Free Vampire "Unseen" (Vampire "Untitled" Trilogy Book 2) by Lee McGeorge Page B

to ask himself at the end. What were his thoughts? What was his attitude? Could he visualise a real opponent? The questions went down to the most important. Did he kill the opponent?
    Visualise an opponent.
    Nisha... Kill the bitch.
    It took only an instant to grab both knives and shoot himself into the dummy target. Right hand to the neck, left to the ribs, right hand out and stabbing back into the flank. Stab, cut, slice, Bitch. Fucking. Die. You. Cunt. Stab to the throat. Remember the training. Stab to the stomach. Go for the organs on the left side of the body. Stab deeper and aim for Nisha’s liver. Vary the attack angles. Stab her in her fucking cunt face.
    He backed off, turned one hundred and eighty degrees and said to himself, “Turn and run. Leave the scene quickly.” He jogged a few paces on the spot to simulate running away.
    The vampire was watching him.
    He looked at the practice drill checklist. Had he raised his adrenalin level through mental conditioning? He was unsure, he didn’t feel any different. What was his power level? He looked at the stabbed mattress and realised his power was formidable. How long did he last? When did the blows start to slow down? How had he closed the distance between himself and Nisha? How balanced was he? Were there problems with the grip?
    Had he killed his opponent?
    There was a paragraph after the checklist. It read, ‘Even though the dummy did not hit back, this is an effective basic drill. Work on the mistakes you made or the areas that need improvement.’
    “I didn’t kill you enough, Nisha,” he said as he clipped the knives back into the yoke. “And how do I raise my adrenalin level?”
    He thought about her for a moment. He recalled the images of drunken sex in vivid technicolour detail. She was wearing a light blue dress splashed in fake blood. She wobbled as she bent forward to slide her panties down. She drunkenly rolled back on the bed and lifted her wide open knees to her chest to display her vagina. Her panties, white fine lace were hanging from her ankle. He had been struggling to put the condom on in the dark. He realised he’d been trying to roll it on inside out. She was impatient.
    How could this be rape?
    She grabbed him and pulled him onto her, she had wrapped her legs around him.
    “I should really fucking kill you.” Paul said. “You’re a fucking liar.”
    Had he raised his adrenal level?
    He snapped back to the practice dummy, knives in his fists, swinging wildly, stabbing deep, slicing back and forth in a frenzy, springs popping through the fabric, cutting it into ribbons, visualising Nisha. Killing her, blood splashing against the walls, a knife stabbed in an uppercut, under her jaw and through her tongue, slices across her stomach, a deep stab to the neck. Kill her. Fucking kill her. He saw her falling and slashed in upwards cuts to keep her standing. Mattress springs popped through her clothing looking like bone and guts. “AAAARRGHHH! YOU CUNT!” Paul screamed as he jammed the right hand knife into the side of her head with all of his force, knocking the heavy practice dummy down like it was made of paper.
    Stop... Turn around. Jog on the spot. “Turn and run,” he said breathlessly. “Leave the scene quickly.”
    He stopped. Clipped his knives back into the yoke. Tried to rest his mind, but it refused to quiet. He could only see Nisha. She was on the wall. She was on the carpet. She was the practice dummy. “Leave me alone, Nisha.” He felt his hands tremble and his spine go weak. This was happening frequently now. His vision blurred as his eyes began shuddering, shaking from left to right so quickly they ached with the strain.
    Ildico, think of Ildico.
    He knelt heavily on one knee and pictured her stretched out on the bed. She lay beside him, naked, her mouth in a half-smile, her hand reaching towards him. He visualised himself beside her, sliding over, stroking his fingertips across her leg. He was climbing on top of her,