Hannah Pole - Song Of The Wolf

She was sure of it.

The tomb thrust her forward, making her graze her foot against the concrete beneath. Tears stung her eyes though she pressed onwards, allowing the brute to lead her through another doorway into the bathroom. He shoved her inside, by the back of her neck, making her stumble as he barked orders at the second tomb.

Alison slipped into the shower, leaning against the cool tiles, telling the fear riding her gut to calm down.

Slowly, she slid her fingers into her hair and pulled one of the two wires out of the plait, wrapping it around her knuckles lightly, and leaving the two sharp ends of the wire poking up from between her fingers. She then began tugging the second wire downwards, only an inch, just enough that it was poking out of the edge of her braid.

The tomb slammed the door so hard she heard the wood crack and splinter. He spun on his heel and stalked towards Alison. His breathing was heavy with lust, his eyes focused on her. His movements were laboured, unpredictable.

He didn’t bother talking to her, he just lunged. In a heartbeat he was on her, his huge cold fist wrapped tightly around her throat as he slammed her against the tiled wall of the shower. Panic surged, sending adrenaline rushing through her veins as she thrashed against him, fought to breathe, fought to gain control.

He pressed his palm harder against her throat, making her see stars, choking against him. Not that he seemed to notice, his attention was on her chest. Fumbling with his left hand, he tried to tear what was left of the thin material of her T-shirt away.

It was too difficult to do with his other hand wrapped around her neck so he quickly changed track, dropping her to the floor and spinning her around so quickly it made her stomach churn. The bastard kicked her legs from beneath her with a heavy-booted foot, forcing her to land on her knees, the movement jarring her back and bruising her shins. He shoved her forward so brutally she smashed her face into the tiled wall. Her nose shattered, sending blood cascading down from the wound, dripping onto the floor.

The tomb roared as the scent of blood hit him; he made quick work of shredding the flimsy cloth that covered her, and then bared his fangs. Hissing. Alison cursed the High Lord to hell. He was a vampire-born Magi and his ‘gift’ to his minions was ‘turning’ them into vampires, ‘gifting’ them eternal life as a reward for their service.

Alison didn’t have time to breathe, let alone move, as he lunged for her, sinking his thick fangs brutally into her shoulder. The sharp teeth punctured her skin with ease, sinking through what little flesh she had left and hitting bone. She thrashed against him, trying to dislodge him but to no avail. He pulled her back against him, crushing her throat with his hand. She could feel his erection pressed against her. Fear turned this bastard on.

“I’m going to fuck you while I drink you,” he spat, her blood dripping from his mouth. He reached forward and ripped apart the top of her jeans, sending the button flying. He wasn’t gentle; his nails tore her skin making her bleed. Tears filled her eyes, making her vision blurry, but she hastily blinked them away. She needed to be able to see if she was going to get this right.

The bastard grabbed her by the shoulders, hefting her up onto her feet as he stood, violently shoving her jeans down. She knew what he was going to do. She had been with this bastard many times; he forced himself on her daily. He liked to see the fear in her eyes as he took her, liked to watch her scream. And that was going to be what would kill him.

Adrenaline surged through her anew as he moved her, forcing her to step out of her jeans.

Now was the time.

“I’m going to take you until I break you in half, wolf. Then I’m going to bleed you dry,” he hissed. His breath smelled like death and whisky, whispering past her shoulder as he spoke. Alison didn’t say anything. Just waited.

He was going to turn her around in a minute, and she needed the strength of him spinning her to hit him hard enough to knock him out. She didn’t have the upper body strength on her own. She’d been starved for weeks and her strength was at an all-time low.

He pressed himself against Alison’s back, his vile body cold against her skin. The tomb ran a heavy hand down her chest, brushing against her breasts, then further down. It was all she could do not to throw up.

Finally impatience got the better of him; he threw all his weight into spinning her around to face him. Alison tensed her arm, her fist with the wire wrapped around it poised and ready. She used the force he put into spinning her to fuel her own strength, and as their eyes met, she slammed her fist as hard as she could into his throat. The points of the wire sinking deeply into his flesh, he didn’t have time to scream as she ripped her fist sideways with all the strength she could muster, tearing flesh as she went. His severed jugular spurted a wall of blood, covering her. She choked and gagged, jumping out of the way as he fell forward, his features now forever frozen in a state of surprise.

Tears fell freely as Alison made quick work of wrapping the second piece of wire around his neck and pulling it towards her, the wire cut into her hands, leaving deep lacerations in its wake, but it was worth it. The wire cut swiftly through his flesh, though she had to stamp on the bone to break it.

You had to completely sever the head to stop the Circle taking over the body, forcing it to live on even in death.

When finally it was done, she collapsed against the tiled wall of the shower, exhausted. She was shaking so badly she could barely keep her teeth from chattering. She’d actually done it. Relief washed through her.

Though it was too soon to celebrate; she still had the second brute to deal with and Maker knows how many more on the other side of that door, but the first hurdle was over. That sick bastard, the tomb who had violated and beaten her in more ways than she wanted to remember, was finally dead.

Those hands couldn’t hurt anyone any more.

Taking a deep breath, Alison pulled herself together; it wouldn’t take long for the second brute to come in for his turn. The scent of blood hung thickly in the air, and a ‘turned’ vampire had no morals or control. The High Lord was a Magi, a magical being who was also born vampire. This is why he was so powerful, because he had the ability to create an army of un-dead. Alison frowned. He gave vampires a bad name. Maker, the actual v ampire community were strictly born only. They never ‘made’ vamps unless the circumstances were extreme. And though they were a dangerous, deadly bunch, they would never do what that bastard, the High Lord, had done.

Shaking herself, Alison turned on the shower, using the scalding hot but blessedly clean water to wash her face and hands. She pulled her jeans back on and tied the ragged bits of material that made up her T-shirt around her chest. It didn’t look good but at least it covered her. Mostly.

Leaving the water running, she quickly patted the dead tomb down; he had nothing on him but his knives. Not even a damn mobile phone.

She took the knives and left him where he’d landed. Sure, she could take his jacket, it would give her some much needed warmth; but she couldn’t stand the idea of anything of him touching her, not even a jacket. His scent would be all over it and even that seemed like hell to her.

Carefully, Alison stepped behind the door to the bathroom, bracing herself against the wall. Waiting for brute number two to make his entrance. It didn’t take long. These sick bastards were definitely without patience.

“Come on!” the black-haired tomb thundered from the other side of the door. “You’ve been in there forever. It’s my goddamn turn now.” She heard his hand land on the door handle.