Book of the Serpent
folder
1 through F › Blade (All)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
3,334
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Blade (All)
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
3,334
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Blade series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Morning After
Chapter 3: The Morning After
“Ahh…” a slurred moan escaped Angela’s lips as she gradually awakened from her slumber. Her vision was still spotty although her hearing and sense of smell were sharp. But as consciousness seeped through her, she was hit with one phenomenon: thirst! She slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position and noticed she was completely naked except for the bed sheet that was draped on top of her. She played and replayed the events of a few hours ago in her head as tears started to form in her eyes.
Angela felt strong enough to stand up and look for her clothing. “Vampires don’t exist. Deacon was just some role-playing freak, right?” Angela’s top was torn but she managed to get her panties and jeans on as she talked herself into believing that she was seduced and raped by a vampire-posing lunatic.
Angela was interrupted from her musings as Clara walked inside the room with a carafe and a wine glass. Angela looked at her in disbelief as Clara sniffed the air and a smile appeared on her face. “You’re one of us now!” she quipped. Angela quickly hugged herself to cover her exposed chest but she could barely contain her anger. “What the hell is this about? I was attacked by that creep you introduced me to last night and -”
Clara cut her off as she flipped her red hair past her shoulders. “Listen, I know it’s not the pretty way to get you out of your sugar-coated dream world but Deacon – he’s a genius! You should be happy that you were privileged enough for Deacon to turn you. Vampires – we’re everywhere you look. I’m definitely not the first vampire you’ve met!” She was beginning to rant now. “Deacon will be the one to lead us out of hiding and into being the masters of the earth, with humans as nothing but livestock! A war is coming. Aren’t you glad you’re on the winning side?” Clara composed herself and said, “Anyway, I thought you could use this” as she shoved the carafe into Angela’s hands.
Angela sniffed at the bottle. “This is blood!” she screamed at her friend. Angela was not thinking clearly as she smashed the bottle against a bed table, breaking it in half. She was running on purely negative energy. She did not feel like herself when she forced the sharp edges of the bottle half into her friend’s throat. She twisted the bottle until blood ran down her hands and started to form a puddle on the floor. “Mphucckk…!” Clara tried to speak but only guttural noises were coming from her as she swerved around the room in a panic. Angela took the opportunity to wrap the bed sheet around her and run out of the room.
Gone was the hypnotic and thumping music of last night. The club now seemed deserted, like a ghost town. Before she knew it, Angela had somehow maneuvered herself through the puzzling corridors, ran through a back exit and found herself in a dingy alley. It was dark out with a bit of light from the rising sun. Almost dawn. She saw a discarded, black jacket on top of a heap of garbage but quickly decided that even that was better than walking around town in a bloody bed sheet. She put on the men’s jacket and zipped it up, trying to ignore its blood tainted scent that was wafting to her nostrils. She ran through alleys until she reached a boulevard and managed to hail a taxi.
The Middle Eastern taxi driver looked at her through his rear-view mirror as she instructed him to drive her to her apartment on the other side of town. On the ride over, she felt her thirst intensify. She heard a rythmic thumping in her ears, an almost sweet and seductive melody. “My heartbeat? No. The cab driver’s heartbeat.” She was glad to find her ID case still in her front pocket and hurridly payed the cab driver and went to her apartment building. She felt a little more normal as she unlocked the door and stepped inside familiar surroundings.
Angela crossed the foyer and stopped to look at herself in the mirror. Looking back at her was a pale, tired version of herself with dilating pupils. “He must have drugged me,” she thought to herself. Her thirst was amplifying. She stalked over to the kitchen and went to the fridge. A whole bottle of water. A glass of cranberry juice. A can of soda - and still her thirst intensified. She was tired and running on empty and did the only thing she could. Angela collapsed on her bed and dreamed the strangest, blood-soaked dreams.
- - - - -
Several hours later…
“Immune to the poison that can afflict us … walks in the light of day as a human.” Deacon Frost sat at a carrel, with an ancient book in front of him. The sickly glow of his laptop provided him with enough light to read, which also illuminated his complexion, giving his face quite a blue and frosty hue. His thoughts kept going back to last night, to turning the girl Angela. He couldn’t wait to see her again. After he drank her blood he felt energized, not the usual fatigue he got from turning a human. The ringing of his mobile phone interrupted his musings.
- “Yeah?”
- “Uhh boss ahh I’ve got some bad news.” It was Quinn.
- “What is it?” asked Deacon, annoyed
- “Ahh your new plaything, she attacked Clara.”
“I wouldn’t say that that was exactly bad news,” said Deacon with a sadistic smile playing across his lips.
“Well she’s gone and we don’t know where she is…”
“How ‘bout you fucking find her?” Deacon hung up. He could probably find her himself. More than likely she would have gone to the most obvious place – her house.
