Still, logically, I know he’s right. As much as I want to say fuck it and take my clothes off so he can fuck the living brains out of me, we came here for a reason. We have a mission we need to see through.
I need to distract myself, so I start counting down from a thousand in my mind. The four people have moved, now circling the altar and the man tied to it. No longer is he attempting to escape, his fight all but forgotten in lieu of a delirious expression.
I replay that night at the posh party, the way the dancing crowd looked just like this. I thought they were high or drunk, but now I’m not so sure anymore. I felt a little off too, which is why I was so happy when my friend said we were needed in the VIP area. I’d just managed to gather my scattered thoughts a bit when he disappeared.
The robed person who has their back to us takes off their hood. Lush blond hair cascades down their wide shoulder, shiny and regal. The two others, who are standing on the short sides of the altar, show their faces. Both of them have inky black hair neatly braided in a fishbone style, the fairest skin that gives them an ethereal look, and bright red eyes that seem to glow with hunger.
My heart hammers wildly in my chest as the fourth and last person, the one who holds the dagger, takes off their hood. I recognize that fiery hair immediately, the regal nose, the high cheekbones, the dark red gaze that seems to be burning. It’s Isidoro.
There’s a wild, crazed spark in his eyes as he takes in the restrained man, as he drags his gloved hand up the guy’s stomach. It pauses at the start of his neck, lingeringthere, rubbing, caressing fondly as if Isidoro just can’t help himself. His tongue pops out as he licks his lips, red and wet and mesmerizing.
I swallow, the whole thing somehow erotic. A lump forms in my throat, my stomach twisting into knots of anticipation or fear or both.
Isidoro smiles, whispering something to the chained man in Latin. His three companions repeat his strangely singsong words, creating that humming music which led me and Niko all the way here. Isidoro bends down, kisses the man’s forehead, then another whispered word and Isidoro plunges the dagger into the middle of the man’s chest. He doesn’t scream or cry out, just smiles.
Isidoro rolls his shoulders back and bares his teeth, hissing like a cat about to attack. His incisors glint in the candlelight, longer than the rest, menacing, dangerous.Unusual. And then they disappear as he sinks them into the side of the man’s neck while he makes an incision with an ominously sharp nail along the other side. Blood spurts out immediately—he must’ve hit an artery—painting everything crimson, the altar, the floors, the walls, the remaining three people as they lean down gracefully and suck on the red liquid while their victim smiles manically.
I gasp, my hands shooting up to silence my shock. Behind me, Niko goes rigidly still, frozen in fear or confusion just like I am. Because I can’t believe what I’m witnessing. This is impossible. What is this cultist shit? I must be hallucinating.
Except that I’m not, Niko’s hand reminds me, clasping my shoulder. His presence is solid and hot and equally speechless beside me. His face contorts in an attempt to comprehend the insanity before our eyes.
“Niko… what—”
Isidoro picks that moment to look up. His eyes, glowing in dark red, zero in on the door as if he suddenly knows we’ve been spying on his strange ritual. Blood drips from the corners of his lips, its coppery scent hitting my nostrils like a tsunami suddenly crashing into the shore.
Both Niko and I react in a heartbeat, ducking and taking cover to the right of the open door. Isidoro didn’t see us, did he? He couldn’t have. We hid lightning fast, and besides, he couldn’t have actually known we were here.
Right?
I close my eyes. My breathing has an unhealthy hitch to it, my lungs burns with fear and adrenaline. I seek out Niko’s warmth, placing my hand against his chest. He’s not faring any better, his heart racing like mad and his inhales and exhales coming in way too quickly. But despite that, he hugs me tightly, bringing his mouth to my ear.
“It will be fine, Tommy. I won’t let anything happen to you. But now, we need to ru—”
“I know you two are there,” Isidoro’s honeyed voice cuts Niko off, sounding way too close.
I rip out of Niko’s arms, stumbling backwards. Terror coats me from head to toe, absolute and unwelcome.
There he is. Isidoro. He’s standing opposite us, with his back propped against the wall on the other side of the door. He’s bloody, he’s still got that spark of crazy swimming in his gaze, and from this close, he looks like something not human.
“I imagine this might be shocking, and really, it’s not how I wanted things to go,” he says like it’s no big deal that we walked in on him and his cult murdering a person and drinking their blood. His incisors, weird and long and possibly deadly, make an appearance, maybe intentionally toscare us, or maybe not, because they look like they are kind of in the way when he speaks. “But if you let me explain—”
I grab the nearest object, a medium-sized porcelain vase that probably costs as much as a car, and throw it at him. It hits point-blank, shattering into a dozen pieces.
“Run, Tommy!” Niko bolts, pulling me by the hand. He’s back to his senses, no longer spacing out while trying to rationalize this.
I don’t hesitate, don’t dare look back. I run as fast as I can, clinging onto the feel of Niko’s hand. His heat, his determined grip, the sound of his ragged breathing. We run back the way we came, the corridors and rooms a passing blur as we race to escape our pursuer.
I take the stairs two at a time, doing my best to keep up even though my lungs are on fire. My legs try to give out a few times, protesting the merciless sprint, but I don’t let them surrender, because if they do, that human-disguised monster will catch me.
Flashes of the hellish night at the club try to slow me down, derailing me further. The resemblance to what I just witnessed is terrifying, the possibilities that it opens—nightmare fuel.
“Keep running, Tommy. Don’t give up now!”
Niko’s commanding voice is muffled, like he’s suddenly far far away even if his grip is still unrelenting. We climb another set of stairs, and this time I lose my footing, crashing my knee into the railing. The pain is sharp and bone-rattling, but Niko doesn’t let me fall. He loops an arm around me and catches me, hauling me over the last few steps until I am safely tucked against his chest.
“Fuck. Are you okay? Please, tell me you are fine.”
The blurriness clears for a moment as I inspect my knee. It hurts like a bitch when I press my fingers against it, but it’s not bleeding or broken. I can go on.
