Betrayed (Book # 3 in the Vampire Journals) Page 2

  As Kyle approached, all of the soldiers tensed up. Several of them raised their machine guns and pointed them at him.

  There was a perimeter of no cars or people a good hundred feet away from the tanks, one which no one seemed willing to cross.

  But Kyle happily crossed the line, walking right into the open space, right towards the tank.

  “Freeze!” a soldier yelled through a megaphone. “Do NOT come any further! We WILL shoot on sight!”

  Kyle smiled wider as he kept marching, right towards the tank.

  “I said FREEZE!” the soldier screamed again. “This is your LAST warning! There is a curfew in effect. We have orders to fire on anyone at night!”

  Kyle grinned even wider.

  “I own the night,” he answered.

  Kyle continued towards them, and suddenly, they opened fire. Dozens and dozens of soldiers fired their machine guns right at Kyle and his men.

  Kyle felt the pain of all the bullets ricocheting off him. One after the other, they all bounced off his chest and arms and head and legs. They felt like raindrops, but stronger. He smiled at the thought of these pathetic human weapons.

  Kyle saw the horrified expressions on the soldiers’ faces, as they began to realize that he was unfazed. They clearly couldn’t fathom how he was still walking. Or how any of his followers were, too.

  But they didn’t have time to react. Kyle walked right up to the closest tank, got under it, placed both hands under the treads, and with superhuman strength, lifted it way above his head. He walked several feet, carrying the tank above his head, and came to the railing of the bridge. Several soldiers, off balance, fell off the tank as he walked. But dozens of others clung to it, grabbing hold of the metal, trying to hold on at any cost.

  Big mistake.

  Kyle took three running steps, hoisted the tank back, and threw it for all he was worth.

  The tank went flying through the air, dozens of feet, clearing the railing’s edge.

  It was airborne over the Brooklyn Bridge, plummeting down hundreds of feet towards the river. The tank turned and turned, and soldiers screamed as they fell off of it, plummeting. It finally hit the water with a massive splash.

  Suddenly, the traffic jam came to life. Without any hesitation, the anxious New Yorkers stepped on the gas, and their cars sped through the now-open lane onto the bridge. Within seconds, hundreds of cars were racing out of Manhattan. Kyle looked at their faces as they went, and could see that many were already infected with the plague.

  Kyle grinned wide. This was going to be a beautiful night.

  THREE

  Samantha watched the massive double doors open up before her, creaking as they went, and felt a pit in her stomach. She walked into her leader’s chambers, accompanied by several vampire guards. They were not restraining her—they would never dare—but they did accompany her closely, and the message was clear. She was still one of them, but she was under house arrest, at least until she’d had this meeting with Rexius. He summoned her as a soldier, but he was also summoning her as a prisoner.

  The doors closed with a crash behind her, and she saw that the huge chamber was filled. She had not seen a turnout like this in years. There were hundreds of her fellow vampires in the room. Clearly, they all wanted to watch, to know the news, what had happened with the Sword. How she had let it slip away.

  Most of all, they likely wanted to see her punished. They knew that Rexius was an unforgiving leader, and that even the smallest mistake demanded punishment. A transgression of this magnitude would demand an extravagant punishment.

  Samantha knew that. She was not trying to escape her fate. She had accepted a mission, and she had failed. She had found the Sword, yes, but she had also lost it. She had allowed Kyle and Sergei to steal it out from under her.

  It all would have been perfect. She clearly remembered the Sword, sitting there, on the floor of the King’s Chapel, in the aisle, just feet from her grasp. She was only seconds away from having it, from fulfilling her mission, from being the hero of their coven.

  And then Kyle, and that awful sidekick of his, Sergei, had to come marching in, knocking her out, stealing it from her grasp. It was unfair. How could she have expected that?

  And now, what was she? The villain. The one who let the Sword go. The one who failed the mission. Oh yes, there would be hell to pay. She was sure of that.

