месть - Vengeance

[Nik (DELETED 5789)]

Prologue

Mihail Petrovsky sat in his cell. He no longer had any eyes to see with, he had no tongue to taste or speak with and only his left ear had sustained the ability to hear when a hearing aid was in place. There was this constant hissing sound present every day, like an open valve of a tyre and every time he bit his remaining molars together, he would hear crackling, like someone squeezed bubblewrap right next to his ear. He was an old man and he had spent years in that physical cell, and almost as many in that other prison, the one of his own mind with nothing more to live with than his own thoughts and memories. Every day was like the one before. He would wake up without knowing if he was awake or not. The sound from his left ear would accompany him through the day as he would go back in time to think of his wife Olga. The times when they fell in love, and how she met him at the door smiling, as he came home from taking a life, or stealing another, or poisoning another. Then a boy would come to greet him, also smiling and showing him a drawing he had made with their family in the picture living in a castle somewhere. They both smiled and loved him without knowing what he was and what he was capable of.

Mihail could smell the guard coming. The guard's idea of morning shower ment deodorant on top of hangover sweat. He slipped his feet on the floor and sat up as the crackling in his ears broke his trail of thought. He felt the wooden surface of the table next to his bed and took his hearing aid slipping it in it's place and turning it on. The guard leaned in towards his ear and yelled. "You're doing laundry today." They didn't bother with handcuffs anymore, because the man wouldn't escape.
The guards helped him into the room next to that steam filled hellhole of a laundry room willed with cumstains, sweat and dried up tears. They locked the door and placed a mp3 player on the table. "Listen closely." The guard yelled. "Pjotr Andreyev and your son send their regards.They met yesterday finally, as Mr. Andreyev promised you they would." The guard stuck an earpiece into Mihail's ear, cranked the colume to full and pressed play.
Mihail recognized the sound of a drill. Then another familiar voice spoke to him.
"Nikita wants to say something to you."
He heard the drill squealing and a man screaming. The ear ripping sound was as if the drill had gone through something very soft and then hit something very hard and was struggling. Mihail grabbed his chest as he listened as the familiar voice continued. "That was Nikita's left kneecap. Next will be his left shoulder." The drill squeal resumed immediately as did the screaming. Mihail fell on his knees clenching his chest. His face was turning purple and sweat beaded on his forhead as he fell on his side." The sins of the father are visited upon the son." The voice said as Mihail's heart stopped beating. The guards let the recording play through. After an hour of drilling, screaming and taunting a voice spoke. "Tomorrow, dear friend. Nikita and I will discuss your legacy some more." The guard took the mp3 player and left the room to report this death later.

[Nik (DELETED 5789)]

Pjotr Andreyev was not a nice man.
As a young man all his time was spent working for the colhose, and poverty annoyed him almost as much as he hated the back breaking work they were forced to endure, but he was never a book reading type so it was all he could do. He left his family one day and joined the military and there, finally, his career skyrocketed. Soon he found himself in speznaz GRU flying from one place to another doing Kreml's dirty work. He never saw his family after he left and didn't miss them either. In his eyes his family was stupid for allowing themselves to be shoved into a box from which there was no way out. They would die poor and nobody would look out for them since they didn't do it for themselves either, and that made them not worthy of a thought or a phonecall.

One day a mission went to shitter. Pjotr was in the middle of nowhere with his AK-47 staring at a house he had just shot hundreds of holes into. The windows were shattered and the sounds from inside had gone quiet. He kicked the door in and looked inside seeing a woman and her two children lifeless on the kitchen floor. The house was supposed to be a hideout of something other, than a family with children and soon his mistake dawned on him. His own people then, to cover up their own asses, made Pjotr and his team a bunch of terrorists in the public eye and his face was plastered all across the soviet land stamped as the face of a traitor. He had to leave and with the help of Mihail Petrovsky, he ended up on the new continent. From there on, his and his team's job was the same as it was before in their mother-land, but instead of serving their country, they served greed. They got rewarded royally for every move they made and soon they had more money than they knew how to spend.
Well.. at least, until Mihail Petrovsky made the bad decision to sing.
Ever since then Pjotr has been running the show. Greed was once his biggest motivator, now it made sure he could keep doing what he was doing. Knowing that everything and everyone had a price was the reason he could sleep at night. A stack of bills would make things disappear and and another stack would find them. This is how he ended up in Harper Rock.

