Free Kidnapped by Annabelle Lake Page B

drawing a handkerchief from his pocket wiped vigorously at the stray moisture streaming from his eyes before noticing the tissue was stained pink from the blood still upon his hands; he crumpled it in a ball and tossed it aside in revulsion. Skirting the pile of refuse upon the floor, he stumbled over to a chair and threw himself down, feeling weak and shaken.  
    Head in his hands he could still see the woman being torn apart when he closed his eyes, he allowed panic to overtake him momentarily. This could not be happening. It was impossible! But how then, was the proof of it before his very eyes? The questions continued to torment Sussex, his mind temporarily giving way to madness. They were killing people and eating them. The idea of vampirism briefly flitted through his mind though he immediately dismissed it. They did not seem to be drinking the blood so much as ripping and tearing at the flesh of their victims. Besides, it was broad daylight and if the stories could be believed vampires could not walk about in the sun. The idea was absurd but no crazier than the grim reality.  
    Grayson composed himself slowly, drawing on the steely determination of his ducal training; he got up once more, walking over to the window to where the creatures were still stalking about out there. He counted a dozen or more in the immediate vicinity and far more further up the street, where they appeared to be pillaging a tipped over carriage. He watched, sickened, as the group pulled a man from the bowels of the carriage and began to feast upon his flesh. He fought valiantly for a moment, swinging his fists, he connected with a couple of them but there were simply too many. Sussex let the curtain fall back into place; the man had looked very much like the Earl of Darling. Christ.  
    He shut his eyes, but he could not block out the agonized shrieks of pain that seemed to be ripped from the Earl, just as surely as his flesh.  
     He had to get out of here. The thought struck him, and it was an unpleasant one. He was not convinced he would be able to push himself to leave the safety of this room to face those ravenous hoards.  
     Where would he go?  His townhouse was only across the square, a short interval under normal circumstances; today however…He eyed the distance dubiously. He had to get to his house, perhaps his servants were still there? Maybe one of them would be able to tell him what was happening…, or his servants were all dead, and he would soon be facing the blood thirsty lot of them. If all the creatures between here and there, didn’t get him first that was. The thought was not a pleasant one, but it was as good of an idea as any. The alternative being he could stay in this room and die slowly of starvation; smelling the stink of his own vomit until his last miserable breath.  At least he had his sword; he would not be completely incapable. He gripped the sword so tight that his knuckles upon it blanched and turned white. He crept towards the door, perspiration popping out to bead upon his forehead as he strained his ears for any sound of movement from the other side. He heard none that he could observe, so with courage he did not genuinely feel he opened the door, tensing to strike at any forthcoming attacks.  
    No one came rushing into the room after him; the hallway was deserted except for the beheaded body of the prostitute. Grayson averted his eyes as he gingerly stepped over her remains. It was best not to dwell on it when he had to remain focussed on his own survival, hers was a moot point. Ears perked for the slightest movement or sound he crept down the hallway. He was ready now, after witnessing the horror from the window, he would not hesitate to strike, man or woman; a quick, clean beheading was what was in order for any creatures that crossed his path now.  
     No one attacked as he made his way to the stairwell and crept across the deserted foyer towards the back of the house.  
    Blood stained the