Waiting For My Real Life To Begin
by Laura Spudzmom
Chapter 26
Consciousness returned fairly quickly to Bella, or at least she assumed so, since she was still in the back of a moving wagon with a rough woven tarp over her.
Thankfully—and she speculated it was due to having just fed—her mind and senses were sharp despite the blows she’d taken to her head, so she kept her silence and stillness. She knew from the sound of beating hearts that one of her abductors was right next to her while the other drove the wagon.
She stifled a snarl even as she felt her top lip curl over one lethally sharp fang.
Braniff…
She’d heard the fuckwit sitting next to her speak that vile name and she shouldn’t be surprised really. The piece of shit obviously hadn’t given up on his sick little obsession with her.
‘So you think to take what isn’t yours, huh?’
Her hands curled into fists and she allowed herself a smile—one she was sure would have the bravest of souls pissing themselves at its sight. ‘I can’t wait to see you try…’
~o0o~
A furious pounding on his front door had Damon’s eyes snapping open and he was up and pulling on clothes before Francis had even begun his trek to the abused portal to answer it.
“Damon? What on earth is going on?” Katherine mumbled while holding the rumpled sheet over her bare breasts as she sat up.
He shot her a derisive glance while pulling on his boots. “If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be dressing to go find out, now would I?”
She pouted and daintily rubbed her eyes. “No need to be so mean-spirited…”
He ignored her and hurried from the room and down the stairs just in time to see Francis open the door to a panicked Charles. “What is it, Charles? What’s wrong?” he snapped, cutting off the polite greeting his butler was about to deliver. Instead, the man wisely closed his mouth and held the door wide for their visitors who stepped in, Charles’s large hands doing a number on the brim of his hat as he clutched it in front of him.
“Someone just took Miss Isabella! Miss Emily and I saw her on the boardwalk well ahead of us and called a greeting. When she stopped and turned to speak with us, a man came from behind, hit her in the head and dragged her into the alley,” Charles rushed out between huffs of breath. “I—I wasn’t close enough…I’m sorry. By the time I got there, they were gone. Must have had a carriage or wagon waiting.”
Damon’s eyes hardened to blue steel. “Did you recognize the man?”
Charles wiped his sodden brow on his sleeve and shook his head, his shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “No sir, I didn’t. He had most of his face covered and a hat pulled low on his head.”
Damon stifled a hiss, his hands clenching into fists as his gaze cut toward the window.
“Should I fetch the sheriff, Mr. Salvatore?” Charles asked warily, stifling the urge to step away from the livid father that now exuded nothing but danger. Damon looked back at him and he felt the fine hairs all over his body rise at the look in the man’s eyes. There was death there in those icy blue depths; not for him, thank the lord, but it was death all the same, and the sight of it chilled him.
“That won’t be necessary, Charles,” Damon said while exchanging a loaded glance with Emily. “Take Miss Emily home and both of you keep an eye on Jace and the new nanny. I’ll bring my daughter home shortly. Don’t you doubt it.”
~o0o~
Isabella felt the speed of the wagon slow and moments later heard that cursed voice from the drivers seat. “The bitch still out, Wilson?”
She closed her eyes a split second before the tarp was lifted and had to tamp down the urge to gag as the odor from the man’s unwashed body wafted over her. He tapped her cheek with the back of his hand, watching her carefully for a moment before answering, “Out like a light, Sarge.”
“You better not have hit her too god damned hard. I want her conscious for this. I’ve waited too damned long to have this one and I mean to see the pain in her eyes when I finally take her.”
‘This one?’ Bella thought. ‘Oh god, had he done this to others?’ The thought sent a chill down her spine.
The wagon slowed even more and she felt it make a turn as the man beside her grumbled under his breath, “Well shit…hit her harder…don’t hit her too hard…make up your god damned mind…”
They rolled to a stop and she felt the wagon shift as Braniff swung himself down to the ground, her muscles subtly coiling as she readied herself to attack while tracking his movements by the sound of his boots.
She felt the slight shift of the tarp as he grabbed the bottom edge and yanked. The minute the cover was gone, Bella had the flunky Wilson by the throat, her fingers digging mercilessly into his flesh as he choked, his eyes wide with shock and terror as she squeezed before giving a quick twist, destroying his windpipe in seconds.
Hopping to her feet, she left Wilson to slowly gag and gurgle his way to death while staring down at Braniff’s surprised, ashen face. “You,” she snarled while flicking blood droplets from her fingers, “should have left well enough alone.”
