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kirnet · 10 months

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Don’t Wake the Ancients - Chapter 11

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injury/ gore warning (visible bone, burn injuries, impalement)

“Detective?”

Death cold hands skimmed the underside of Dorotea’s jaw, tilting her head this way and that. Pain shot from her neck down her spine, making her aware of the contour of every single vertebrae. A gravely moan escaped from somewhere in her body.

Murphy sucked in an excited breath. “You’re alive!”

Was she? This couldn’t reasonably be called life. The very earth seemed to be calling for her beneath the uneven floorboards, urging her to accept gravity and fall into the depths. She groaned again, every minuscule movement starting a pulsing wave of agony. Murphy entirely ignored her, too enthralled with his own success. He hopped back, dropping her head against her chest.

“It worked! It actually-“ Murphy stilled his soaring hands that had come to land in his tangle of hair. “Of course it worked. I knew it would.” His mouth split like a wound across his face. “Now to test it.”

Dorotea tried to summon any lasting bit of strength to bat him away, but Murphy paid her no mind. With insulting indifference, he undid the belt looped around one of her wrists, pulled her arm free, and tugged her hand to his mouth.

The prick of his fangs entering the back of her hand was not comparable to any of the rest of the pain she felt, but Dorotea hissed nonetheless. His fangs sunk deeper, cutting through her skin like a hot knife through butter. He drew back, his pale eyes twinkling in amazement as scarlet welled up from the holes. Before any could run off to the floor, Murphy slowly ran the flat of his tongue over her hand.

“Oh.” Dorotea’s stomach roiled in disgust as he went back for seconds, practically purring like a cat in a sunbeam. The hairs along his arm raised as his pupils dilated, swallowing his arctic eyes to total black. With great trembling effort, he brought her hand back to the arm of the chair, the stripe of saliva freezing as it met the cold air. “Detective, you and I are going to become very close.”

“Fuck you.” Murphy hummed a laugh and held her arm down again as secured the belt. Then he stilled, his breathing stopping, and waited, his ear cocked to the side.

“Wait here,” Murphy commanded, pupils aglow as he stalked silently forward and disappeared into the surrounding darkness.

Dorotea strained her neck forward, desperate to catch any sound that Murphy might have heard. Was Unit Bravo here? Did they follow her scent already? Or was it just some poor wanderer who was about to get the fright of their life?

Only the creak of the old building tried to answer her.

She glanced around, trying to calm her frayed nerves enough to time Murphy’s absence. The immediate space around her was the only thing illuminated, but if she had to guess, the room went on for a bit farther than that. Two strips of metal cut across the room just underneath and behind her, her chair tied down to them. Cart tracks? Maybe a head house at a coal mine? Some sort of warehouse?

That wasn’t good. She knew the area around Wayhaven well, but she had never been here, she was sure. What industrial structures in the area did she not know about? Probably more than a few, though it was possible she wasn’t even near Wayhaven at all.

Freezing every other second to listen for Murphy, Dorotea jostled in her chair. The rolling tray table was next to her, and her wrist restraint was slightly loosened from Murphy’s distraction. Maybe she could just-

No, no good. It was still too tight to pull out of, though at least some circulation was returning to her fingertips. Something metal groaned from somewhere outside of the room.

Dorotea chewed her lip. She had to get out of here while she had a chance. She might only get a few yards, but if she had learned one thing from Captain Sung from her time at the station, her ability to dig her heels in and refuse was incredibly annoying.

Annoying kept Murphy focused on her rather than another potential victim. She forced her mind to repeat that mantra over and over while her body protested. Dorotea wiggled in her chair. The bindings that kept it tied to the tracks held.

Fuck this. If the asshole who had ripped his fangs through her town wanted her to wait here she would do anything but. She grit her teeth and thrashed, the IV needles tearing deeper into her flesh.

Something snapped, and Dorotea was falling before she realized it, the collection of drips and trays coming with her.

Pain returned to her after the daze cleared away. The metal IV stand banged against her head as she tried to rotate over the tracks like a snail caught in a line of salt. Parts crumbled to dust beneath her, leaving sprinkles of rusted sand. She scooted forward, cheek pressed against the floor, and strained her fingers out.

