Rogue Vampires 1- Vampires Aren't Real by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Format: epub
Published: 2010-02-13T07:23:25+00:00

Chapter Five

Let me start off by saying no one should ever have to go through what happened next. I didn’t wake up for three days, sure, and I had some good long stretches of black-outs, but the rest of the time… I think they call it “twilight sleep.” You know you’re halfway between snoozing and awake, aware of what’s going on around you but not really able to move or do anything of your own free will.

Which pissed me off.

I didn’t hear Warren or Dusty die their mortal deaths. I’m grateful for that, at least, although Vlad probably made sure I was out during their last breaths so I wouldn’t try to save them. As if I could have. When a vampire drains you dry, CPR doesn’t really work. If I’d been able to break the damned circle and shift form, I could have bitten or scratched them deep enough to break the skin and pass on my wolfy nature, but I kind of doubt the lupus maximus works on someone who doesn’t have any blood flowing through their veins to spread the DNA change around.

Yeah. I’m fixated on the “dying” part. You’re telling me you wouldn’t be if you were trapped in a room, totally unable to even hold someone’s hand as they cross over? I didn’t get a chance to kiss Warren or grasp his hand, to hold Dusty’s head on my lap, to smile and lie and promise him he’d be okay.

This is another reason I hated vampires. I’d never met one who wasn’t a sadistic bastard. Vlad took the cake, the icing, and the baking pan, though. Asshole. I didn’t feel his presence in the room whenever I floated in the twilight. Didn’t mean he was really gone. I just hoped so.

It took me by surprise when I woke up for real. Not easing out of sleep the way you do on a Sunday morning, looking forward to lazing in bed with the funnies and schlepping around in your PJs until noon. More like the gasp! brand of wake-up call, where your eyes snap open and you see everything around you with crystal clarity. You know you should be freaking out about something, but damned if you can remember what.

Lucky for me, I don’t put up with that kind of shit. I gave myself a few good hard mental slaps, kicked my own ass (metaphorically) and struggled up to brace myself on my elbows.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Dusty. Warren.

I screeched like an elephant who’d just seen a mouse and scrambled clumsily around to see if I could spot my guys. Spot them I did, and wished I hadn’t. I won’t go into really graphic details about the gaping bite marks in their necks or the huge spill of dried blood, but I will tell you how someone -- and it could only have been Vlad -- had arranged them. He’d laid Warren out all ready for a coffin, hands folded on his chest, and even stuck a calla lily through his fingers plus put coins on his eyes.

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