He stared up incredulously at the girl he’d coveted since that night at the Whitlock’s, hardly believing what he was seeing.
Fangs…
The girl had fucking fangs like some sort of feral animal…
As she prowled slowly toward the end of the wagon bed, arms out, body in a slight crouch and lips peeled back in what he could only describe as an inhuman leer, there was just no denying it… No matter how many times he blinked, the bitch—whatever she was—had a wicked set of fangs…
She growled low in her chest, sounding like a pissed off panther as her eyes flashed with demonic blue light and he swallowed thickly while stumbling back a step on fear-numbed legs.
‘Oh dear god…’ he whimpered in his mind while frozen in his absolute fright. He felt a warm sensation bloom around his groin and spread down one leg and somehow, in the part of his mind that wasn’t racing to find a way out of this monumental fuck up, he realized he’d just pissed himself.
She stopped and her nose wrinkled in disgust. “You fucking coward,” she spat. “I haven’t even laid a finger on you and you’re pissing your pants and whimpering like a baby.” She gracefully hopped from the wagon and circled around behind him as tears wet his cheeks. “Come on Braniff…I thought you brought me here to have some fun.”
She ghosted to his other side and he yelped as she leered at him again, his hand scrabbling for the pistol holstered at his side. Her hand clamped over his, squeezing until she heard bones crack over the sound of his mewling cries as he fell to his knees. “You just didn’t count on it being me that would have all the fun here today, did you?”
She finished crushing his hand before yanking the gun out and tossing it back in the barn they’d parked beside.
Placing a dainty, slippered foot on his nearest lower leg, she stomped down and relished the sound of his screams as his bones snapped. “Oh darn,” she said with a mocking frown, “I bet that sort of hurt, didn’t it? Well, I did overhear you say you wanted to see pain today, and I’d just hate to disappoint, seeing as how you went to all this trouble for lil’ ol’ me,” she simpered as she circled his kneeling, sobbing form.
“Please…” he sobbed, his whole body trembling as he looked up at her. “Please…I’m sorry…take the wagon and leave…I swear, I won’t bother you again!”
She clicked her tongue and studied her nails while shaking her head. “I’m afraid I cannot do that. You see, you’ve seen me—seen all that I am—and that in itself is a death sentence.” She grabbed a fistful of his grease-laden hair and yanked his head back while leaning down to snarl in his face, “As if I would let you live after what you had planned for me!” She yanked and he cried out, his eyes clenching shut as he lost control of his bowels. “You yellow-bellied, raping no-good piece of shit…how many have you done this to before? Huh? How many?!” She punctuated each question with a yank, his head now cocked back so far his neck was at risk of snapping.
His prominent adam’s apple bobbed as she demanded once more, “How many?!”
When all he did was cry, she stomped down on his other leg, his high pitched screams ringing through the barn beside them as she warned, “You have lots more bones to break, Braniff, both lower legs are just a start. Answer my question!”
“All right! All right! I will, just please, no more…I can’t take it…”
She leaned down and yanked his head again. “Talk, you no good fuckwad…how many?”
“Te—ten…but I left them all alive! They were fine afterward, I swear!” She snarled and yanked and he held up both hands. “Okay! They had a few bruises maybe, but that was all! I swear!”
“Fine, you say?” she said in nothing more than a hiss, her eyes narrowed to slits as she put even more pressure on his neck. “Fine?! After having your filthy self on them…inside them?! Violating them in the most humiliating of ways?! You are the lowest of the low, you know that? And I can only hope there’s a special place in hell for one such as you. Know why?” she asked while turning his hair loose and rising to her feet.
He whimpered and shook his head, his eyes growing impossibly wide as she grinned down at him, her fangs on full display. “Because I’m fixing to send you there.”
She walked into the barn and scoffed as she heard him try to crawl away, his useless lower legs trailing behind him in the dirt as she searched for what she needed.
Sure, she could’ve drained him but she didn’t relish the thought of his foul blood churning around in her gut. She also could’ve snapped his wretched neck, but that would have been a mercy and she sure as shit wasn’t in a merciful mood.
No, she had something else in mind…
“Ah!” she said with a grin as she grabbed the coiled rope, quickly fashioning a noose on one end before tossing the other end over a rafter above. She pulled the loose end toward a support beam and tied it off before going to retrieve her wayward prey.
She had to give the fucker props. Gimpy bastard had made it a good fifty feet out of the dusty barn yard, booted feet flopping unnaturally behind him all the while as tears and snot and dust combined into a slimy mud-like coating on his face.
