Bookshelf Battle

The blood that squirted out of Blythe’s neck was as dark as the ink Slade has used to write his insult with.

The vampire didn’t get angry. He showed no signs of fear or confusion. He didn’t do one of the many things that most people would have done upon getting stabbed in the neck. He simply pulled the quill out of his flesh and set it down on the table.

Slade watched as the wound healed. The werewolf standing guard over Slade was about to give his prisoner some wounds of his own, but Blythe urged him to back off.

“It’s alright,” Blythe said as he wiped the blood off his neck with a handkerchief. “Mr. Slade has simply rejected my offer and has proposed a hostile counter-offer. I’ll have to pass as my mother died before long before Jesus was born. Secure the prisoner.”

The werewolf behind Slade complied and fastened the shackles back around the prisoner’s wrists.

“Apparently you’ve decided to extend the negotiation process,” Blythe said. “Allow me to offer my counter to your counter.”

The vampire withdrew his pistol, held it by the barrel, and pistol whipped Slade across his right cheek, opening up a deep gash. Red blood poured out of it.

“The board only directed me to keep you alive,” Blythe said. “They never told me that I have to keep you looking pretty.”

Gunther coughed. The shackles he was hanging from were beginning to cut his wrists.

“Takes a big man to wallop a fella when he’s all tied up,” the old man said.

Vampires don’t act out of emotion, seeing as they possess none. But like any being, they do get annoyed, and when vexed, they have been known to lash out in horrific ways.

Blythe did just that when, without wasting a second to think about it, aimed his revolver at Gunther and fired a shot right into the old man’s belly.

“And no one said a damn thing about keeping your elderly sidekick alive at all,” the vampire said.

Slade seethed as Gunther shouted a trail of expletives.

The vein in Slade’s forehead was ready to burst. He sprang to his feet only to be backhanded to the ground by a werewolf’s paw.

Said werewolf turned Slade over on his back, allowing the vampire to lean down and get in the captive’s face.

“Listen to me and listen well, you insignificant twat,” Blythe said. “You’ve decided to take the hard way now. So be it. You’ll lie here and watch the old man who gave you the love your father never did slowly bleed to death. Meanwhile, your savage friends and the woman who you treat like second best will be kept as blood bags, prisoners whose sole purpose for remaining alive will now be to be fed on by vampires in service to the Legion Corporation.”

The vampire picked the contract up off the table.

“The woman you love the most will be taking a train ride with me as an insurance policy,” Blythe said. “I haven’t decided what to do with her once I don’t need her any more but for some reason, sucking every last drop of blood out of her then tossing her dried up carcass off the Sturtevant Bridge seems like it would be quite entertaining.”

The vampire lightly slapped his hand against Slade’s injured cheek. “And then finally, when you give up and realize that everyone you ever loved is either dead or wishing they were because of you, you’ll find me…”

Blythe crumpled up the contract into a ball and bounced it off Slade’s forehead.

“…and you’ll beg me to draw up another one.”

The vampire snapped his fingers and the werewolves joined him in strutting out of the livery.

Slade’s mind was in turmoil. So many thoughts. So many emotions. All he could get out was, “I’ll kill you! Do you hear me? I’ll find you and tear you apart and make you wish you were never born!”

“Blah, blah, blah,” the vampire said. “So said every righteous knight, warrior, and priest I ever crossed paths with since King David was a tiny tot. I’ve heard it all before. So long, Slade.”