

Vampires

Romance to Rippers

An Anthology of Tasty Stories

Indie Publishing House

GAINESVILLE, FL

E-book Edition

Copyright Acknowledgements:

Rights to the individual works contained in this anthology are owned by the submitting authors and/or publishers and each has permitted the story's use in this collection.

"What is the Lure of the Vampire?" © Copyright by Bertena Varney

"The Guest" © Copyright by Karen Dales

"Why I Enjoy Reading and Writing About Vampires"

© Copyright by Elita Daniels

"Guardian" © Copyright by Elita Daniels

"The Fourth Bride an Inspired Short" © Copyright by Carole Gill

"Stillness the Vampire's Lament" © Copyright by Audrey A'Cladh

"Code Blood" © Copyright by Kurt Kamm

"Vampire Historia a Series of Revelations: Nicolai's Fate" © Copyright by Scarlette D'Noire

"Forgotten Immortal" © Copyright by BellaDonna Drakul

"Dark Hearts" © Copyright by Sherri Jordan-Asble

"Vampire Onslaught" © Copyright by Charles E. Butler

"The Fourth Bride" © Copyright by Carole Gill

"Avetias Vancum" © Copyright by Fiona Skye

"Touch the Sun" © Copyright by Laura Enright

"A Different Kind of Vampire" © Copyright by Sherri Jordan-Asble

"Dark Comfort"© Copyright by J.B. Stilwell

"Vampiring with the Taylor Twins"© Copyright by Janiera Eldridge

"The Merciful Miracle"© Copyright by Cinsearae S.

"More than Friends"© Copyright by Terri Reid

© Cover design by Paradox Book Cover Promotions – Patti Roberts: http://paradoxbooktrailerproductions.blogspot.com.au/

Editing by BZHercules.com: http://www.bzhercules.com/index.html

Copyright © 2013 of the collection by Indie Publishing House.

All Rights Reserved

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PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, animate or inanimate objects, or incidents mentioned are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is strictly unintentional and entirely coincidental.
Vampires

Romance to Rippers

An Anthology of Tasty Stories

Table of Contents

You can click on any title to be taken to the selection.

Additionally, all hyperlinked titles will link you back to this table of contents.

Click on the author's name to read more about the author.

Then, click on the author's name to linkback to the table of contents.

Bertena Varney – What is the Lure of the Vampire?

Karen Dales – The Guest

Elita Daniels – Why I Enjoy Reading and Writing About Vampires

Elita Daniels – Guardian, an Excerpt

Carole Gill – The Fourth Bride an Inspired Short

Audrey A'Cladh – Stillness the Vampire's Lament

Kurt Kamm – Code Blood, an Excerpt

Scarlette D'Noire – Vampire Historia a Series of Revelations: Nicolai's Fate

BellaDonna Drakul – Forgotten Immortal

Sherri Jordan-Asble – Dark Hearts

Charles E. Butler – Vampire Onslaught

Carole Gill – The Fourth Bride, an Excerpt

Fiona Skye – Aevitas Vanum

Laura Enright – Touch the Sun, an Excerpt

Sherri Jordan-Asble – A Different Kind of Vampire

J.B. Stilwell – Dark Comfort, an Excerpt

Janiera Eldridge – Vampiring with the Taylor Twins

Cinsearae S. – The Merciful Miracle

Terri Reid – More than Friends

Dedication

To Cassidy Gearheart

Thank you for urging me to watch a vampire show with you back in 2009. Who would have thought that one small request from you would spiral into the creation of Indie Publishing House, publishing two vampire anthologies, and the creation of: Vampire Historia: A Series of Revelations.

Because of you, Vampire Historia has many works in progress:

Delano's Disciple Anthony

Delano's Undoing

Drake's Descent.

Three stand alone short story prequels in the series:

Nicolai's Fate

O'Ren Keeper of the Shadows

The Making of Marea

So, thank you Cass. I will always love you and be grateful for my little vampire muse.

WHAT IS THE LURE OF THE VAMPIRE?

By

Bertena Varney, M.A., M.Ed.

Introduction

Vampire, vampyre, nosferatu, dhamphir, bloodsucker, romantic boyfriends, sexy bad monsters, fallen angels, soulless demons - these have all been characters in vampires stories throughout the centuries.

As time has gone by, there have been many debates as to whether each of the descriptions above is indicative of "true vampires." By looking at the vampire, one will see that it is a very complicated creature and really cannot be labeled as one thing or another, but as a creature that is right for each reader, fan, or vampire lover.

For example, some vampires drink human blood while others drink the life force of their prey, but they are both vampires. There are also other vampires who are described as hideous and monstrous creatures, and are very primal in nature; these vampires don't apologize for who they are, nor do they try to be human.

However, the more popular vampire today appears to be the sexy vampires that do not embrace their vampire side, but instead crave to hold onto what is left of their humanity. They brood about being a vampire, they fight their true nature, and they even go so far as to try and turn into a human again.

Either way, there are multitudes of vampires and vampire fans. But, the main questions isn't "What is a vampire?" but "Why are we so attracted to the vampire"?

The Lure of the Early Female Vampire

When taking a look back at the first legends of vampires in mythology, one will notice that many were female rather than male. Lilith's story was told in the Hebrew Talmud, in which she was the first wife of Adam. She would not be submissive to him during sex nor would she be submissive to men in general. She was a strong female who wanted equality, but was cursed from stories that she was the mother of demons, vampires, and/or monsters of all sorts. It was said that the Archangel Michael came to fight Lilith and to warn her to quit procreating with demons. She refused and Michael began to kill her children. In retaliation, Lilith began to kill the Hebrew children in their cribs. Finally, a truce was called and Lilith asked Michael not to kill her children. She promised not to kill any Hebrew children that wore the talisman that she gave him. She later was featured in other mythological stories. This story has several variations, but many readers still enjoy reading stories that stem from her legend and the use of her as a symbol of empowerment of women in society.

In Greek mythology, there is an even more familiar symbol of a female vampire and her name was Lamia. She was the secret lover of Zeus, who like many others of his lovers, was found out by his wife Hera. Out of vengeance, Hera killed all of Lamia's babies and, in turn, Lamia attacked the children of the followers of Hera. Her stories were retold to explain sudden infant death syndrome and many times, she is used as mother figure in other stories.

In Malaysia, Pennangallan, or Penny as she is known by many, is another female vampire to whom the deaths of many children and mothers are attributed in her culture. Penny would detach her fanged body and fly around with her disemboweled form glistening in the moonlight. She would search for pregnant women to drink from, thus explaining miscarriages or stillborn deaths. This is rumored to be where Stephanie Meyer got her idea of a sparkling vampire.

