sorry he was hurt, that my kind did so much damage to him, but I don't know that I can. I don't know that my words would matter.

"Elijah!"

He jumps at the sound of Marton's voice and backs away.

"Elijah," he repeats, softer this time, "you know their tricks. Don't believe a thing he tells you."

"I know, Marton."

The older man smiles, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Why don't you go find Paul, see if you can help Peter with the search. They'll need you."

"Yes, Marton," he nods and stands up, walking over to the door. Before Elijah leaves, he glances back at me, then closes the door behind him.

He'll tell Colin. I can see it in his eyes.

That's all I need to know. Turning my attention back to Marton and his chemist, I would like to sigh, but I just can't manage the action. I think now's a good time to close my eyes.

"Leaving us so soon, Orlando?"

"And ruin what we have here? Never. Once you've finally managed to get rid of me, I even promise to haunt you."

"There's no such thing as ghosts."

"Then I'll be the first. You're so fond of my suffering, Marton, that I would hate to deny you of it. I'll stick around. I promise."

"It will be interesting to see you try and keep this promise."

"I keep promises, Marton. You'll see."

He just smiles, then turns to watch Christian mix up another batch of misery for me. I just stare at the back of my eyelids and hope that I'll be gone before they can begin.

"So, what's your plan?" I ask, glancing at George. We're sitting on the roof across from the block of houses I called home only a couple of hours ago. Amusingly enough, George told me he and Orlando had sat here deciding how to break me out a couple of hours ago. These things just keep going in circles.

"Honestly, I don't have a plan. I just want to get in there and get him out."

My eyes widen with disbelief. "You're as old as dirt, and that's the best you have? I'm not reassured."

"I'm older than dirt, and I'm not here to reassure you."

"Are you always this charming?"

"This is about as charming as I get."

I glance over at him, then start to laugh. "I can see why Orlando likes us. We're too much alike."

Arching an eyebrow, he looks at me with surprise, then grins. "We do have our moments, don't we?"

I grin back at him, then we both turn our attention back to the block across the street. "Where do you think they're keeping him?"

"Where do you think?"

"The houses on the corner. They're the only places I haven't been, and half the hunters would rather cross the street than walk near them. They're probably our best bet."

"Sounds good," he says, and before I can even blink an eye, he's jumping down onto the street below.

Fuck.

I follow him and end up crumpled on the ground with pain shooting up my legs.

George stands over me looking very much as if he's trying not to laugh. "You're not exactly ready for jumps like that yet."

"Now you fucking tell me," I grumble, and he grins.

"Oops."

"Bastard." He reaches down to help me up, and I find the pain isn't as bad as I thought it was. Either that, or I heal really quickly now.

"At least you had the courage to try. Some take years to get over their human inhibitions before daring to attempt a jump like that."

"And it'll probably be years before I attempt it again. Thank you for instilling a sense of acrophobia in me."

"You're welcome. And you'll get over it. Orlando has a fondness for sex in high places."

I give him a suspicious look. "For a man who doesn't have sex with Orlando, you know a lot about how Orlando has sex."

"He's a very open young man," George says with something akin to a grin, but could easily be mistaken for a grimace.

"Well, you don't have to worry. I won't do a thing to hinder his open nature."

George groans as we make our way over to the corner, and I chuckle softly to myself. Orlando and I are going to have a lot of fun teasing George, once my love is up for it again. But before that can start, we have to get him back.

There are lights shining through the blinds of the normally dark windows of the house on the corner, and that makes me nervous. No, not nervous--downright scared.

What are they doing to him in there?

Though, I have an idea, and the memory of that moment in Orlando's mind is enough to make me physically ill.

The pain--oh god, the pain. I can't even begin to describe it and my stomach churns at the thought of it. Being turned into a vampire was like picking daisies compared to my Orlando's pain, to the way they're making him suffer. It should have been me--it's my fault he was taken. I would give anything to trade places with him.

But we'll get him out, and then I'll show him how much I love him, and then I'll be around to make sure this never happens to him again.

"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me."

We both jump at the sound of a voice behind us, whirling around and ready to attack. George immediately relaxes, but I remain tense at the sight of the woman before me. After all, she did plan on killing me once, and then she kidnapped me. Not a lot of reasons for trust here.

"What do you think you're going to do?" Angelina asks, her voice dripping with scorn. "Are you just going to barge in there and grab him?"

I exchange glances with George, and we shrug.

"That's the plan," George answers, and her face immediately lightens with a grin.

"Great. Count me in. Knowing you two knuckleheads, you can use all the help you can get."

I don't miss the affectionate look George and Angelina exchange as she joins us, or the comforting way their hands brush, and I'm suddenly relieved to have her here. She and George know each other--they'll be able to work better as a team, leaving me free to grab Orlando and get him out of there.

Turning around to face the building, the three of us prepare to take back what is ours.

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