A giant black Escalade was parked outside the the building as Nik was exiting the Veil Tower. He had arrived in the city not so long ago, but he had felt at home instantly and that sense of false security got the best of him. He made a mistake and left a fingerprint behind. Just one print, just once, but it was enough. He thought time had done it's job and made mr Andreyev forget his existence, but he was wrong. The minute police set their sights on him, Andreyev's phone went off a 1000 miles away.

Nik's face went grey as he felt the cold muzzle of a gun behind his right ear. When Andreyev stepped out of the car with a smile on his face Nik exhaled and looked at him knowing what would happen next. There would be no way he could fight these guys off, but he was going to try. The last time he saw him was after he had shot his wife Sara in front of him on Halloween 2007 and as a final insult he had spat on his face as he laid there with a bullet in his gut.

"Nikita. It's good to see you son." Andreyev said as he walked to Nik and grabbed his face for a kiss on his cheek. This gesture was usually a sign of friendship and forgiveness, but Nik knew this time, it ment something far more sinister.

[Nik (DELETED 5789)]

You know the drill

"I know you have ill feelings about me, Nikita." Pjotr broke the silence. They had shoved Nik on the back seat and he sat there pinned in between two door-frame sized hunks of remorseless russian meat with guns pointed at him. "I should have finished the job I was given more thoroughly, but I didn't... and you got away." Pjotr spoke in a friendly tone as if he was speaking to an old friend. "It has been hard these past few years trying to correct a mistake that.." He tapped his left temple. "...just nags and nags like an old ***** in the back of your mind. Leave.. no.. loose.. ends.. ever!"
Nik looked at him calmly. He had been preparing for this moment in his mind for years, but wasn't ready when the moment came. It was a mistake on his part. Him ending up in Harper Rock was the best thing that had happened in a long time. The people he had met and the things he had seen made him stay and even though the events lead to an unforseen little slip in that moment of carelessness, he was not feeling desperate. He knew the residents of Harper Rock would be ready for Pjotr Andreyev's kind. He, however was not ready for Harper Rock.

They dragged him into an empty warehouse in Coastside. He sat on a chair with his hands bound behind him listening to them discussing the weather. One of them was going to leave to find some coffee and another's stomach made a low growling noise.. He would be looking for a bathroom soon. And Pjotr.. He was sitting in front of him with a smile on his face. He said nothing, just admired Nik like a trophy of some kind. Nik leaned back and winked at Pjotr making the smile on his face disappear for a second. They both had been waiting for this moment for years. Pjotr reached for his pocket and pulled out a recorder. He placed it on the table as he stood up to take off his coat and folded it neatly on the table as well. He sat back down and smiled. The goons of his were at this point minding their own business. The one with the noisy stomach had slipped away somewhere. The other one took the car and left, but he would be back soon, that was certain. Nik knew if he was ever going to leave it would have to be now.

Pjotr sat forward and rubbed his hands together with his elbows on his knees. "I know what you're thinking." He began to speak but was interrupted as Nik kicked him in the face wrecking his nose. Nik charged towards the door but as he was about to fly outside he felt something hit his leg and he fell down. He tried to get up but realized he had been shot in the calf and the gunman was now walking towards him. He shot Nik in the other leg as well just to make sure wouldn't run away and dragged him back into the room by his tightly bound hands. Pjotr was holding his nose as he placed the chair back in front of Nik's and sat down. He wiped the blood oozing from his nose on his sleeve as the gunman tied Nik on his chair. "As I was saying..." Pjotr smiled so his bloodstained teeth were showing. "I know what you're thinking.. How can this all be justified? You had no part in what your father did and neither did that broad of yours, but son.." He reached for a bag next to the table and pulled out a drill. "..there are some things, that need to be done. It's nothing personal.. it's business and you sitting here is bad for my business." He said as he placed the drill on the table and dug out 3 extra batteries from the bag. "If a man makes a mistake, he must correct that mistake no matter how long it took him to do so." The gunman tied Nik's legs to the chair as Pjotr fixed the bit in it's place and squeezed the trigger as if to make sure the drill was working. "We take pride in our work and everything we do is done properly.. well.. except for you." He stood up and took the recorder. "This will be sent to your father once we're done." He said and pressed the record button before the gunman blindfolded Nik.

Pjotr held the recorder to his mouth and spoke. "Nikita wants to say something to you." He pressed the trigger of the drill and immediatly pressed the bit against Nik's left knee. Nik screamed as the bit tore it's way through his skin and soft tissue, and then struggled through his bone. He tried to fight it, but it was no use. His both legs were bleeding, and he was bound tight without being able to move an inch. All he could do was to sit and take it. Pjotr pulled the drill back and pushed it forward a few times as if to make sure the hole he had just made was a good and proper one.

