Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Dmitri surveys me with undisguised pleasure. “You’ve exceeded our expectations,” he says. “Your blood sings with power.” He nods to Goldman. “Finish it.”
The masked surgeon moves behind me, and I brace for another assault from the knife—but it’s his hands that close around my waist this time, lifting me slightly to force my legs further apart. Agony explodes anew as he slashes at the top of my inner thigh, then down in the fleshy parts. The blue glow sears into my vision before fading to red.
I hang limply from the chains, silver burning into my wrists again. Goldman’s clever fingers have made ribbons of my skin; every nerve is on fire.
Dmitri circles me again, admiring Goldman’s handiwork. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “The markings are perfect. Just like the ancient texts described.”
“Why me?” I manage through the haze of pain. “There must be other vampires who…who…”
“Few and far between,” Dmitri says. “And none with your…particular qualities.” He reaches out, running a finger along my cheek in a mockery of tenderness. “You’re special, Ms. Reid. You have spirit. True pure spirit. It’s just as rare as your blood.”
“You were a happy accident,” Katya says. “Best friends with Short, part of Cohen’s crew and we didn’t even know it.”
“Once you were on our radar, we took you to the mansion and my darling Katya tasted your blood type,” Dmitri says, pressing his fingers together. “Everything aligned.”
“Each sacrifice serves a purpose in opening the gateway,” Katya says. “Elizabeth represented the Vessel—the physical anchor. Sylvia Winters was the Eye—enhancing our perception of the veil between worlds. Jeanne French was the Heart—strengthening our connection to the life force itself.”
“And me?”
“You, my dear, are the Gatekeeper.” Dmitri’s voice takes on an almost reverent quality. “The final key that unlocks the door to our old world. Your blood, when spilled at sunset over the sacred altar, will tear open the veil between realms. And because you’re not human, there’s a chance the gate will stay open. We will go in but of course others may find themselves coming out. I did hear that Skarde wanted to take over the world at one point and make humans obsolete. I say, don’t bother. Humans will get rid of themselves in time. But he is a mad king. Perhaps we’ll be rewarded for giving him the opportunity.”
Dr. Goldman returns to his table of horrors, replacing the blue knife and selecting another implement—a small, ornate silver cup with strange symbols etched around its rim.
“We’ll need a sample,” Dmitri explains as Goldman hands the cup to him, “to prepare the altar. Just a taste of what’s to come.”
Goldman then takes the knife and stabs it into my belly button, twisting and twisting, deeper and deeper until I’m vomiting from the pain.
“Finally, she feels something,” Katya says.
But I more than feel something. All I feel is deep-rooted vicious agony that spreads from my belly, causing me to scream so loud the windows rattle. Then I’m left choking on bile, covered in my own sick.
They continue as before. Goldman collects my blood as it flows from my stomach and into the silver cup, while Dmitri continues his monologue, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice.
“You know, I’ve watched this world deteriorate for centuries,” he says, pacing the edge of the candlelit circle. “I was there when the French Revolution painted the streets of Paris red with blood. I watched Napoleon’s grand army freeze in the Russian winter. I witnessed the industrial revolution blacken the skies of London, and I stood in the trenches of the Great War as men slaughtered each other by the millions.”
He pauses, turning to face me directly. “And for what? What has humanity accomplished with all its striving? They create machines of ever more efficient destruction. They divide themselves by arbitrary borders and skin colors, finding endless reasons to hate and kill one another.”
“As opposed to vampires?” I challenge, mustering my remaining strength. “You’re torturing me for a blood ritual. Don’t pretend you have the moral high ground.”
“The difference,” Dmitri says, his voice hardening, “is that we acknowledge our nature. We don’t hide behind pretty words like ‘progress’ and ‘civilization’ while committing atrocities. We are predators. We do what predators do.”
“Not all of us,” I counter. “Some of us choose differently.”
“Ah yes, the Van Helsing philosophy. Peaceful coexistence.” He makes the words sound like a curse. “How has that worked for our kind over the centuries? Hunted, persecuted, driven into shadows. Forced to conceal our true nature, to pretend to be something less than what we are.”
Goldman returns to Dmitri’s side, offering the cup of my blood. Dmitri takes it, lifting it in a mock toast.
“To the new world that awaits,” he says, then passes the cup to Katya without drinking.
She accepts it reverently, hands trembling slightly with excitement. “It’s almost time,” she says, her voice hushed. “The sun will set within the hour.”