Page 22 of Entombed By Blood

No! Never again. With the last threads of sanity, I throw myself back into the search.

Then I reach a cupboard which illuminates as I open it.

I hiss and jump back, reaching for a sword that isn’t there with muscle memory that even centuries of imprisonment haven’t managed to erase.

Cool air pricks my skin. Goosebumps flare across what little of my naked body isn’t charred by the silver. I cock my head to one side and examine the inside of this ice cupboard with curious eyes.

Beer bottles—at least they haven’t changed—litter the strange shelves on the door, and hunks of steak are wrapped in some kind of clear, flexible glass?

I suppose that makes sense. They are lycans, after all.

Then in a little drawer at the bottom. More of the strange bags, filled with blood.

I swipe one up and puncture it with my fangs.

Heaven.

The drawer is empty before I even realise what’s happening. The next several minutes are consumed by the need to feed after so many years of torture and starvation.

Not a drop goes to waste.

I lick it from the floor before I’m done, the shame no deterrent to my starved body.

When it’s over, I seriously debate draining the blood from the steaks too.

This isn’t me.

I slam the door on the cold cupboard and pace across the room to put some distance between myself and temptation.

The barest hint of sunlight peaks behind the blinds on the huge glass wall, tempting me to look.

To see how much the world has changed in the last one hundred and eighty-fiveyears.

I barely touch the string at the side, but it’s enough to send the whole panel of fabric sliding upwards with a subtle whirr.

Dear God.

We’re in the sky, surrounded by towers which dominate the dawn horizon with their own glowing lights.

There are no trees. No forests.

Just metal and glass buildings sticking out of the earth like spears. Glowing with colourful lights that make no sense, yet spell out moving words and images on huge great boards bombarding the ant-like figures of people below.

I take a step back. Then another.

This isn’t a world I know.

My eyes instinctively search out the horizon, finding the river beyond the chaotic lights.

It’s covered in boats, but no steam rises from huge chimney stacks as it did the last time I saw them. These boats move faster, seem sleeker.

Cain dragged me out of the earth and into a time where everything is different. I’m an impostor here, thrown into a world I can’t hope to understand. My breathing comes in choppy, shallow bursts, my throat closing over.

My vampire instincts demand I adapt to survive.

I can’t. This is too much.

I don’t want to.