Blurred Memories by Kallysten Page B

its
arm again, its features reflected its anger all too clearly. It
grunted at Blake, gave the ax Blake had taken from its companion a
dirty look, then attacked.
    Had it been a sword—had it
been Seneca—Blake was sure he could have held his own against the
demon. But the ax was unfamiliar in his hands, heavier and more
unwieldy than he was used to.
    He tried his
best.
    He lost.
    The demon didn’t kill him.
But it did learn, and it kept Blake in front of him all the way to
the prison.
     
    * * * *
     
    “ Blake? Come on, please,
you’re scaring me.”
    There was a hand on Blake’s
arm. By pure reflex, he flinched away—and regretted it at once. How
often had he pulled away from his Master’s hand, only to be
punished in reply? The blow he expected didn’t come, though.
Instead, the hand returned, lighter than before. He looked down at
his arm and watched that familiar hand stroke small circles. Each
touch sent goose bumps racing down his arm.
    “ Blake?” And then, more
quietly still… “Childe?”
    Blinking furiously, Blake
pushed away shadows and ghosts and tried to see reality in front of
him instead. Oh, how he hated to see the undiluted concern in his
Sire’s eyes!
    “ I’m fine,” fell from his
lips, the words as meaningless as ever.
    Marc looked unconvinced, and
with good reason. “Are you hurt?”
    Blake shook his head and
looked down at the sword at his side. He had dropped his
weapon.
    Again.
    Hadn’t he learned his lesson
the first time around?
    “ Blake, for fuck’s sake,
talk to me! What happened?”
    Blake flinched again and
hated himself for that involuntary reaction.
    “ Nothing happened,” he
grunted. “I lost a fight, all right? Not the first time, and
probably not the last. Let me up.”
    Marc stood up and took a
step back. Whatever he thought, he didn’t say anything and simply
offered his hand to help Blake up.
    Blake didn’t take it. He
picked up his sword instead and got to his feet on his own. He
looked at the demon lying dead a few feet from where he had fallen
to the ground.
    “ Your kill?” he asked
quietly, tilting his head toward the demon.
    “ Yes.” Marc touched Blake’s
arm, drawing Blake’s attention to him. “What happened? You were
doing fine and you just…stopped.”
    Blake shook his head, “Let
it go, okay?” he snapped. “It’s dead, I’m fine, there’s more demons
to kill, let’s move on.”
    He didn’t wait for Marc to
reply and started to stride away. More demons had come through, and
the squad was struggling to hold its own. After only three steps,
however, Marc stopped him with a touch to his shoulder that didn’t
linger.
    “ Where’s Simon? Did he
finish his spell?”
    Blake cursed quietly. He had
forgotten about Simon. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t
he just move on?
    “ Still up there,” he said,
turning back on his heel and feeling like a fool. “He wasn’t done
when I came down. I told him I’d guard the entrance.”
    “ Go check on
him.”
    Blake couldn’t remember the
last time Marc had given him such a clear order. When he looked at
him in surprise, Marc amended his words at once.
    “ Daniel wants us to leave
as soon as Simon’s done.”
    Even with the invocation of
Daniel’s name, Blake had the impression that Marc was sending him
off the battlefield so he wouldn’t get himself killed—or worse,
captured again. It only pissed him off more.
    “ You check on him,” he said
harshly. “I’ve got demons to kill.”
    He returned to the fight,
and for a little while he was alone with Seneca, a demon, and his
anger. His fangs had extended in his mouth, and he could taste his
own blood on his tongue. His entire mind was focused on one thing:
killing as many demons as possible before the squad left. He
forbade himself from actually seeing the demons or searching
for the familiar spike patterns of his jailers. They were meat,
nothing more, and his job was to make them bleed, hurt, and
die.
    Like he had bled and