  All she wanted now was for Sam to be safe. He had been knocked out, unconscious, and she had carried him away, had taken him all the way back here. She’d wanted him close. She wasn’t ready to let him go, and she didn’t know where else to bring him. She had snuck in, and had stored him safely, way underground, in an empty chamber in their coven. No one had seen her, at least as far as she knew. He would be safe in there, away from the prying eyes of these vampires. She would report to Rexius, suffer her punishment, and afterwards, she would wait until daybreak, when everyone was asleep, and she would escape with Sam.

  Of course, she couldn’t just escape outright. She’d have to report back first, to suffer her punishment, or else her coven would hunt her down, and she would be on the run for the rest of her life. Once she was punished, no one would pursue them. Then she could take Sam, and they could flee far from here, and settle down somewhere. Just the two of them.

  She hadn’t expected the boy, Sam, to grab hold of her feelings the way he had. When she thought of her priorities now, she thought of him first. She wanted to be with him. She needed to be with him. In fact, as crazy as it sounded, even to herself, she could no longer picture life without him. She was furious at herself. She did not know how she had let it reach this point. An infatuation with a teenage boy. Much less, a human. She hated herself for it. But it was what it was. There was no use trying to change the way she felt.

  The thought of this gave her strength, as she slowly approached Rexius’ throne, preparing for her sentence. She would undergo indescribable pain, she knew that, but the thought of Sam would keep her strong throughout it. She would have something to go back to. And Sam would be protected, spared from all of this. That was what made it all bearable.

  But would he love her after she had undergone the punishment? If she knew Rexius, he would reserve the Ioric acid treatment for her, would scar her face as best as he possibly could. She may lose the best part of her looks afterwards. Would Sam still love her? She hoped that he would.

  A hush descended over the chamber, as the hundreds of vampires edged in closer, eager to see the exchange. Samantha took several steps closer to Rexius, and got down on one knee, bowing her head.

  Rexius, just feet away, stared down from his throne, his harsh, icy blue eyes piercing right through her. He stared at her for what felt like several minutes, although Samantha knew it was probably only seconds. She kept her head down. She knew better than to ever meet his gaze.

  “So,” Rexius began, his gravelly voice cutting through the air, “the chicken comes home to roost.”

  Several more minutes of silence followed, as he studied Samantha. She knew better than to try to explain herself in any way. She just kept her head bowed low.

  “I sent you on a very simple mission,” he continued. “After the failures of Kyle, I needed someone I could trust. My most valuable soldier. You had never let me down before, not in thousands of years,” he said, staring. “But in this, this one simple mission, you have somehow managed to fail. And to fail miserably.”

  Samantha lowered her head again.

  “So. Tell me exactly what happened to the Sword. Where is it?”

  “My master,” she began slowly, “I tracked down the girl. Caitlin. And Caleb. I found them both. And I found the Sword. I even got Caitlin to release it. It was on the floor, just feet from my grasp. In but a few seconds, it surely would have been in my grasp, for me to bring back to you.”

  Samantha swallowed.

  “I could not have foreseen what happened next. I was surprised, attacked by Kyle–”

  A loud murmur erupted throu
ghout the room of vampires.

  “Before I could grab the Sword,” she continued, “Kyle had already taken it. He fled from the church, and there was nothing I could do. I tried to find him, but he was long gone. The Sword is now in his possession.”

  An even louder murmur spread throughout the room. The anxiety in the room was palpable.

  “SILENCE!” screamed a voice.

  Slowly, the murmur died down.

  “So,” Rexius began, “after all that, you let Kyle take the Sword. You practically handed it to him.”

  Samantha knew better, but she couldn’t contain herself. She had to say something in her defense. “My master, there was nothing I could do—”

  Rex interrupted her by simply shaking his head. She dreaded that gesture. It meant bad things were to follow.

  “Thanks to you, I must now prepare for two wars. This pathetic war with the humans, and now a war with Kyle.”

  A heavy silence blanketed the room, and Samantha felt her punishment was imminent. She was ready to accept it. She held fast in her mind the image of Sam, and the fact that they could not absolutely kill her. They would never do that. There would be a life after this, some kind of a life, and Sam would be in it.

