The killer stared at the knife in her hand, and wondered how this could ever have happened. How could he have been bested… by a girl?
“Wow, you really came prepared, bucko. So bloodthirsty. I’m impressed. Definitely the guy for the job.” The young woman strolled the length of the wooden table, studying the various array of weapons and torture devices–knives, rope, cat-o’-nine tails, a metal bucket filled with water, a dirty towel draped across its handle. But the power drill with a box of six-inch screws–that was her favorite. She picked up the drill, weighing it in her hand like Shylock’s gold. “This seems fun. And all these plastic sheets–really shows your dedication. When you have a job to do, you’re committed. I like that about you.”
She pressed the trigger and the killer paled, issuing a low groan that was muffled beneath the tape and the sound of the drill. He squirmed as best he could, but she had hogtied him to the chair. His cabin in the woods, his killing arena, had been hi-jacked by a deranged teenage girl. Maybe 18, maybe 19, and clearly not so innocent as she once appeared. He knew she was different from the moment he put her in his car trunk. She never screamed, not one syllable of terror had ever issued from her lips. The whole ride here, she was silent as the grave. That should have been his warning. For the first time since his sixth victim, he was nervous. And thirsty. Oh, so terribly thirsty…
“Did you know there are certain vampires who only eat vampires? Take Dracula, for instance.”
He shook his head, eyes fearfully wide. The crazy talk only agitated him. It was his treasure trove of senses, intensified beyond comprehension, with no outlet, that was beginning to drive him mad. The nerves in his skin were livewires, the thoughts in his head mindless red static. My god, he was thirsty… And cold.
“Yep, vampires can eat vampires. Gross, right? Consider it the cannibalism of their world. And Dracula, he has a very specific appetite–he only drinks from vampires who are pure evil–not some, or a little, or a lot. They have to be… evil incarnate. Like you.” She took hold of a lethal set of garden shears–so rusted with time and blood he could hardly maneuver them–yet she closed the blades with ease.
When she disappeared behind him, an echo of sanity screamed at him to struggle–but his limbs were deadweight. There was a strange symbol carved into the dusty floorboards beneath him. It was like a magnet, he couldn’t move his feet beyond it.
“This must be a change–guess the hot seat isn’t so fun when you’re in it, huh?” This was followed by a terrible snipping noise, so close to his ear he jumped. “Don’t worry, I’m a hunter, not a therapist. My goal is not to rehabilitate you. Personally, I think it’s too late for you to learn your lesson. I know your track record, bub, and you’re depraved. Guys like you can’t be saved–only committed. Or executed. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks–but you can kill it, reanimate, and use it as bait for Dracula.” Another snip and this time his hands were free. He yanked the tape from his lips.
“I don’t understand… You’re… letting me go?” He rubbed his wrists, hoping circulation would return. His flesh was like ice, and ghostly white.
“For now.” She sidled into view, exchanging the shears for a carving knife she twirled between her fingers like an evil baton. “But you should know–your will, it will never be your own again. Unfortunately, that belongs to the thirst now. When the sun sets, you’re going to become a bloodthirsty killing machine you were when you were still human–and your carnage will lead me straight to him. Isn’t that genius?”
He smirked. “Joke’s on you sister. I don’t eat meat. I’m a vegetarian.”
Jada Trainor is a wife, mother, and author of several page-turning novels including “Ribbons and Pieces”–a YA novel with more than 2 million reads on Wattpad.com. On her off days, she flies in the Tardis with The Doctor, protects Stefan and Damon from Sam and Dean, and throws popcorn at Olivia for choosing Fitz over Jake.
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