Piece of a novel I am working on...

I just started a new novel, and I'm looking for some feedback. I've written three complete books before, so I can take harsh criticisms. Any feedback is good feedback.

- Hunter

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Chapter I: Awakenings

SYRNA

She lay sprawled on the floor, silhouetted against the cold tile, her fingers dancing along it, tracing the pool of tepid blood which slowly filled around her. How long have I been lying here? Her thoughts seemed foreign; hollow.

Looking down, her eyes surveyed her own body as a surgeon glances over an operating table: her arms and legs were positioned almost theatrically, as if meticulously placed in some sadistic ballet of the macabre. Her memories faded like a dream shortly after waking: try as she might to grasp even the smallest shred of enlightenment as her head lolled slowly from side to side, it was as though her past was a cloud of smoke slipping tragically though her straining fingers.

Turning her arm over, she winced as a fresh wound brushed gingerly across the icy floor. She opened her mouth to let out a cry of pain, but her lungs fought back, refusing her any release. As she swallowed back saliva and blood, she felt a twinge of raw pain as though she had been screaming for hours. Her eyes danced lethargically in their sockets while she struggled to keep what little consciousness she had left. She forced them to turn back down to her body, focusing her meager vision on her injuries.

She was naked; many lacerations lined her bare chest and arms. Her body shivered uncontrollably, as it lay drenched in freezing water. Around her wrists there were thick bands of raw flesh surrounded by severe subdermal bruising. Shackles? Turning her attention to her upturned palm, she caught a glimpse of a series of cryptic symbols, scrawled violently into her skin - they appeared to be some odd strain of hieroglyphics. She couldn't recall what the symbols meant as she stared at their boldness in dry blood upon her alabaster skin (given, that is, that she ever knew them at all). She strained, every muscle in her body contracting and tensing - it seemed to take every ounce of strength she could gather - to lift her hand to her head.

She ran her fingers through the tangles of her hair, which were molded tightly together by what she could only assume was blood. You have to stay awake… she thought, awake…a-w-a-k-e…e-k-a-w-a …such an odd word. Who's to say I'm awake now? What does it really mean to be awake? Have I ever woken up before? What if the world is asleep, and the only times we're awake is when we're sleeping??-her head dropped to the side with an empty thud, as her body began to succumb to the urge to sleep. Am I actually cold, or is my brain just telling me I am? But…if I can't trust my brain, what can I trust?



Thermoregulation is defined as the human body's instinctive tendency to regulate its own temperature; kudos to the Man Upstairs for that little detail. The hitch is, thermoregulation is a fickle little wench. Once the body's core temperature drops 95° F, thermoregulation jumps out the window faster than a Frenchman in a firefight, and hypothermia sets in. Hypothermia is a really fancy way of saying: "You're up a mountain without a harness." It's characterized by irrational behavior, abdominal pain, slowed responses, and oh, what's that? Unconsciousness.



She let her head roll up, straining her neck to allow her to see the back of the room. It sat as empty as her memory. The white painted-over bricks seemed to mock her confusion. She scanned the floor surrounding her quivering frame, and her eyes stopped dead on a small bottle to her left. Under it, sealed in black wax with what?-she realized?-was the same symbol she found carved into her palm, was a small note. On the note, in a fine, regal hand, was written:?-a word? A name??-



Syrna



There was a strange familiarity that triggered in her mind with those five simple letters. Maybe that was my name, she thought, A name…what's in a name? A rose by any other name…Rose…that's a nice name, isn't it? Again, her mind began to slip. She dragged her hand along the floor, bringing it closer and closer to the bottle. Her fingers brushed it, and knocked it over, rolling it further away from her. Her hand closed tightly over the letter, and she brought it into focus in front of her wearied eyes. She cracked the seal, unfolded it, and strained at the words carefully written upon it:



You may have realized that you are without the use of your legs,?- she hadn't, until then. But I assure you, the serum contained within this vial will be quick to remedy this. I had to insure your complete cooperation. I know you must have many questions you would like answered, but I am afraid now is not the time for questions. All I can tell you is this: if you cooperate, I can guarantee your safety. If you do not, well, I suppose we had best not count our chickens before they hatch. Drink the serum; it should take effect most promptly.