Ghosting over to him, she squatted in front of him, arms propped lazily over her skirt-covered knees. She waited patiently as he kept crawling while frantically looking back over his shoulder. When he turned back, he screamed at her sudden appearance and she grinned. “Ain’t Mondays a bitch, Billy?”
She grabbed him by an arm and began dragging him back to the barn, not sparing any speed for his broken legs as he sobbed and begged for his pathetic life. “Nope, sorry, you wanted fun remember?!” she snapped. “And fun we’re gonna have.”
“No, please, no…”
She stopped and lifted him up just enough to slip the noose over his head before pulling it snug, leaving him kneeling on the dirt and straw covered floor as she untied the other end from the post. As she began to hoist him up, his good hand clawed at the tightening rope, but she stopped just as the soles of his boots touched the ground. He shrieked and choked in agony as his ruined legs took some of his weight in a desperate bid to avoid strangling.
“There, that’s enough for now,” she muttered, a decidedly manic look in her eyes as she gazed around for what she would need next. This was a working plantation and she was sure she would find something useful for what she had in mind… “Ah,” she said as her gaze lit upon the perfect implement.
She retrieved it from its hook on the wall and his struggles intensified as he watched her, his eyes filled with horror.
“Yeeesss,” she drawled while running the tool over his quivering cheek. “I see you recognize just what this is.”
He struggled to articulate but found it impossible with the mounting pressure on his neck, the only things coming from his mouth garbled and choked as saliva burst over his lips and dripped from his chin.
Dropping the tool on the floor at her feet, she reached out and tugged the soiled breeches down his legs before tearing a gaping hole in his undergarment to expose his genitals. She tsk’ed and smirked at him. “Kinda lacking in the manly bits department, aren’t ya Billy?”
He whimpered and choked and she shrugged. “That’s okay. You won’t need them where you’re going anyway.”
With that said, she picked up the tool and he writhed with renewed vigor, his fingers clawing bleeding tracks in the skin around the noose as he tried to free himself. Then he took a swing at her and she dodged it handily. “Well, that was rude, Billy-boy,” she scolded while grabbing a shorter length of rope from its peg on the wall. She wrenched his arms behind him and tied them securely at the wrists. “Can’t have you interrupting, now can I?”
“Please…” he managed to wheeze as she took up the tool once more.
“Tell me, Braniff, did those ten girls beg for mercy?” She slapped him sharply, her eyes misting with tears at the thought of all those other girls. “Did you show them any?”
He sobbed and a snot bubble grew from his nose and popped as tears continued leaving trails in the dirt on his face. She scoffed. “No, I don’t expect you did, did you big man?” she sneered.
Without further hesitation, she placed the jaws of the tool just so, clamped it down and began to spin it, effectively twisting his scrotum until the skin gave way as his whole body jerked, his screams choked back by the ever-tightening noose.
With one final twist and tug, she finished the castration and dropped the tool and its gruesome prize while stepping back to watch him bleed. “Hmm,” she said, thoughtfully tapping her chin before meeting his agonized gaze. “That’s kinda bloody, there Billy-boy. Should I cauterize?”
More strangled gurgles came from him and she shook her head. “No, I kinda have to agree with your wisdom. I mean, what’s the point, right? You’re gonna die here shortly anyway.”
“Oh Christ…”
She spun around with a hiss, her fighting instincts on high alert and Damon held up his hands as he slowly approached his bedraggled daughter. “Bella? Baby girl, it’s just me.”
She blinked, cocked her head and straightened from her crouch as tears filled her eyes. “Daddy?” she questioned, her voice wavering with emotion.
“Yeah sweetheart…” He stopped a few feet away and opened his arms and she ran into them, burying her face in his shoulder as he clutched her to him. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart…so sorry.”
“It’s okay…I’m okay,” she murmured as tears finally fell from her eyes to wet his shirt.
“It’s not baby girl. You never should’ve had to go through something like this.” He held her tighter and smoothed a hand over her hair. “I should’ve protected you better. I should’ve killed the fucker a long time ago… This is my fault…my fault,” he murmured while rocking her body side to side as she cried, her body finally trembling as she relaxed and the shock of everything set in.
He glanced over her shoulder at her gruesome handiwork and cringed, his heart constricting at the loss of innocence she’d endured here today. She should’ve never had to and he hated himself a little more for allowing such a thing to darken his daughter’s spirit.