Female vampires were always used to explain "female issues" that in many cultures were banished or not discussed in the presence of men, such as pregnancy, menstruation, and child birthing. This secrecy of the female body and natural acts, along with the lack of medical advances, were the reason why vampires were used to explain the deaths of children and pregnant mothers. Thus, the duality of the good and bad impression of the roles of women in society is why some vampire readers are lured to this type of vampire.

The Lure of the Revenant Vampire

As time went on, the vampire became a symbol of death, disease, and fear. The revenant vampire became the most popular in mythological tales in small villages. These vampires were more zombie-like than any other. They could not speak, think, or really do anything but feed. These monsters were the ones about which villagers would tell stories to each other in order to help explain mysterious deaths and the spread of diseases. Many villagers feared their family members returning from death, so they would open caskets and check to make sure that they were still dead. Many would see that the person's hair and nails had grown as well as the blood and body fluids that had leaked from their bodies. So, they assumed that their loved one was the monster that was killing the villagers or plaguing their family. Thus, the vampire became the explanation of deaths due to disease, famine, and more.

The lure of this vampire to readers is the pure animalistic monster that represents our primal need for feeding. There is no personality or hatred; there is no emotion at all. Those that like reading about these vampires are the same that like zombie movies. It's the thrill of the killing of these monsters and being in survival mode that is appealing.

The Lure of the Fanged Vampire

The "fanged vampire" can satiate the taste of two different vampire readers, depending upon its use in the story. These vampires are still vampires and they embrace who they are; their monster is what comes first. I label these "fanged vampires" because they still hold onto the true nature of the monster inside of them.

These vampires may be alive during significant historical time periods such as the Crusades, Arthurian times, or during modern times. They are usually hulking warrior types and are the epitome of the "real man." They can do it all. They can survive in the wild, fight to the death, and hold their convictions to the end. They love being vampires and will not apologize for it.

Many times, this vampire has been given a romantic interest in stories. This small plot detail will lure many women into what is usually a "male-based" story. They are the romantic warrior that can fight off enemies and then come to the love-interest's rescue or, if it's a more modern story, empower the female to fight as well. The empowerment of women is my preferred conclusion over the damsel-in-distress any day. These vampires are not to be confused with the bare-chested vampires with heaving-bosom women on the covers of many recent books.

These vampires lure readers that romanticize the past – when men were men and women were ladies. They love to live vicariously through these characters as well as allow their inner monster to release their tension and stress through violent actions and sexual tension.

The Lure of the Elemental Vampires

Many people think that elemental vampires are a new concept in literature, but there has always been the idea of vampires as being part of the soulless ones: the witches, demons, and even "good" elementals, such as angels and fairies. These stories may have featured these vampires as a person wandering the Earth without a soul, searching for redemption, or as a fallen angel reincarnated as a vampire every few years until they release their negative karma from their fall from Heaven.

These are the stories that pull teens, women, and men into their world. It is complex and touches the humanity of the creature while embracing the spirituality and magic of each character. This allows readers to work these creatures into their real lives, usually through a religious aspect, thus showing them as "evil," yet alluring and attractive to them, or a pathway to redemption and a happily ever after.

The Lure of the Romantic Vampire

Vampires have always been a metaphor for sex and taboo actions between a human and a monster. This monster is part of our deepest self, which seduces us to let our dark side out and to allow the erotic to come through. Whether it was the great Victorian literature piece, Dracula, or the violently dark Varney the Vampire: Feast of Blood, the vampire is the one thing that we know we should not want, but can't live without - just one bite.

In today's literature, the vampire has evolved to the perfect lover that can give the female everything she desires. They have had centuries of practice to give to only her and her alone. Vampires know what women need and take the time to please them.

Vampires are the new heroes of romance novels. They offer a soul mate concept with a lifetime of sexual experiences that is focused purely on the female. They offer escapism for the reader who is bored with her life as it is. In these stories, vampires are invincible and here to help their readers through their day. They will continue to bring their vampires into our bedrooms to please us in many ways. Romantic vampires will always be in the shadows of our dreams as well as forming our choices in our current mate or our search for one. Many readers wish for them to be floating outside their windows and to have a chance to let them in, even if for just one night. This need for escapism will guarantee that vampire heroes are here to stay.

Conclusion

Vampires, Romance to Rippers, An Anthology of Tasty Stories will give each of its readers something to sink their teeth into. It will satiate the lust for the romantic vampire while also providing the monster vampire for those that embrace the monster within them.

Vampires, Romance to Rippers, An Anthology of Tasty Stories will take you into the world of the vampires - dark, romantic, scary, brooding, violent, and strong. So, please take a seat and allow yourselves to enter the beautiful and elegant stories that the talented authors have provided for you here.

Explore these various tasty stories and decide for yourself which of these vampires lure you into their dark, sexy, and alluring world. Which will it be: the romantic vampire, the revenant vampire, the elemental vampire, the fanged vampire, or the mythological female vampire? Begin reading and find out!

About The Author

Bertena Varney is an avid vampire fan that has made these creatures of the night not only a hobby but also an academic study. She has studied the historical, mythological, and pop cultural aspect of the vampire throughout her undergraduate and graduate career. During one of her master's programs, she participated in independent studies on vampires. She then turned this research into her book Lure of the Vampire: A Pop Culture Reference Book. Once it gained popularity as a self-published book, it was picked up by Hydra Publications, and republished with new material and re-titled Lure of the Vampire- Revamped.

She has also collaborated with young adult author, Elizabeth Loraine, in writing her fiction book Lillian: A Vampire Story. Recently, she has worked with Stavros and his company Crazy Duck, where she contributed to and edited Vampire News 2011: Tasty Bits You Can Sink Your Fangs Into and Vampire News 2012: The Not So End Times Edition.

Other contributions include The Sirens Compendium and The Witching Hour: A Harry Potter Convention Compendium, which includes selected papers of presentations that she has attended.

She has toured across the country and presented at various conferences, conventions, festivals, libraries, colleges, and more. She is also a contributor to Examiner.com, where she holds the title of Vampire Examiner, True Blood Examiner, Book and Movie Examiner, and many more.

She currently teaches sociology and mass media at Southcentral Kentucky Community and Technical College. She is a graduate of Morehead State University from which she holds a B.A. and M.Ed. in Social Science and Education, and an M.A. in Sociology and Criminology. She has one adult son, Tre', and currently lives in Bowling Green, KY with her boyfriend Sam and their kitty Luna.

