Page 6 of Fangs & Freaks
We stop before the steel door, Vaughn punches in a code, and the door hisses open.
“After you,” Vaughn says, gesturing to me, and I can’t help but smile as I step through.
The donation room is bright—too bright. The fluorescent lights buzz above, casting a harsh, unforgiving glow across the white tiles and polished metal surfaces. The air smells sharp, antiseptic, the scent stinging my nostrils with each breath. It’s a stark contrast to the dimly lit hallways of the Crimson Brotherhood's clubhouse.
"Sit," Vaughn commands. I turn to see Genevieve in a white lab coat, gesturing to a reclining chair in the center of the room. The chair looks more like a dentist's nightmare than anything else, complete with restraints at the wrists and ankles. But not everyone comes to the donation room willingly.
“Is this really necessary?” Vienna asks, her voice strained, though there’s a steely edge to it that I can almost respect.
Genevieve leans in, her smile almost tender, though it holds no warmth. “Don’t worry, gorgeous. You’re here of your own free will. No restraints needed.”
Vienna lowers herself into the chair. I chuckle when she notices the faint, rust-colored stains on the armrests. Blood.
“How much are you taking?” Vienna asks, her voice small.
“Nothing more than you agreed to,” Genevieve replies, her voice laced with a knowing edge. She taps the needle against her gloved hand. “You unicorn shifters… such rare creatures. Your blood is potent.”
Vienna’s eyes narrow. “What do you use it for?”
Genevieve’s laugh is cold, an echo of something far darker. “Oh, darling. You don’t want to know.”
The needle pierces her vein and I can’t help but murmur under my breath, “Fascinating.” The vial begins to fill, the liquid within shimmering, opalescent, as it swirls. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
Vienna grits her teeth, and for the briefest of moments, I see the strength in her. She’s still defiant, even as she bites back a gasp of pain. “Just... just find my brother.”
Chapter Two
Blackwell
I lookaround my torture room, the dark, oppressive space meant to induce fear and pain in my victims. It’s the one place other than upstairs in the clubhouse where I feel one hundred percent myself. I’d love nothing more than to unleash my true devilish form on the world, but there are rules. Letting mortals know of our existence would mean immediate death, and I’ve come to love my immortality.
My eyes drop to the center of the room, where a lone metal table sits on the cold and blood stained stone floor, evidence of the vast memories this room contains. My very own history book, if you will.
He’ll fall victim to the various instruments of torture I have mounted on the walls—chains, shackles, whips, saws, and any other device you can think of to cause the most extreme pain.
Next to the table is a wooden chair secured to the floor with bolts and fitted with straps to hold my victim in place. Directly in front of it on the wall is a mirror, my own sadistic joy at making my toy watch their untimely demise.
Currently, I have Homer Beltone sitting in the chair, his cries filling the air as I sit with my feet propped on the table, picking the crusted blood from beneath my nails. I can hear the pounding beat of his heart, fear hitting him that he’s not going to walk out of here tonight. I haven’t said anything to him since he woke up from the beating I gave him at his home, the enjoyment of his demise was too great.
Once I’ve picked my nails clean of his contaminated fluids, I drop my feet to the floor and lean forward in my chair. It’s time to play. My favorite part of the day. The pleading screams of my victims are pure music to my ears.
“Homer, Homer, Homer, you’ve been a naughty boy, especially when the Crimson Brotherhood has treated you so well. We even offered to make you one of us in due time, once you earned your place and we felt you were worthy.” I press the end of the blade into my finger, pricking it, letting a small amount of blood begin to flow from the puncture. “Looks like you blew it.”
My hand grips tighter around the handle of the switchblade as I give a gleeful smirk at Homer. With a speedy flick of my wrist, I toss the blade upward. The knife flips end over end as its sharp edge briefly catches the light before falling downward. My eyes follow its every movement as it falls, my hand poised, ready to catch it. The hilt of the switchblade comes into view, and with one swift motion, I extend my fingers upward—my thumb and forefinger clasping the handle as I drive the blade downward into Homer’s leg. He lets out a gut-curdling scream as his head flies backward. If the chair wasn’t bolted to the floor, he would’ve tipped it over, falling onto the cold concrete floor.
“You’re fucking insane!” He screams once he’s able to regain control of his senses.
“Certifiable actually. It’s what the sanatorium classified me as when they deemed me to be a serial killer. But there’s nothingserial about it. There was no rhyme or reason to my murders. It was all about the blood. It called to me. Much the same as it does now. Unfortunately, yours repulses me.” I grip the handle of the blade tighter, twisting it, pushing it deeper into his thigh before ripping it down toward his knee.
“Blackwell, I made a mistake. Please let me go. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“And how will you do that, Homer?” I let go of the blade, leaving it in place, and stand up, cracking my neck. “Can you get back the blood you stole from us and gave to our adversaries? A lowly club of vamp babies. Did you think we were so stupid we wouldn’t notice, or figure out who the thief amongst us was?” I’m momentarily distracted by the pulsing vibration in my pocket. My phone. Who would dare to call me when they know I’m in here with this vile human?
“I was scared they’d hurt me if I didn’t.” His whiny voice grates on my nerves.
With an agile swiftness, my body moves toward him. I press my knee down onto his cock and bare my fangs as I grasp the thinning tendrils of his hair in my hands. “And you’re not afraid of us? It’s as if you don’t know us at all. We could annihilate that whole group in one swift movement. We’re the demons of the night that have been…” I shake my head, laughing boldly. “Well, I guess I don’t have to tell you, seeing how you just pissed yourself. Do you need a diaper, Homer, maybe a paci to go with it?” I pull away from him, grimacing at the wet stain on my jeans.
“Black—”