Still holding her close, he edged over to the tied off rope and pulled it with one hand until Braniff was truly hanging, his ruined legs jerking and kicking and rheumy, bloodshot eyes bulging as he died.
Bella tried to turn and look but he held her face to his shoulder with his free hand. “No,” he murmured urgently into the fragrant hair over her ear. “No baby doll, you don’t need to see this.” She relaxed against him with a nod and Damon looped the loose rope around a cleat on the post, tying it taut before leading her out of the barn to where his horse was tethered.
Lifting her into the saddle, he gracefully mounted behind her and looped his arms around her while taking up the reins. “Let’s get you home,” he said before placing a kiss to the crown of her head.
Before spurring his horse forward, he pulled a lighter from his pocket, sparked its flame and tossed it into the dry hay in one of the stalls.
As they rode away, Bella glanced back and saw eager flames engulfing the brittle wooden structure. “Burn in hell, you bastard,” she whispered as a tear rolled down her cheek and Damon cursed himself once again for all his daughter had lost this day.
~o0o~
The sun was just rising over the makeshift camp, some of the men already stowing their gear on their semi-rested horses while others kicked dirt over the embers of last nights cooking fires as they prepared to take on the last leg of their trip home.
The weary Sergeant surveyed his group, his gaze finally resting on the litter that held his ailing Captain who continued to shiver and mutter, now seemingly locked in his fevered delirium where no one could reach him.
Slowly, he dug into his pocket, withdrawing the strange looking vial of liquid and rolling it between his fingers and thumb as he held it up and studied it. It looked like blood and he couldn’t understand, for the life of him, why his Captain would want to consume a vial of blood, no matter how sick he got. What good would it do?
He squinted into the distance as his mind, yet again, raced with the possibilities.
Was his Captain mixed up in some kind of voodoo magic nonsense? He shuddered and a chill ran up his spine at the thought.
His pastor, who had spent some time traveling through Louisiana before settling in Houston, had warned his congregation about all the wicked and evil things that went on in some places, including their penchant for blood rituals. He’d spent many a Sunday listening to the man he revered preach against such vile, demonic things and he just couldn’t bring himself to be a party to anything of the sort, order or no.
If he followed his Captain’s orders, would he be condemning his soul—both of their souls—to the fiery depths of Hades for taking part in such an abomination?
No, he thought yet again as he looked at the tiny glass vial with a shudder of revulsion. He just couldn’t bring himself to chance it, come what may.
With a final shake of his head he pocketed the vial and led his horse over to the litter as a young Private hitched it up behind the Captain’s horse. “Mornin’ Sarge,” the young soldier greeted, his tone grim as he tested the buckles on the lines one last time. He glanced up, meeting his Sergeant’s eyes with a frown. “Cap’n ain’t doin’ too good, Sarge. I reckon he ain’t long for this world.”
The Sergeant took a few long moments to study his young Captain, taking note of his rapid, shallow breaths and blue tinged lips as he muttered nonsense and twitched, his head thrashing weakly back and forth on his makeshift pillow. “How long’s he been like this?”
The private shrugged. “He woke up long enough to take a few sips from the water skin when I took over his watch last night, but he ain’t woke or really drank nothin’ since and I’ve tried. He’s just gone too deep now.”
The Sergeant nodded and began to turn away but stopped short at a sudden iron grip on his arm. He raised a brow at the young Private who let go and took a step back. “Beggin’ your pardon Sergeant, but…well, I heard the order the Cap’n gave ya about that vial ya took from his pocket and I’d say it’s about damn time ya followed through with it.”
The Sergeant clenched his jaw and glared but the Private held steady, giving as good as he got, his tone unflinching as he reiterated, “It was an order, Sergeant, given when he was still in his right mind, and I’ll swear to that at your court martial if I have to. Don’t make me have to.”
The Sergeant gave him a bitter, humorless smirk, took out the vial and slapped it into the startled Private’s hand. “Then you give it to him Private, and may God have mercy on both your souls.”
He walked away then and the Private knelt at his fever-wracked Captain’s side. Uncorking the vial, he gently coaxed the ailing man’s jaw open and tipped the contents past his chapped and trembling lips, slowly dribbling it into his mouth as he stroked his throat to get him to swallow. When the vial was empty, he replaced the cork and pocketed it. “It’s done Cap,” he murmured quietly to the man who’d saved his life just days earlier. “Not sure what good it’ll do ya, but it’s finally done.”
With that, he mounted up, took hold of his Captain’s horse’s reins and moved out with the rest of their group.