She is a member of two non-profits: one is The D20 Girls Project and the other is The Modified Dolls. Both empower females to embrace their difference either through their geekiness or their body modification and show society that beauty is diverse.

Bertena Varney, M.A., M.Ed.

Bertena's website www.bertena-varney.webs.com

Lure of the Vampire here http://amzn.to/Xet0SW

Examiner Articles: http://www.examiner.com/user-vampireprofessor-36

Serendipity Meditation and Reiki Center www.serendipitymeditationcenter.com

Twitter @tenavarney

Facebook http://www.facebook.com/bertena.varney

Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Bertena-Varney-Author/117922531618827

Examiner.com  http://www.examiner.com/user-vampireprofessor-36

THE GUEST

By

Karen Dales
A pall hung over the temple. The white votive candles flickered brightly beneath the statue of the Buddha, but their light could not eliminate the heavy presence of death. Deep, resonant voices chorused from the saffron-robed monks who were seated in double rows facing one another before the statue. The sound vibrated the air with their united breathing until it filled the hall, slipping around and between red painted columns that held crimson rafters high above.

The chant did not have the same energy it usually held. Mindful meditation was threatened by distraction from within. Normally, this would not be tolerated, but forgiveness under the circumstances was necessary, compassion over-riding expectation. Occasional glances at the empty position of the Master belied concentration slips. These, too, were overlooked by elders resigned to the sadness of their juniors.

A bell rang. A rustle of cotton and a subtle shift in position allowed the chant to die. The monks appreciated the break, to allow baldpates to lower for private thoughts, glistening dark brown eyes. Some gazed sadly at the empty raised dais at the other side of the temple, across from the votive bright Buddha.

The bell pierced the oppressive silence to indicate the initiation of new meditative chanting. Heads raised and turned to refocus. Sound pushed against the quiet, holding it back from crushing the monks with grievous sadness.

A flutter of movement added to the chanting until it revealed a middle-aged monk entering the temple from a side entrance. Shuffling cotton and straw sandaled feet whispered from one end of the double row, where the youngest monk sat disrupted. His four-year-old eyes widened with surprise as an older boy, beside him, placed a hand on the child's forearm, snapping the boy back to his meditation.

Up the line, the middle-aged monk walked, occasionally causing disruptions in the chant's defence against the silence, until he bent over an elderly monk whose concentration never wavered. The chant stuttered and died; only incomprehensible whispering filled the void.

The gloom thickened, anxiety coating it, slicking it densely, bowing shoulders under its weight. Groaning, the elderly monk raised his body to stand. His gnarled hand patted the shoulder of the monk who had sat by his side. Without a word, the old monk turned away from the doubled line and headed towards another open doorway, the middle-aged monk following behind.

Down the stone hall he walked. His straw-slippered feet shushed over grey flagstone until the manmade tunnel opened to the left, revealing a courtyard bathed in full moon light. Halting at the entrance to the garden, the monks stood silent in the sight of the one who had come to their sanctuary decades ago. Awash in blue radiance, they watched their long time guest move from one position to another along the precise dictates of one of their higher forms.

Long white hair flowed in a wind of his own making, his tall slender form clad only in the loose orange pants all the monks wore beneath their robes. The monks stood patiently despite the urgency of their message. Dark brown eyes flashed in awe. In all the years they had lived in the monastery, they had never witnessed such precision and grace in the martial forms taught to the youngest among them to the daily practice of the old.

Moonlight dusted the Guest's pale skin blue as he leapt, spun, kicked, and punched. His movements blurring at times until the form came to a close, leaving the Guest standing still in the middle of the courtyard. For any other, heat would have radiated off exerted flesh, sweat would create rivulets down face and body, and lungs would bellow the chest as the heart raced from exertion. Not so with the Guest. He stood there, as still as a marble statue, with only the slight breeze forming its own patterns in his long white hair.

The monks stood patiently, each hoping it would not be long before their guest would notice them. They would not interrupt the Guest, but if necessity warranted it, they would. A deep shuddering sigh escaping from the Guest relieved their growing tension and the old monk stepped onto the dew covered grass, its wetness permeating his naturally made slippers.

"It is time." The old monk's voice spread gravel across the silence.

Pale eyelids fluttered open to reveal irises of blood surrounding a darker pool. No black pupil helped to fix the stare of the Guest, only red. A pinched expression flowed over the Guest's youthful features and the old monk felt its impact upon his own innards.

The old monk remembered when the Guest arrived years ago. It had been the old monk's – then a youth – responsibility to teach the Guest their language and their ways. Despite the transformation the years had applied to the old monk, the Guest had never changed; only their friendship had grown in a triumvirate with the Master. There was no need for the Guest to voice his feelings about what he was called to do; it was written across his face and reflected in each person within the monastery.

The old monk watched the Guest close his eyes, his face belying the conflict within. When the red piercing stare returned, resignation slumped muscular pale shoulders. The monk turned at the shallow nod and walked back into the cloister-garth. He did not need to see if the Guest followed and his ears did not need to hear pale bare feet upon cold stone; he could feel the presence of the Guest behind him as he turned towards the cells where all the monks slept, the younger monk taking up the rear.

Through the dimly lit halls, they walked the well-known paths. Not to their own rooms, but past, towards the large suite set aside for the Master of the monastery. The gilded double doors lay open, admitting a view of a bed piled high with finely crafted blankets. Propped up against silk covered pillows of yellow, the Master lay sleeping.

The old monk stepped into the room and glanced up at the tall Guest, noting the sadness in his eyes. Two monks who sat on either side of the doors stood and closed them, sealing all within the incensed confines of a room weighted down with death. The resonating boom startled the Guest. The Master did not stir. The two young monks knelt down in their positions amongst the monks that formed a row against the wall, each one in prayer, their nian zhu clicking and shushing through fingers.

"He's expecting you," said the old monk, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Guest frowned, staring at a spot on the stone floor in front of the bed. "I know."

"He spoke of this to you a long time ago."

"Yes." The Guest's voice sibilant.

The old monk lifted a gnarled hand and patted the Guest on his cold milk-coloured arm. "We'll be here."

The Guest nodded and did not watch the old and middle-aged monks sit in line, taking up their own meditation beads in prayer. Instead, he stood still against the silhouette of his friend in the bed. Tentative steps brought the Guest to stand beside the supine Master. He gazed down at the one who had opened the monastery to him, providing him a refuge and a place where acceptance was norm rather than the fear and disgust he had come to expect from mortals. What was once a smooth shaven face of a middle-aged man filled with love and compassion was now a shrivelled plane crevassed with age. Slack, translucent grey skin outlined boney features, and eyes that once sparkled in obsidian brightness now fluttered open in opaque greyness.