"That was Nikita's left kneecap. Next will be his left shoulder." Pjotr spoke to the recorder.

He placed the drillbit against Nik's shoulder and pulled the trigger. The bit burrowed through muscle and wrecked the joint stopping just behind the spot where collarbone ends. Nik growled as his head was pounding from the pain. His throat was dry and sore from the screaming. Pjotr paused for a moment and grabbed the recorder. "The sins of the father are visited upon the son." He added and pulled the trigger again. He moved the bit back and forth, twisting it from side to side to make Nik scream louder, so his father would get the message. "Tomorrow, dear friend. Nikita and I will discuss your legacy some more." Pjotr stopped the recording and handed the recorder to the gunman. "E-mail that to the guard." He said and leaned over Nik sticking the drillbit into that old existing hole in his knee. "As for you.." He said and pulled the trigger again. He twisted the drill so it tore the hole bigger destroying the joint completely. "..we will meet again tomorrow." He stood up and grabbed his coat as the rest of the goons arrived. "Make sure he doesn't sleep. If he passes out, shock him." Pjotr said before he walked out.

Nik didn't sleep or pass out that night. Pjotr's men made sure of that. Every time he would drift away he was waken up with a bucket of cold water or a jolt from a car battery. When Pjotr arrived the next day he ignored Nik at first. He ate takeout with his men and talked about the news as if Nik wasn't there. Nik sat tightly bound and in agony, but he didn't make a sound. Yesterday was just a show. Today would be so much worse. They weren't going to leave him alive and kicking after seven years of hunting him down, they just wanted to make it messy and loud so Nik's father would get the message.

As Nik sat there he began to think about everything that had happened after he came into this town.
The way he had met MkVenner after he burst in through the Handle Bar door on their opening night. Victor had arrived shortly after and for a brief moment as they stood there he was so certain he was in deep ****.. and he kind of was, because just a few hours later he was drunk and wearing nothing but his boxers after the staff had sold him to Meluiwen.. this adorable, yet strange albino girl that he called a friend now. Kenlie had also become a close friend especially after the "quirk" of Harper Rock had become known to him. He had an apartment, a job, a life here and everything was looking good for the first time in a small lifetime.
Then one night he met Clover and was instantly focused on her, and her alone. The thought of not seeing her anymore made him sad beyond words, but maybe it was better this way. Nik was certain Clover, as well as others, would rather remember him the way he was, not the way he is now.

Pjotr went back to work on him later that evening. His favorite tool of trade squealed for a good hour as Nik's right shoulder and knee were damaged beyond repair. If he ever survived this, his joints wouldn't. As a final blow Pjotr sunk the drillbit into his chest piercing a hole into his heart and another into his lung. He took off Nik's blindfold so he could see his eyes he slowly wilt away. He would bleed out within an hour and Pjotr's reputation would be saved and his long manhunt would be over.

Nik was tired. His chest felt tight and he was struggling to breathe.

[Kenlie (DELETED 4989)]

Wrecked. That was the only word she could think to use to describe how utterly chaotic the past few nights had been for her and Victor.

On one hand, even though business at the bar wasn’t quite ‘booming’, they had a steady flow of new customers. A good chunk of those newcomers were becoming regular patrons. And that had been all they ever wanted and asked for. If they were in it for fame -- well, they wouldn’t be who they were, would they? More simply, the establishment was meant to provide a fun, welcoming atmosphere for people that didn’t quite fit in anywhere else. And that was exactly what it had become in just a month of being officially open.

It had also become Kenlie’s home. Victor’s home. Their home. And the club, along with the bar staff and their small handful of regulars, had become an extension of their family.

Including Nik.

Attempting to form some sort of bond with Victor’s childe had proven itself to be one of the most difficult things she had done in her entire life. And considering she had gone through gang initiation, as well as getting jumped out, that said… a lot. What she hadn’t admitted to Kaelyn in their apologies the night before, was that Kenlie’s frustrations weren’t entirely on her. She had become increasingly worried each day Nik didn’t show up at the bar, and the fact that he was human only made her concern that much worse.

