The Vampire and the Scorpion (Blood and Venom Saga #1)

5. Five

Five

M y phone was dead. Typical. If I didn’t act fast, I would meet the same fate. Mind made up, I planned my escape.

I sat on the edge of the sofa, fidgeting. My stomach twisted itself into knots as I checked the vintage wall clock every few minutes, expecting hours to have flown by. Though eager to leave, it seemed sensible to wait until the sun had risen. I was being held captive by a vampire, after all. Also, I needed to be certain that Madigan was asleep before I made my move.

It wasn’t until 8 a.m. that I dared to inspect him, a niggling headache forming in my temples, testing my patience. Perfect time for a hangover—not. Madigan was silent behind his curtain, the lack of snoring disconcerting. My hand shook as I reached out to pull the curtain back. I gripped the thin material, knuckles white, heart pounding. I exhaled slowly before poking my head around the curtain to view my captor.

Madigan was sprawled across the double bed, long limbs reaching every corner. His chest was slowly rising and falling with each breath, eyes closed.

Perfect.

I crept to my section of the caravan, drew my curtain closed, and turned my attention to the window. The tape that fixed the blinds down was brittle, the glue having degraded. It was easy to pull away. I took my time, keeping the ripping sound low. With bated breath, I pulled up the blind, letting a stream of sunlight pour inside. I considered opening the curtains and watch the vampire burst into flames. That’s how it worked in movies.

‘I think you have been watching too many films, ignorant girl.’ That’s what he said the last time I’d made assumptions about vampires...

I couldn’t guarantee that sunlight would kill him. What if it just pissed him off? Then I’d be at the mercy of a furious vampire who had already shown his superior speed and strength. This idea discarded, I returned to my original plan. I unlatched the window with a click, pushing the plastic pane open far wider than I’d thought possible. Without a neighbour on the end of the row, I could escape unnoticed. With a grin, I draped one leg over the window ledge, then the other, and let myself fall. A squeal caught in my throat as something seized the back of my coat, nearly choking me as the zipper dug into my neck. I glanced up, expecting the enraged face of Madigan to be glowering back, but sighed in relief, realising my hood had caught on the latch.

After untangling myself, I snuck from one camper to the next, towards the gates and freedom, careful to keep low to avoid detection. Most campers had their curtains pulled, but I wasn’t taking any chances. A few times I heard voices from inside and froze in my tracks, straining my ears, gauging how close they were. After creeping with the speed of a sloth, I reached the end of the row of campers.

The gates were in sight. I looked back one last time. There was no one around. It was now or never.

I removed my heels, clutching them in one hand, my bag in the other. One last breath, bouncing on the balls of my feet, gravel scratching beneath them.

Go for it... Now!

I sprinted to the gate. Icy wind whipped through my hair, lashing against my face. Gravel shredded my feet. I ignored the sting, focusing on putting one foot ahead of the other. I tossed my bag and shoes over the gate. Clambered over myself. Darted across the road. Into the park.

I kept running. No one else was around. The frosty morning air burned my lungs. I dashed to the closest familiar spot—a hedgerow I’d nicknamed the ‘ Stoner Bush ’. I crashed through the branches and dark-green leaves until I reached the centre of the hedgerow, ducking down.

My heart was in my throat. The taste of metal in my mouth. Blood rang in my ears. I filled my lungs, gasping for breath. Beads of sweat trickled through my hair and down my neck.

I peered through the waxy-textured leaves, searching for pursuers. No one. Could it be possible that I’d escaped unnoticed? I couldn’t believe that a meeting place for potheads was my sanctuary.

Occasionally checking that the coast remained clear, I caught my breath. My lungs were raw and a stitch in my side ached. Panting, I fidgeted with a fallen leaf among the damp earth, discarded fag butts, joint ends, and broken lighters. Before long, its almond aroma was on my fingers and I’d trapped dirt beneath my nails.

You need to keep moving...

After crawling out from my hiding spot, I resumed my liberation. I kept up a brisk pace, still carrying my shoes in case I needed to break into a run. Constantly checking over my shoulder. Only now did I encounter other people. Mostly joggers and dog walkers. Some wrinkled their noses or rolled their eyes upon seeing me. To them, I appeared to be doing the walk of shame. A group of teenagers gathered in the bandstand called out, jeering. Once, this might have bothered me, but now I didn’t give a shit. I had only one thing in mind: make it to the nearest safe place. My house was a thirty-minute walk, but there was someone who lived a mere five minutes away. Greg.

I arrived at his house, my finger hovering over the doorbell. I bit my lip.

What if he’s angry about that slap...

Screwing up my eyes, I jabbed the doorbell... and waited. I shifted my weight from side to side, looking back, half-expecting to see Madigan in hot pursuit of me. I rang the doorbell again.

This time, I heard footsteps and the muffled sound of voices. The door opened. Greg stood in the doorway, hair unkempt, yawning. His familiar face, after the nightmare I’d experienced, was like a fresh, spring breeze, and all the dramas we’d been through fell away, unimportant. Irrelevant. Forgotten.

“Ava? What are you doing?” he asked, rubbing one eye. He was wearing grey jogging bottoms and a simple, white t-shirt. “No offence, but you look rough as heck.”

I wiped my filthy hands on my coat to little effect, covered from head to toe in dirt and scratches from my dive into the hedge.

“Can I come in? I’ve had one hell of a night.”

He frowned, concerned, but not about my welfare. More like, concerned when someone reads a news report that a serial killer has escaped the local prison. He didn’t step aside to let me in. “Tell me what happened,” he said, folding his arms.

