The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two) (14 page)

The Father was bolt upright and staring right at him.

E
ddie made it back to their street having just polished off his cold burger. He snapped open a bottle of juice and drank deep, the sensation of quenching his thirst more satisfying than quelling his hunger. Juice spilled down his cheeks as he guzzled, just now realizing how thirsty he was. In literally seconds, the first bottle was gone. He wiped the residue from his lips and cheeks, letting out a gasp of satisfaction. The burger was already making itself at home in his empty stomach. It would be enough to see him through for another few days at least. He got moving again, throwing the empty bottle into a trash can he passed by.

He reached into his shopping bag, pulled out the other bottle of juice, and cracked it open. He took another gulp, still feeling thirsty. Maybe it was the salt that burger must have been loaded with. He made it to his street and turned into it. Although the food and drink was helping to suppress his anxiety, the words were beginning to peek through the shadows.

Methylhydroxylate. Hydroxycilicate.

He could see their heads poking out of the grass like worms and checking both ways to see if the coast was clear. Eddie was glad he was nearing home. He'd rather be in the dark of the basement tormented by the words than out on the streets where he was vulnerable. He wanted to get back quick, so he put his head down and upped his pace. He strode with a purpose, taking regular sips on his drink, trying to get back home
and
quench his thirst at the same time. He went past the burned-out deli at the head of the street and past the first few buildings. A few more and he'd be home. He took another sip of--

He stopped dead in his tracks, his bottle of juice up to his lips.

His eyes were fixed on something up ahead. The Land Rover parked on the street. There was something not right about it. It didn't fit with the area. It was too...
nice
. Too clean. And it was parked outside the basement. Eddie's heart began to beat harder and faster, his senses alerted. He lowered the bottle and looked up at his building. It was silent. In the distance, the sound of a police siren cut through the air, then faded away. But that Land Rover remained where it was.

I don't like it, I don't like it. No, I don't,
he thought to himself with a rapid shake of his head.

Eddie replaced the cap on his bottle and gulped the juice he had in his mouth. He just knew something wasn't right, his instincts were screaming at him above the white noise of the words floating in his mind. That vehicle was like a cheetah stalking a gazelle. The way it watched him, the street, his home. He inhaled deep, then began edging towards it, keeping his ears and eyes open. As he neared the Land Rover, he veered across the sidewalk toward the row of buildings. He approached with his head down. If something was up, he didn't want to act suspicious. His heart began to hammer harder in his chest; adrenaline flooded his body, his fight or flight response kicking in.

He made it to the railing of the basement stairwell and stopped just ahead of it. He crept towards it like an intruder, his eyes wide and alert. He craned his neck forward and piece-by-piece, the stairwell came into view. He trained his eyes down the concrete steps and leaned in more. His view reached the bottom of the steps and to the ground and--

He gasped, his back straightening. There was someone down there. His eyes darted left and right.
Oh my God, oh my God, what do I do? What do I do?

It was his worst nightmare.
Who are they? What do they want?

Panic set in. Then a grim realization hit him.
Oh my God, the Father!
He had to protect him! It was his duty.

He grabbed his head. "Okay, Eddie. You can handle this," he told himself.

He approached the railing once more, craning his neck forward. From his vantage point, he could see her. And yeah, it was a she. She was waiting by the door, her ear pressed up against it, and in her hand was a gun.

A sudden rush of anger shot through Eddie's chest. They were there for the Father for sure. He had to do something!

He placed his shopping bag on the ground and grabbed his remaining bottle of juice. He then ducked down and scampered to the railing, opposite the entranceway to the stairwell. Not wanting her to notice him, he became upright and peeked downward. She was busy listening at the door, oblivious to what was going on around her. Eddie knew what to do. He licked his lips. He hoisted up the bottle to shoulder height, aimed and threw it over her head toward the stairwell entranceway. It hit a step near the top and bounced down the rest. The lady spun in the direction of the noise, her gun poised. Eddie kept his eye on her. Once her attention was diverted, he hoisted himself up and over the railing in one swift movement. He fell into the stairwell as silent as a cat, aiming for the spot just behind her back. While her attention was on the steps ahead of her, she was clueless to what was plummeting down behind her.

Eddie's eyes widened. He let out a grunt, just as he landed half on her back, half on the ground. He made sure to bring his fist down on her as well, the force of the impact sending her thudding to the concrete. She hit it with a yelp. Eddie's feet jarred on landing, the momentum sending him back; his ass slapped into the concrete, pain rocketing up his spine, the impact winding him.

Meanwhile, the lady was sprawled on her belly, the gun having left her grip. Eddie ignored the pain of his rough landing and jumped to his feet as fast as he could, just as the intruder was scrambling to hers. Eddie already had the initiative his surprise attack bought him; he made it to his feet first. The lady threw a hand out toward her gun.

Eddie spotted what she was trying to do. "No you don't!" he barked as he leaped forward, bringing a strong boot down on her forearm, trapping it in place.

"Let go!" she screamed.

Eddie had no intention of doing that. Instead, he snatched up the gun. He gripped it in a cumbersome fashion, the first time he'd ever held one. He grabbed it with both hands, aiming the barrel in her direction. He then stepped backward, taking his foot off her forearm. She spun onto her back, her face a scrawl of panic.

"Don't move!" Eddie ordered, both his voice and hands shaky.

