Waiting For Sunrise

How much longer? Irene’s rampant thoughts of misery slowed down until all she could think about when something would happen more than what. She had gone in and out of a partial state of consciousness. She wasn’t sure if her hand still hurt, or it just remembered the pain. Irene licked her dry lips, tasting the salty tears that had rolled into the grooves thereabouts.

An eerie creek reached her ears, and instantly, more light poured into the room. Irene closed her eyes tight. Neither the light streaming in from the adjacent room, nor the dim light that was flicked on were terribly bright, but she'd been stewing in darkness for an age it seemed. When the shock to her eyes had subsided, she peeled her eyelids apart to see two figures walk into the room.

“You certainly DO love your chains, don’t you?” came a very familiar voice. Even in the dim lighting she could recognise Cyrus. He walked with Gabriel. The two men, standing side by side, were stark contrasts of each other. Gabriel, fair, tall, and impressive. Cyrus, dark, petite, and insignificant. He looked even smaller next to his 'brother'.

“It’s a shame dungeons have gone out of style,” Gabriel’s deep, rich voice resonated. Irene screwed her face into a hideous scowl. Cyrus approached her and made a show of examining her all while avoiding eye contact. She felt as though she were a tapestry being appraised for sale.

“You are lucky there is barely a scratch on her…” Cyrus said to Gabriel. Gabriel lifted his eyebrows at Cyrus.

“Barely a scratch? He cut off my finger!” Irene said angrily. Cyrus turned to her again, this time finally looking her in the eyes. Shivers shot down her spine. There was some strange feeling that resonated from him, but she could not identify it – and that disturbed her. The whole situation was disturbing. She wanted out.

“Knowing Gabriel, that is barely a scratch…” Cyrus said to her quietly. He then sharply turned to Gabriel, crossing his arms. “Well, then, let’s get this over with, Gabriel. What horrible methods of extraction are you going to propose?” Irene cringed. The word ‘extraction’ under the current circumstances brought a flood of unwanted and horrifying imagery. Gabriel’s twisted smirk did not help to ease Irene either.

“What would you do if I were to have mangled her? If she is just a temporary plaything of yours, why would it matter? You could always find yourself a nicer toy,” Gabriel said smoothly, his eyes wandering to Irene for her reaction..

“So there it is… I am just your plaything…” But she knew there was more to it than that. If she'd learned one thing from Cyrus, as much of a clown as he seemed to be, he could maneuver quite well. There was a plan. And she had her role to play, if she wanted to survive. She resented cooperating with Cyrus, but she didn't want to be in Gabriel's clutches either. Cyrus sighed and glanced at Irene for a moment or two, then back at Gabriel.

“She's a satisfying source of amusement,” Cyrus responded. He walked closer to Irene, petting her cheek. Irene continued to glare at him, as that was all she could do. “It isn’t easy finding another like this – she’s irreplaceable.”

“Hm… satisfying?” Gabriel asked, not convinced. He walked over to Irene, leaning in close to her. He took in a deep sniff of her, then stepped back again. “You haven’t even unwrapped your toy – how can she be satisfying?” At this suggestion, Cyrus raised his eyebrows, and Irene squirmed a little.

“You know that I always save the best for last,” Cyrus responded dryly. Gabriel began to chuckle. Irene did not like where this was heading. Irene made believe that she could turn into vapour and just float away out of this horrid place.

“Oh? Just how you saved Layla for last… oh wait, no, she broke before you really had a chance to have fun with her, didn’t she? Although a multitude of men did,” Gabriel taunted. With the brevity of a switch being flicked, Cyrus’s nonchalance morphed to rage. Within a weary blink of Irene’s eyes, Cyrus hand clutched at Gabriel's throat. Such a horrid snarl was on Cyrus’s face, with his fangs bared. His teeth seemed to dominate his entire face, his eyes just slivers of throbbing anger.

