Bloodfever
Page 70
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For a moment, he stared blankly; his gloved hand went to his neck, and I knew he was wondering how Id gotten it off him when hed had to nearly behead the last owner to tear it free, then his face contorted with rage. He fell on me, fangs tearing, fists flying, trying to take the amulet back before I was able to use it.
I curled in on myself, clutching it, protecting it, focusing on it fiercely.
Nothing happened.
I flexed that hot place in my brain and tried to impose my will on it. Destroy him, I commanded it. Rip him apart. Kill him. Save me. Make him die. Let me live. Make him stop hitting me make him stop make him stop make him stop!
Still the blows rained down. I wasnt impacting reality one bit.
The amulet was colder than death in my hand, seeping up my arm. It radiated dark light, offering me its chilling, immense power. It had some kind of shadowy life, this arctic thing in my hand. I could feel it pulsating, the thud of an impatient dark heartbeat. I could feel that it wanted to be used by me. It was hungry for purpose, but there was something I didnt understand about it, something I had to do to make it mine. I realized then that Id not broken the chain; it had snapped of its own dark accord, chosen to come to me because it had sensed I could use it.
But that was where it stopped. I had to figure out how to make it work.
What did I need to do?
Mallucs teeth were in my neck, tearing. His stiffly gloved fists were eighty-mile-an-hour hardballs in my sides, trying to force me to uncurl so he could take the amulet back. The pain was rapidly becoming more than I could think past.
The Dark Hallow was useless.
If Id had time to learn how to make it work for me, Id have had a chance.
As it was, Id managed to do just enough to really piss Malluc off: Id proven myself epic when he wasnt.
As he continued to pound me, I had a sudden insight into his character: At the core of it, beneath the monstrous villainy, the vampire was a self-indulgent, spoiled bully. Not a sociopath at all, but an out-of-control, petulant child that couldnt stand anyone else having better toys, more wealth, or greater power or, in my case, being more epic than him. If he couldnt own it, do it, or be it, he would destroy it.
My mind revisited the bodies hed left at the Welshmans estate. The terrible ways theyd been killed.
No one was coming for me. I couldnt make the amulet work. Rotted though he may be, I was not and would never be a physical match for Malluc. There was no way out for me. That was just the truth of it.
When all the control you have over your world gets stripped away, leaving you no choice but to diethe only difference how you do it: quickly or slowlylife distills to a bitter pill. The pain I was in made it easier to swallow.
I would not let him make me a quadriplegic.
I would not let him take my mind away from me. Some things areworse than death.
He was in a blind rage, more intense than Id felt coming off him yet. He was on the brink of total loss of control. I braced myself to fuel it, to push him over the edge.
I remembered what Barrons had told me about John Johnstone, Jr.s past. The mysterious accidental death of his parents, how rapidly hed disassociated himself with everything theyd stood for and been. I remembered how Barrons had provoked Malluc with references to his roots, and the vampires instant, livid fury, his irrational hatred of his own name. How long have you been insane, J.J.? I gasped out, between blows. Since before you killed your parents?
Its Malluc, bitch! Lord Master, to you. And my father deserved to die. He called himself a humanitarian. He was squandering my inheritance. I told him to stop. He didnt.
Barrons had provoked Malluc by calling him Junior. That was my name, bestowed upon me by Alina. I wouldnt pervert it by using it on him. Youre the one that deserves to die. Some people are just born wrong, Johnny.
Never call me that! You will NEVER call me that! he screamed.
Id nailed it, a name the vampire hated even worse than Junior. Was it his mothers special name for him? Had it been his fathers belittlement? Im not the one that made you a monster. You came that way, Johnny. I was nearly out of my mind with pain. I couldnt feel one of my arms. My face and neck were dripping blood. Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, I chanted. Johnny, little Johnny. Youll never be anything but a
The next blow turned my cheekbone into a blossom of fire. I dropped to my knees. The amulet slipped from my hand.
Johnny, Johnny, I said, at least I think I did. Kill me, I prayed. Kill me now.
His next blow smashed me into the rear wall of the grotto. Bones snapped in my legs. I sank mercifully into oblivion.
SEVENTEEN
I dont know where dreams come from. Sometimes I wonder if theyre genetic memories, or messages from something divine. Warnings perhaps. Maybe we do come with an instruction booklet but were too dense to read it, because weve dismissed it as the irrational waste product of the rational mind. Sometimes I think all the answers we need are buried in our slumbering subconscious, in the dreaming. The booklets right there, and every night when we lay our heads down on the pillow it flips open. The wise read it, heed it. The rest of us try as hard as we can upon awakening to forget any disturbing revelations we might have found there.
