BOUND IN BLOOD
J. P. Bowie
98
The fool, he’ll get us both killed!
It was now or never. Martin launched himself forward, his knife raised to strike. He felt his wrist grabbed in a bone snapping grip. His scream of agony was cut off as the vampire’s hand encircled his throat and squeezed, hard.
Then a shout of shocked surprise resounded in Martin’s ears. “Carlos! Oh, Jesus—”
Immediately, the grip on Martin’s throat relaxed, and he was thrown backwards across the balcony.
“Christopher, get inside, now!”
Martin looked up as the tall vampire turned away from him and spoke rapidly to the kid from the Xtasy Club.
“Get inside now,
please
,” the vampire repeated, and Martin seized his advantage.
Springing to his feet, he brought his silver knife down in a sweeping arc, driving it with all his strength between the vampire’s shoulder blades.
No sound escaped the vampire’s lips, but his body stiffened under the impact of Martin’s blow. As Martin held on to the knife’s hilt with both hands, driving it deeper, Carlos fell to his knees, and a long low moan of pain mingled with despair was wrenched from him.
Martin pulled the chain from his pocket and wound it around Carlos’ neck. Martin opened his mouth to yell in victory, to say the words of triumph handed down through the ages, from vampire hunter to vampire hunter—the words that would seal the vampire’s fate and turn him to dust.
“
Serrato, serranus
—”
He got no further, for a sudden violent and excruciating pain erupted on the side of his head. He staggered back, releasing his hold on the knife’s hilt and stared through a red mist at the cause of his agony. The young guy from the club was holding a brick in his hand, a brick he swung a second time, this time whacking Martin on his jaw. Martin screamed with pain and rage, reaching for help from Billy who stood stock still, his eyes wide with terror at the scene before him. Then a thin wail of hysteria rose from Billy’s slack mouth as Carlos staggered to his feet, wrenched the chain from around his neck and threw it away.
“You didn’t finish him,” Billy screamed, turning to run. Martin grabbed him, and despite the debilitating pain in his head that threatened to bring him to his knees, he threw Billy into Carlos’ path. Billy’s wail of terror increased in volume. He was lifted off the ground BOUND IN BLOOD
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as if he weighed nothing at all then pitched over the balcony rail to land with a sickening thud on the concrete path.
Carlos advanced on Martin, but the hunter had just enough strength to lift himself over the balcony and drop onto the soft grass below. Without waiting to determine Billy’s fate, he ran across the apartment grounds and disappeared into the darkness.
Chris stared with horror at Carlos’ blood-drenched shirt, at the black-hilted knife that protruded from his lover’s back and fought back the nausea that rose in his throat. He took Carlos’ arm and led him back inside the apartment.
“I…I’ll call 9-1-1,” he stammered, wondering how on earth Carlos was able to stay upright. “I don’t dare pull the knife out. You might bleed to death. The paramedics will know what to do.”
“No, there’s no need to call them,” Carlos muttered, his ragged voice reflecting his agony. “I have already called for help.”
“Huh?” Chris gazed at his pain-filled face without understanding. Was the trauma of the attack making him hallucinate? He hadn’t called anyone—
A loud knocking at the door startled him.
Who the
…?
“Who’s there?” he yelled.
“Marcus and Roger. May we enter?”
“Oh, thank God,” Chris exclaimed, running to the door. He swung it open. “Come in quick. Carlos has been hurt—
stabbed
. Two guys came out of nowhere. I was just going to call 9-1-1.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Marcus told him then turned to Carlos and said, “Brace yourself, my friend.”
Carlos nodded. “Do it, quickly.”
Marcus gripped the knife hilt, and with one swift motion, he pulled the blade free. He handed the knife to Roger then pulled Carlos’ shirt off and threw it to one side. Chris gasped, feeling sick at the sight of the blood that poured from the wound.
Marcus covered the gash with his hand. “Roger, take Chris into the bedroom. What I must do is not for his eyes.”
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Roger put down the knife on the coffee table and took Chris’ arm. “Come on. He’ll yell when it’s over.”
“When what’s over?” Chris tried unsuccessfully to free his arm from Roger’s powerful grip. “What’s he going to do?”