In truth, the man probably had no idea how much Kenlie cared. She wasn’t exactly the type of person to show affection regularly, unless you happened to be one of four people: Victor, Dominique, Charles (Doc), or an odd little albino by the name of Meluiwen. The way she generally showed her love for other people was through booze-fueled antics and a more ‘brotherly’ type of love that wasn’t expected from a woman of her stature. And, for a man that had inspired her in ways she hadn’t even realized herself, the occasional punch in the shoulder didn’t quite cut it.

Maybe her vouching for him to be a prospect would, though.

In short, all of that brought her to where she was now: pacing about the back storage and break room of The Handle Bar, with her phone clutched in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The iPhone’s screen was set on a text thread between her and Nik, in which there was simply a string of green messages sent from her. All of them were sent throughout the past seven days. An entire week, and she hadn’t heard a single ******* peep from the ******* Russian.

“Damn it, Nik. If you’re stashed up in your apartment with a hot chick, the least you could do is say you’re just getting your ******* dick wet,” she hissed through clenched teeth. She’d love to believe that’s all that was going on, but a large knot in her gut told her that there was something more sinister behind his sudden disappearance.

Kenlie’s thumb swept across the ‘details’ button near the top right of the messages, and then again over the phone icon that would connect her to Nik’s voicemail for the fifth time in the past two days. Yekaterina had only confirmed her concerns the night before, when she told Kenlie and Victor that Nik hadn’t been in to work at the Kit Kat in the same amount of time. The woman knew, at this point, she really only had one option. It was something she’d done for him in the past, and it was something she’d have to resort to again, if only to set her mind at ease.

“That’s it,” she muttered, flicking her phone onto the round table that was littered with a few empty beer bottles and dirty ashtrays. The brunette placed the filter of her cigarette between dark red lips and took one more drag, long and hard. As the smoke seeped from her nostrils, she stubbed the cherry out against the top of an old beer can and flicked the remains into the half-drained contents. A spin on her heel had her facing two sets of stairs, and in a hurry she chose the ones that would take her up to the second floor.

Heavy double doors were thrown open to greet her with the familiar sight of their chapel. Very few people were allowed up there, given what the space was generally used for. A large table stood at the center of the room, its wood heavily worn and hand-carved to display a fanged skull that seemed to be peering up at the ceiling. At one end of it, there was a cherry wood gavel and a pile of papers that looked to be sums of money scribbled with various notes. At the other sat a laptop computer, pretty unused and in good shape. Between those two points sat a variety of other items which included a few handguns, an ashtray, and a prospect’s cut. The latter was folded up neatly at Kenlie’s seat, which sat a few chairs down from the head of the table.

The club had been holding onto it for a week, now. Ven and the rest of the club hadn’t seen much of a reason to deny Kenlie her suggestion -- and at this point, why would they? Nik had all but become a hang around the first day he stepped foot into the bar. Christ, he was a mess. She remembered that night well as she took the patched leather in her hands, fingers kneading the material. Her eyes traced the PROSPECT rocker she’d worn herself not very long ago and, though she hid it well, pride began to swell in her chest until she felt it should burst. Her, Victor and Dom had actually done it. Now it was Nik’s turn, if he chose to accept their lifestyle as his own. She damn sure hoped he did.

With a shake of her head, Kenlie laid the cut across the seat of her chair and then started a walk around the table, giving her neck a few good cracks. “Alright, Nik,” she said, as if he were standing in the room with her. “Please don’t be naked.”

Once she’d given the table a once-around, Kenlie came to stand at her seat once again. She gave her arms a good shake and closed her eyes while breathing deeply through her nose. To an onlooker, it’d seem like she was preparing herself for meditation (and, to be fair, that wasn’t too far of a stretch).

Some people were great at this magic thing. Then there were others, like her, who had to use every bit of focus and energy that they could muster in order to do the simplest of tasks. After a year of being exposed to all the **** she’d been “gifted” as a sorcerer, it still didn’t come naturally to her, even as a vampire. It wasn’t like having a third arm, or knowing another language. It was like calculus. Simple for smart people to do, but too much like trying to comprehend Greek when it came to poor Kenlie.

For her, one thing did seem to work. Kenlie would picture a small ball of soft, blue light at the base of her skull. Using sheer will, she would move the light through her body; down the back of her neck, over the curves of her spine, down her legs, and then back up into her core. The further it traveled towards her center, the more energy it collected into itself and the brighter it became. When it was finally at its biggest and brightest, that light spread out to the tips of her fingers. She swore that at that precise moment, she could feel the energy tickling her senses like static electricity fluttering across her skin.