There! The tips of her middle and forefingers caught around something. With small movements, she pulled the pen into her grip, careful not to drop it. She maneuvered it back until she held her thumb securely against it, the cap pressed the belt looped around her wrist.

With great urgency and greater caution, Dorotea shimmied the pen underneath the prong. Once it was far enough, she adjusted her thumb and pulled her hand back as far as she could, using the pen as a lever to open the buckle.

The first time didn’t work, nor the second, but on the third try she managed to pry it open. She would have hollared with pride if the needles still weren’t snaking around under her skin. She tried jerking her wrist back, but the leather still remained stuck on the prong, even as it continued to drift away from the buckle. After a series of quick breaths, Dorotea lunged forward, the lurch allowing her to grab the end of the belt with her teeth before she had to snap back into place. She tugged, and all at once the prong popped free. It was easy after that to throw her arm about, the belt falling away with nothing to secure it.

“Yes!” No need to be quiet after all that; if Murphy hadn’t heard the crash of all of his equipment hurling to the floor then he wouldn’t hear her squeaks. She undid the rest of her bindings with her free hand and pulled the needles from her arm with a gasp.

Using the IV stand as a support, Dorotea hobbled towards the counter, her gnarled feet unable to feel the splinters. There were more loud bangs in the distance. She collapsed against the counter, her numbing hands reaching for a collection of rags. She stuffed one in her mouth, poured alcohol over another, and bit back a scream as she disinfected her wounds. As well as she could on herself, she bound the bleeding gashes on her arms and her ankles. Murphy had bandaged the hole in her hand, so there had to be some actual medical supplies somewhere, but Dorotea didn’t want to waste precious seconds looking.

Something tapped against her shoulder. “Hey.”

Dorotea screamed like the devil had found her, scrambling back against the counter and blindly grabbing at a beaker to throw.

“Woah!” Farah stepped back, her hands raised in surrender. “Easy, cher. I’m here to get you out.”

“Farah?” Dorotea shakily set the beaker down and reached out.

She laughed as Dorotea’s hands pinched at her cheeks. “All real. I’d tell you that I’m a symptom of your blood loss, but I think you’d actually die on me if I did.” The vampire seemed uninjured, though her usually sparkling eyes were dulled.

“Are you hurt? Is that-” Dorotea winced as a metallic screech echoed through the air. “Is everyone here?”

“We’re fine… mostly. Adam, Morgan, and Nate are taking on Murphy while I get you outta here.”

A spark of hope ignited in Dorotea’s chest. “They’re bringing him in now?”

Farah coughed into her hand. “It’s a work in progress. He’s pretty strong, stronger than any vampire I’ve ever run into. Nate thought he might have-“ she waved vaguely at Dorotea, “-you know, but-“

Dorotea grimaced, a foul taste settling in her mouth. “He did.” She raised her pockmarked hand. “But he barely drank anything. Is it really that bad?”

The expression on Farah’s face said it all. “We should really go,” she insisted, carefully taking hold of Dorotea’s arm. “Adam did that thing with his jaw when he told me to get you, so you know he’s serious.”

“Wait.” Farah could have lifted her off if she pleased, but she humored Dorotea when she grabbed at the counter. “Three agents are already getting their asses kicked? You need to go back and help them!”

“What we need is your blood as far away from Murphy as possible,” Farah countered, uncharacteristically sober. “The last thing we need is for him to get any more of you.”

There was a strong logic there, but Dorotea couldn’t get her stomach to settle. If they didn’t subdue Murphy here (or if, God forbid, he killed an already weakened member of Unit Bravo), he would escape. The cycle would repeat in small town after small town, a mindless Dorotea in tow. “You used fire as an example when I woke up at the Agency bunker.”

Farah blinked and shifted her weight. “Huh?”

“I have resistance to supernatural powers, but a fireball will still burn me, yes?” Dorotea grabbed the last bit of rubbing alcohol and poured it into a beaker with a thin neck. Then she threw some of the cupboards open, knocking their contents over as she searched. “It was a specific example. I’m guessing you have experience with that?”