The heart of the Guest broke and he sat down beside the Master. "I have come."

A faint tremulous smile lifted thin grey lips that once reached their happy pinnacle with ease. "Thank you." The Master's sussurant voice barely lifted to the Guest's preternatural hearing.

"I don't want to do this," sighed the Guest.

Sympathetic silence saddened the Master's clouded eyes.

"I want you to live." The Guest's crimson eyes searched the Master's for hope.

"But I will," replied the Master.

"You will be dead," stated the Guest. He flinched at his bluntness.

Somehow, the Master shrugged a shoulder, but caught himself in a wince. The Guest's eyes went round with concern.

"I will be reborn," sighed the Master. "Into a new body."

"But – "

"You have been with us a long time," said the Master. "We have accepted you and what your role is. How often did you ease those who required transition from this life into the next so that they could continue on their karmic cycle towards Nirvana? When we let you in, we let in with it the knowledge of death. Little did we know that death had no knowledge of himself. It was karma that brought us together – life and death, yin and yang. Would you deny me a peaceful transition and submit me to unnecessary pain and suffering? The world is pain and suffering. The Buddha taught us a way to help those alleviate that and work towards Nirvana. You have been given a great gift – to be an instrument to help remove suffering."

"But I suffer – "

"That is your choice." The Master closed his eyes and took a deep ragged breath.

The Guest lowered his eyes. The Master was right. It was his choice. When he glanced back at the Master, he saw clouded eyes peering at him and he knew what he needed to do. "I will do as you ask."

"Thank you," whispered the Master.

~ ~ * ~ ~

The Guest stepped back, the taste of his friend's ancient blood on his lips. The dichotomy of pleasure and pain for his actions bound him to the spot. In a daze, he watched the old monk step forward to check on the Master, but the Guest knew it was unnecessary. Silence compressed the chamber. The monks awaited word to what their hearts told them.

The old monk straightened his back, glanced at the Guest, and then nodded at the row of monks. The Master was dead.

New chanting took over and the oppressive sadness seemed to alleviate. Sombre happiness tinged the tones of their voices.

The middle-aged monk stood and exited through the double doors. Not long after, low blazing notes from the ceremonial horns blazed through the monastery, setting a flurry of activity into motion.

The Guest glanced from the remains of the Master to the old monk, halting the old man in his steps to leave the room. "What is happening?"

The old monk smiled up at the Guest. "We must prepare for the Master's return."

Confusion pulled down fine brows of white. "I don't understand. The Master is dead."

A dry, weathered old hand alighted on the Guest's arm. "You do not think he will return?" The question was more statement and the Guest shook his head.

The old monk shook his head as if a student did not understand a simple lesson. "The Master will be back. He has always come back. This is not the first time. It will not be the last."

"But he is dead," stated the Guest uncomprehendingly.

"For now, yes," replied the monk. "He has given us clues on how to find him. As it was important for you to be what you are and to alleviate his suffering from this form, so was it important for the Master to be released at this point so that we may find him in time once again."

"I understand the idea of reincarnation – "

"But you do not believe in it."

The Guest shook his head. "No."

"Then stay; wait and watch. You will see, when we have found the Master again, that our friend is not gone, but has returned to us once again. You will know."

"Know what?" asked the Guest, frowning.

"That life and death are ruled by Karma."

The Guest watched as the old monk walked out of the room and then turned back to the husk that once held his friend. Yes, he would wait to discover if the old monk told the truth. He would wait to see if Karma truly ruled Death.

About The Author

Karen Dales began writing "Changeling: Prelude to the Chosen Chronicles" and "Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles" after she was inspired to create the character of The Angel for an online role-playing game she was part of. It was from that experience that the birth of The Angel was formed and, through years of research, Karen fleshed out The Angel and other characters that came to her.

Having completed York University's Creative Writing courses years previously, Karen began to write "Changeling" and "Angel of Death" as one novel. It was on their completions that it was clear they were two distinct novels of an evolving series that has come to include _Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles._

Karen is currently writing the next installment - _Thanatos: Book Three of the Chosen Chosen Chronicles._

Since the publication of both "Changeling" and "Angel of Death" in a limited edition single volume, Karen has been an Author Guest at Polaris, AdAstra, and FanExpo, and has appeared at Word On The Street.

You can find out her future appearances by clicking http://karendales.com/appearances.html

In January 2011, Karen's book _Angel of Death_ , which includes "Changeling," won the Siren Books Awards for Best Horror 2010 and Best Overall 2010.

Karen loves hearing from you. If you have a question or comment, please feel free to email it to her at karendales@karendales.com

Karen Dales, Award Winning Author

Amazon/Kindle http://www.amazon.com/Karen-Dales/e/B004TG6U1Y/

Website – http://karendales.com/

Blog - http://karendalesauthor.blogspot.com/

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Karen-Dales/10719572540

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WHY I ENJOY READING AND WRITING ABOUT VAMPIRES

By

Elita Daniels
Supernatural stories have fascinated me since I was a child; maybe because there's always a mystery involved, and these stories give us a glimpse into something beyond what we know. Even now, I'm obsessed with otherworldly things and, among them, vampire stories are my favourite. To my way of thinking, vampires are the ultimate bad boys of the paranormal world. Immortal, graceful, sensual, dangerous, and tortured. What's not to like?

Whether they're teen heartthrobs, mysterious enchanters, or horrific re-animated corpses stalking around at night sucking the blood of the living, I find them enthralling. I can't pin point exactly why I enjoy writing about these pale, bloodthirsty, undead creatures, but here are few of the top reasons:

1. Diversity. We have enough lore to be able to give vampires diverse strengths and weaknesses and have them be recognised easily for what they are, but with enough mystery to be creative, and that's exciting for both a reader and a writer. Every time I pick up a new vampire story, I'm curious to see exactly how they'll portray their creatures. Will they consume blood, life force, food? Withstand sunlight? Have a heartbeat? Sleep in the ground? Be vulnerable to garlic, holy water, crucifixes, wooden stakes? The diverse mythology offers an expansive reading experience for readers and a lot of freedom for writers.

2. Power. Various vampire mythology characterise vampires as being able to hypnotise their victims, transform, become invisible, fly, read thoughts, and more. Not only are these supernatural powers interesting to read about, they make it easy for us to fall in love with a character that might otherwise be repulsive. After all, who wouldn't want a piece of that kind of danger while in the protective confines of fiction? Super strength, super speed means vampires can be awesome protectors, or enemies; the mystery of which side they might lean toward is tantalising.

