The Bonded (13 page)

I reply, “Who will train me, then?”

“I will inform you as you need to know.”

“Why is she no longer needed as my trainer?” My tone may have been too desperate and I self-correct. “I still have much to learn.”

“One teacher is not healthy for a student. One must be exposed to many philosophies and many tactics to become well-rounded,” he says with the absence of conviction.

“If that is your goal, I will have a new sword trainer as well?” I felt it immediately. The sudden shift in temperature as heat tenaciously pushed through his skin. He moves so quickly that, were it not for my unusual speed, I wouldn’t have detected it. Either way, I am caught unexpectedly as he grabs my throat and shoves my head with such force that the pine wood wall has a permanent reminder of the incident. The ceiling quivers in response and I gather my wits quickly.

With clenched teeth he growls, “Adriel, what did I tell you about disrespect and the consequences? I am a master vampire and I will
take
your respect if you will not offer it.” I access the situation with preternatural synapses. Cassius wants to humiliate me to ensure I fear him. He wants this to be a lesson, not a murder, but I do sense that if provoked he could possibly lose control. He is stronger, even though my strength has multiplied, but a tad slower. With over 1,450 years more experience and the leader of a fairly substantial tribe, I decide to teach a lesson as I receive his.

“You don’t know me, Cassius,” I squeeze through a strangled throat. “I give respect once it is earned. That is something
no one
can take from me.”

The expression of disgust transitions to wrath and his fist rains down over and over again. I’ve had beatings, I’ve lost my fair share of fights, but this is quite different. My body heals with every blow, but eventually can’t maintain the speed or energy required, and blood flows in steady streams, puddling on the beige carpet. He tosses me to the ground and I give very little resistance, just enough to antagonize him more. My head hits the carpet and I feel the sticky warmth of fresh blood clinging to my skin. He stands erect, shaking out his right hand, and says, “Next time I won’t be so tolerant.”

With that statement and in a concentrated effort to gather all of my will, I stand straight, allowing my full height to take effect as I look down on him and reply, spitting blood, “Is this the next time?” Maybe this isn’t such a good idea as I go limp from a new set of smashing blows, causing me to fall in a fresher pond of my own blood. I begin a masochistic laugh. “I can’t be broken!” This time he holds back only enough to ensure that I don’t die. I am palming my ears in fetal position, trying to shield from an onslaught of concussive strikes and kicks to my body. My mind is trying to sleep, to push me away from the pain, to surround me with heavy darkness. I have to fight the safety mechanism to shut down; this is the battle within the battle.

No worries, as my mind is awakened by the crack of ribs and a series of crunches signaling a broken nose that leaves me gurgling blood. I know this is the moment. With one eye closed and the other jealous, I see sweat lining his cheek, dripping to mingle with bloodied hands as his breathing is shallow and heavy. I look at Percy and notice her arms cradling her ribs and eyes wet with newly formed tears.

He stumbles back, exhausted from the spent energy, and wobbles to stand, placing his hands on bent knees for balance as a runner does after a race. Already, I notice his healing as knuckles repair and sweat recedes. He regains his composure and says with bated breath, “Surely, this is a lesson not soon forgotten,
young one
!”

I grab the desk with slippery hands, splattering blood on white paper, and push down to stand at full attention. I must be a gruesome vision as Percy and Antonio gasp with mouths agape. Percy says, “No, Adriel, stop!”

I dismiss her honest plea and meet his stare with a fortified, good old-fashioned, 100% stubborn one. I cough up a splash of dark blood from within the caverns of my lungs and whisper with gravel in my voice, “I—can’t—be—broken!” Cassius musters all his prideful fury and grabs my impotent body as I collapse in his arms. I vaguely feel my feet leave the ground and in the distance hear delicate pings of shattered glass as the blackness envelopes me.

* * *

I could live here in the void between dreams and consciousness. It’s peaceful: no pain, no manipulations that demand attention, no raw emotions that need shielding. It is merely a simple existence of stillness and absolute silence. I cherish the moment. Yet every day has a morning and as the dawning lights seep through, my eyelids shutter open and shut, dislodging caked-on, dried blood. I see Percy’s mouth moving in slow motion, but the words are faraway echoes bouncing off valley walls. Her lips are moist and delicious, and I wonder if she can join me in the void. The echoes are becoming louder, more succinct as time speedily catches reality. “Adriel, we have to go, quickly. Can you hear me?”