“I’m in trouble with the guy I met last night. He turned out to be a creeper. I escaped, but he could be following me. Can I stay here, just for a couple of hours? I’ll clean myself up and be on my way. I promise.”

He didn’t answer, but glanced over his shoulder into his living room, then back to me.

“Please?” I asked again.

“You’re bleeding.” He gestured to my feet. I looked down at the bloody marks I’d left on his porch.

“I cut my feet trying to get away.”

Greg tilted his head to one side, thinking. “I have someone over at the moment. They’ll freak out seeing you in this state. You can’t just turn up to my house like this. It’s not fair. Especially after slapping me last night.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” I drove my fingers through my hair as my chest grew tight. “But I’m in danger , Greg. You must understand, I’m desperate.” It was impossible to keep my voice from shaking.

He rubbed his chin, then bit the nail of his thumb, his expression softening into a look of sympathy, one I recognised from when we’d been dating, back when he’d been kind. He opened his mouth to speak again, but someone interrupted him.

“Tell her to go home!” said a female voice from his living room. Greg straightened himself and folded his arms.

“I think you might still be drunk, Ava.”

“No, Greg, please!”

“Go home and get some rest. I will see you on Monday.” And without a moment’s hesitation, he shut the door. I stared at the closed door in disbelief.

How could he do that to me? The tightness in my chest now spread through my body, muscles tensing down to my fingers that curled into fists as the red mist descended.

“Arsehole!” I kicked the door, leaving a bloody mark as a searing pain shot through my foot.

Well, that was dumb...

I sighed, the bubbling anger dissipating, leaving a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’d been sure that despite our history, Greg would have helped me in my time of need. What a fool.

I looked around. Still no sign of Madigan. Resigning myself to finishing my journey home, I put my shoes on, but thanks to my bleeding soles, my feet slid around painfully inside. After removing them again, I continued the trek as I’d started—barefoot.

By the time I reached my front door, my feet felt as though they were on fire, blazing pain radiating up to my ankles. I unlocked the front door, and avoiding the scratchy doormat, stepped onto the cool, ceramic floor tiles, treading carefully as not to slip. It was bliss after walking on tarmac. On autopilot, I headed straight into the kitchen. There was no one there to greet me except a stack of dirty dishes beside a pool of stagnant water in the limescale-encrusted sink. Keys still in hand, I unlocked the backdoor and stepped out into the garden.

I sat myself on the flimsy, wooden stool we kept outside and lit a cigarette, inhaling, holding it in my lungs before breathing out the smoke.

It was peaceful outside, the only sound was the twitter of a robin sat on the garden fence. Everything seemed so familiar. So normal, that last night’s shit show could have passed for a nightmare. My temples throbbed, as the hangover I’d ignored during my escape now flared into life once again.

As I brought my cigarette to my lips, the scratch inside my elbow from Austin’s harvesting attempt twinged. An enormous bruise had formed, and in the centre a tiny, red pinprick.

I swallowed, my lower lip quivering.

Keep it together... Keep it together... No crying allowed...

I shook myself, taking another puff, refusing to let the weight of what I’d been through drag me down. The sun inched across the sky as I smoked one cigarette after another, extinguishing each with a hiss as I pressed them into the water-filled ashtray. I swirled the end of my last cigarette in the brown water, the stink of stale tobacco fresh in my nostrils. I got up to head inside. Perhaps Charlie, my housemate, was home and would let me scrounge another fag off of him.

I tiptoed upstairs to prevent the fluff from the thin, fraying, red and gold carpet getting into the cuts on my feet, each step creaking beneath my weight as the floorboards bowed. I knocked on Charlie’s bedroom door, but no luck. He was probably in lectures, like I ought to be. But that wasn’t happening. Not today. Today was about recovery.

After necking some painkillers and forcing down a bowl of cereal, I used the communal bathroom to clean myself up. I brushed my teeth, ridding myself of the sour flavour in my mouth and furry texture on my tongue. I’d made jokes about how you needed a tetanus jab before using the dilapidated shower, but it was worth it when the hot, steamy water ran down my body, brown and red streams swirling down the drain.

Once out and dry, I inspected the cuts on my feet. From the way they stung, I imagined deep lacerations, but they weren’t as bad as I’d pictured, more akin to a child’s scraped knees, though they still seared as I applied antiseptic cream and plasters.

Desperate to lay my aching body down, I made for my bedroom. I lit a stick of incense—a gift from Hayley—to cover the musty scent of the mould growing in one of the water-stained corners, then switched on my Xbox, and crawled into bed, my mattress sagging beneath me, bed springs digging into my back. I scrolled through the menu screen, replaying the horrors inside my head, on repeat.

Controller abandoned on my side table, I laid back and closed my eyes, my headache still lingering beneath my temples, untouched by the paracetamol, and slipped into unconsciousness. But even sleep didn’t free me from my torment.

In my dream, a man in a top hat tied me down, strapping up my arm and sharpening an axe, tapping the blade with the whetstone with a tink tink.

I woke with a start in a cold, clammy sweat, my short hair sticking to the back of my neck. Night had fallen. My room was in darkness. The only light was a harsh glare from the TV screen. I heard a strange tapping noise, a low tink tink, like metal on glass.

Good. Sounds like Charlie is home.

I wriggled out of bed to answer the knock at my door. Only to find an empty hallway. I closed the door.

Damn it, Ava, you’re losing the plot...

I shook myself, shrugging off the dream that still haunted me. And turned... to find the source of the noise staring at me.

A deathly pale face at the window. The vampire who’d caught Austin. Dominic . His wicked, little eyes alight with excitement, and thin mouth split into a smile that stretched across his face, ear to ear.

My blood turned to ice as he surveyed me with the expression of a cat watching a bird in a cage.