3. Seduction. This is probably my favourite. Having such a powerful and seductive creature focusing solely on you satisfies a desire to feel special and confirmed. It's almost enough to make anyone forgive the unfortunate consequences of attracting the attention of a vampire. While drinking blood is horrible and violent, it can also be seen as intimate, tapping into a primal force. Erotic even. Vampires allow us to explore darker, mostly hidden aspects of ourselves and our sexuality.

Their beautiful, mesmerizing eyes and fangs express everything dangerous and sexy and inhuman about vampires. There's something exciting about the penetrative action of the vampire fangs. It's another form of intimacy that allows us to experience sexual tension without actually having to think directly about sex. It also represents the thrill of what's bad – and sex is still considered an evil in many societies. (something I find strange, but that's another topic altogether) All in all, their characteristics combined create a powerful sexual image. To me, that makes them incredibly fascinating and appealing.

4. Thrill. He could kill you, but he won't. What a huge ego boast to be able to bring a powerful being to his knees for love. The idea that an immortal creature with unimaginable abilities is so captivated by the love of a woman that he resists all of his most intrinsic urges and cravings, tormenting himself endlessly, to keep her from harm, is such a romantic concept. Such implied sacrifice is a known aphrodisiac, possibly because it depicts a person fighting for love, willing to do anything for the one they love. It also shows a person (or in this case a vampire) who is in charge of his or her own destiny. This kind of strength is naturally very appealing, especially considering that, as humans, we often find ourselves in situations beyond our control.

5. Immortality. Forever young, and yet harbouring all the mystery and knowledge of the many years they have lived. What's not to love? In combination, all of the vampire traits tempt us to want to become vampires ourselves. I mean, who wouldn't want a piece of that kind of life-style? Aside from all the positives – power, beauty, and immortality – vampires also represent the monster inside of us all – one that most of us like to believe that we can defeat and then be good. However, mostly, they're just badass and, for that reason, I'm a fan.

I hope readers will enjoy the excerpt of "Guardian." In this sample, Anna is opening up to Leon, explaining a little to him why she is the way she is. When writing "Guardian," I really wanted to keep my vampires as human as possible, but still have hints of those tantalising traits. This story is set in a world where vampires are openly mixing in society, but they're under heavy restrictions and are forced to take sedating medication. Every vampire is assigned a human guardian, who is kind of like a parole officer. The story revolves around Anna. She falls in love with her guardian, but he's not all that he seems.

When I first thought about what it would be like if we had vampires living among us - how would we control them and what would happen if they were all treated like criminals, and forced to have human guardians to monitor them - I thought it would make a great story to see through the eyes of a young female vampire. I wanted her to be a kickass vampire, but also vulnerable. I hope that readers can relate to Anna, in the sense that she struggles with who she is and her intense impulses, which we all have to deal with in one way or another, and her struggle to find happiness with one whom she loves and trusts.

GUARDIAN

An Excerpt

By

Elita Daniels
Anna didn't stay with them while they had their dinner. She went up to her room and stood at her window, looking out. She was in a black mood. She wanted to be more than an animal. She lay on the bed, her hair spread over the pillow. She didn't know how long she had been lying here in a trance, when the door opened and Leon came in. He stood looking at her blankly. She knew he couldn't see her properly in the dark. She flipped back the bed covers for him and said, "Shut the door."

He closed it quietly, and then got in bed beside her. She felt his hand touching her body, feeling for her face. She could see him perfectly. He leaned over, his breath on her cheek. She knew he wanted to kiss her on the lips. She closed her eyes as he kissed her softly.

She had wanted to keep herself separate from him, but as he groped in among her clothing, the fury of passion was up, and pressure was on her to give way to it. She glued her mouth to his and sucked at his tongue. She had one hand behind his neck, and with the other, she unbuttoned his pants, kissing and sucking at his tongue all the while. He was also busy finding his way under her clothes. He got on her and, thrusting one of his thighs between hers, opened them to make way for himself. The urgency of his friction heightened their ecstatic pleasure, which he provoked with repeated kisses. His wet mouth went over her face and neck, breathing against her ear, hot and rapid.

Her heated senses were in a disorder that made all her cries falter into half-fetched sighs. He was more silent, but soon his broken breathing, faltering sighs, and impetuous thrusts all announced that the melt-away moment was coming. She could see he forced himself to let go and, stretching an arm out, he gripped one of her hands and held it. Fired beyond bearing, she joined with him as he died away in her arms.

Then he lay down beside her. She turned her back to him and rested her face on the cool pillow whilst his arm was round her, his head against her shoulder. She felt his lips at the back of her neck; he buried his face in her hair, settling in.

"What are you doing?" she asked, turning her head.

"I want to be close to you," he said.

"I'm not lying in bed all night."

"Just let me hold you a while."

She turned back over and let him stay close behind her. His stillness was peaceful. She found herself relaxing into him and the bed. She thought he was asleep, when he spoke softly.

"What happened to you? Why did you turn out this way?"

She stirred slightly under his arm. "What way?"

"You've been through a lot for someone so young. How did it happen? Was it forced on you?" As he spoke, he caressed her hand and arm with his fingers.

"I asked him to do it," she said.

"Why would you do that?"

"I don't know. I wanted to be closer to him. I didn't know he could turn me. It wasn't like anything I had felt before. It was the most intense sensation of pain. But somehow, I wanted it to be that way. Then I got scared. I didn't want to go to hospital. I didn't want to have to tell them what had happened. And I didn't want him to get into any sort of trouble.

"I thought I was going to bleed to death. There was so much blood. He told me it would stop soon, which it did. I felt strange and asked him to take me home. I curled in bed for several hours. I knew what was happening, but I couldn't believe it was happening to me. I stumbled into the bathroom and collapsed at the sink. I don't know if it was ecstasy or agony. The pain wasn't the same as any injury. It was like everything was happening too fast in my body and it was hurting because of it. For a long time, I lay on the floor.

"Just when I thought I couldn't take any more and would have to call an ambulance, it began to ease off. I wasn't able to conceal what had happened for very long and I was hauled off to Stanton. Then I hated him for doing it to me."

"Do you think he knew?"

"I don't know. He had to have known what would happen, but maybe not. I hate that place, and there are so many just the same. When you first 'turn,' you already feel out of touch with reality, and the last grasp you have on humanity, they seem to want to take away. The bastards treat you as if you can't feel pain. I felt everything. But it's strange. Knowing there's no permanent damage, the meaning of pain has changed; it doesn't bother me as much.

"It was the humiliation, the disrespect. They don't care if you're scared or disgusted. You're just a piece of meat without rights. I'm sick of all the poking and prying. I feel as if I've got nothing left to myself, as if I'm not fully intact. Do you think we can die from old age?"