“Oh, yeah. Back in the Echo World.” Farah winced as she recalled the memory. “Hurt like a bitch. Took a full day for my skin to grow back.”

“I need dish soap or something like that. Please,” Dorotea added when Farah continued to blink at her. The vampire bounced into action, throwing the remaining cupboards open with abandon. “So fire is enough to incapacitate you without killing, right?”

Farah handed her a tiny plastic bottle half filled with soap. “Yeah, but why…” She trailed off, watching as Dorotea squirted some of the soap into the beaker, swirled it around, and stuffed one of her used rags into the neck. Her mouth rounded. “Oh!”

Dorotea tapped her fingernail against the unlit Molotov cocktail. “You need to get back to your team. You take this and light it when you’re ready, but you have to be careful of-“

She was being pulled forward before she could finish, the whiplash almost sliding the bottle from her grasp. Dorotea cradled it to her chest as Farah pulled her into the dark. The wooden roof sloped lower, feeling like it was about to graze the top of her head. They wove through the support pillars, careful not to trip over the gnarled cart tracks. The solid thunk below their feet suddenly changed to a hollow echo.

Seconds after they started to move, the wall behind them exploded open. Murphy shook splinters and snow from his hair. He stared down at the collapsed pile of furniture where Dorotea had just been bound. “Detective!” he bellowed.

“Shit!” Farah turned abruptly to the side, following a branching set of tracks. The ever-narrowing corridor opened up into a wide room. Farah unceremoniously threw her behind a group of rotting canisters and kept going.

She flew into the ground a moment later, her teeth plowing into the decaying wood. Murphy sat on her back, his hand fisted in her hair. “Another one of you?”

Dorotea pressed her back against the rusting metal, one hand clamped over her mouth to silence her breathing.

“Let her go!” Nate emerged from the corridor Farah and Dorotea had just run through. The shadows swirl towards him, obscuring everything but his glowing eyes.

Movement flashed, and two figures sped towards Farah. Murphy caught Adam’s lightening fast fist in his palm without even looking. He held down, and using Adam’s inertia, rolled onto his back and kicked him up into the ceiling. With Morgan he just ducked to the side, blowing off her attack entirely, before striking the flat of his hand against her chest. She sailed back, her back colliding with one of the pillars just beside Dorotea. Dust rained down and caked in her hair.

Morgan coughed, small droplets of blood flying onto the floor, but she just wiped her mouth and shakily got to her feet. She tensed slightly, gray eyes trained straight on Murphy, refusing to look at Dorotea. Nate jumped in to give Farah an opening to wiggle free, but Murphy picked her up by her ankle and swung her into him with a gleeful laugh.

Praying that Morgan was just purposefully trying not to draw Murphy’s attention, Dorotea removed the hand from her mouth and made a snapping motion with her thumb, brushing it over the knob of her pointer finger. The corner of Morgan’s mouth pulled down ever slightly, but she reached into her jacket pocket as she strode forward, tossing something metallic aside before she leapt back into the fray.

Dorotea scrambled for the lighter, the filigree worn under her fingertips. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Morgan and Adam had a grip on one of Murphy’s arms, veins straining against their skin as they fought to hold on. Nate dove low, throwing his whole body weight against his legs. As Murphy toppled over head-first, helped by Adam’s hand pushing against his back, Farah appeared out of nowhere, a flash of light in her hand. She drove the stun gun into his neck.

Murphy convulsed, and Adam reached for something in his pocket. Before he could grab whatever it was, Murphy threw him off with a roar. Adam recovered quickly as the rest flew back. He jumped forward, sweat glistening on his brow as he cracked his fist across Murphy’s jaw. He did it again and again, technique thrown to the wind as the desire to maim took hold. His knuckles bled, occasionally cut as they came into contact with Murphy’s fangs, but they knit themselves back into raw new skin before the next strike.

