Vampire "Untitled" (Vampire "Untitled" Trilogy Book 1) by Lee McGeorge Page A

let
him feel he’s had a victory.
    Paul dipped his head to try and show submission and
noticed Nealla sliding his hand into his pocket.
    Not the razor, Paul thought, please not the razor.
    “Eh, English Man?” Nealla snapped with harshness,
expecting an answer.
    “I’m sorry,” Paul said. He raised his palms in
surrender. “I don’t understand.”
    “E un retardat. Nu intelege nimic,” the Big Man said.
His voice was low and gravelly, the sort of voice that sells horror movies.
    “Nu? Nu inteleg?” Nealla asked. It sounded like he was
saying ‘do you not understand?’
    Paul shook his head, hoping that was what he’d asked.
    Then Nealla said something about Ildico which made
both he and Big Man burst out laughing. Ildico, Paul thought, he mentioned
Ildico again. Everything came back to her.
    As Nealla and Big Man laughed they looked to one
another and Nealla shifted his weight onto the back foot, easing off the
pressure for a split second.
    Paul dashed to the side and sprung up the steps to the
entrance without even thinking. Fox like reflexes. It was the slimmest
opportunity and he had taken it instinctively. He threw open the door with far
too much power and sprinted up the stairs. Halfway up the first flight he heard
the metal squeal of the lobby door and Nealla’s voice yelling Romanian words.
He wasn’t following any further than the lobby, but the threats and insults
were loud; they echoed and reverberated throughout the staircase as Paul dashed
to his apartment. He didn’t understand what was said, but the intention, the
hostility and the threats were clear and those threats hung in the air like
poison gas. It felt as though he had to hold his breath whilst struggling with
the key, trying to unlock the door. He didn’t dare breathe in any of Nealla’s
words, but in his haste he was working the keys and lock too fast, slowing
himself down through haste.
    The door opened and he slipped inside before slamming
the door behind him to lock Nealla’s booming voice outside. He stood with his
back to the door and released a long pathetic groan. This place was god-awful.
His shoes, socks and jeans were soaking wet and ice cold. He’d been stalked by
some dressed up lunatic in the forest, threatened in the street and chased into
his own building. He also realised this was his second full day in Romania. When he checked his watch he saw it was only 8:45am.
     
    ----- X -----
     
    His
jeans hung on a clothes-hanger in the kitchen drying out from the warmth of the
oven; there was no food in there, it was just burning gas to heat the room. His
shoes were close by, the insoles pulled out to speed the drying. Although the
rooms of the apartment had radiators, there didn’t seem to be any controls and
he assumed it was like the hot water, turned on and controlled communally. To
the touch they held the tiniest amount of warmth and he figured they were never
turned off completely otherwise the building would freeze.
    The drying clothes made the kitchen cosy and mildly
humid and Paul used the time to finish reading Shadowbeast. It was enjoyably
stupid and he could see why kids liked it. It was fast paced, high-concept
action that was very sexy and raunchy but written in a vocabulary that teens
and young adults would enjoy. There were many memorable scenes that he knew
teenagers would love because they weren’t supposed to read it. One of the most
memorable featured the male hero being stripped naked, tied to a rack and
stretched by witches, whom all had huge heaving breasts. It was the sort of
stuff that made schoolchildren excited. There was nudity, sadomasochism,
bondage, domination and the only person who could save him was a young nun who
was having all manner of immoral thoughts as she looked at the naked hero
stretched on a rack before her. Fantastic stuff for school kids.
    It set Paul reminiscing to a schoolyard experience of
his own where a girl had read out a passage from a novel featuring a man with a
black,