"It's hard to determine, considering you show no signs of aging, but who's to say there isn't still a biological clock which will shut down at a certain point? We just don't know. That's one of the things we're trying to work out. I think you are a beautiful creature. You could do anything. You shouldn't waste yourself. I just wish I could help make things better for you – fairer for you."

In the grasp of his hand, her own seemed to feel soft and silken; she was conscious of him holding it tenderly.

"You have a beautiful mouth," she told him.

She felt him smile. "Thank you."

"Leon?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't have to go just yet." She held his arm around her, to keep him from drawing away. She took his hand and pressed it to her belly. She could not imagine falling in love with a man. Desiring him, absolutely, but not loving him.

For the past eight years, she had never fallen asleep at night. She awoke with a start. She hadn't closed the shutters; she would have had a nasty shock if she had slept through to morning. Fortunately, Leon had closed them. She turned over to see if he was still on the other side. He was gone.

http://www.amazon.com/Guardian-ebook
About The Author

The idea of exploring fascinating characters and great stories has always captivated me: working with a small team of people who get excited over the same project, the story, the cover design, the videos, and everything else that goes into bringing a book to life. It's been a pleasure to work with my friends and family, and all of you who have supported me along the way. We still have a long way to go, but I'm looking forward to it!

I had dabbled a bit with story writing for years, but it wasn't until I wrote a screenplay for a competition, from which I received some excellent encouragement, that I decided to try my hand at a novel. But I had no story. I did, however, have a beautiful little scene in my mind of mother and son running from something or someone. As I began to get excited and ask myself more questions, a story began to unfold. Then my beloved dog, which I had loved and looked after for over thirteen years, died in my hands, and my world went black. Not only for the loss of him, but the sudden revelation of mortality. I thought of all my loved ones, the fragility of life, and how I could not bear to lose any one of them. Here, a silhouette of a story was taking shape.

It wasn't until I came across a picture on the internet of a dark-haired young man who was devastatingly beautiful that my story rapidly came together. I did some research and discovered he was a character from Christopher Paolini's _Eragon_ , portrayed by Garrett Hedlund. It was decided instantly. I wanted more of him. All the feelings impressed on me when I looked at him I put down on paper. And this fantastic story came alive, with characters so real I couldn't stop them from speaking in my mind, even at night when trying to sleep.

With the help of my husband (putting up with my virtual love affair with Garrett Hedlund), the help of my family and friends, and my beautiful dark-haired muse, an awesome story came into being. It was a wonderfully therapeutic, exciting experience and I look forward to many more great stories!

~Elita

http://elitadaniels.com/

 Author Elita Daniels on Goodreads

 Elita Daniels' Books on Amazon
THE FOURTH BRIDE

An inspired short

By

Carole Gill
He had always wanted me. I was his for my entire life and did not know it.

Or perhaps I did in my dreams. Dreams that went back so far I could almost recall his voice speaking to me of undying love... or was it life?

"You will want for nothing; everything you wish shall be yours. ... I will wait..."

And he did, too, for the longest time.

In between the fanciful dreams, I grew up. When I was seventeen, I eloped with a young man.

We boarded a ship bound for Italy. The ship's captain married us. Edward had arranged it. I recall the service – joyful and full of light and flowers, a wedding breakfast and congratulations. We spent the day on deck, gazing out at the sea, watching the sunlight shimmering upon it. And when the sun sank into the horizon, we dressed for dinner.

When night fell and we were alone, I opened myself to him in our cabin. I, the new bride, the young woman who desired love and romance and my husband's heart, did wish to know what love was like, but he was ill. Something had seized him and sickened him. At first, I thought it seasickness, but when he didn't get better and grew more pale and listless, I called for the ship's doctor.

"Your husband is quite ill, Madame. The captain is docking at Bilbao, in Spain. I will accompany you to the hospital there."

He was taken to the hospital, which was not far from the dock. I so wanted to go with him, but I was told to wait outside. The doctor returned later. I knew from the expression on his face that my worst fears were realized. "Señora, he is gone. I am sorry; it is a fever of unknown origin and he has passed from this world."

I laughed, oh yes I did, a crazed cackle and then I was silent. I stared at faces and saw that people were speaking to me, but I could not hear a word!

Until... "They will need to make arrangements. I can help. ... Will you be wishing to have the body sent on...?"

I broke down and it was decided that he would be buried. Mercifully, there would be no autopsy.

I remember very little of what happened after this, although I do remember a priest with a gentle face and a voice to match. "I speak English..." I sat and listened as he spoke. Such comforting words, words with lightness and good in them, words from the Bible said to me to ease my anguish. Still, in the last analysis, they were only words and nothing else. For it was not in this well-meaning priest's power to return my husband to me.

He saw my distress. "I am sorry for your loss..."

Yes, death ... that implacable barrier, that great abyss that we all slip into when our lives are ended – death had come to take my love from me.

They were kind, these people in Bilbao. I was taken to a modest cottage; a couple known to the priest took me there. Their English was very poor, but kindness has a language of its own. I was shown to a small room, where it was made plain to me, through pats and smiles, that I could stay as long as I liked.

The woman gestured toward her mouth and nodded. She wanted me to eat.

I shook my head, but then, to please her, I did take some bread.

She had me follow her into a small room. The curtain was drawn and the room, bathed in shadow, had a kind of eerie quiet to it. Actually, I liked it. I'd have preferred the unremitting dark of the grave, though – my grave, because I no longer wished to live.

I hadn't realized how much I had loved Edward, but I had. At last, amid the grief and shock, I realized I must write to my parents. I would do that when I awoke. Suddenly weary, I couldn't fight the overpowering desire to sleep; it was almost as though I had been drugged.

"Come to me; you are mine now...Dia...!"

The command again; that voice I hadn't remembered for so long had returned. Only now, there were different circumstances. I was on my own and in mourning. Never had I been more vulnerable, as though I had no will of my own.

Dia, you will be brought to me....

And so a journey began, one I recall very little of. I do remember stepping out into the night, leaving the kind haven because he was willing it. I know now it was Dracula.

A carriage waited outside. I could barely make out the figure of a man. He helped me inside. I think I nodded. There was actually comfort in my having no will of my own.

"Sit back."

His voice was accented, but I didn't notice – not then.

I sat and the carriage lurched forward. Then, I slept. In fact, that seemed to be all that I did – sleeping and eating. Sometime later, a man's face peered into mine. A kindly face, but serious with intent. "Eat," he said.

And so I did, like a little puppet given a command that I obeyed.

