LITMIR.BIZ

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further backwards on the mattress as far as she could get from him, and a squeak of terror escaped her lips.

      “Don’t be a bitch,” he growled at her, leaning forward on wobbly legs and wrapping his hands around her hair. He put all his strength into ripping her forward, dragging her by her long hair. Tears stung her eyes as she lost her balance and fell forward. The tomb didn’t stop, he just continued dragging her, as she scrambled, bare-footed on the concrete floor, trying to get up.

      She obviously was moving too slowly for him because he bent down and gripped her throat hard enough to bruise.

      Hefting her to her feet, he spun her around and marched her out of the cell by her neck.

      Alison was openly trembling, fear reverberating through her every fibre as he forced her out of her cell, past the door held open by the second tomb. Now she was out she could try and execute her plan of escape.

      She knew they were too difficult to fight when they were together, Maker only knew she’d tried. No, she needed to take them out one by one.

      And there was only one time when they weren’t together. Bile rose at the thought but it was the only time she had a chance in hell of taking them down.

      Alison could feel the fragile skin of her neck bruising underneath his heavy touch; not that it really mattered, her body was littered with cuts and bruises anyway but that was nothing compared to the fact that she was, in truth, a tuhrned herself.

      The former High Lord had kidnapped her, and technically almost killed her in the process of binding her soul. Her body was destined to rot and die though her soul lived on.

      Knowing she was technically a tomb as well didn’t make these two brutes any less…disgusting. Her body was still relatively unmarred by the rotting hands of time, she’d only been in this state for little more than a few months, whereas these two were clearly long-lived tombs, she would hazard a guess that they had been tuhrned decades ago.

      The tomb’s thinning brown hair hung loose from the top of his almost completely bald head, his skin so pale it seemed to glow an eerie blue. His companion was no less disgusting, though his hair had fared much better, the black waves hanging limply in long strands. They both looked like their bodies had given up on life. Though they were broad and muscular, they both had an almost bloated look to them, their bodies fighting the decay trying to overtake them.

      Their skin was as cold as hers, though they didn’t seem to notice the temperature as much as she did. She suspected this had something to do with the fact that their nerves were so far into the rotting stages that they didn’t feel much any more which would probably explain why they were so vicious when they were ‘with’ her.

      The hallway they were leading her down was as grim as her cell, the brick walls damp and slimy, the floor stained with mould and grime. The one thing they did have that she didn’t was light, bare bulbs on spindly-looking cables hung periodically from the ceiling, running the length of the small section of the building. They were dim and flickered but any light was better than none. There wasn’t far to go, as far as she could gather there really wasn’t much here. Behind her was a hatch that led downwards, further into the bowels of the building. Fear rose anew as she thought of that hatch, of the room, hidden beneath it. The High Lord had tortured her there so often, even the thought of that place made her skin crawl. Alison desperately tried to focus on what was to come, rather than what had been. Opposite her cell was another room that the two tombs spent all their time in. At the end of the hallway was a small bathroom and a door that led to places unknown. That door was her goal, it was her way out.

      She was sure of it.

      The tomb thrust her forward, making her graze her foot against the concrete beneath. Tears stung her eyes though she pressed onwards, allowing the brute to lead her through another doorway into the bathroom. He shoved her inside, by the back of her neck, making her stumble as he barked orders at the second tomb.

      Alison slipped into the shower, leaning against the cool tiles, telling the fear riding her gut to calm down.

      Slowly, she slid her fingers into her hair and pulled one of the two wires out of the plait, wrapping it around her knuckles lightly, and leaving the two sharp ends of the wire poking up from between her fingers. She then began tugging the second wire downwards, only an inch, just enough that it was poking out of the edge of her braid.

      The tomb slammed the door so hard she heard the wood crack and splinter. He spun on his heel and stalked towards Alison. His breathing was heavy with lust, his eyes focused on her. His movements were laboured, unpredictable.

      He didn’t bother talking to her, he just lunged. In a heartbeat he was on her, his huge cold fist wrapped tightly around her throat as he slammed her against the tiled wall of the shower. Panic surged, sending adrenaline rushing through her veins as she thrashed against him, fought to breathe, fought to gain control.

      He pressed his palm harder against her throat, making her see stars, choking against him. Not that he seemed to notice, his attention was on her chest. Fumbling with his left hand, he tried to tear what was left of the thin material of her T-shirt away.

      It was too difficult to do with his other hand wrapped around her neck so he quickly changed track, dropping her to the floor and spinning her around so quickly it made her stomach churn. The bastard kicked her legs from beneath her with a heavy-booted foot, forcing her to land on her knees, the movement jarring her back and bruising her shins. He shoved her forward so brutally she smashed her face into the tiled wall. Her nose shattered, sending blood cascading down from the wound, dripping onto the floor.

      The tomb roared as the scent of blood hit him; he made quick work of shredding the flimsy cloth that covered her, and then bared his fangs. Hissing. Alison cursed the High Lord to hell. He was a vampire-born Magi and his ‘gift’ to his minions was ‘turning’ them into vampires, ‘gifting’ them eternal life as a reward for their service.

      Alison didn’t have time to breathe, let alone move, as he lunged for her, sinking his thick fangs brutally into her shoulder. The sharp teeth punctured her skin with ease, sinking through what little flesh she had left and hitting bone. She thrashed against him, trying to dislodge him but to no avail. He pulled her back against him, crushing her throat with his hand. She could feel his erection pressed against her. Fear turned this bastard on.

      “I’m going to fuck you while I drink you,” he spat, her blood dripping from his mouth. He reached forward and ripped apart the top of her jeans, sending the button flying. He wasn’t gentle; his nails tore her skin making her bleed. Tears filled her eyes, making her vision blurry, but she hastily blinked them away. She needed to be able to see if she was going to get this right.

      The bastard grabbed her by the shoulders, hefting her up onto her feet as he stood, violently shoving her jeans down. She knew what he was going to do. She had been with this bastard many times; he forced himself on her daily. He liked to see the fear in her eyes as he took her, liked to watch her scream. And that was going to be what would kill him.

      Adrenaline surged through her anew as he moved her, forcing her to step out of her jeans.

      Now was the time.

      “I’m going to take you until I break you in half, wolf. Then I’m going to bleed you dry,” he hissed. His breath smelled like death and whisky, whispering past her shoulder as he spoke. Alison didn’t say anything. Just waited.

      He was going to turn her around in a minute, and she needed the strength of him spinning her to hit him hard enough to knock him out. She didn’t have the upper body strength on her own. She’d been starved for weeks and her strength was at an all-time low.

      He pressed himself against Alison’s back, his vile body cold against her skin. The tomb ran a heavy hand down her chest, brushing against her breasts, then further down. It was all she could do not to throw up.

      Finally impatience got the better of him; he threw all his weight into spinning her around to face him. Alison tensed her arm, her fist with the wire wrapped around it poised and ready. She used the force he put into spinning her to fuel her own strength, and

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