Solaris Artenius

Solaris Artenius, High Veryn of Ashen Falls



Her fingers closed tightly over the vial and brought it into her line of site. It was a small, finely crafted carafe of frosted glass, containing a cloudy green liquid. Firmly closing the mouth of the bottle, was a cork sporting the same symbol which marked her palm and the note gripped tightly in her other fist. She dropped the note and pulled the cork slowly out of the vial. As it released, a hypnotic aroma filled her nostrils. She stared down inside the vial cautiously, and lifted it slowly to her lips. Time to go down the rabbit-hole, Alice. Here's to hoping those ears are more than just a mask.


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ADRIAN


All I can say is that his neck fit perfectly between my hands. As I slowly squeezed the life out of him, it was almost as though it were being transferred into me. I looked deep into his sullen, bulging, nearly lifeless eyes, and allowed a soft laugh to escape between my lips. "Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to die, Curtis?" I mused, "Fascinating thing, death. We fear it so much, on the surface, but it enthralls us; mesmerizes us. Who are we trying to impress in our fear? Are we just placating God?" As Curtis made another futile attempt at breath, opening and closing his mouth, gasping against my grip, I shuddered from the sheer pleasure of everything. I held so much power?-I was fear now; in Curtis' mind, I was God himself. "Life is all about choice: my choice to knock you out and drag you into this closet, to wake you up, to kill you,"?-he flinched at the word,?-"and your choice to fight back?-fruitless, but endearing." I stifled a smile,



"I've often thought about what it would feel like to kill a man. Everyone has the urge at some point in life, the rush of adrenaline, the feeling of control, as another man's life slips between your very fingers, but again, it comes down to a choice: do I submit, or resist? Well, I suppose we know the answer to that question now, don't we?" I'd kept this up for about three minutes now. The body gives in after four, and I was beginning to get bored. I laughed heartily, and released my grip. I watched in amusement as Curtis struggled in panic to his feet, only to realize that I was now sitting in front of the entrance.



"What sort of game are you playing, Adrian?" he croaked, rubbing his neck.



"It's funny that you would call it that," I smirked, "'There is no hunting like the hunting of men.' Hemingway. It's one thing to track a deer and shoot it from twenty or thirty feet, but it's something else entirely to hunt a man. Men are unpredictable, yes, impulsive, certainly, but in the end, we're all animals," I flashed a masochistic, hungry smile, and my teeth glinted, even in the low light which flooded through the crack beneath the door. "Some moreso than others."



His honey-colored hair dropped softly over his face as his head hung slowly in defeat. I reached out and stroked his cheek tenderly, bringing my finger down under his chin, pulling his eyes level with mine. I locked his gaze, inflicting a forced serenity upon him, bringing him further under my control. "You know, Curtis. . . I have powers within my grasp which would make asphyxiation seem like simple parlor tricks." The corner of my mouth turned up with smug satisfacion. Curtis' jaw dropped and closed as if he were about to speak, but could not find the words. Taking this as a sign, I brought my hand down from his face and used it to unbutton the top-button of his shirt.



He was always dressed so properly, I had noted; pants always ironed to perfect creases, cuff-buttons never undone; in fact, I think this was the first time I could ever honestly say I'd seen him show any sort of human emotion whatsoever?-it was a bit of a pleasant surprise, to know he was biological rather than bionic. Needless to say, I could smell him regardless. My fingertips traced the pristine lines of his collarbone, up to the faultlessly defined muscles in his neck. I leaned in and inhaled his intoxicating scent; it was almost dizzying to be this close. With this, my eyes narrowed, my nature took hold, gripping me like a vice. Every muscle in my body tightened with sheer anticipation, and my mouth curled up in a sadistic snarl, revealing again my menacingly sharp teeth. I felt a fierce roar rumble deep within my chest and throat as I brought my mouth down upon his neck.



The feeling could never be understood by the inexperienced. There was, of course, the exhilarating thrill of the kill itself, but there was also the intense release, the quenching of the thirst that seems to hold life itself at bay if left ignored?-of course, it reaches a point at which ignorance is an impossibility, but that is a very dangerous line to tread. Curtis moaned in hollow agony in his semi-conscious state, as my teeth sank deeply into his skin. I drank long for a moment, letting the release wash over me pleasurably, his blood washing down my throat and warming me from the inside out.