Blood Rebel [COMPLETED]

Chapter Twenty Six - Compliance

The words stole the breath from Selene's mouth, sucked it right out, and she felt her empty lungs sag and her body sink into the void.

"Don't worry, it won't cause him any pain. We have plenty of wooden bullets," said Richard Mason, who reached behind the sofa and pulled out a cardboard box full of bullets. He dipped his hand into it and grabbed a few, and then let them fall through his fingers, landing with the dull thud of impotent weaponry.

"We would hit him with several at once, so he wouldn't stand a chance," said Harland, lifting a gun and demonstrating how the wooden bullets fitted inside. He raised it to his cheek and pressed his face against it as he took aim through the scope and pretended to pull the trigger.

"Wouldn't he be worth more alive?" Selene wasn't sure how this could be the case, but she was willing to give it a shot.

"What value would he have to us?"

"He's powerful and rich. He has money and slaves and resources."

"He would never give them to our cause though Selene," said Harland, running his index finger over the scar that bled into his lip: a feathered string of shining skin. "He's the enemy. They all are. We can't make exceptions."

There was nothing she could say; these men were focussed on the destruction of Vampires. And not just the powerful ones, but all Vampires, and returning the world to human control. Yes, Selene had fantasised about such a world, but these people were not the people to make it happen, or at least they weren't how she had envisaged her saviours. She had wanted a Blood Rebel, a powerful individual who inspired faith and loyalty, and whose purpose she would never have questioned.

She sank back into the sofa, letting its lumpy cushions prod into her body in uneven humps. Not even Xander fitted the bill for the Blood Rebel. He could hardly take care of himself, tied up as he was in Cadogan Place. But he had lived outside of society all his life; he must have been capable of more than she was willing to give him credit for. But the image of him holding the knife to his wrist, shaking and weeping, was not one she associated with a leader of men.

She was aware that they were staring at her, waiting for a response. She acquiesced and dropped her chin in a nod.

No exceptions.

"We should eat," said Virgil, tearing the tension like a paper napkin.

"And sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open," said Jackie, prising her eyelids open with forefinger and thumb before letting them snap back into place.

They began to disperse, becoming individuals once more, and Selene felt their weight lift from her chest, and heaved an unencumbered breath.

* 

The following morning Selene woke, warm and sticky, to find herself pressed up against Jackie's hot body. She didn't even remember getting into bed with her; perhaps she didn't, perhaps Jackie had squeezed herself in later, under the cover of darkness.

She separated their skin and entangled limbs and clambered out of the tiny creaking iron-framed bed. She paused and listened: Curtis was lying on the floor snoring. She stepped over him and was about to open the door, which was already ajar, when she realised some of the others were talking in the sitting room. The mumbled sound was serious, stern, and she knew that what was being discussed must have been important.

"He's badly burnt, but he's back at Cadogan Place." The voice was low and dark, like cocoa: Selene wasn't sure who it was.

"Can he move?"

Selene recognised the other speaker as Harland.

"Only with help. The left side of his face and body are barely more than ash: a moment longer in the flames and he wouldn't exist at all."