"We are going now..."

Yes, we were stepping from one carriage into another carriage and onto a train and another, sometimes sitting on benches in between, waiting – but waiting for what?

I heard whistles and voices speaking in languages that I did not understand.

"Sleep."

Yes, of course. The puppet slept and ate when told to. I finally began to wake up on the fourth day of this strange time, this journey of mine.

I know now it was indeed a journey that lasted four days, counting the nights spent in inns. I can recall nothing of those nights, just whispers in dark rooms and the sound of doors closing and someone coming in to see me, a sliver of light, and then darkness.

"Yes, you sleep."

And dream, too.

There were dreams; never did I have more frequent or more vivid ones. I dreamed of a man standing in shadow. I couldn't see his face, only his eyes, which burned with a great intensity.

"Come to me...!"

And so I did.

"Borgo Pass!"

I heard the words that I shall remember forever and ever...words that fixed my fate, stamping it into an irrevocable finality.

"You will soon be home."

Home? A young foreign-looking man sat beside me in a carriage. "It is all right, Miss. You are nearly there."

It was night when I looked out to see a strange-looking world. There, in the light of a full moon, trees twisted into skeletal hands reaching out, but for what? For me?

"The moon is leading us...it is a good omen." Once again, I gazed out the window. "There!" he cried. "Look!"

I did, and gasped, for we were approaching a great castle, dark and ominous-looking, with sinister spires and broken battlements. It looked like something out of a dark fairy tale!

"A castle!" I gasped.

My companion said nothing after that; he only spoke after the carriage jerked to a stop and he stepped out. "You are home..."

I did not question him, even in my own mind. Instead, I rose on trembling legs. He helped me out, and as I stepped onto the rubble-strewn entranceway, the great doors opened and a figure appeared.

If I was expecting a servant, I did not see one. Instead, I saw a distinguished-looking man, tall and clean-shaven but for a white moustache. He was holding a lamp. "Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own free will!" He didn't move, not until I stepped inside, whereupon he moved toward me, his hand reaching for mine. "Miss Dia."

Suddenly, I noticed his eyes. There flashed a fearful light there, but only for a moment. "I am Dracula," he said. "And I have waited for this moment for so long."

~ ~ * ~ ~

Suddenly, my host moved to stand in front of me. If I had thought him distinguished-looking before, I now found he looked so horrible that I nearly cried out. I am certain I backed away. How had I not seen that his ears were pointed?

He raised one hand as if to comfort me. That was when I noticed his fingernails looked like talons.

He spoke, I think to distract me, for I am certain my face gave me away. "Miss Dia, permit me to show you to your room, for you must be weary."

I was not clear in my thinking. If I had been confused for most of my journey, I was still feeling dazed because I followed obediently behind him.

As we climbed the staircase, I watched the light from his lamp flicker along the wall as his tall slender shadow moved along with it.

"It is this way," he said as he motioned me toward the corridor. Down we went until he at last opened a door. The room was well lit and a welcome change from the cold, fireless hall below. "I have had a supper laid out for you. I hope it is of your liking."

"Thank you...."

"You will sleep through here..."

Once again, he motioned for me to follow him. We passed through a small room and emerged into the bedchamber. It was handsomely furnished and I was relieved to see a fire burned within the great fireplace.

"Please, refresh yourself and then dine..." I hesitated and he smiled. "Perhaps you are too tired to eat?"

I didn't answer because I was surprised at how he looked. For now, he seemed different; his ears no longer looked pointed. Nor did his fingernails seem long. He was quite handsome!

He smiled. "Perhaps you would prefer some wine. Actually, it is wine mixed with herbs, a tonic of sorts..."

He handed it to me. It smelled strange, yet I felt I had little power to refuse. And so I drank. My eyelids grew heavy and though I tried to see my host, I could not.

"My vision..."

"There now," he said. "Just rest forget all worries.... there is joy here and a world you cannot imagine."

I heard the words, but it was as if they came from far away.

"I don't want to sleep..."

"Yes, little one. You must sleep, and you shall. And you will dream..."

And so I did. I dreamt I heard whispers, soft murmurs all around me. It was not unpleasant, for I was reminded of fairy tales and legends. There began to be singing too; the sound of sirens, perhaps. The songs were hauntingly sad and beautiful all at once.

I saw three figures in the shadows. I reached out to touch them in my dream. And they came forward. "Sister!" they called.

Something touched my lips, something cool yet comforting. I opened my eyes and saw a graceful hand lingering there. A woman was smiling at me. She leaned over and kissed me on the lips. And although her lips were icy, it was pleasing.

"Am I dreaming?"

She smiled. "Yes, some of it."

"Who are you?"

She didn't reply; she only took my hand in her cold one and kissed it. "Dia...."

"How do you know my name?"

"The master told us."

I was suddenly aware of other voices. Voices that answered in perfect unison. "The master," they repeated until it sounded like a chant.

There, in the soft glow of candlelight, I saw three female spirits. They were strangely beautiful, garbed in long, flowing white gowns. Suddenly, they began to float up toward the bed ever so slowly, their fingers reaching out toward me as they called, "Sister."

Were they ghosts or spirits from another world?

Before I could ponder that question any longer, they began sweeping over me. I was frightened but thrilled at the same time, for there seemed about them the promise of joy and untold pleasure.

Their icy hands sought the top of my nightgown and they peeled it away; it was drawn further down until I was naked. First, one reached over and then the other two, each of them touching me.

"Mmmm."

A sound in my ears as cool lips touched my neck.

"Beautiful."

I moaned as the hands continued to sweep over me. Gentle yet persistent fingers probed my secret places – places previously unexplored – caressing and invading my body.

Lips replaced fingers. Cool lips, lips blue with death but soon to be reddened with life, my life – but I did not know that then; that would be one of my very first lessons.

I felt two at my neck and one at my breast. Then I felt something sharp stab into my neck and my breasts and I nearly cried out. I was silenced. For there by the fire stood a man. I could only make out that he was tall and slender. He moved toward the bed. Not to help me, but to watch....

At last, I knew I was not dreaming. There were three women touching me and whispering as they did.

"Yes, now," the man said.

Once again, I felt their teeth upon my flesh. "We drink you and love you..."

It was only painful for a moment, for when one bit me, another caressed me. And so it went on like that for an eternity, it seemed.

I drifted away then, retreating into a dark and warm place; a place full of shadows, a nether world so near the living one. How I wished to remain there.

In my mind, I saw myself covered by three female figures and a male as well. It was then that I knew. This was no dream.

I opened my eyes to see Dracula's eyes burning like two red coals. I saw in their depths a new world – one I would soon be entering.