  “I have a very special punishment reserved for you I,” Rexius said slowly, breaking into a slow grin.

  Samantha heard the wide double doors open behind her, and she turned to see.

  Her heart dropped.

  There, being dragged in by two vampires, chained by feet and hands, was Sam.

  They had found him.

  He was gagged, and as much as he squirmed and tried to make a noise, he couldn’t. His eyes opened wide in shock and fear. They dragged him to the side of the room, chains rattling, and held him firmly, forcing him to watch.

  “It seems you have not only lost the Sword, but have also developed an affection for a human, despite every rule of our race,” Rexius said. “Your punishment, Samantha, will be to watch suffer that which you hold dearest to you. I can sense that that which is dearest to you is not yourself. It is this boy. This pathetic, little, human boy. Very well,” he said, leaning closer, grinning. “Then that is how you will be punished. We will put this boy through horrific pain.”

  Samantha’s heart pounded in her chest. This was something she had not foreseen, and something she could not let happen. At any cost.

  She sprang into action, leaping in the direction of Sam’s attendants. She managed to reach one, kicking him hard in the chest. He went flying backwards.

  But before she could attack the other, several vampires were on her, grabbing her, pinning her down. She struggled with all she had, but there were just too many of them, and she could not match the strength of all those vampires at once.

  She watched helplessly as several vampires dragged Sam forward, towards the center of the room. They positioned him on the spot—the exact spot reserved for those undergoing the high Ioric acid treatment. On a vampire, the punishment was indescribably painful. It scarred for life.

  On a human, though, the pain would be incalculable, and the punishment meant a certain, horrific death. They were leading Sam to his execution. And they were forcing her to watch.

  Rexius grinned even wider, as Sam was chained down on the spot. As Rexius nodded, one of the attendants tore the tape from his mouth.

  Sam immediately looked for Samantha, fear in his eyes.

  “Samantha!” he yelled. “Please! Save me!”

  Samantha, despite herself, burst into tears. There was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do.

  Six vampires rolled forward a huge, iron cauldron, bubbling and hissing, mounted at the top of a ladder. They put it in position, right over Sam’s head.

  Sam looked up at it.

  And the last thing he saw was the liquid leaving the cauldron, bubbling and hissing, and heading right for his face.

  FOUR

  Caitlin was running. The field of flowers climbed as high as her waist, and as she ran, she cut a path right through it. The sun, blood-red, sat as a huge ball on the horizon.

  Standing with his back to the sun, on the horizon, was her father. Or at least, his silhouette. His features were unrecognizable, but she knew that it was him.

  As Caitlin ran and ran, desperate to finally see him, to embrace him, the sun sank quickly, too quickly. Everything happened too fast, and within seconds, the sun had disappeared completely.

  She found herself running through the field in the middle of the night. Her father was still there, waiting. She felt that he wanted her to run faster, that he wanted to embrace her. But her legs would only run so fast, and no matter how hard she tried, he seemed to just get further away.

  As she ran, the moon suddenly rose over the horizon—a huge, blood-red moon, filling the entire sky. Caitlin could see all the details on it, the indents, the craters. It was crystal clear. Her father stood, a silhouette against it, and as she tried to run even faster, it seemed as if she were running towards the very moon itself.

  But it wasn’t working. Suddenly, her legs and feet were not moving at all. She looked down, and saw that the flowers had twisted themselves around her ankles and legs, and were morphing into vines. They were so thick, and strong, soon she could not move at all.

  As she watched, a huge snake slithered towards her, through the field. She tried to struggle, to get away, but she was helpless. All she could do was watch as it approached. As it got closer, it leapt into the air, lunging right for her throat. She turned and screamed, and felt its long fangs pierce her throat. The pain was horrific.

  Caitlin woke with a start, sitting upright in bed and breathing hard. She reached for her throat, and felt the two hardening scars. For a moment, she confused her dream with reality, and looked about the room for a snake. There was none.

