Irene faded in and out of consciousness, often jerking awake just when she thought she could escape to oblivion. She licked her dry lips, tasting the salty tears that had rolled into the groove of her philtrum.

An eerie creek reached her ears. Light poured into the dim-lit room. Irene closed her eyes tight. She had no idea how much time passed. Several footsteps could be heard approaching.

“You certainly DO love your chains, don’t you?”

Irene opened her eyes to see Cyrus and Gabriel. The two men, standing side by side, were stark contrasts of each other. Gabriel, fair, tall, and well manicured. Cyrus, dark, petite, and rakish. Behind them were the red-haired twins that had guarded Irene and the other girls.

“It’s a shame dungeons have gone out of style,” Gabriel’s rich voice resonated. Cyrus approached her and made a show of examining her all while avoiding eye contact.

“You are lucky there is barely a scratch on her…”

Gabriel lifted his eyebrows.

"He cut off my finger!" Irene hissed.

Cyrus looked up, finally looking her in the eyes. She could not identify the expression he was wearing, but something in his gaze sent shivers down her spine. “Knowing Gabriel, that is barely a scratch.” He sharply turned to Gabriel, crossing his arms. “Well, then, let’s get this over with. What form of extraction do you propose?” Irene cringed. The word ‘extraction’ under the current circumstances brought a flood of unwanted and horrifying imagery. Gabriel’s twisted smirk amplified her dread. "I doubt you plan on letting either of us leave alive."

“Which begs the question, why did you come? Why risk yourself for her? You can always find another mare.”

“With such good breeding and training?” Cyrus drew closer to Irene, petting her cheek. She swallowed and fought the urge to turn away, instead staring straight ahead, through Cyrus. "As you can see, Gabriel isn't a horse person." Turning back to the blonde vampire, he placed his hands behind his back. “She keeps me amused. And as you know, I am all about the fun times.”

“Hm… fun times you say? Yes, I know all about your fun times.” Gabriel walked over, leaning in close to her. He breathed deeply in through his nostrils as if sniffing her, then stepped back again. “You haven't even ridden her, have you?” At this suggestion, Cyrus raised his eyebrows, and Irene squirmed. The vulgarity of the horse metaphors were even more uncomfortable than her aching arms and chafed wrists.

“It's not always wise to ride a horse before it has been properly broken." Cyrus responded dryly. "Besides, I like to save the best for last."

Gabriel chuckled. “Oh? Just how you saved Layla for last?" His grin spread as Cyrus's eye twitched, but the shorter vampire tried to maintain a cool demeanour. "Ah, that's right; she broke before you had a chance to have fun with her. Although a multitude of men did."

With the brevity of a switch being flicked, Cyrus’s nonchalance morphed to rage. Within a weary blink of Irene’s eyes, he had his hand at Gabriel's throat.

“Don’t you EVER speak of her that way again!” Cyrus growled in a guttural voice that Irene barely recognised.

With very little effort, Gabriel pried the smaller vampire's hand off his throat and threw him onto the floor. There was a sickening crack as flesh and bones hit pavement with unnatural force. After the sound of fingers snapping, the two men who had been on standby seized Cyrus's arms, hauling him to his feet. They held him back as he lunged forward like an angry dog at the end of a leash.

Gabriel fixed his collar. “Tisk tisk Cyrus, anger does not suit you well. Where is that charming smart ass we all know and adore?” He placed his hands behind his back and looked between Irene and Cyrus. “Asinine as you are, you really are little more than a hound. Alas, you've become toothless and forgot how to play rough… would you like me to remind you?”

Cyrus snarled a slurred string of what Irene could only guess were profane phrases in other languages. Gabriel smiled wryly and shook his head. Looming over Irene, he grabbed her chin. She squirmed as his hand slid down her jaw, down to her shoulder, then pressed firmly on her clavicle. Cyrus watched with wide eyes as Gabriel placed his mouth right into the nook of Irene’s neck.

“Don’t you dare!” Cyrus yelled. Gabriel paused to taunt him with a self-satisfied grin.

“Is there something you wish to tell me, Cyrus?” Irene could feel each word Gabriel spoke as his cheek remained close to her skin. She stared upward. She could not look at either of them anymore. She just tried to focus on breathing, terrified that the harder her heart pounded, the more she'd tempt the vampires in the room. "Did you continue Layla's work of finding the cornerstones of Genesis?"

“I told you already, I don’t believe in that crap anymore!”

Gabriel yawned mockingly. “Same old boring words. If not the cornerstones, what is it? No one puts up this much fight for a play thing. I want to know how you regained control without draining her dry." When Irene glanced down again, Gabriel was staring at her. "Perhaps there is something special in her blood?” His eyes shifted back to her throat. “Something from another myth?" His fingers trailed up past her chin, past her cheek, and stroked Irene's brow. She cringed. "Are you a Blood Chalice?”