She watched him for a second, Eddie knew she was sizing him up. He watched her leg move.

"Don't even think about it!" he snapped, poking the gun toward her in a menacing fashion. She got the message and backed down.

Eddie caught his breath. "How many of you are there?"

She just stared.

"Tell me!" Eddie screeched.

"One," she then replied with a huff. "One other."

"Inside?"

Her nod was slow and deliberate.

Eddie licked his lips. He glanced at the door. "Okay. You go in. Nice and slow. No funny moves or I'll shoot!"

She got the message. She rose up to her feet at half-speed, her hands raised in the air.

Eddie poked the gun toward the door. "Go!"

Her shoulders dropped; she turned, took hold of the handle, and pulled the door open.

Eddie kept the gun a couple of inches from her back. "That's right," he said. "Nice and slow."

She turned her head to the side.

"Go in," Eddie ordered.

She did as she was told.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

D
om stood in death-like silence for what seemed like an eternity, rooted to the spot, his stare locked on the Father. Yeah, the Father, the thing who'd once kept him as a slave, who'd fed off him for so long. They were together again; alone in a dank basement.

Just like old times.

The Father scrutinized him in the harsh glow of the flashlight, no doubt wishing to discover who'd invaded his crypt. Dom remained frozen in shock, none of his limbs working. He'd lost his dart gun somewhere in the darkness. He knew there was no way he could find it, pick it up, and then fire it before the Father sunk his teeth into him. He went to say something, but his tongue betrayed him. It had suddenly gone dumb in his mouth. All he could do was stare. Stare...

"Why have you come back, my son?" the Father then asked in a commanding voice that echoed around the chamber.

On hearing that voice, Dom shivered. "I-I-I--" he managed to stammer this time.

The Father threw his legs off the mattress and made it to his feet. He loomed over Dom like a sentry, while he remained on his knees. He felt helpless, a slave as if his destiny would always be in the hands of the creature towering above him. His legs trembled, sweat plastered his shirt to his body.

In the next instant, the Father threw out a pale hand. Dom flinched.

"Take my hand," the Father ordered.

Dom hesitated.

"You're safe now," the Father told him in a coarse whisper. Somehow the words offered solace, offered a safe route through the sea of madness. Yeah, if he just took that hand, allowed him to feed, then everything would be okay again. There'd be no need to stalk the underworld any longer, no need to risk his life. The Father would take care of him, would see to his needs, stem the pain. The Father would provide all that he needed. As he always did.

Just take that hand, Dom,
a voice inside him said. It was the venom--the remnants of the venom--talking to him, urging him.
Take that hand, Dom, take that hand, and we can go back to where we were before when we were happy and we were safe and everything was okay and the Father loved us and he gave us his love and we let it wash all of our pain away and we loved him back and all we wanted was to be happy and in blissful servitude to the Father and we didn't have to worry about anything and we could just spend all day in euphoric darkness riding the wave of internal pleasure and say 'screw you' to the outside world and we were lost in our own personal inner world of peace and pleasure and it was wonderful and we can go back there if you just take that hand. Take that hand. Take that hand. Take that hand. TAKE THAT HAND!

Dom became conscious of his own hand working against his control; it was reaching up.

TAKE THAT HAND!

His fingertips touched the Father's open palm. It was cold. So, so cold.

TAKE THAT HAND, DOM!

Dom rolled his eyes upward to meet the stare of the Father. A grin spread across his now scarred face, causing his lips to part. His fangs gleamed in the harsh light. Dom's soul was sucked in by those eyes, not because of any icing, but because they were the eyes of benevolence. They were the eyes of the one who'd save him.

TAKE THAT HAND!

He closed his eyes and gripped the cold hand of the Father as if his life depended on it.

"That's right," the Father cooed. "Come home to me, my son."

Dom's head nodded of its own accord. Yes, he wanted to come home; to be safe, to be under the wing of the protector. He rose to his feet. Now eye-to-eye with the Father, the master, his hand clutched in a grip as cold and dry as ancient parchment hidden away in long lost Egyptian tombs. He breathed in equally dry air, his chest juddering under the pressure, the parts of his brain still infected with venom rising in anticipation, having been starved for so long of their craved substance.

He watched with glazed eyes as the Father turned his head to the side, his eyes fixed firm on the flesh of Dom's throat. Dom tilted his head back and closed his eyes. A few more seconds and everything would be okay. Everything would be okay.

Just relax, Dom, it'll all be okay.

In the next instant, there was hot breath on his neck.

No place like home. There's no place like home.

There's no place like--

A crackle sounded out from somewhere below and he came to as if awaking from a dream. A crackle. A radio crackle. A radio. The radio in his pocket. The radio connected to Trixie's. Trixie. Outside. Waiting for him. Trixie. Vincent. Both waiting for him to...

KILL THE FATHER!

He recoiled in horror, just as a jagged edge of fang scraped down his neck, bringing with it a sharp heat. He grabbed his throat. The Father's momentum caused him to stumble forward. He growled in frustration. Dom wiped away the blood trickling down his neck before he turned and shone his flashlight on the ground in a frantic panic, seeking out his dart gun. He spotted it a few feet away. He dived for it, snatching it up and whirling around, pointing it at the darkness ahead of him. The Father's angry face came into view in the flashlight beam. Dom's chest heaved, his sweaty trigger finger was about to go to work.