Taking advantage of the onslaught, Dorotea crawled around the edge of the room, careful to always stay behind a rusted barrel or a crumbling mine cart. This was a coal mine, she was more than certain. It probably had been out of service for over a century. She ran a finger over the side of the cart she sheltered behind, frowning as soot coated her fingers. Maybe it was just dirt or mold or whatever had taken hold of the structure, but there was a decent chance that coal dust might be in the air, especially now that the vampires had rammed into every available surface.

For a wonderful moment, Murphy staggered, but then he caught Adam’s wrist and turned. The snap of bones echoed through the room, and Adam bit back a scream as his arm bent in the middle at a perfect ninety degree angle, the glint of bone protruding from his pale skin. Nate dove in the middle with a shaft of rusted metal as Adam pulled himself free, interrupting a strike that would have caved the side of Adam’s skull in. The gasp that escaped from Dorotea’s mouth was entirely involuntary, and she quickly stuffed her fist into her mouth as she caught sight of Murphy’s vicious smile. Morgan and Farah attacked at once, both wielding chains that they had found somewhere in the structure as Adam took hold of his arm, clenched his jaw, and wrenched it back to the correct angle.

They were losing, Dorotea realized. Badly. Murphy turned the chain onto Morgan, sinking the hook at the end deep into her calf. Adam’s injured arm slowly wriggled itself back together, but his knuckles remained bloody, refusing to heal. Nate and Farah panted as they danced back and forth in perfect coordination, pestering Murphy so his attention wasn’t on the healing vampires. Farah ducked out of the way as Murphy hurled a jagged timber at her, almost turning ethereal as it breezed past her head, but it caught Nate in the shoulder, pulling him back and impaling him against one of the columns. Murphy rolled his shoulders, eyes peeled for what direction Farah might emerge from.

But, fuck, Murphy had staggered once. He looked untouched, the only indication that he was caught in a battle for his life the debris that littered his mane of hair. But if Dorotea focused she could swear that he was favoring his left leg a little more as he turned in easy circles, ready to pounce. Or maybe she was just praying she did. Either way, he was getting weaker, she had to believe it. But Unit Bravo wouldn’t survive long enough for her blood to leave his system.

She held the lighter with white knuckles. No, she couldn’t light it in here. If there was fine coal dust in the air then, well, you didn’t need Dorotea’s understanding of reactions to know how awful that would be, not if you were from a coal town. It might not prove fatal to Murphy or Unit Bravo, but it would be to her, and the goal was to leave here with her flesh still on her bones. Maybe they could take out some columns, collapse the roof, try to trap him underneath. Or maybe they could lead him outside far away from the swirling black powder in the air. But how to communicate that without giving it away?

Bored of waiting, Murphy picked up a splinter of wood and stalked towards Nate, who was still nailed to the pillar. His shoulder had started to heal around the wood, trapping himself as he struggled to pull himself free. “As the first witnesses of my achievement, I’m truly sorry to say that I can’t let you leave here. Don’t worry, you won’t be the last.” Morgan growled and surged forward before crashing to the ground, her leg buckling beneath her as her slashed tendons attempted to heal. Some structure looked to have returned to Adam’s arm, but it still hung limply as he scrambled forward, eyes wide.

Dorotea had to do something. She had to light it. No, no, that would just injure everyone, Unit Bravo more than anyone. She needed to flee before he realized that she was still here. But she couldn’t just abandon them! What should she do, what-

“It’s me.” Farah’s hand clamped firmly over Dorotea’s mouth. She let go only when Dorotea relaxed. “I’ll take these. You get out of here. Run and don’t look back.”`

Dorotea allowed the lighter and bottle to be pulled from her grasp as Murphy poked the edge of the stake right above Nate’s heaving chest. With a thunderous cry, Adam charged, tackled Murphy, and sunk his teeth into Murphy’s shoulder.

Everything happened so fast. Morgan managed to get to Nate and pulled the wood free from his body. Farah disappeared, the raised hairs on Dorotea’s neck the only indication that she had been there. Adam and Murphy rolled around, hissing and biting and spraying blood in all directions. Dorotea needed to move, and she tried, but Adam’s injured arm could only hold on for so long. Murphy shoved him off, Adam taking a massive chunk of flesh with him, and for the first time something akin to worry entered his expression.