Consciousness returned fairly quickly to Bella, or at least she assumed so, since she was still in the back of a moving wagon with a rough woven tarp over her.
Thankfully—and she speculated it was due to having just fed—her mind and senses were sharp despite the blows she’d taken to her head, so she kept her silence and stillness. She knew from the sound of beating hearts that one of her abductors was right next to her while the other drove the wagon.
She stifled a snarl even as she felt her top lip curl over one lethally sharp fang.
Braniff…
She’d heard the fuckwit sitting next to her speak that vile name and she shouldn’t be surprised really. The piece of shit obviously hadn’t given up on his sick little obsession with her.
‘So you think to take what isn’t yours, huh?’
Her hands curled into fists and she allowed herself a smile—one she was sure would have the bravest of souls pissing themselves at its sight. ‘I can’t wait to see you try…’
~o0o~
A furious pounding on his front door had Damon’s eyes snapping open and he was up and pulling on clothes before Francis had even begun his trek to the abused portal to answer it.
“Damon? What on earth is going on?” Katherine mumbled while holding the rumpled sheet over her bare breasts as she sat up.
He shot her a derisive glance while pulling on his boots. “If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be dressing to go find out, now would I?”
She pouted and daintily rubbed her eyes. “No need to be so mean-spirited…”
He ignored her and hurried from the room and down the stairs just in time to see Francis open the door to a panicked Charles. “What is it, Charles? What’s wrong?” he snapped, cutting off the polite greeting his butler was about to deliver. Instead, the man wisely closed his mouth and held the door wide for their visitors who stepped in, Charles’s large hands doing a number on the brim of his hat as he clutched it in front of him.
“Someone just took Miss Isabella! Miss Emily and I saw her on the boardwalk well ahead of us and called a greeting. When she stopped and turned to speak with us, a man came from behind, hit her in the head and dragged her into the alley,” Charles rushed out between huffs of breath. “I—I wasn’t close enough…I’m sorry. By the time I got there, they were gone. Must have had a carriage or wagon waiting.”
Damon’s eyes hardened to blue steel. “Did you recognize the man?”
Charles wiped his sodden brow on his sleeve and shook his head, his shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “No sir, I didn’t. He had most of his face covered and a hat pulled low on his head.”
Damon stifled a hiss, his hands clenching into fists as his gaze cut toward the window.
“Should I fetch the sheriff, Mr. Salvatore?” Charles asked warily, stifling the urge to step away from the livid father that now exuded nothing but danger. Damon looked back at him and he felt the fine hairs all over his body rise at the look in the man’s eyes. There was death there in those icy blue depths; not for him, thank the lord, but it was death all the same, and the sight of it chilled him.
“That won’t be necessary, Charles,” Damon said while exchanging a loaded glance with Emily. “Take Miss Emily home and both of you keep an eye on Jace and the new nanny. I’ll bring my daughter home shortly. Don’t you doubt it.”
~o0o~
Isabella felt the speed of the wagon slow and moments later heard that cursed voice from the drivers seat. “The bitch still out, Wilson?”
She closed her eyes a split second before the tarp was lifted and had to tamp down the urge to gag as the odor from the man’s unwashed body wafted over her. He tapped her cheek with the back of his hand, watching her carefully for a moment before answering, “Out like a light, Sarge.”
“You better not have hit her too god damned hard. I want her conscious for this. I’ve waited too damned long to have this one and I mean to see the pain in her eyes when I finally take her.”
‘This one?’ Bella thought. ‘Oh god, had he done this to others?’ The thought sent a chill down her spine.
The wagon slowed even more and she felt it make a turn as the man beside her grumbled under his breath, “Well shit…hit her harder…don’t hit her too hard…make up your god damned mind…”
They rolled to a stop and she felt the wagon shift as Braniff swung himself down to the ground, her muscles subtly coiling as she readied herself to attack while tracking his movements by the sound of his boots.
She felt the slight shift of the tarp as he grabbed the bottom edge and yanked. The minute the cover was gone, Bella had the flunky Wilson by the throat, her fingers digging mercilessly into his flesh as he choked, his eyes wide with shock and terror as she squeezed before giving a quick twist, destroying his windpipe in seconds.
Hopping to her feet, she left Wilson to slowly gag and gurgle his way to death while staring down at Braniff’s surprised, ashen face. “You,” she snarled while flicking blood droplets from her fingers, “should have left well enough alone.”
