Big Game

Drew



It's been hours since I was dragged into this room and left in a heap on the floor. My injuries healed while I searched every square inch of the dark space, seeking a way out. My labors proved fruitless, forcing me to sit and wait-wondering if the two men will come or leave me here to rot.



The only saving grace in our failed rescue attempt is I didn't endanger Chelly by bringing her here. Sure, the three in the hotel can't fly the jet home, but if they don't hear from us in a few days, they know to board a plane and get back to the safety of the inn.



By the feel deep in my bones, I can tell the sun has risen. The desire to fall into a restorative sleep calls like the warmth of a fire on a cold, wet night. Fear over what awaits when I shut my eyes drives me to bite my tongue to stay awake. Anyone could come in and stake me without my being able to stop them.



The hours run together until I'm no longer aware of the time I've been sitting here, resisting the peaceful lull of sleep. A shuffle sounds in the hall. A figure pauses by my door, and a soft knock breaks the silence. Would a captor knock, or just unlock the door and come in?



"Hello?" I call out, feeling stupid. Who the hell could be trying to rescue me?



For the next few minutes I hear metal scraping in the lock. I crawl toward the sound, waiting to see what happens next. The handle jiggles and the cold steel barrier swings inward. Bright light from the hall burns my eyes, blinding me as Rafe's familiar scent meets my nose.



"Rafe?" I ask, stumbling to my feet. "Is that you?"



"Shh, not so loud, you fool." He shoves some small metal pieces into his pocket. "Yes, it's me. Come out, quick."



I lunge for the door, adrenaline fueling me when my heavy muscles want to lie down and rest. My shoulder smacks into the doorjamb, and I stagger into the hall. Rafe looks cool and collected, the reek of fresh vampire blood coming off him in waves, despite his clean appearance.



"Holy shit," I whisper. "Who did you kill?"



Rafe shows no expression, his gaze intense, mouth set in a firm line. "Coraline." He darts a glance up and down the hall before marching along the long, winding corridor like he owns it. I lurch forward to follow, my movements becoming smoother with each step. "I've been searching for hours and have only found you." He glances back over his shoulder. "Tell me what happened."



I recount the events as briefly and quietly as I can, all too aware we're in enemy territory.



"How far did they drag you before placing you in there?" he asks when we get to a point where the hall splits two ways.



I stop dead in my tracks. "Good point." Rafe hears me halt and turns to face me. "They didn't take me far. Paul has got to be in one of the rooms nearby. Back the way we came."



We turn around, and I can't help but notice something feels different about Rafe. He's always been a big man, but he's never used his size before, if that makes sense. He stalks with purpose, whereas in the past he's held himself more aloof and in the background.



It's like he's purposely taken a back seat to Vivian's over-the-top, despotic-ruler ways. I'd assumed his deference was out of necessity rather than an actual choice on his part. The look in his eye and the way he's holding that iron poker next to his leg have me scrambling to reassess the laid back man.



The sound of footsteps approaching the corner spurns Rafe to act. The poker swings back and overhead in an arc, smashing into the vampire's skull as he comes into view, sending the man careening into a wall. Rafe tosses the poker, which I catch before it hits me. He kicks in the nearest door and drags the still form of the vampire inside.



"Get in!" he shouts. "Shut the door!"



Shock runs through me as I rush to obey, slapping on a light and closing the door as fast as I can. Rafe kneels over the vampire, ripping the fallen man's shirt open, buttons flying with enough force to sail across the storage room. He draws a dagger from behind his back and cuts into the man's chest as the vampire starts to stir.



Rafe holds him down and shouts, "Hit him again, dammit!"



The command in his voice holds a measure of compulsion, and I leap forward, no hesitation in my actions. The poker comes down and bashes the unknown man's head, the force splitting it like a melon.



Blood and gore pour onto the concrete and his struggles cease. The horror of what I've done pales when I glance down at Rafe, who is wrist deep in the man's chest. I backpedal, unsure what do to and unprepared for the quickness of this man's demise.



Rarely have I witnessed a vampire's death come so swiftly. No clash of power, no fighting, no warning, just wham-someone cracks you in the skull and you're dead. Rafe remains emotionless as he works, his face a mask of stoic determination.



When he's done, he flings the heart across the room. It lands with a sickening splat and slides out of view. My stomach heaves as I struggle to swallow my disgust.



"We'll need to come back later to burn it." Rafe opens a box and rummages inside. He pulls out some stored napkin linens and proceeds to clean his arms. After a moment, he looks in my direction, not failing to see the shocked horror still on my face.



"He was one of the vampires who abducted us from our suite," he says.



I nod, not so sure his statement rings true. He took that swing before the man rounded the corner. "How did you know it was him?"



Rafe finishes his clean up and tosses the bloody rags to the floor. In two steps, he's in my space, staring down into my eyes. "I recognized his scent."



I nod and look away, wishing to God I could keep my mouth shut. Of course, with his enhanced strengths from Vivian he'd be more attuned in his senses.



Rafe gently takes the poker from my unresisting hands and steps toward the door. This is a side of Rafe I've never seen and I'm unsure how to proceed. He is undoubtedly the leader in the seethe without Vivian present, and we need to focus on getting to her, no matter the unpleasant tasks.



"Can you handle this, Drew?" he asks, no judgment in his tone, just a calm acceptance.



I straighten my spine, in for a penny, in for a pound. "Yeah. Sorry about that. The fight happened so fast, I wasn't prepared."



"I don't fight." Rafe looks over his shoulder and smiles, the humor not reaching his eyes. "I kill."



"Excuse me?"



"You don't fight an opponent stronger than you." His breathing appears even, despite the adrenaline he must have coursing through his body, and his eyes look steady. "The only way you'll win is with the element of surprise-which you lose in a straight fight. You strike first, go in hard, and make the kill. You may never get a second chance."



I nod, unused to the guerrilla-warfare train of thought. The sport of fencing I grew up with had rules and honor. Steps to follow and an understanding of how parties involved played the game.



The death laid out behind us is stark and horrible, cold and unyielding, swift and unmerciful. As Rafe slips into the hall, I can't help but make the comparison-he's all of those things, too.



And to think, all this time I thought Vivian was the one to fear the most.