“Don’t… you… EVER… talk of her that way again!” Cyrus growled in such a guttural voice that Irene almost did not recognize it. Gabriel, however, just gave a cocky grin down at Cyrus. With very little effort, Gabriel pried Cyrus's hand off his throat and threw Cyrus onto the floor. There was a sickening crack as flesh and bones hit pavement. Then, Gabriel snapped his fingers. Immediately two men charged into the room. The pair of them seized Cyrus's arms, hauling him to his feet and holding him back as he struggled against them like an angry dog at the end of a leash. Arrogantly, Gabriel fixed his collar.

“Tisk tisk Cyrus, anger does not suit you well. Where is that charming smart ass we all know and adore?” Gabriel mocked. He placed his hands behind his back and looked between Irene and Cyrus. “What dog doesn’t sink its teeth into a chew toy? Maybe it’s just a dog that has gone soft and forgot how to play rough… would you like me to remind you?”

Cyrus let out a growl that led into a slurred string of cussing at Gabriel, some of which Irene guessed were in other languages. Gabriel grinned wickedly and turned to Irene, reaching up and grabbing her chin. Irene squirmed as his hand slid down her jaw, down to her shoulder, then pressed firmly on her clavicle, opposite of the side Gabriel was standing. Cyrus watched with wide eyes as Gabriel placed his mouth right into the nook of Irene’s neck, causing her to cringe.

“Don’t you dare!” Cyrus yelled. Gabriel paused, his pale eyes gliding to stare at him, pushing them up with a wide, toothy grin.

“Is there something you wish to tell me, Cyrus?” Irene could feel each word Gabriel made as his cheek remained close to her skin. She stared upward. She could not look at either of them anymore. There was no escape in body, perhaps there could be in mind. However, the pain in her hand prevented her from fading away, and Gabriel’s presence, so close, bound her to the moment.

“I told you already, I don’t believe in that crap anymore!” Cyrus growled. Gabriel yawned mockingly and dismissed Cyrus's claims with a wave of his hand.

“Same old boring words. If not the cornerstones, what is it? No one puts up this much fight for a toy. I want to know how you could have possibly brought yourself from a state of blood frenzy without draining her dry. Perhaps there is something special in her blood?” Gabriel asked, his eyes going back to her throat. “Perhaps, not one of the cornerstones, but maybe something from another myth?" Gabriel's hand went from her chin and reached up, stroking her brow. "Are you a Blood Chalice?”

“Nonsense, Gabriel! You searched for centuries and never found a REAL one! They don’t exist either!” Cyrus insisted, tensing up, but ceasing his struggle. “The only reason she survived was because…” Cyrus 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 swore you’d never make another since Layla. Is she a replacement?”

Cyrus shook his head, turning his head to either direction to glare at Gabriel’s henchmen, then stared at Irene. By this time, Irene had lowered her head. She tried not to notice, but a crawling sensation gave her the sense she was being stared at intensely. Irene lifted her head again, Gabriel evaluating her anew.

“No one can replace a beauty like Layla.”

“Humph! That camel wench had dirty blood and never 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. One of the men holding Cyrus, assumedly either Roan or Flynn though Irene could not tell them apart, punched Cyrus in the gut, causing Cyrus to stagger forward, while the other held him up.

Irene 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 her pain helped her feel more calm.

Something cold pressed into her neck. The pain barely registered, and her eyes drearily focused on the blade being held to her throat. Cyrus yelled out in protest and kicked his own legs from beneath him. Caught off guard, he managed to force the man holding him down with him. With amazing swiftness and inhuman flexibility Cyrus threw up his legs over his one shoulder, like one would do in a reverse safety roll. Yet, instead of rolling back, as the men still had his arms, he managed to catch one of the vampire’s necks between his legs, and dragged him forward, flipping him over the shoulder.

Gabriel’s attention was caught and he swiveled to see what the commotion was, the knife that had been placed against Irene's throat mercifully removed. The vampire that Cyrus had flipped landed face first into the cement floor with a blood-chilling crunch. Crumpled on the floor, the redhead slowly put his hands beneath him. No man could survive that damage to his neck.