He stared up incredulously at the girl he’d coveted since that night at the Whitlock’s, hardly believing what he was seeing.
Fangs…
The girl had fucking fangs like some sort of feral animal…
As she prowled slowly toward the end of the wagon bed, arms out, body in a slight crouch and lips peeled back in what he could only describe as an inhuman leer, there was just no denying it… No matter how many times he blinked, the bitch—whatever she was—had a wicked set of fangs…
She growled low in her chest, sounding like a pissed off panther as her eyes flashed with demonic blue light and he swallowed thickly while stumbling back a step on fear-numbed legs.
‘Oh dear god…’ he whimpered in his mind while frozen in his absolute fright. He felt a warm sensation bloom around his groin and spread down one leg and somehow, in the part of his mind that wasn’t racing to find a way out of this monumental fuck up, he realized he’d just pissed himself.
She stopped and her nose wrinkled in disgust. “You fucking coward,” she spat. “I haven’t even laid a finger on you and you’re pissing your pants and whimpering like a baby.” She gracefully hopped from the wagon and circled around behind him as tears wet his cheeks. “Come on Braniff…I thought you brought me here to have some fun.”
She ghosted to his other side and he yelped as she leered at him again, his hand scrabbling for the pistol holstered at his side. Her hand clamped over his, squeezing until she heard bones crack over the sound of his mewling cries as he fell to his knees. “You just didn’t count on it being me that would have all the fun here today, did you?”
She finished crushing his hand before yanking the gun out and tossing it back in the barn they’d parked beside.
Placing a dainty, slippered foot on his nearest lower leg, she stomped down and relished the sound of his screams as his bones snapped. “Oh darn,” she said with a mocking frown, “I bet that sort of hurt, didn’t it? Well, I did overhear you say you wanted to see pain today, and I’d just hate to disappoint, seeing as how you went to all this trouble for lil’ ol’ me,” she simpered as she circled his kneeling, sobbing form.
“Please…” he sobbed, his whole body trembling as he looked up at her. “Please…I’m sorry…take the wagon and leave…I swear, I won’t bother you again!”
She clicked her tongue and studied her nails while shaking her head. “I’m afraid I cannot do that. You see, you’ve seen me—seen all that I am—and that in itself is a death sentence.” She grabbed a fistful of his grease-laden hair and yanked his head back while leaning down to snarl in his face, “As if I would let you live after what you had planned for me!” She yanked and he cried out, his eyes clenching shut as he lost control of his bowels. “You yellow-bellied, raping no-good piece of shit…how many have you done this to before? Huh? How many?!” She punctuated each question with a yank, his head now cocked back so far his neck was at risk of snapping.
His prominent adam’s apple bobbed as she demanded once more, “How many?!”
When all he did was cry, she stomped down on his other leg, his high pitched screams ringing through the barn beside them as she warned, “You have lots more bones to break, Braniff, both lower legs are just a start. Answer my question!”
“All right! All right! I will, just please, no more…I can’t take it…”
She leaned down and yanked his head again. “Talk, you no good fuckwad…how many?”
“Te—ten…but I left them all alive! They were fine afterward, I swear!” She snarled and yanked and he held up both hands. “Okay! They had a few bruises maybe, but that was all! I swear!”
“Fine, you say?” she said in nothing more than a hiss, her eyes narrowed to slits as she put even more pressure on his neck. “Fine?! After having your filthy self on them…inside them?! Violating them in the most humiliating of ways?! You are the lowest of the low, you know that? And I can only hope there’s a special place in hell for one such as you. Know why?” she asked while turning his hair loose and rising to her feet.
He whimpered and shook his head, his eyes growing impossibly wide as she grinned down at him, her fangs on full display. “Because I’m fixing to send you there.”
She walked into the barn and scoffed as she heard him try to crawl away, his useless lower legs trailing behind him in the dirt as she searched for what she needed.
Sure, she could’ve drained him but she didn’t relish the thought of his foul blood churning around in her gut. She also could’ve snapped his wretched neck, but that would have been a mercy and she sure as shit wasn’t in a merciful mood.
No, she had something else in mind…
“Ah!” she said with a grin as she grabbed the coiled rope, quickly fashioning a noose on one end before tossing the other end over a rafter above. She pulled the loose end toward a support beam and tied it off before going to retrieve her wayward prey.
She had to give the fucker props. Gimpy bastard had made it a good fifty feet out of the dusty barn yard, booted feet flopping unnaturally behind him all the while as tears and snot and dust combined into a slimy mud-like coating on his face.