  She rubbed her throat. The wound still hurt, but not as much as it had in the dream. She breathed deeply.

  Caitlin was covered in a cold sweat, her heart still pounding. She wiped her face and the sides of her temples, and could feel her cold, wet hair sticking to her. How long had it been since she’d bathed? Washed her hair? She couldn’t remember. How long had she been lying there? And where, exactly, was she?

  Caitlin looked all about the room. It was the same place she remembered from some time ago—was it from a dream, or was she awake here at some point before? The room was entirely made of stone, and had one tall, arched window, through which she could see the night sky, and the enormous full moon, its light pouring in.

  She sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed her forehead, trying to remember. As she did, she was struck by a horrible pain in her side. She reached down, and felt the scab of a wound. She tried to remember what it was from. Had someone attacked her?

  Caitlin thought hard, and slowly, but surely, the details flooded back. Boston. The Freedom Trail. The King’s Chapel. The sword. Then…being attacked. Then…

  Caleb. He had been there, looking down at her. She had felt her world slipping away, and she had asked him. Turn me, she had pleaded.…

  Caitlin raised her hands and felt the two marks on the side of her throat, and she knew that he had listened.

  That explained everything. Caitlin stood with a start, with the realization. She had been turned. She had been taken somewhere, probably for recovery, probably under Caleb’s watchful gaze. She tested her arms and legs, twisted her neck, tested her body….

  She felt different, that was for sure. She was not herself anymore. She felt unlimited strength coursing through her. A desire to run, to sprint, to break through walls, to leap into the air. She also felt something else: two slight bulges on her back, behind her shoulder blades. Very subtle, but she knew they were there. Wings. She knew, she felt, that if she wanted to fly, they would open up for her.

  Caitlin fell intoxicated by her newfound strength. She wanted desperately to test it. She felt so cooped up—she had no idea how long she had been here—and she wanted to see what this new life could be like. She also fel
t something else that was new: a sense of recklessness. A sense that she could not die. That she could make stupid mistakes, that she had infinite lives to play with. She wanted to push things to the edge.

  Caitlin turned and looked out the window, at the night sky. The window was shaped in a wide arch, with no glass, and was open to the elements. The sort of thing one might see in an old, medieval cloister.

  In the past, the old, human Caitlin would have hesitated, would have thought about what she was about to do, would have second-guessed herself. But the re-born Caitlin felt no hesitation. Practically the second after she thought it, she took off at a sprint, right for it.

  With just a few short strides, Caitlin jumped up onto the window sill and dove out into the open air.

  Some part of her, some instinct, told her that once she was airborne, her wings would sprout. If she were wrong, it would mean a serious plummet, hundreds of feet down to the earth. But the re-born Caitlin didn’t feel as if she could ever be wrong.

  And she wasn’t. As Caitlin leapt out into the night, her wings sprouted out from behind her shoulder blades, and she felt the exhilarating thrill of flying, of gliding through the air. She was delighted to feel how wide and long her wings were, thrilled to feel the fresh, night air washing over her face, hair, and body. It was nighttime, but the moon was so full and so big, it lit up the night almost as if it were day.

  Caitlin looked down and was afforded a bird’s-eye view. She had sensed water, and she had been right. She was on an island. All around her, in every direction, there stretched a huge, beautiful river, its waters very still and lit up by the moonlight. It was the widest river she had ever seen. And there, in the middle of it, was the tiny island on which she’d slept. A small island, hardly more than a few dozen acres, one end of it was dominated by a crumbling, Scottish castle, half in ruin. The rest of the island was completely consumed by a thick forest.

  As Caitlin flew in the air, up and down on the wind currents, turning and swooping and diving, she circled the island again. The castle was huge, magnificent. Parts of it were crumbling, but other parts, those hidden from outside view, in the interior, were perfectly intact. There were inner courtyards and outer courtyards, ramparts, turrets, winding staircases, and acres and acres of gardens. It was large enough to hold a small army.