And then, it happened. With her eyes still closed so, so tight, the Shadow lifted her arms and watched as, in her mind’s eye, all of that light came flashing to life from her fingertips in a beautiful, storm-like display. It was like lightning; gone as soon as it had appeared, and just as breath-taking.

Her vision went blindingly white behind the veils of her eyelids, and for the brief moments she had left Kenlie focused the rest of her thoughts on one thing. Him. The smile that was almost arrogant and how he never managed to go without a five o’clock shadow. The way he could never fully disguise his thick accent and how painstaking it was to resist the lure of his pulse. Drawing him near. Keeping him safe.

Summon Ally, she’d learned, never worked precisely the way that she intended. There was always Victor ending up in strange nearby places, like the bathroom closet, or Clover being dragged directly into her lap. This once, Kenlie would be thankful for that delightful little quirk in her ability. Without a ‘thud’, or any sound to indicate that he had suddenly dropped onto the table in front of her, Nik’s existence had bled into her reality. What made her aware of his presence was the unmistakable, unusually slow beat of his heart. It wasn’t so much beating as it was pounding, fierce and unwilling to let go.

With a gasp, Kenlie’s eyes flashed open to a scene that she instantly hoped was her vivid imagination. The sound of something gurgling each time Nik took a breath had her hopelessly releasing that thought. Frantic hands shoved chairs and other things out of her way so she could get closer to him. Papers went flying and fluttering towards the ground in her haste.

“Nik!?” The sound of her voice wasn’t strong like you would normally expect. This bloody, tortured sight of her dear friend had her heart trembling in her chest, undead or not. Her voice wavered just like her hands, which were unsure what to do or where to touch. They hovered over his body as her fingers shook in the most uncontrollable way.

It tormented her, but she had no clue what move to make next. She should have planned for this, but it wasn’t any time to let guilt sink in. In a panic that was not only fueled by her concern, but also by how hard all that human blood was slamming into her senses -- much like an alcoholic getting a good whiff of whiskey after five years of drought -- she screamed at the top of her lungs for the person she knew was always nearby.

“VEN!”

[Mkvenner]

It was at times like this, times when inventory needed to be taken and Ven found himself stalking through the store room with clipboard in hand, he wished that something, anything, would happen to distract him. There were, after all, only so many little plastic tubs of ketchup and other assorted condiments that one could count before everything started to go blurry and a little ragged around the edges. He was pretty sure that this was why staff existed, wherever the hell they were at present. Drawing up a rota might be a plan.

He ticked off a box of packets of salt.

He flipped the page.

It wasn’t so much that it was boring work. Well, it was entirely that it was boring work. And someone did need to do it. He’d just much rather that that someone be someone that wasn’t him.

“This,” he grumbled to himself, “This is why we have prospects.”

He was glad that Dom, Vic and Kenlie had patched in. Having new blood in the club, not to mention the added numbers, would make business much easier going forward. Much easier. It just left him without people to palm bitchwork off on, especially when the other members were elsewhere. He couldn’t even find Kaelyn, Vic’s kid, who’d agreed to take care of the bitchwork for him. She had been taking care of the washing up though, so at least there was that. He hated washing up.

He ticked off a box of paper napkins.

On the plus side, they’d decided to bring Nik into the club. Wherever he was. He’d a be a good fit, Ven thought. Good sense of humour, got along with the others well. Seemed solid. Granted, they’d need to find the guy first. Kenlie had been pretty concerned about him - apparently he’d not been answering his phone lately which was not something he usually had issues with. At first, Ven had assumed it was a work thing. If he’d been picking up extra shifts or whatever, he’d been shattered by the time he got back to his place. He’s only human after all.

Limes. Three crates. He flipped the page.

He’d offered to call around, see if anyone he knew had an idea of where Nik had got to. Chances were that someone had to have seen the guy, especially if he was still hanging around in Redwood. Very little happened in this part of town without Ven knowing about it somehow - having contacts in the criminal underworld that owed him a favour (mostly for not killing them) had a number of benefits beyond the obvious one of ‘getting a piece of all their business’.

Finally. Something of a distraction. He pulled out his phone.

The first call when to the gang that ran the slums down the road. They’d not heard anything, but they said they’d put feelers out, see what they could find. He wasn’t holding out much hope. The guys were small time, selling meth from their crumbling buildings. They talked a big game, like most of their breed, but had no real strength. Or ability. It had been the work of literally an afternoon to bring them in line and explain to them how things would be working from now on.