I don’t want to hear. I just want to sleep. “I… can… hear you. How… how long have I been out?”

Kneeling over me, she turns her head, measuring the danger. “Only ten minutes. Cassius and a few of the elders are in a Council of War meeting. We must go! Can you stand up?”

“Ten minutes? That was the best sleep I’ve had in decades. Will you please thank Cassius for me?”

Her mouth touches my ear. “This is no time for joking, Adriel.”

“If you can help me up, I think I can stand on my own.” She slides her right arm under mine, gently lifting me with little effort.

“You need blood to properly heal from those wounds. You are a willful man, Adriel, and you have put us in great risk. There are keys in the loaner car behind us. Take it and meet me at the Succubus bar off of DuPont Circle.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the FUCK is going on!” I scream with a hushed tone.

“There is no time, we…”

“No, there
is
time. You’re pushing me, Percy! If I don’t get some answers, we’re done,” I say angrily and mean the anger part, but my heart would never let me leave.

She surrenders. “I will share what little information I have with you tonight, but we must leave now. I have something I must do and will meet you in two hours. Will you trust me?”

Ouch, the old trust card. “I, I do trust you, but…”

She places her finger over my lips. “You will find a truck stop ten miles off 270 that has adequate showers and toiletries to wash off all the blood. In the trunk I have placed a duffle bag with a fresh set of clothes as well.
This is urgent, Adriel, we are caught and in grave peril!
” She pulls away and begins a fast-paced walk to her car.

“What do you mean, ‘caught?’” I say with drunken speed.

She is already opening the driver’s side door when she stalls and turns around. “HE KNOWS!” And with that, the door closes and I’m left standing on a dirt road in a vampire subdivision.

Chapter 9

DuPont Circle is the result of a concerted effort to gentrify an older, outdated, and forgotten area. Those projects usually experience no success, but when the alternative lifestyle flag was raised, this place became rich with art and culture. The streets were reinvented with local restaurants that snub franchised America by offering fresh and unique foods textured with the soft melodies of indie music. They are lined from breakfast to dinner with locals and government employees trying to grab a bite of artisan creativity.

The food is the expression, but the nightlife is the essence. A myriad of bars is sprinkled around the circle with eclectic niches to fit a variety of desires. From the thumping sound of house music to the soft glow of adult contemporary, this is undoubtedly the main attraction. Surrounded by the murder capital of the country, the atmosphere seems buffered and protected by an invisible boundary of casual fun and whimsical sex. I’ve always loved this place. Although I didn’t inherit the alternative-lifestyle gene, the neighborhood invites all with no judgment. It’s a safe haven for the disenfranchised, the peculiar, and all those wild enough to explore the boundaries of cultural acceptability.

Passing through on a Friday night just a little after midnight is a vampire’s dream, as everyone in the area is awake and out, just getting started. The sidewalk is dry with dotted remnants of snow salt that give a crunch as I wander to the Succubus bar. As usual, there is a line out the door with people laughing and tolerating the cold. The smoke of cigarettes blends with steamed breath as they huddle for warmth in jagged sequence.

Not being one to attract attention, I simply go to the back of the line and wait for my turn. I’ve always relished solitude because it spurs the imagination, but if I’m alone
and
waiting, it has never been time I enjoy.
Alright, Patience, suck it up.
It takes about thirty minutes, which means I have forty-five left until Percy arrives, and I finally reach the doorman. He’s about my height, but outweighs me by more than a hundred pounds. He’s a gym rat, pumping iron five or six days a week and carefully measuring calories by proteins and carbs. These guys always look intimidating, but in my experience, I would rather fight this guy than the boy from West Virginia who’s been tossing hay his entire life. They’re different; muscles formed from a hard life are weathered and tough. This guy can bench a truck, but he’s soft. Two months ago, I could have taken him, now… I’d drink him dry in three seconds flat. He gives me his best menacing look and asks for ID. Without breaking eye contact, I show him my license. He doesn’t even verify it as we are in a pack alpha challenge. Someone three or four thick in the line says, “Will you guys just get a room? We’re freezing out here.” He looks at the license and waves me through.