I used to have a recurring nightmare when I was a child. A dream of four distinct, subtly varied tastes. Two of them werent entirely unpalatable. Two of them were so vile I would wake up choking on my own tongue.
I curled in on myself, clutching it, protecting it, focusing on it fiercely.
Nothing happened.
I flexed that hot place in my brain and tried to impose my will on it. Destroy him, I commanded it. Rip him apart. Kill him. Save me. Make him die. Let me live. Make him stop hitting me make him stop make him stop make him stop!
Still the blows rained down. I wasnt impacting reality one bit.
The amulet was colder than death in my hand, seeping up my arm. It radiated dark light, offering me its chilling, immense power. It had some kind of shadowy life, this arctic thing in my hand. I could feel it pulsating, the thud of an impatient dark heartbeat. I could feel that it wanted to be used by me. It was hungry for purpose, but there was something I didnt understand about it, something I had to do to make it mine. I realized then that Id not broken the chain; it had snapped of its own dark accord, chosen to come to me because it had sensed I could use it.
But that was where it stopped. I had to figure out how to make it work.
What did I need to do?
Mallucs teeth were in my neck, tearing. His stiffly gloved fists were eighty-mile-an-hour hardballs in my sides, trying to force me to uncurl so he could take the amulet back. The pain was rapidly becoming more than I could think past.
The Dark Hallow was useless.
If Id had time to learn how to make it work for me, Id have had a chance.
As it was, Id managed to do just enough to really piss Malluc off: Id proven myself epic when he wasnt.
As he continued to pound me, I had a sudden insight into his character: At the core of it, beneath the monstrous villainy, the vampire was a self-indulgent, spoiled bully. Not a sociopath at all, but an out-of-control, petulant child that couldnt stand anyone else having better toys, more wealth, or greater power or, in my case, being more epic than him. If he couldnt own it, do it, or be it, he would destroy it.
My mind revisited the bodies hed left at the Welshmans estate. The terrible ways theyd been killed.
No one was coming for me. I couldnt make the amulet work. Rotted though he may be, I was not and would never be a physical match for Malluc. There was no way out for me. That was just the truth of it.
When all the control you have over your world gets stripped away, leaving you no choice but to diethe only difference how you do it: quickly or slowlylife distills to a bitter pill. The pain I was in made it easier to swallow.
I would not let him make me a quadriplegic.
I would not let him take my mind away from me. Some things areworse than death.
He was in a blind rage, more intense than Id felt coming off him yet. He was on the brink of total loss of control. I braced myself to fuel it, to push him over the edge.
I remembered what Barrons had told me about John Johnstone, Jr.s past. The mysterious accidental death of his parents, how rapidly hed disassociated himself with everything theyd stood for and been. I remembered how Barrons had provoked Malluc with references to his roots, and the vampires instant, livid fury, his irrational hatred of his own name. How long have you been insane, J.J.? I gasped out, between blows. Since before you killed your parents?
Its Malluc, bitch! Lord Master, to you. And my father deserved to die. He called himself a humanitarian. He was squandering my inheritance. I told him to stop. He didnt.
Barrons had provoked Malluc by calling him Junior. That was my name, bestowed upon me by Alina. I wouldnt pervert it by using it on him. Youre the one that deserves to die. Some people are just born wrong, Johnny.
Never call me that! You will NEVER call me that! he screamed.
Id nailed it, a name the vampire hated even worse than Junior. Was it his mothers special name for him? Had it been his fathers belittlement? Im not the one that made you a monster. You came that way, Johnny. I was nearly out of my mind with pain. I couldnt feel one of my arms. My face and neck were dripping blood. Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, I chanted. Johnny, little Johnny. Youll never be anything but a
The next blow turned my cheekbone into a blossom of fire. I dropped to my knees. The amulet slipped from my hand.
Johnny, Johnny, I said, at least I think I did. Kill me, I prayed. Kill me now.
His next blow smashed me into the rear wall of the grotto. Bones snapped in my legs. I sank mercifully into oblivion.
SEVENTEEN
I dont know where dreams come from. Sometimes I wonder if theyre genetic memories, or messages from something divine. Warnings perhaps. Maybe we do come with an instruction booklet but were too dense to read it, because weve dismissed it as the irrational waste product of the rational mind. Sometimes I think all the answers we need are buried in our slumbering subconscious, in the dreaming. The booklets right there, and every night when we lay our heads down on the pillow it flips open. The wise read it, heed it. The rest of us try as hard as we can upon awakening to forget any disturbing revelations we might have found there.
I used to have a recurring nightmare when I was a child. A dream of four distinct, subtly varied tastes. Two of them werent entirely unpalatable. Two of them were so vile I would wake up choking on my own tongue.