He’d only had to kill a couple of them before they got the picture.

He continued to call around, putting the word out, letting people know that he was looking for Nik, giving a description and offering a reward for any information they could give him. He was pretty sure that he’d got most of the city covered, every one of the contacts he had keeping an eye out for the guy. Despite the general level of ineptitude, finding a rather large Russian in Harper Rock should not be too hard. Even for those guys.

He snapped his phone shut and went back to taking inventory.

A box of plastic forks. Why on earth did they have a box of plastic forks? He shook his head.

His mind drifted back to a thought he’d had earlier. He was back here taking inventory, the bar was open, and he had no idea where the rest of the staff were. Were he more concerned with the bar running as a successful business he might have been worried. As it was the place was just a cover. A front. A fun one, granted, and one that allowed him, and everyone else, to drink on the job. He wondered if it was this general lack of taking it all too seriously that had led to them being as successful as they had been thus far. All in all, people tended to notice when business owners take everything far too seriously.

A commotion from upstairs shook him out of his aimless mental wandering. Someone, it sounded a lot like Kenlie upon further reflection, was shouting for him. Marvelous. With a grin he threw the clipboard onto a handy work surface and made his way out of the stock room and through the break room. He took the stairs two at a time, eager to put as much distance between him and the whole process of taking inventory as he could, as quickly as he could. He pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, stepping into Church.

He was right, it was Kenlie calling for him. Frantically. Having just walked into the room, he had no actual idea what she wanted, and cared even less. It got him out of doing inventory. That’s all he gave a damn about at this point. He had just started to feel his sanity unspooling. One more box of… whatever… would have been one too many and he would have ended up huddled in a corner rocking and crying.

It was at that point that he saw Nik. A very beaten, badly bleeding, almost dead Nik. On the table. The table.

Well then. That explained the yelling.

He fished his phone out from his jacket pocket and began the process of calling around once again.

“Yeah, it’s me again. Guess you could say we found him.”

[Nik (DELETED 5789)]

Nik's vision was blurry as he was tied into his chair. He sat there bent down and with each blink the bloodstain on his shirt and jeans had expanded. He could smell the iron and feel the warm liquid slowly cooling down as it flowed down.
He lifted his gaze up waiting for that fairy-tale bright light to appear, and for Sara to walk out from the light. He had heard the tales where people would, in their final moments, see their loved ones who would take their hand and lead them into that light, and then life would end and whatever waited on the other side would begin, but the only thing he saw was Pjotr walking back and forth in front of him with a bottle in his hand. He would creep close and lift Nik's head by his jaw, look at him, and drop his head back down as if he was dissappointed he was still fighting the inevitable.

Then something happened. Nik thought he had fainted for a moment. A rush of some kind sweeped through him and he no longer sat in a chair, but was laying down on a hard surface. He opened his eyes to see a bright light above him. A woman was hovering above him, walking back and forth with her hair flying each time she moved her head. Nik was smiling at the thought of Sara being the fussy one.

“VEN!”

As much as Nik wanted to see Sara, there are no words to express his relief when he realized who the woman was. He remembered the things they had spoken of, jokingly - sure, but right now, Kenlie was the angel who could scrape him up from that table he was laying on. He grabbed Kenlie by her wrist despite of the holes drilled into his shoulders and tried to say something, but instead he ended up caughing more blood on the table. He tried to get up and managed to roll on his side, but it was no good. His lungs were full of blood and he could no longer breathe at all.

He wrote 4 words with his own blood on the table while holding Kenlie's wrist tightly.

"Do it"

He hoped Kenlie understood what he was trying to say. He needed to be a vampire. The cossacks were in town and he knew exactly where they were. They had seen him disappearing from the warehouse so they would be mobile any minute now.

"No dolls"

Meluiwen had told him that it doesn't matter if a person dies, she could always make a new body for them and she had promised him a new body as well.
Kenlie had received a doll from Meluiwen.
She would understand what he ment.
She had to.

He noticed another figure standing by the door.

“Yeah, it’s me again. Guess you could say we found him.”

He recognized the voice immediately. They hadn't spoken much after the first time they met on the first day he spent in Harper Rock. It wasn't enough that Nik had destroyed his property then, but now he was bleeding all over his bar and leaving a mess behind... Again.
Ven had been clearly looking for him, and Nik needed to know why.

And then there was Clover. He wanted to see her again.
Nik had too much left to do and say, unfinished business.
The moment he started to panic, he passed out on the table.