Blood pooled at his feet as Murphy staggered away, drenching his clothes. His whole left shoulder was gone, leaving only jagged chunks of meat and visible bone. More gore splashed out with every breath. All color drained from his face.

His red eyes turned on Dorotea.

“No!” Terror gripped her throat as she tried to fling herself back. Murphy raced forward with blinding speed, his sticky viscera splattering across Dorotea’s face. She pushed her arm out, to hit him or push him or whatever instinct tried to do, but Murphy grabbed her elbow and pulled her forward. Dorotea could only release the contents of her lungs as Murphy sank his teeth into her neck and ripped.

Every last bit of pride, confidence, and hope tore themselves from Adam’s heart as he watched Murphy bite into the Detective. Her eyes immediately went glassy, and he prayed that shock might dull whatever agonizing pain she was feeling right now. The glistening hole that had been Murphy’s shoulder filled in, first supple muscle and then pink flesh, until he was fully healed, looking just as he had when they had first engaged him. He held her there for what seemed like an eternity as Adam’s aching body struggled to respond.

The progress to his arm had halted, paused when Murphy had wrenched himself free. He spat bitter blood from his mouth and ignored the burning tingle of his nerves. Now Murphy was just drinking, but if he surged in and ripped him away…

Movement in the corner of his eye. Farah held a clear bottle and Morgan’s lighter for some reason. It wasn’t until they made eye contact did he notice the rag stuffed in it. He understood, the bond of years of fighting together stronger and quicker than any set of words. Adam pulled the syringe of DMB from his pocket and held it out. Someone, Nate, from the feel of his fingertips, snatched it and dashed away.

He raced forward the moment Murphy pulled away with a sickening squelch, his wide smile coated in scarlet. Blood spurted from the two long gashes across the Detective’s neck as she started to fall, all strength sucked out of her. Murphy widened his stance, confidence buzzing through every one of his movements as he braced for Adam’s attack.

It never came. Adam dove low, scooping the Detective’s ragdoll body into his arms before she could hit the floor. The lighter clicked, and Adam could hear a distinctly Farah “Ha!” as she lobbed the Molotov cocktail with all of her might.

The glass shattered against the side of Murphy's face. Adam only had a second to revel in the sight of sticky globs of fire catching his skin alight before the very air exploded.

Reflex kept his arms wrapped tight around the Detective as they crashed through the walls and erupted into the crisp night. They hung for a second before his stomach lurched and gravity pulled them down; the part of the coal plant they had jumped from raised on stilts. They rolled through the snow. It soothed the burning blisters of his back, steam rising from his skin as they came to a halt.

Adam was certain that Morgan and Nate had sheltered beforehand, probably privy to Farah’s plan precious seconds before he was. Another explosion rocked the building, this time at a structure built directly into the hillside, as Adam wondered where there was to even shelter. Then all thought evaporated from his mind.

The Detective’s head was cradled to his chest, just under his jaw. He pulled up, practically laying on top of her, his arms braced on either side of her head. Sweet rivers of nectar poured out from her neck, staining the snow.

Her teary eyes were frozen wide, staring at his gore stained mouth. Her breath came out in frantic, uneven gasps, blood bubbling over her lips and down her cheek. Smoldering holes dotted her clothing, exposing the growing blisters underneath to the elements. Her hands had a vice grip on the remains of his shirt, clutching it with a ferocity her frail body shouldn’t have been able to manage.

Centuries of training and discipline were the only things stopping him from collapsing his weight down on to her. They were only mere inches apart. Adam’s gums itched as his fangs grew, piercing his bottom lip. He could sink down into the tantalizing aroma, let it envelop him as he licked the trail of blood at the corner of her lips down to the gashes in her throat. He could bury his face in there and drink in a way he had denied himself for so long.

Adam wanted.

He lowered a fraction. The Detective gurgled and tried to wriggle without any success. Adam knew he had to stop the growing tide of red haloing her or she would be nothing but a husk, but an iron will was the only thing stopping him from giving into his impulses. If he moved, she would die in another way.