Ghosting over to him, she squatted in front of him, arms propped lazily over her skirt-covered knees. She waited patiently as he kept crawling while frantically looking back over his shoulder. When he turned back, he screamed at her sudden appearance and she grinned. “Ain’t Mondays a bitch, Billy?”
She grabbed him by an arm and began dragging him back to the barn, not sparing any speed for his broken legs as he sobbed and begged for his pathetic life. “Nope, sorry, you wanted fun remember?!” she snapped. “And fun we’re gonna have.”
“No, please, no…”
She stopped and lifted him up just enough to slip the noose over his head before pulling it snug, leaving him kneeling on the dirt and straw covered floor as she untied the other end from the post. As she began to hoist him up, his good hand clawed at the tightening rope, but she stopped just as the soles of his boots touched the ground. He shrieked and choked in agony as his ruined legs took some of his weight in a desperate bid to avoid strangling.
“There, that’s enough for now,” she muttered, a decidedly manic look in her eyes as she gazed around for what she would need next. This was a working plantation and she was sure she would find something useful for what she had in mind… “Ah,” she said as her gaze lit upon the perfect implement.
She retrieved it from its hook on the wall and his struggles intensified as he watched her, his eyes filled with horror.
“Yeeesss,” she drawled while running the tool over his quivering cheek. “I see you recognize just what this is.”
He struggled to articulate but found it impossible with the mounting pressure on his neck, the only things coming from his mouth garbled and choked as saliva burst over his lips and dripped from his chin.
Dropping the tool on the floor at her feet, she reached out and tugged the soiled breeches down his legs before tearing a gaping hole in his undergarment to expose his genitals. She tsk’ed and smirked at him. “Kinda lacking in the manly bits department, aren’t ya Billy?”
He whimpered and choked and she shrugged. “That’s okay. You won’t need them where you’re going anyway.”
With that said, she picked up the tool and he writhed with renewed vigor, his fingers clawing bleeding tracks in the skin around the noose as he tried to free himself. Then he took a swing at her and she dodged it handily. “Well, that was rude, Billy-boy,” she scolded while grabbing a shorter length of rope from its peg on the wall. She wrenched his arms behind him and tied them securely at the wrists. “Can’t have you interrupting, now can I?”
“Please…” he managed to wheeze as she took up the tool once more.
“Tell me, Braniff, did those ten girls beg for mercy?” She slapped him sharply, her eyes misting with tears at the thought of all those other girls. “Did you show them any?”
He sobbed and a snot bubble grew from his nose and popped as tears continued leaving trails in the dirt on his face. She scoffed. “No, I don’t expect you did, did you big man?” she sneered.
Without further hesitation, she placed the jaws of the tool just so, clamped it down and began to spin it, effectively twisting his scrotum until the skin gave way as his whole body jerked, his screams choked back by the ever-tightening noose.
With one final twist and tug, she finished the castration and dropped the tool and its gruesome prize while stepping back to watch him bleed. “Hmm,” she said, thoughtfully tapping her chin before meeting his agonized gaze. “That’s kinda bloody, there Billy-boy. Should I cauterize?”
More strangled gurgles came from him and she shook her head. “No, I kinda have to agree with your wisdom. I mean, what’s the point, right? You’re gonna die here shortly anyway.”
“Oh Christ…”
She spun around with a hiss, her fighting instincts on high alert and Damon held up his hands as he slowly approached his bedraggled daughter. “Bella? Baby girl, it’s just me.”
She blinked, cocked her head and straightened from her crouch as tears filled her eyes. “Daddy?” she questioned, her voice wavering with emotion.
“Yeah sweetheart…” He stopped a few feet away and opened his arms and she ran into them, burying her face in his shoulder as he clutched her to him. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart…so sorry.”
“It’s okay…I’m okay,” she murmured as tears finally fell from her eyes to wet his shirt.
“It’s not baby girl. You never should’ve had to go through something like this.” He held her tighter and smoothed a hand over her hair. “I should’ve protected you better. I should’ve killed the fucker a long time ago… This is my fault…my fault,” he murmured while rocking her body side to side as she cried, her body finally trembling as she relaxed and the shock of everything set in.
He glanced over her shoulder at her gruesome handiwork and cringed, his heart constricting at the loss of innocence she’d endured here today. She should’ve never had to and he hated himself a little more for allowing such a thing to darken his daughter’s spirit.
