She woke as Nate left the shower and watched with her bladder aching as he dressed. He was either oblivious to the human need to urinate soon after waking, or deliberately torturing her. Either possibility was as likely as the other.
When he finally released the door, she scuttled out and into the bathroom.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice bland when she came out. “I forgot about that.”
“Vampires don’t use the bathroom.”
“Not unless they eat food and drink other than blood. Some choose to do so, I do not.” He opened the door to admit the breakfast tray. Verity had not heard the elevator bell. “She will need clean clothing daily,” he said to the woman. “Or her smell will offend me.”
“Yes, sir,” the woman replied crisply and withdrew.
“I will be gone for several hours today. Eat, use the bathroom, and return to your cage,” Nate said to Verity, his tone holding his impatience to leave. She ate hurriedly because of that tone, and then went to the toilet, trying to get her body to operate on his time-table.
She brushed her teeth and returned to her cage.
He locked the door. “If I am longer than four hours, I will send someone to let you out to use the bathroom and eat the midday meal,” he said with a hint of thoughtfulness.
“Thank you.”
The moment the door closed behind him, she released the screws around the cage fully, and lifted the lid of the cage. It was held shut at points around the door that she hadn’t noticed before, but she managed to slither free, her stomach and back scraping against sharp bits of metal, raising blood in long scratches. She hissed in pain but forced herself to continue.
She dug through his drawers and pulled on a long-sleeved black top and trousers over her soft sweats, using a belt to hold them up and folding the cuffs. She braided her hair and grabbed the metal tray her food had been brought with as she crept to the door, easing out into the hallway and making for the stairs. She ran down the stairs, the metal tray making whoomping sounds, like and old-fashioned thunder board.
In the carpark, she grinned with a type of madness as she pulled the fire-alarm again, and immediately ran down the stairs. When she heard people running towards her, she held out the metal tray and felt them strike it. She smashed it over them over and over, until there was no sound but the tortured metal.
She felt over the body until her hands closed on the key rings.
The injury she had rendered would not hold a vampire long, she knew. They would heal. But for now, she ran down the hallway towards the T intersection, the keys chiming in one hand, the other flicking light-switches as she came upon them until she hit the one that lit the T bar.
She fumbled through the keys until she found the one that opened the door and felt inside for the light.
The room, the cages, and their contents made her gag. Many eyes looked up at her, fear shifting into confusion. Their injuries ranged from terminal to disfiguring, with everything in between. She began to make her away along the cages unlocking them until her eyes met the winged man’s golden-brown. She unlocked it, and he slid out, his eyes holding hers for a long moment before he wordlessly took the keys from her, and continued to unlock the cages.
“Run up the stairs,” she told the escapees. “The car park, hit the yellow button, and run.”
“Bless you,” a man caught her hands and kissed them.
“It is the healer?” The human man who paused at her side.
“Yes, Verity.”
“Verity,” he repeated, his eyes searching her face. “I have kids.”
“Go home to them, then.”
“We won’t forget your name,” he told her.
“Find a hole and hide,” she told him. “All of you. Hide and wait. The winged people will leave.”
The winged man finished unlocking the last of the cages and returned the keys to her. “We run now,” he told her, taking her by the elbow, and directing her back into the hallway. They ran together up the hallway, up the stairs, and into the car park.
Two vampires fought valiantly against the overflow of prisoners, but fell beneath their many, screaming, as the roller doors lifted. The mass of near naked bodies exploded out into the daylight, into the city streets, running, hobbling, limping.
The winged man caught Verity around the waist, his wings opening and leapt into the air, carrying them both up and around the tower of the building. Looking down she could see the flood of prisoners dispersing into the city streets, absorbed into the many jaded and desperate people abroad in the early morning.
“Shit,” the man holding her changed direction as a shadow passed overhead. She looked up and saw the gargoyles in the sky.
The man holding her tucked his wings close to his back, diving through the sky into the rubble of a building, running out his landing, and bringing them both under the fragile overhang of an upper storey. He held her tightly against him, his attention above.
Finally, he released her. She moved away from him, fearfully. The last time she had saved a winged man, he had raped her.
This winged man inhaled. “You are afraid of me,” he observed.
“The last time I saved one of your men…” She trailed off. His expression showed that he understood.
“I am sorry,” he said carefully. “I will not harm you. I owe you my wings and my life.”
“So did he,” she observed.
“Then he was an unworthy coward if he rewarded your gift with rape,” he said with distaste. “I am Charon. My life is yours.”
“I am Verity,” she lifted her eyes as the shadow of the lion gargoyle dragged across the rubble above them. “It is nice to meet you Charon.” She looked up at him. “We need to get you somewhere you can fly free to your people.”
“No,” he held her eyes with his golden-brown ones. “My life is yours, at least twice over, Verity of the healing hands. I serve you.”
She laughed without joy. “Charon, I am friendless in this world, and hunted by every side. If you stay with me, you will just get caught again. Let’s find somewhere you can fly free without the gargoyles overhead.”
“You have a friend, Verity,” he replied firmly. “You have me. Let’s find shelter and food and decide what to do next.”