Meanwhile, the other vampire was on top of Cyrus to keep him pinned. Gabriel muttered something in another language. Irene thought it was French, but it was too quiet for her to be sure. Gabriel re-examined Irene, as if she were the answer to a question. Amidst the fighting, Gabriel drew close to Irene once more, foregoing the knife and instead placing his teeth at her tense neck. Irene squirmed again as she could feel his lips, and just barely the smooth, wet texture of his fangs brush against her skin. Irene’s 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. Irene could scarcely watch the battle of monsters – as no human, she could fathom, would do what they did to each other.

The room smelt thickly of 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 paused to watch, but then resumed his task, and she felt the her skin break. Right at that moment there was a loud thud and she felt the wall shake behind her. Cyrus was there beside her, pinning Gabriel.

“Impressive, Cyrus,” was all Gabriel said, not an inch of fear in his countenance. His cold pale eyes surveyed Cyrus for a moment with both disgust and intrigue. Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, but Cyrus brought a bloody metal rod up to Gabriel’s throat.

“Shut up!” Cyrus hissed, adding something in French Irene could only guess at being a derogatory slur by the vitriol in Cyrus' voice. Gabriel glared down at Cyrus, his nose wrinkling up with a sneer. 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 Gabriel tried to speak, but Cyrus took his blood brother's shoulders 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 Gabriel’s 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. In a rather pointed rebuttal, Cyrus drove the rod through Gabriel's stomach and into the wall behind him. Gabriel howled in pain and outrage, his hand grabbing the crude skewer. Not wasting any further time while Gabriel worked to free himself, Cyrus tore the chains that bound Irene from the wall. Despite relief at being free, she struggled against being scooped into Cyrus' 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.

Gabriel had just finally pulled himself out, and a deep indent shaped loosely like his body was in the stone wall behind him. There was a clatter as Gabriel tossed the discarded weapon. Cyrus ejaculated a few expletives. "No time to argue!"

Having regained his stature, Gabriel angrily charged after Cyrus. Cyrus, glancing behind him, cursed under his breath, grabbed Irene by her less damaged wrist, and began to run. "Now I've really done it!"

After they had dashed up the stairs and started across the empty warehouse, Cyrus lurched to a stop. Against a crate lay a rifle. With a wide grin, Cyrus ran and hid behind one of the crates, and Irene followed suit, tripping over her own feet, feeling dizzy from the blood loss. Her bones ached as she hit the hard floor. She picked herself up, cradling her injured hand. She wearily opened her eyes, barely following the action.

Cyrus grabbed the gun and checked if it was loaded. Trying to stifle laughter as Gabriel barged into the room, Cyrus took aim. Gabriel turned immediately to where Cyrus was hiding. BANG! Gabriel’s thigh suddenly burst forth a disgusting amount of blood. BANG BANG! First a nick, second bullet dug right into the knee. Gabriel let out a string of uncivilized curses and toppled over. Cyrus scooped Irene into his arms. This time she did not fight, feeling a second wave of nausea. They fled, leaving Gabriel strand on a blown-out knee cap.

Just as Cyrus emerged into the night, he was accosted by a man in black. He had blisters broken out all over his otherwise pale skin, and his hands were red, and bubbled in some spots. Both of them froze, staring at each other. Irene barely recognised him as the man who had abducted her. Irene wondered what happened to his skin, but was too faded to posit any theories. Cyrus glanced up, seeing a full moon, then back at the man, then roared with laughter. “You must be new… too young to play with the big boys during a full moon…” Cyrus mocked. The Matthew got angrier and flung himself at Cyrus. Cyrus easily side stepped him, hefted Irene up on one shoulder, and elbowed Matthew in the back. Cyrus laughed some more as he continued to run, calling over his shoulder. “What do you think makes the moon so bright? It reflects the sun, moron.”