God, she probably thought he was Murphy. And why wouldn’t she, with the same bloody smile and hungry light in his eyes.

Adam was better than this, he had to be. After so many centuries of denying his every desire he had to be better than the human he once was. Not selfish, not prone to pitiful tantrums over greed and pride. He needed to close the floodgate in her neck.

The forest watched on in silence as the crackle of flames continued.

Plop. Plop.

A drop of water rolled from Adam’s forehead to the tip of his nose, and then another, until a torrent of rain beat against his steaming back. The storm pelted against the snow, driving it into the soil. The blood began to wash away.

That was all Adam needed. He ripped the shreds of his shirt off with one hand and pressed it against the ribbons of her neck, unsure whether the pressure was bruising or too light. “Detective?” He put his weight on his haunches and cupped her jaw with his free hand. She tried to jerk away. “It’s just me.” His voice grated against his throat, unused to words spoken so softly. “It’s Adam.”

Some clarity returned to her vision as she continued to choke on her own blood. “Detective, keep your eyes on me.” Her grasp around his arms loosened. “Detective? Dorotea?”

There was the sound of movement, and Adam spared a glance up for only a moment. Murphy tried to stomp through the snow, whole sections of his almost naked body burned black. A singed Morgan appeared from the shadows and tackled his legs. He hit the ground right as Nate emerged, the tip of the syringe shining like a star in the night. He mercilessly jabbed it into Murphy’s neck, the needle almost coming out the other side. Murphy convulsed, foam flecking his lips as Nate pushed the stopper down.

“Keep your eyes open,” Adam gently commanded when they threatened to flutter close. Dorotea continued to wheeze and gurgle, and Adam adjusted so that he blocked most of the rain from falling onto her face. “Focus on me and my voice, nothing else. You are going to be fine, Dorotea, alright? You will make it through this.”

He never stopped his coos and whispers, his thumb drawing circles into her round cheek. Anything to keep her awake and receptive. She shivered under his hands, growing colder by the second. The gray of Adam’s shirt was now fully dyed crimson.

Snow and leaves crunched behind him, barely audible over the rain and the sound of his own voice. There were shouts, but Adam refused to look at anything that wasn’t Dorotea’s weakening gaze. “Hold on. Hold on.”

He almost swung and shattered the knees of whoever touched his shoulder. “Don’t you-“ The Agency medic frowned down at him. Three more appeared with a stretcher. Adam hunched protectively over Dorotea, his hands never leaving her skin.

“Commanding Agent.” The three medics stayed a pace away, shifting their weight warily. The one touching his shoulder lowered their tone. “She needs treatment. Now.”

With great effort, Adam unfurled from her. He held her neck even as she was lifted up, his fingers reaching out as she was whisked away into the back of an ambulance. Farah stood next to it, talking hurriedly with an agent, her whole front a myriad of festering burns. The crowd of agents parted as Nate and Morgan trudged through, a corpse-like Murphy hanging limply in between them, his knees dragging through the mud. They threw him into the back of an armored van with little ceremony.

Another SUV rolled up, almost colliding with a tree. Agent Langford fell out of the driver’s seat, her hair instantly turning dark under the rain. “Where is she?” she cried, her ankles wobbling as she tried to walk through the melting snow. Adam rose and caught her as she stumbled.

“The ambulance. Go,” Adam rasped, nodding his head towards the growing swarm of Agency vehicles. Agent Langford opened her mouth to argue, but he silenced her with a look. “Go. We’ll handle Murphy. She’ll need a familiar face.”

Agent Langford nodded, her teeth clamped down on her lip to keep it still. She ran back into the woods and disappeared into the back of the ambulance before it lumbered off into the trees.

“We did it,” Nate breathed beside him, the smile apparent in his voice, “How is she?”

The rain dotted Adam’s eyelashes as he watched the space where Dorotea laid, her outline apparent in the slush.

He didn’t answer.

#blood magic woohoo!#also yaya last chap before the epilogue :D #this serious is over 60k words now. what #twc #dont wake the ancients #dorotea langford #my writing

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