Chapter 33 Killian
thirty-three
Killian
Killian never truly lost consciousness while in the Living Death, but slipped into a void where his mind disconnected from his body. As he drifted, he was racked by hallucinations, where the three figures that dominated his thoughts taunted him for his failures.
When noises from outside the coffin filtered in, from footsteps to muffled voices, Killian thought he was enduring another hallucination. He ignored the first utterance of his name. But when a crashing sound reverberated through the roof of the coffin, it broke him out of his trance.
While the fog dulled his senses, the voices were indiscernible, but the gentle timbre of one of them sparked something within him. When it called his name, the realisation struck him like a thunderbolt.
Ivy. Is she here? He was loath to get his hopes up, but the sounds that filtered in differed to the ones in his visions—they were more tangible. He raised his fists and bashed against the roof of the coffin, and hope burgeoned within him against his will as he heard his name being screamed.
But when the crashing sounds from outside ceased, Killian knew that she was experiencing the same difficulties he faced with Eryn’s coffin. Reality was a sledgehammer that knocked the breath from him when he accepted that she couldn’t release him.
I’m so sorry. The words were soft, but the sadness in them set something alight within him. Ivy is here. She was torturously close, and he longed to see her. To touch her. To taste her.
The frustration of it all heated his blood.
Rage reignited within him, and he felt his body temperature increase.
A roar exploded from his lips, shredding his throat as his fury detonated inside of him.
Killian felt white-hot and a burst of light inside the coffin forced his eyes shut.
Even through his closed eyelids the light overwhelmed him.
He felt like he was on fire, but he felt no pain.
The sound of screaming forced his eyes open.
His mind conjured the image of the basement, and for a moment he wondered if it was another dream.
But when he surged forward and found himself sitting up, he realised this was real.
He was sitting on the stone bier, surrounded by charred and smoking planks of wood.
He looked back up to see two figures standing a few metres away, staring at him in wide-eyed horror.
Killian cooled back down as the cold, moist air of the basement seeped into his skin.
The rage that burned within him slowly receded, but his hunger laid amongst the blackened wreckage.
It reared up like a serpent and took control of his mind and body.
His nostrils flared and his focus turned to one thing: blood.
Killian slid from the stone bier and started towards the two Vampires before him. His hunger had him in a chokehold, and the knowledge of who the individuals were shrivelled and fell away.
He was hungry. He needed blood. He’d decimate anyone that stood in his way.