Still holding her close, he edged over to the tied off rope and pulled it with one hand until Braniff was truly hanging, his ruined legs jerking and kicking and rheumy, bloodshot eyes bulging as he died.
Bella tried to turn and look but he held her face to his shoulder with his free hand. “No,” he murmured urgently into the fragrant hair over her ear. “No baby doll, you don’t need to see this.” She relaxed against him with a nod and Damon looped the loose rope around a cleat on the post, tying it taut before leading her out of the barn to where his horse was tethered.
Lifting her into the saddle, he gracefully mounted behind her and looped his arms around her while taking up the reins. “Let’s get you home,” he said before placing a kiss to the crown of her head.
Before spurring his horse forward, he pulled a lighter from his pocket, sparked its flame and tossed it into the dry hay in one of the stalls.
As they rode away, Bella glanced back and saw eager flames engulfing the brittle wooden structure. “Burn in hell, you bastard,” she whispered as a tear rolled down her cheek and Damon cursed himself once again for all his daughter had lost this day.
~o0o~
The sun was just rising over the makeshift camp, some of the men already stowing their gear on their semi-rested horses while others kicked dirt over the embers of last nights cooking fires as they prepared to take on the last leg of their trip home.
The weary Sergeant surveyed his group, his gaze finally resting on the litter that held his ailing Captain who continued to shiver and mutter, now seemingly locked in his fevered delirium where no one could reach him.
Slowly, he dug into his pocket, withdrawing the strange looking vial of liquid and rolling it between his fingers and thumb as he held it up and studied it. It looked like blood and he couldn’t understand, for the life of him, why his Captain would want to consume a vial of blood, no matter how sick he got. What good would it do?
He squinted into the distance as his mind, yet again, raced with the possibilities.
Was his Captain mixed up in some kind of voodoo magic nonsense? He shuddered and a chill ran up his spine at the thought.
His pastor, who had spent some time traveling through Louisiana before settling in Houston, had warned his congregation about all the wicked and evil things that went on in some places, including their penchant for blood rituals. He’d spent many a Sunday listening to the man he revered preach against such vile, demonic things and he just couldn’t bring himself to be a party to anything of the sort, order or no.
If he followed his Captain’s orders, would he be condemning his soul—both of their souls—to the fiery depths of Hades for taking part in such an abomination?
No, he thought yet again as he looked at the tiny glass vial with a shudder of revulsion. He just couldn’t bring himself to chance it, come what may.
With a final shake of his head he pocketed the vial and led his horse over to the litter as a young Private hitched it up behind the Captain’s horse. “Mornin’ Sarge,” the young soldier greeted, his tone grim as he tested the buckles on the lines one last time. He glanced up, meeting his Sergeant’s eyes with a frown. “Cap’n ain’t doin’ too good, Sarge. I reckon he ain’t long for this world.”
The Sergeant took a few long moments to study his young Captain, taking note of his rapid, shallow breaths and blue tinged lips as he muttered nonsense and twitched, his head thrashing weakly back and forth on his makeshift pillow. “How long’s he been like this?”
The private shrugged. “He woke up long enough to take a few sips from the water skin when I took over his watch last night, but he ain’t woke or really drank nothin’ since and I’ve tried. He’s just gone too deep now.”
The Sergeant nodded and began to turn away but stopped short at a sudden iron grip on his arm. He raised a brow at the young Private who let go and took a step back. “Beggin’ your pardon Sergeant, but…well, I heard the order the Cap’n gave ya about that vial ya took from his pocket and I’d say it’s about damn time ya followed through with it.”
The Sergeant clenched his jaw and glared but the Private held steady, giving as good as he got, his tone unflinching as he reiterated, “It was an order, Sergeant, given when he was still in his right mind, and I’ll swear to that at your court martial if I have to. Don’t make me have to.”
The Sergeant gave him a bitter, humorless smirk, took out the vial and slapped it into the startled Private’s hand. “Then you give it to him Private, and may God have mercy on both your souls.”
He walked away then and the Private knelt at his fever-wracked Captain’s side. Uncorking the vial, he gently coaxed the ailing man’s jaw open and tipped the contents past his chapped and trembling lips, slowly dribbling it into his mouth as he stroked his throat to get him to swallow. When the vial was empty, he replaced the cork and pocketed it. “It’s done Cap,” he murmured quietly to the man who’d saved his life just days earlier. “Not sure what good it’ll do ya, but it’s finally done.”
With that, he mounted up, took hold of his Captain’s horse’s reins and moved out with the rest of their group.
DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.