FicWad

Beckett waved a hand lazily towards a chair, indicating that Pete should sit. Instead of taking a seat, Pete’s eyes remained firmly fixed on Beckett’s arm. One corner of Beckett’s mouth curled up as he noticed Pete’s fixed and glazed stare.

“Are you hungry, Peter?”

Looking up at the one he called ‘Master’, Pete nodded vigorously. Despite his strength, it hadn’t been a simple task escaping from the cage and he had been forced to wait until he knew that both Andy and Joe had been asleep so that the noise of him breaking the lock would go unheard. Once out of the cage, he had had a number of choices but the one he had chosen surprised him. He had fled the warehouse and set off in search of Beckett’s mansion. That wasn’t the part that confused him; after turning Patrick, that was always going to be his ultimate destination. No, what confused him more than anything was what he didn’t do. In the warehouse, alone in his bedroom, Andy slept soundly in his bed. In Patrick’s office, Joe lay slumped over Patrick’s books. Also in his own bedroom, Patrick lay chained and helpless.
As Pete thought more about it, within easy reach in the warehouse, there were two perfectly satisfactory meals and a present for his master. Why hadn’t he taken advantage? He had simply fled and sought shelter through the day in an abandoned mausoleum in the cemetery near Beckett’s mansion.

Pete tried to rationalise it, but knew that he couldn’t. If he had told Beckett that he had the opportunity to kill two hunters and passed it over, the torture would begin again in a mere blink of an eye. It seemed highly unlikely that Beckett would believe he had simply been anxious to escape and return.

Pete was desperately hungry. He had given the bulk of his blood back to Patrick in order to turn him. He had not fed afterwards, although, he did have a vague recollection of trying to do so, but couldn’t remember any of the details. The period of time around the turning had been a complete blur and he had recalled nothing. He realised that he must either have passed out, or been rendered unconscious in some way, but the details were lost to him. Waking hours later to find himself locked inside the cage with his wrists and ankles fastened in chains had come as something of a shock to him. It had taken him almost twenty minutes to free himself.

And what of Patrick? Surely he would have made a fine gift for his master? Although Patrick was awake and able to raise the alarm, Pete knew he could have easily overpowered his new fledgling vampire. Then what? Take him to Beckett? Let Beckett see that a physically capable, but young vampire had turned a human without permission? It was… unthinkable! Before he had left all that time ago, he had seen the consequences when a junior vampire had tried to turn a human. It hadn’t worked; the young vampire was simply not strong enough to do it. The effort had taken its toll on him and by the time he had been found, the human was dead and the vampire insane, screaming and foaming at the mouth.

Beckett had killed the young vampire… eventually. Although, it had been a mercy killing, it had not come immediately. Despite the junior member’s obvious new-found insanity, the angry coven leader had decided not to make his final exit from the world a graceful or painless one. By the time Beckett had finished torturing him, there hadn’t been much left to kill.

In addition to this, for Pete to have to say that the remaining hunters were still alive! Pete’s disorientated mind struggled with the ‘what if’ scenarios. If he was prepared to be honest, at least with himself, he had no idea why he had let them go, but he had and now, somehow, he had to hide that fact. The intense search of his mind hadn’t revealed it, almost certainly because Beckett wasn’t looking for that sort of information. Neither had he asked. And Pete had no intention of volunteering any information about the others and why they were still alive – it was easily the safest option.

Pete watched, hungrily, ravenous, almost salivating, as Beckett took a seat and gestured for Pete to kneel next to him. Unfastening the cufflinks that adorned his shirtsleeve, Beckett, pulled the crisp white cotton away from his wrist and offered it to Pete.

Hesitating for only a moment, Pete cupped Beckett’s hand in his own and moved his head toward the wrist, extending his fangs as he did. Sinking his razor sharp teeth into Beckett’s soft skin on the inside of his arm, Pete’s eyes nearly rolled back in their sockets as the strong, powerful blood flooded his mouth. Only a few mouthfuls would have been enough to sate Pete’s desperate thirst, but Beckett allowed him to continue.

“Drink,” Beckett encouraged. “Regain your strength. I have an important task for you.”

*

Andrea’s head snapped up as her mind suddenly cleared. Fighting Beckett’s control over her had become almost a full-time occupation for her sub-conscious mind. Yes, he had found it easy enough to take control of her conscious mind and if he had given her the right amount of credit for the level of independence and strength she possessed, then he would have made the extra effort to control her sub-conscious mind too.

She had no idea what had done it, but Beckett was distracted, somehow weakened and for the first time since he had stared deep into her eyes and exerted his power relinquishing her of her free will, she finally felt in control of her own thoughts.

