Free Fanghunters by Leo Romero

No, he knew he definitely heard something. Something felt wrong.
Drake was pretty paranoid about the danger he was in, which explained the
guards outside. Maybe it was them, patrolling the corridors. Maybe...
    Marlon scanned the darkness while his mind
ticked over. If it was a threat, it needed taking care of; he enjoyed
the venom rush and he wanted more of it, not less. If someone wanted to take
out Drake, then Marlon could kiss that venom high goodbye. That thought was
suddenly the worst thing in the world. Besides, Drake was his responsibility now. He had to protect him at all costs. In the darkness, he
could feel a snarl emerging on his face. There was no way he was gonna sit
there like a chump and let some punk kill his buzz; kill his new father.
    He began fumbling in the dark till he found
the bare lamp on the floorboards. He flicked it on. The room was then lit up in
artificial light. He stood up, laying eyes on Drake sleeping soundly on his
makeshift bed. A sudden rush of love and compassion flooded his heart. “I won’t
let anyone hurt you, Father,” he whispered. Drake’s eyelids flickered, but he
didn’t awaken.
    Marlon threw on his pants. He dug his free
hand into his pocket; he pulled out his folding knife. He opened it up, the
blade razor sharp and virginal. If there was some punk out there meaning
to do Drake harm, he’d see them off.
    “I’ll just be gone for a second, Father,”
he whispered before he tiptoed toward the door. 
     

CHAPTER TWELVE
     
     
     
     
     
    Dom edged nearer to the summit of the
stairs. Since the loud, creaky step, the rest had been quiet like church mice.
He prayed that the last few would keep it shut too. The closer he made it to
the top, the more of a rush he was getting. It was a dark excitement that
swirled around his stomach like toxic gas. At the same time, the unknown
quantity of the situation ate away at him like termites. He tried to swallow,
but his mouth and throat were as dry as a desert well. Instead, he continuously
puffed his cheeks, releasing hot air into the surrounding atmosphere.
    He made it to the corner step before the
stairwell curved around. He stopped, breathed in and held it. With a shaking
hand, he pushed his lighter forwards and around the corner, daring to poke his
head round with it. The clipper illuminated the landing. He couldn’t see much
bar an old rug that had been laid down over the floorboards. The good thing
about that was it would quieten his footsteps. He smiled to himself. Maybe
someone up there was looking out for him.
    He tried to crane his neck more; he ended
up putting too much weight on one side and lost his balance. He threw an
instinctive hand out for the wall. He turned his head to be faced by yet
another bizarre painting; a giant pumpkin head that looked like it had its eyes
gouged out. Two black holes stared at him from where they should have been. A
shiver raced up his spine and he turned away, not wanting to stare at it more
than he had to.
    Man, these things are freaky.
    Just carry on and forget the weird
paintings.
    He steadied himself and nodded. The good
thing, he now realized, was that the creak the step made a little earlier
hadn’t caused any serious damage to his mission. He’d surely be dead by now if
it had. It meant the vamp still slept like a lamb. That particular thought made
him feel slightly nauseous.
    He ignored it and took another step.
    He eased his body round the corner, now
almost on the final step. From here, the flame on his Zippo showed him that
there was one room across the landing from where he stood. The closed door
faced him. The vamp could be behind it. He tightened his grip on the stake
noticing how it felt like it had been rubbed with Vaseline. He took the last step,
finally, his foot touching the landing. Soon, the other joined it, both of them
touching the rug. Relief surged up into his chest. Man, that was hell! He
took a look over his shoulder to see the bottom of the stairs, which was