“Now, Roger,” Marcus snapped.
Chris was unable to resist as Roger hustled him across the room and into the bedroom then shut the door firmly behind them.
“Lie down,” Marcus said, helping Carlos to lie prone on the rug. He straddled Carlos’
thighs, his hand still pressed firmly to the wound, staunching the flow of blood. “My blood will negate the poison from the silver. Be very still.”
He bit into his left wrist, then removing his hand from the wound, he squeezed his blood into the gaping gash on Carlos’ back. Fortunately, the knife had missed Carlos’ spine.
The silver would have done more damage to his nervous system had it penetrated there.
Marcus watched as the infection around the wound faded, and the torn flesh began to knit.
He spat onto his fingers and rubbed his saliva over the livid scar until it too faded away.
“Drink now,” Marcus murmured, holding out his wrist to Carlos as he sat up. “I have fed this evening so you will not weaken me. Then we must do something about your shirt.”
After drinking the offered blood, Carlos raised his head from Marcus’ wrist and smiled gratefully at his friend. “Thank you.” He kissed Marcus tenderly. “I let my guard down tonight. I was foolish—”
“You are in love, Carlos.” Marcus stroked his friend’s face gently. “You put your lover’s safety before your own, as was proper.”
Carlos grimaced. “And again, I have brought danger into his life.”
Marcus nodded. He picked up the knife from the coffee table and slipped it into his jacket’s inside pocket.
“I’m afraid that goes with the territory,” he said with a sad smile.
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Chris glared at his new friend. “What’s going on, Roger?” he asked, rubbing his arm where Roger had gripped it hard. “Why aren’t we calling the paramedics?”
“Uh, that could be awkward.” For once, Roger seemed lost for words.
“Why awkward? Carlos needs medical attention—and right away!”
“That’s what Marcus is giving him. Uh, medical attention.”
“Marcus is a doctor?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well,
what
exactly? Roger, this is not the time for fucking around.” Chris marched towards the door. “You saw that wound. It needs stitches and antibiotics. He needs a doctor!”
Roger stepped in front of the door as Chris tried to open it.
“What are you doing?” Chris yelled. “Let me outta here!”
“Please, Chris.” Roger didn’t move away. “I can’t let you in there ‘til Marcus says I can.”
Chris tried to push Roger out of the way. He gaped at Roger in amazement when he couldn’t budge him one inch. They were roughly the same height and build, but Roger seemed to be immensely strong. Chris pushed harder.
“Chris, don’t. Just wait a few minutes. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”
“How come you’re so damned strong?” Chris panted. “Lemme pass, you son-of-a—”
“Roger,” Marcus called out, “You may bring Christopher in here now.”
“Sorry,” Roger mumbled, before he moved aside and opened the door.
Chris rushed into the living room and stopped short, unable to believe his eyes. Carlos, shirtless, and looking fit and healthy, smiled at him. Chris hurried into his arms.
“Oh, thank God,” he murmured, his lips trembling on Carlos’ neck. “You’re all right.
It looked so much worse than it obviously was.”
“Yes.” Carlos kissed Chris’ forehead. “Some quick action from Marcus saved me a trip to the hospital.”
“Amazing.” Chris looked at Marcus. “What was it you didn’t want me to see?”
“Oh, just some laying on of hands,” Marcus said quietly. “Some people get squeamish watching it, so it’s best done in private.”
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“You mean like
faith
healing?” Chris slipped from Carlos’ arms and walked behind him.
He touched Carlos’ back. “There’s no sign of a scar anywhere. That’s impossible. A knife went in here,
deep
. Now there’s no scar. How can that be?” Chris looked from one man to the other, waiting for an answer. None came.
Roger, coughing quietly into his hand, broke the silence. “Good thing though is that Carlos is okay,” he said, grinning.
Chris frowned at him. “And you. You seemed to have way more strength than you should. We’re almost the same build, but you—”
He broke off mid-sentence, not knowing what he was going to say next. He looked at Carlos. “Why aren’t you wearing your shirt?”
Carlos smiled at him. “Don’t you remember? You took it off me, just before Marcus and Roger arrived.” Carlos picked up his shirt , now unmarked by bloodstains, and slipped it on.