Vaguely, she remembered William telling her that the others had escaped, leaving her with him. If that were true, then she only had herself to worry about, but she fully intended to make damn sure she found out why they had left her there.

William appeared to have underestimated her a great deal. She had no idea how old he was, knowing that his youthful good looks were eternal, but as the head of a large and feared coven, he must have been very powerful. She herself could attest to the extent some of that power. So, maybe that made him old, possibly even a hundred years or more? Perhaps in his day, women weren’t allowed minds of their own? From what she had seen, all his coven members were male and all very handsome. Perhaps he didn’t believe she could fight back? Perhaps, and was more likely the case, the question hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Reaching for the door handle, she found herself surprised when she could actually turn it. She opened the door gently, allowing herself a small smile as she stepped through into the corridor.

“Miss Logan.”

Andrea gasped in surprise at the sound of the voice. Looking to her right, she was surprised to see Spencer waiting in the corridor, leaning on the balcony rail almost opposite her room.

“Spencer,” she hesitated as she tried to think of something to say. To all intent and purpose, she was a prisoner and while she had been under William’s control, she had been a willing one, but no longer. The question was, was she to be treated as one? “I was hoping to see William,” she lied.
“William will call for you when he wants you,” Spencer replied dryly. “Has he called?”
“No,” Andrea replied quietly. There was something very intimidating about Spencer. He looked like the cat that got the cream and was fully determined not to spill a drop.
“Then you can’t see him,” Spencer returned abruptly with a slight wave of his hand indicating that she should return to her room.

She hated his arrogance.

“Am I allowed to walk the grounds?”
“No,” he replied quickly, not bothering to consider the question.
“I’m William’s prisoner?”
Spencer frowned deeply at the question. “No, you’re his guest.”
“Then why are you insisting that I stay in my room?” Andrea snapped back, trying to maintain the neutral attitude she knew she had felt when under control.

Spencer’s shoulders sagged. William wanted the human; he liked her. As much as Spencer privately ridiculed the idea, he could say nothing to risk his position.

“It’s not safe,” he offered an alternative reason.
“Why?” Andrea pushed. “You all know that I belong to William, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Spencer sighed; he could see where this was leading.
“And is there a single vampire here that would defy their master?”
“No.”
“Not even you, Spencer?”
“Especially not me,” Spencer returned.
“Then allow me to wander the grounds!”
“I told you, it’s not safe! And not from us, from hunters.”
“I’m not a vampire,” Andrea pushed again.
“Fine!” Spencer snapped, losing his temper. “I’ll call you an escort.”
“I don’t need…” Andrea began.
“It’s not a case of your needs,” Spencer explained. “William doesn’t want you left alone. I’m sure Ryan won’t mind showing you the gardens.”

*

“You know I’m going to have to sit up for this, don’t you?” Patrick reminded his friends, not taking his eyes off the large glass of pig’s blood blended with garlic and some Holy Water collected by Andy earlier in the day.

Andy and Joe exchanged glances and Andy shrugged. It was either remove some of the chains, or watch Patrick struggle not to tip the contents of the glass all over himself. Withdrawing a small key from his pocket as he stared at the complex arrangement of restraints, Andy finally worked out the fewest number of chains he could remove to allow Patrick to sit up and hold the glass.

“I’m not going to attack you,” Patrick finally sighed.
“Would you believe you?” Andy asked as he unlocked Patrick’s left hand and stepped quickly backwards.
“No,” the newly turned vampire agreed. “Probably not.”
“Andy, do we have to…”
“He’s right,” Patrick interrupted. “I haven’t had any blood yet and you don’t know how I’m going to react.”
“I think we’ve got a pretty good idea!” Joe’s exasperated tone was clear in his voice.
“Yeah, well, maybe,” Patrick agreed. “But even I’m not certain and 'a pretty good idea' won’t save your life if you’re wrong.”

Joe nodded. He was certain that Patrick wasn’t evil, despite, or maybe even because of what had happened when he had hugged him. A truly evil vampire wouldn’t have hesitated. Or so he preferred to believe, anyway.

Taking the shake from Joe’s hand and sitting somewhat awkwardly, Patrick put the blood to his lips and began to drink. By the time he reached the bottom of the glass, he felt better, calmer, more relaxed. Except for one thing.

“Do you always stare at people when they eat?” Patrick asked handing the glass back.

Both Joe and Andy were caught off guard. Neither had considered the question and had been transfixed at the sight of Patrick drinking blood. They didn’t know why, but somehow it was very different to Pete. Neither would Joe have managed to ask his next question of the perpetually surly Pete.

“What’s it like?” he asked with a slight crease of his brow, almost as if he were afraid to ask.
“It’s a lot like chicken,” Patrick replied with more than a hint of a smile.