“Ahh…” a slurred moan escaped Angela’s lips as she gradually awakened from her slumber. Her vision was still spotty although her hearing and sense of smell were sharp. But as consciousness seeped through her, she was hit with one phenomenon: thirst! She slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position and noticed she was completely naked except for the bed sheet that was draped on top of her. She played and replayed the events of a few hours ago in her head as tears started to form in her eyes.
Angela felt strong enough to stand up and look for her clothing. “Vampires don’t exist. Deacon was just some role-playing freak, right?” Angela’s top was torn but she managed to get her panties and jeans on as she talked herself into believing that she was seduced and raped by a vampire-posing lunatic.
Angela was interrupted from her musings as Clara walked inside the room with a carafe and a wine glass. Angela looked at her in disbelief as Clara sniffed the air and a smile appeared on her face. “You’re one of us now!” she quipped. Angela quickly hugged herself to cover her exposed chest but she could barely contain her anger. “What the hell is this about? I was attacked by that creep you introduced me to last night and -”
Clara cut her off as she flipped her red hair past her shoulders. “Listen, I know it’s not the pretty way to get you out of your sugar-coated dream world but Deacon – he’s a genius! You should be happy that you were privileged enough for Deacon to turn you. Vampires – we’re everywhere you look. I’m definitely not the first vampire you’ve met!” She was beginning to rant now. “Deacon will be the one to lead us out of hiding and into being the masters of the earth, with humans as nothing but livestock! A war is coming. Aren’t you glad you’re on the winning side?” Clara composed herself and said, “Anyway, I thought you could use this” as she shoved the carafe into Angela’s hands.
Angela sniffed at the bottle. “This is blood!” she screamed at her friend. Angela was not thinking clearly as she smashed the bottle against a bed table, breaking it in half. She was running on purely negative energy. She did not feel like herself when she forced the sharp edges of the bottle half into her friend’s throat. She twisted the bottle until blood ran down her hands and started to form a puddle on the floor. “Mphucckk…!” Clara tried to speak but only guttural noises were coming from her as she swerved around the room in a panic. Angela took the opportunity to wrap the bed sheet around her and run out of the room.
Gone was the hypnotic and thumping music of last night. The club now seemed deserted, like a ghost town. Before she knew it, Angela had somehow maneuvered herself through the puzzling corridors, ran through a back exit and found herself in a dingy alley. It was dark out with a bit of light from the rising sun. Almost dawn. She saw a discarded, black jacket on top of a heap of garbage but quickly decided that even that was better than walking around town in a bloody bed sheet. She put on the men’s jacket and zipped it up, trying to ignore its blood tainted scent that was wafting to her nostrils. She ran through alleys until she reached a boulevard and managed to hail a taxi.
The Middle Eastern taxi driver looked at her through his rear-view mirror as she instructed him to drive her to her apartment on the other side of town. On the ride over, she felt her thirst intensify. She heard a rythmic thumping in her ears, an almost sweet and seductive melody. “My heartbeat? No. The cab driver’s heartbeat.” She was glad to find her ID case still in her front pocket and hurridly payed the cab driver and went to her apartment building. She felt a little more normal as she unlocked the door and stepped inside familiar surroundings.
Angela crossed the foyer and stopped to look at herself in the mirror. Looking back at her was a pale, tired version of herself with dilating pupils. “He must have drugged me,” she thought to herself. Her thirst was amplifying. She stalked over to the kitchen and went to the fridge. A whole bottle of water. A glass of cranberry juice. A can of soda - and still her thirst intensified. She was tired and running on empty and did the only thing she could. Angela collapsed on her bed and dreamed the strangest, blood-soaked dreams.
- - - - -
Several hours later…
“Immune to the poison that can afflict us … walks in the light of day as a human.” Deacon Frost sat at a carrel, with an ancient book in front of him. The sickly glow of his laptop provided him with enough light to read, which also illuminated his complexion, giving his face quite a blue and frosty hue. His thoughts kept going back to last night, to turning the girl Angela. He couldn’t wait to see her again. After he drank her blood he felt energized, not the usual fatigue he got from turning a human. The ringing of his mobile phone interrupted his musings.
- “Yeah?”
- “Uhh boss ahh I’ve got some bad news.” It was Quinn.
- “What is it?” asked Deacon, annoyed
- “Ahh your new plaything, she attacked Clara.”
“I wouldn’t say that that was exactly bad news,” said Deacon with a sadistic smile playing across his lips.
“Well she’s gone and we don’t know where she is…”
“How ‘bout you fucking find her?” Deacon hung up. He could probably find her himself. More than likely she would have gone to the most obvious place – her house.