“Yeah, sorry to interrupt,” Roger said, chuckling. “We were in the neighbourhood and thought we’d stop by. See if you guys wanted to go out for a drink.”
“But we can see you were otherwise occupied.” Marcus winked at Chris. “So we won’t stay. Come along, Roger.”
“No, wait…” Chris felt confused. He couldn’t remember them arriving, yet here they were, and he hadn’t even offered them a drink. He smiled weakly. “Some host, I am. Can I get you something? I have some home-grown wine.”
“No, thank you.” Marcus put his arm around Roger’s shoulders and steered him towards the door. “We’ll leave you to enjoy one another’s company.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow night. Our place,” Roger said, waving goodnight. “Later!”
“Right, later.” Chris watched them leave, returning Roger’s little wave and smile. He looked at Carlos, slightly puzzled. “I feel like I’ve just missed something…”
Carlos pulled him into his arms and kissed him soundly. Marcus had averted what could possibly have been an awkward confrontation. Chris now had no memory of the hunter’s attack.
“Why don’t we resume what we were doing,” Carlos murmured. “I think that’s what you’re missing. I’ll just close the window. It’s getting a little chilly, don’t you think?”
Chris grinned. “For someone as hot-blooded as you, you sure feel the cold a lot.”
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“It’s my Spanish blood.” Carlos stepped out onto the balcony and looked down at the patio area below. There was no sign of the man he’d thrown over the railing earlier. He must have recovered enough to make a getaway. Carlos surveyed the dark grounds surrounding the apartment complex through narrowed eyes. His extrasensory vampire sight could discern no suspicious movement around them, only the normal comings and goings of the other residents. Satisfied there would be no further attacks this evening, he stepped back inside, then closed and locked the window.
“Come over here.” Chris opened his arms. “Let me take that shirt off you again.”
Smiling, Carlos complied, relief flooding over him now that he knew the danger had passed. As he enfolded Chris in his embrace, he vowed he would never be so lax as to let the hunter anywhere near them again.
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Frank swore with irritation at the sound of the insistent banging on his door. “Who the fuck—?”
It better not be Billy with that moron he’s picked up with
, he thought darkly, marching over to the door. He swung it open and gaped at the man who pushed past him, staggered over to the couch and fell onto it with a groan.
“Billy, what the hell happened to you?” He stared at his friend who looked like he’d been in a wreck. His T-shirt was ripped, his forehead bloody, his arms covered in welts and bruises.
“The vampire you said doesn’t exist threw me off a balcony, that’s what happened to me,” Billy seethed. “That stupid son-of-a-bitch, so-called vampire hunter blew it. He couldn’t kill him. He got up, even after Martin had stabbed him in the back and wrapped a chain round his neck.”
Frank poured a shot of Jack Daniel’s then handed it to Billy. “He stabbed him in the back, and the vamp—the
guy
got up?”
Billy threw back the entire shot and licked his lips. “That kid from the Xtasy club slammed Martin on the head with a brick.”
“No shit.”
“Martin ran, leaving me there with that monster.” Billy started to cry. “I thought I was dead, Frank. I thought he’d tear out my throat.”
“But instead he tossed you over the balcony. Lucky break, I’d say.”
“This isn’t funny, Frank.” Billy swiped at the tears spilling from his eyes. “I coulda been killed.”
“Because you got yourself mixed up with that nutcase who thinks he’s a vampire hunter,” Frank sneered. “Maybe you’ll listen to me now, Billy. The guy’s a homicidal maniac, and if you don’t keep away from him, you’ll go down with him.”
“But the guy he’s stalking is a vampire, Frank.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Billy!”
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“I’m telling you he is. If you’d seen him tonight—blood pouring from him and still able to pick me up like I weighed nothin’ at all.”
“Yeah, well maybe after losing all that blood, the fucker’s dead and you don’t have to worry about any of this again. Count yourself lucky you got away with bruises and not a broken neck.” Frank filled Billy’s outstretched glass with another shot. “Forget about vampires and vampire hunters, Billy.”
Billy threw back the second shot and closed his eyes. His dirty cheeks were streaked with tear trails. “Mind if I stay over tonight, Frank? I can lay here on the couch, if that’s okay.”