Fangs of Fate (Untish #1)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHANCE

By the time I made it to the interrogation room located deep in the belly of the HQ building, I was two-parts enraged that our borders were breached, and one-part disgusted with Rusty. I refused to think of him as Dux Richards in my mind. The male was quickly angered, old-school, and ruthless. Good qualities in a warrior but questionable in a leader. Even at my ‘youthful’ age of twenty-six I knew that.

The interrogation room was cold, everything down here was inhumane and lifeless; from the stainless-steel walls, tables, and chairs to the florescent lights that were used, everything was sterile. Fire, while threatening, also was a symbol of comfort—a reminder of our past, our strength—as such, it was forbidden in the prisons, dungeons, and interrogation rooms. Personally, I thought fire would be effective down here—a symbol of death. But according to my father, President Dale, it was also an honorable way to go … not like the recently discovered ways of death.

President Dale faced the one-way glass, arms folded behind his back. He didn’t even glance up as we entered. Rusty went to his one side and I to the other, both focused ahead at the interrogation room behind the glass wall.

A young male sat with his arms bound in steel and cobalt to the chair—a chair that was bolted to the floor. He didn’t look older than seventeen. He was pathetically built, likely a scholar or computer geek, not a warrior.

“What is he being held for?” I voiced the question, using a firm tone—one of a leader. I refused to look weak in front of the powerful male, to let my father make me cower.

“Treason. We believe he was an accomplice to the attack on the SO,” President Dale said. “A currier to be exact.”

Was he my father? Yes, but I preferred to think of him as commander first and father second. There was no room for nepotism in the military.

“Have we ascertained how he helped? What intel he has?” I asked, anxious to get to the bottom of the most recent attack; my stomach acid was rising.

“Not yet, that’s why you are here.” He smirked as he narrowed his eyes in challenge at me. “Dux Dale,” he prodded my shoulder with his finger, “you’ll be assisting myself and Dux Richards in the interrogation.”

Rusty let out a huff and cracked all his knuckles, on both hands. “We’ll break the truth from him,” he spat the words coating the floor in his saliva.

“After you.” President Dale motioned to the door with his head.

I moved and Rusty followed as I pushed through the heavy glass door and entered the room. The stench of piss and body odor filled the room. The bound male looked even younger up close. How could he have gotten things so wrong at such a young age? I steeled myself, age didn’t matter in war. If he was so much as complicit in the attack on the Southern Outpost, he deserved what was coming to him. Thirteen lives. Thirteen were lost at the Southern Outpost. Good soldiers who served the Glenn were now gone because of a traitor; it was an outright act of war.

No. I shook my head, straightening to my full height. No mercy would be given, none was deserved.

“Dux Dale, if you’d like to start the line of questioning,” President Dale commanded rather than requested—as was expected of a superior—and handed me a manila folder. I opened it and scanned through the documents prior to approaching the boy, Lucas.He was nineteen.

“Lucas, what intel did you hand over to the Fern Vamp?” I circled him, waiting. Nothing. No response. “Answer me!” I demanded, but he sat there, pale, refusing to cooperate.

The president tapped his cane. I grabbed Lucas’s left pinky finger and snapped it. The break was a sickening sound, but it didn’t bother me. Neither did the ensuing scream. He deserved this.

Thirteen lives, twelve arches and one anax died because of him.

“I will break every bone in your pathetic excuse of a body. Answer me and you’ll be expedited to your execution.” I leaned in, inhaling the scent of fear. “Let me let you in on a little secret. You will die. It is just a matter of how and when.” I tipped his chin up with my finger, forcing his brown eyes to lock on me. No fear shone there. “I can break every bone, let Dux Richards skin you alive, strip your nerves from your exposed flesh—which let me assure you, is possible and hurts like hell—or you can answer my questions and have a timely, albeit painful death.” He flinched, white spreading over his already ghostly pale face, but he didn’t respond.

Fine, I wasn’t one to make shallow promises. I grabbed his index finger and pulled, snap! I grabbed his next finger and pushed, crunch! I grabbed his thumb and paused.

“Who were you working with? What intel was passed along?”

He didn’t answer. Even with his face contorted in pain, he remained silent. Three more taps sounded in the room. So be it. I yanked, and his thumb popped off—I chucked it across the room as crimson painted the floor and covered the front of my uniform.

“TELL ME WHAT INTEL WAS ACCESSED!” I shouted. Usually, soldiers would flinch or piss themselves with this type of questioning, but this boy didn’t so much as look at me. If he weren’t the enemy, I’d be impressed by his resolve. But he was the enemy. Thirteen lives, he killed good soldiers.

There was no excuse.

Tap. I grabbed his forearm and squeezed; I could feel the ulna breaking, black and blue blossomed, the blood clotting and building beneath his translucent skin. His screams filled the room, even still, he wouldn’t look at me.My stomach roiled.

“Allow me, Dux Dale,” President Dale spoke, his voice lethally calm. He outstretched his hand toward the boy and Lucas’s body began to rearrange itself. The ‘healing’ gift my father possessed could be used to cure, but given his rank in the military and history, it was usually used as a means of torture. Lucas screamed, his voice growing raspy as his cries escalated. His bones rearranged and became whole. About one minute later, his arm looked good as new, aside from the now faint bruising.

“Begin again, Dux Dale.”

And so, I did. Now was not the time to be weak. Tap. I broke every finger and his forearm three times. Tap! I started on the other side.

Still, he would not speak. He would not answer.

TAP! I gripped his collarbone and pushed, snapping it inward. He screamed and then passed out. President Dale outstretched his hand and the boy’s eyelids fluttered open and he began to scream again.

“Dux Richards, I believe it’s your turn,” the president commanded.

I stepped back, chest heaving. I had interrogated many prisoners, none as pathetic looking as Lucas, and yet, none had withstood me—ever. Aggravated, I stepped aside cursing myself for my inadequacy as Dux Richards approached, cracking his knuckles.

Tap, Tap, TAP!

“Son, you’re going to wish you were dead,” Rusty spoke as he grabbed a knife from the nearby tray. He approached Lucas and pressed the blade to his forearm. He slipped it under the layer of skin and shaved upwards. Lucas’s cries were deafening. Rusty lifted the blade to his face and sniffed.

“You know why my name is Rusty?” He paused, his eyes dilating until his entire irises were black. “I love the taste of blood.” He licked the blade—black veins began to spread from his eyes. It was forbidden to drink the blood of vampires, even in sexual context it was punishable, but Rusty didn’t care.

I glanced at my father, he was unfazed—bored, even. Tap ! Rusty then lowered himself to Lucas’s arm and sunk his teeth into the bare, exposed flesh. Lucas’s scream became unintelligible, and he passed out as Rusty drank deeply. The flesh on Lucas’s arm turned bright red as the rest of his body paled. Rusty’s face became darker, the veins spreading until his skin was more purple-black than it was pale.

“That’s enough, Dux Richards. We need him alive,” President Dale spoke, placing a hand on Rusty’s back. Rusty stiffened, released a growl, and then released Lucas’s arm and stood upwards.

The motion caused a spray of blood to coat the floor. Lucas’s body slumped, he almost looked dead. Even the flesh on his arm looked pink but not red. President Dale reached an arm toward Lucas’s body causing it to twitch, then shake, as a gold aura surrounded him. Lucas’s arm began to brighten, redden, and then darken to purple as his veins turned dark red, then maroon, then deep purple. His eyes bulged open, and his once brown eyes were now red, dark red.

“Begin again Dux Richards.”

And Rusty did, he took the blade to the other arm and Lucas’s screams became white noise.

Tap, tap, TAP !

Still, he would not answer.