I nod and say triumphantly, “Well, that was fun.”

The thump of electronica reverberates as my heart syncs to the drum beat. I’m glad I don’t suffer from epileptic seizures because the lights are pulsating in sequence like Texas sky lightning moving through the dry-ice fog. This is a more sophisticated scene as furniture in thick reds and deep purples make nice rooms that have no walls as people section themselves in illusion. The bar is centered and rectangular with neon lights glowing off the plastic paneling surrounded with standing-room-only crowds thirsting for more than a drink. I inch my way in that direction to grab a scotch, and some shirtless guy grabs my hand, pulling me to the dance floor. I give him an apologetic smile and step backward, he leaves dismissively to the dance area complete with wood floors and rotating colored lights to enhance the XTC effect. I shrug my shoulders and look down, feeling a little embarrassed at the attention, when I feel the gentle squeeze of familiarity on my left shoulder. I look up in response to find my new friend. “Bryn? What the hell are you doing here?”

He leans in and yells loudly over the music. “You are early.”

Matching his tone I reply, “I had no idea we were meeting you.”

He leans closer, swallowing my ear, “Follow me.” I comply and we languorously swim our way through an ocean of men to the back corner where one green door has a sign: “VIP Only.” The bouncer to the left gives Bryn immediate respect, scans me with misgiving, and admits us entrance as he opens the door. The door shuts behinds us and I hear the vacuum seal—only the vibrating walls give evidence of the music and parties on the other side. The room is somewhat tiny, but has a couch and a couple of chairs for, well, for whatever Bryn uses them for. I can see the bouncer as the wall doubles as a one-way mirror. Soundproof and hidden. Nice. Bryn motions me to sit down, and being the gentleman, he waits until I am comfortable and strolls to the minibar by the couch. He says, “I understand you have an affinity for scotch,” as he pours one on the rocks. Bless him!

“How did you know?”

His smirk indicates a double meaning to his next words. “I am a curious man.” One eyebrow rises complimented by a quirky smile as he slides into the leather chair. He crosses his legs with little effort, though his blue jeans are two sizes too small, and pinches his black silk shirt to give his chest some much needed cool air. He then pulls back his long, black, and sweaty hair and says, “I do not mean to be so dramatic, but the temperature in here must be 200 degrees. Do you like the club, Adriel?”

“Not my usual thing, but yeah, I do like it. Without sounding cliché, do you come here often?”

“I sure do. I own it.”

“Vampires own clubs?”

He laughs with delight. “That’s what they all say. This new century is a fresh breath of air ,and I intend to enjoy my last years embracing what I want and who I am.”

“What do you mean ‘last years?’”

He speaks with an Australian drawl, but I know he’s been around longer than the accent has. “I only have a little over a hundred left, if I do not get myself killed.”

“What does your buddy think about this?”

“What buddy?” he replies with incredulity.

“I thought Cassius ordered all the tribe to have a buddy system. You know, two people at all times for protection.”

“Ahh, I see. There are at least four reasons why I will not have a ‘buddy,’ as you call it. One, I have plenty of friends and very few enemies. Two, there are only two or three of our species that can best me with a sword… maybe. Three, the vampires are not so unlike the humans; however, they have certain judgments when it comes to sexual appetite. While
I
believe that humans can be enjoyed in many ways, not just as a meal.” His eyes are half-closed and his growing teeth confirm his words.

I can’t help but smile at him. “If you are one of the earth’s best, why aren’t you the Weapons Master?”

He hands me the scotch on the rocks and resumes his casual sitting position. “I was the Weapons Master in Cassius’s tribe up until about forty years ago. Just so you are aware, there are other tribes, but this one, Cassius’s, is the master tribe. It is where all warriors are trained
and
Cassius alone settles tribal disputes and negotiates with the waers. It is the tribe all aspire to and few are chosen. I say that not in arrogance, but for your education and context.”