“Nonsense, Gabriel! They don’t exist either!” Cyrus insisted, tensing up, but ceasing his struggle. “The only reason she survived was because…” he cut himself short. He lowered his eyes for a moment, and then glared back up at Gabriel, “…because it wasn't time, yet.”

Gabriel pulled away from Irene and slowly turned to Cyrus, placing his hands in his pockets. “Oh Cyrus, you don't waste time, do you? Of course. With Layla gone you need a new immortal slave to replace her.”

Is that what I am? A replacement for Layla? Has all this just been to break me down? Irene summoned what little will she had left to glare at Cyrus.

Cyrus shook his head, turning his head to either direction to glare at Gabriel’s henchmen, then stared at Irene. Seeing her glare, he scoffed, seeming almost offended by her expression. It didn't last before his expression turned wistful. “No one can replace a beauty like Layla.”

“Humph! That camel wench should have been one of us. But you were always impetuous and a slave to your lust. I'm surprised you haven't assembled your own vampire harem,” Gabriel derided.

"Oh and what am I to think about all the men you surround yourself with, Frenchy? Or the little boys you like to groom - eh Roan, Flynn?" Gabriel turned up a dreadful sneer at Cyrus's implication, but had no more to say. Irene's skin crawled as she glanced back at Gabriel with amplified abhorrence, then looked away in disgust.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

Flynn, at least Irene thought it was Flynn, punched Cyrus in the gut. He staggered forward while presumably Roan held him up.

Irene shut her eyes; she had heard enough. It was all too disgusting. As she listened to more sounds of Cyrus being beaten, her fingers clenched and released. It hurt, but she felt almost as if she still had her finger. Yes. Focus on that. Push out the noise. She commanded those nerves and muscles to move, and she felt them move. Yet, as her fingernails dipped gently into the bottom of her palm, she felt only three. It was a surreal feeling – and concentrating on these conflicting sensations helped draw her out of distress.

In that moment of calmness, Irene's thoughts turned to Merle. There was no telling what Gabriel's men were doing to her at that moment. Her breaths became shallow. She was trapped. She could not save her friend. She could not even save herself.

Something cold pressed against Irene's neck. The pain barely registered, and her eyes drearily focused on the hand close to her throat. Cyrus called out in protest, dropping to the ground. Caught off guard, Roan tried to keep his hold on Cyrus but tipped forward from the unexpected change in weight. With amazing swiftness and inhuman flexibility, Cyrus threw up his legs over his one shoulder, like one would do in a reverse safety roll. Instead of rolling back, he managed to catch Roan's neck between his legs and flipped the ginger vampire.

CRUNCH!

Gabriel’s attention swiveled to see what the commotion was. Irene felt the pressure against her neck cease.

Roan's neck bent at an unnatural angle. Crumpled on the floor, Irene thought he was dead. To her dismay, he placed his hands on the floor and crawled away, his head lolled to one side.

In retribution, Flynn tackled and pinned Cyrus. The two of them rolled around, fighting with one another. Gabriel muttered something in French, then glanced back at Irene, as if she were the answer to a question.

Amidst the fighting, Gabriel leaned down, his fangs bared. Irene squirmed again as she could feel his lips, and the smooth, moist texture of his teeth brush against her skin. Her hairs had been long since standing on her neck, but now they were trying to rip out their own roots and flee.

Things seemed to slow down a moment as Cyrus looked over at Irene and Gabriel, wide-eyed. Then everything happened in rapid succession. Cyrus jammed a candle into one of the twins' eyes, but Irene lost track of the action after that. More candles. More fire. More vicious brutality. She could scarcely watch the battle of monsters – as no human, she could fathom, would do what they did to each other. It was all too reminiscent of what she'd witnessed before between Cyrus and the unknown vampire he'd been pitted against during her first imprisonment.

The room smelt thickly of smoke and blood, and there were two writhing forms, covered in flaking black husks. Irene could feel the bile stinging her throat, threatening to evacuate her stomach. Gabriel had been distracted, but her neck still felt moist. Then it happened. Irene felt the prick of something sharp jabbing into her neck. Right at that moment there was a loud thud and the wall she was affixed to shook. Her neck was free.

“Impressive, Cyrus,." Not an iota of concern showed in Gabriel's countenance as he gazed down at Cyrus, who had pinned him to the wall. His cold pale eyes surveyed him for a moment with both disgust and intrigue. Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, but Cyrus brought a bloody metal rod up to the taller man's throat.

“Shut up!” Cyrus hissed, adding something in French Irene could only guess at being a derogatory slur by the vitriol in his voice.

Gabriel glared down at Cyrus, his nose wrinkled. Unable to pry her eyes away from the scene, Irene could see that Gabriel was not a man used to being talked to in such a way. Again he tried to speak, but Cyrus grabbed Gabriel's shirt and yanked him forward, only to slam him harder into the wall. Like spilt ink, a network of cracks branched along the wall, as debris fell into their hair. “This is your final warning. Cross me again, and I WILL end you.”

“What makes you think you could end me? I am your superior in every way!” Gabriel scoffed. "I put up with you this long out of a skewed sense of obligation to Lysandra, but Layla's actions shook me out of that dream. You are a blemish; the dog who returns to his own vomit!"

In a rather pointed rebuttal, Cyrus drove the rod through Gabriel's stomach and into the wall behind him. Grasping the metal shaft with his large hands, the skewered vampire roared in pain and outrage.

Not wasting any more time, Cyrus tore the chains that bound Irene from the wall. Despite relief at being free, she struggled against being scooped into his arms. "My finger's missing, but my legs are fine!" she snapped as she stumbled forward. Cyrus was her lifeline, and if his arms were full carrying her, they'd both be vulnerable. But she didn't have the time or the wherewithal to voice this reasoning. "We need to find Merle!"

"Merle's here too?" Cyrus licked his lips and glanced back at Gabriel who was slowly pulling the rod out of his gut, then to the smoldering forms of the redheads on the floor. "No time!"

Gabriel finally yanked the rod free, a gush of blood evacuating in its wake. With a clatter, the bloody weapon was discarded. Cyrus ejaculated a few expletives and pulled on Irene's arm, breaking into a run.

"I can't leave her!"

"He's really mad. Just run!"

One glance at Gabriel's blood spattered face was all the convincing she needed. Albeit weakened, her legs took flight as a surge of adrenaline flooded her body. She followed Cyrus as he snaked his way through corridors and up a flight of stairs. They burst into the main floor of a warehouse, whereupon Cyrus came to a halt.

Laying against a stack of crates was a rifle and a discarded coat. A familiar long coat. Much like the one her abductor, Matthew, wore.

With a wide grin, Cyrus grabbed the gun and hid behind a stack of boxes. Dizzy from blood loss, Irene stumbled to a spot beside him, but ended up knocking over several empty crates in her clumsy attempt. Her bones ached as she hit the hard floor. The coat dislodged, and several bullets rolled out of its pockets.

Cyrus hushed at her in irritation as he loaded the rifle. Too overwhelmed to feel indignation, Irene crawled to a hiding spot and cradled her injured hand, shackles still clasped around her wrists. Her arms were covered in goosebumps and she was shivering, suddenly aware of how cold it was.

Gabriel barged onto the floor, coming to a stop to look where his query might be hiding. He held a hand over his bleeding wound, but otherwise didn't seem overly stalled by the large hole.

BANG! BANG!

First shot missed. The second hit Gabriel in the leg. A spray of blood spattered out from the velocity. Gabriel turned towards Cyrus's hiding spot, eyes wide with rage.

Click. Cyrus swore under his breath as he reloaded and Gabriel charged straight at them.

BANG! BANG!

Another gush of blood from Gabriel's knee and he toppled over, roaring indecencies. Cyrus scooped Irene into his arms.

"He's down! We need to find-"

"Not for long! Merle's a lost cause!"

Irene was geared up to fight and go find Merle herself, until she was immobilised by a wave of nausea and tunnel vision. She peered over Cyrus's shoulder as Gabriel tried to stand on his blown out knee cap only to fall again. Cyrus halted, Irene put a hand to her mouth, her throat stinging with the threat of more bile. She looked forward again as Cyrus unlocked the door to the exit.

Together, Cyrus and Irene emerged into the night. She was hopeful of a clean getaway. No such luck; a familiar man in shredded jeans stumbled into their path. Blisters marred his otherwise pale skin, and his hands were red, and bubbled in some spots. In those raw, red hands he clutched what looked like Merle's jacket. Irene gasped, but then had to cover her mouth again, feeling her stomach rebel.

Cyrus and the man, who Irene recognised as Matthew, stared at each other in stunned silence. Cyrus glanced up at the waxing gibbous, then roared with laughter.

“Ha ha, what a noob,” Cyrus mocked. Matthew flung himself at the smaller vampire. Nimbly, he stepped to the side, putting his foot out to trip the pock-marked lackey. Matthew fell face-first into the filthy asphalt. Merle's coat fluttered as it drifted to the ground. Neither Gabriel nor Matthew would likely be down long, and she knew she could not fight off both of them. Irene hated herself for it, but she held tight to Cyrus and tried not to think about why the nascent vampire had Merle's coat.

Cyrus continued running, but called over his shoulder. “What do you think makes the moon so bright? It reflects the sun, moron!”