He bent his head to feed and, when he did, the others stepped away. I watched as his mouth sought my neck and then my breasts. I felt the sting, but I didn't care. In fact, I am certain that I moaned with pleasure.

He raised his head and smiled, although his lips dripped with blood. "Dia, you are mine..."

Before I could reply, the women spoke. "Sister," they said. First one and then another.

I watched as they bent over me, each one taking another part of me as though I were a feast set before them.

"They drink from your fountain, for you are the new covenant. You are ours now and forever."

He moved down my body, and as he did, I felt the sharp sting of his bite. I felt it all over and I was glad!

And then, in the midst of the pleasure and the pain, he slit open his own chest and pressed my lips to it. "Drink, wife," he said. "Drink and you shall never know death."

And so I did.

The night was endless, it seemed, and if there was pain, that pain would soon disappear to have pleasure replace it. Fathomless pleasure, the joy unending, for it was the beginning of the ritual of the blood.

"Love the blood," he whispered. "The joy is in the blood... the passion is in the blood....endless life is in the blood....!"

I felt him mount me then. His eyes swept over my body before he took me, in the sight of the sisters; those I would soon call "the brides."

It was some time later that I heard them whisper. "Dawn is breaking; let us take her to the crypt to sleep..."

~ ~ * ~ ~

I slept the first sleep of the vampire. I would soon know it to be that. When I awoke, I was in the dark, but I was unafraid. Something slid open and a face peered into my mine. "Come sister."

Hands reached out, for there were other faces, three in fact--all female, one more beautiful than the other; the brides.

They sat me up and dressed me, for I was naked. They giggled too. "These are your wedding clothes, for now you are his forever as we are..."

I was happy, really joyful, for they were my family. I wanted no other. In time, I would know this was part of my eternal damnation, but I did not know it then.

I had entered the world of the undead. The world of endless existence where creatures live forever and there is no death.

He was waiting for me. "Come and feed," he said. I followed them outside into my new world. Our world was the night and our sun was the moon. "We will go into the night."

Dracula's words. And I obeyed. I saw him glide toward something lying near a tree. In the moonlight, I could see it was a man. He was not fully conscious. "I have half strangled him," Dracula said as he knelt down and began feeding. At last, he glanced up. "He still lives; you may only feed on the living. Come, child."

I did not hesitate; any sense of decency was gone. I was a wanton thing; a creature of the night in search of blood and little else.

He took my hand to guide it toward my lips. "Feel them."

I felt my teeth and I gasped, for they were long and pointed as were his.

He dipped his finger in the man's blood. "Taste it."

And so I did. It was good and I smiled. Then, with joyful abandon, I bent down to feed. I fed voraciously too, for I was hungry.

As I sucked forth the man's blood, I saw his life. I saw the simple cottage of a peasant and a woman and children – his family. Yet though I saw these things, I didn't care. It meant nothing to me. Only the blood and my beastly satisfaction were important.

I continued to feed and began to see different scenes, all having to do with the dying man's life. When he shuddered, Dracula touched me. "You can take no more."

I realized the man was dead, for the shuddering had stopped. And I cried, for I wished for more! Dracula shook his head. "You must never weaken, never sup on the blood of the dead, for if you do, your fate will be more horrible than you can imagine."

I feared his anger and his wrath, so I agreed. "I would never do that."

"Others have," he said. "Come, I will show you." But first, he smiled. "Let us go to finish our feeding."

The cottage was not far, the dead man's dwelling where he lived with his wife and three children. The sisters were already there, feeding on his loved ones who lay bleeding. They were crying out, for they were not yet close to death.

The sisters did not look up to greet me, for they were too engrossed in their feasting. We joined them, although Dracula did not feed as long as his brides did.

My world, and yes, I was one of them. For if we were sisters as well as lovers, we were also his brides.

As I fed on one of the three children, I saw her life, short as it was, flash through my mind. There was little to see for she had only reached a few years of life.

The mother held more interest for me. And although she was fading fast, I fed upon her and saw her childhood and her maidenhood. I saw her wedding and her passion. I saw the love there too.

But because I was already a blood beast, I had no feelings of remorse nor did I recall my own recent marriage, short though it was – cut even shorter by Dracula's will.

We fed until they were no longer food, but merely dead things, white and bloodless.

We then returned to the castle, where I was to have my first lesson.

"Come," he said as he led me past our crypts – into a dank, dark antechamber. "I told you that you must never feed upon the dead, for to drink a corpse's blood is to invoke my fury!"

The timbre of his voice shook me and I trembled. "There, look upon that!"

He pointed to something in the corner. There were massive chains attached to the ceiling from which hung a cage. He ordered me to look inside.

I gasped, for I saw the mutilated corpse of a woman. "I have preserved her so that others might learn."

There wasn't one part of her that was not mutilated. Her eyes were gone, as were her features.

"That was not the work of rats."

My reaction was to cry. I buried my face in my hands and wept. Not only was I frightened of him, but I felt desolate. "I do not wish to anger you, master."

He swept me into his arms and took me upstairs, past my sisters, to a vast chamber. "This was a ballroom once. There was music and laughter, days long ago; the days of my living life...."

He sounded sad yet proud of those days. "Do you miss it?"

He looked surprised and stared at me for so long that I feared asking him what I had and worried at his reaction. But he sighed. "That which has gone before in a vampire's existence must not be recalled, but must be banished from all thought. That is the price of endless existence."

"I promise never to remember!"

He kissed my forehead and then my lips. And then he took me there, and I gave myself up to him over and over. This was my world and I cared not for anything that had gone before. Nor would I change, of that I was certain.

He was my master and I was his devoted wife, his bride, his lover, and slave, and I would be for as long as I existed.

I would kill for him and die for him. I was his fourth bride.

##

The Blackstone Vampires Series

Book 1 The House on Blackstone Moor

Book 2 Unholy Testament - The Beginnings

Book 3 Unholy Testament - Full Circle

The Series, books 1-3 here:

 The Blackstone Vampire Series on Amazon

About The Author

I've always written but life, as it often does, got in the way and I turned back to writing some years ago. In 2000, I was selected by North West Playwrights of England for further development, but found I preferred writing fiction (novels and short stories).

I write dark gothic horror with romantic elements. I want to put the bite in gothic romance and knock the starch out it.

Most crucially of all, because I write vampire fiction, I portray my vampires as VAMPIRES. Yes, they may be capable of love, but it is tortured love. They are not happy little fairies prancing about enchanted forests. They do not inhabit a pleasant world. If they are good, it is because "they do less evil than themselves."

That quote, by the way, is from "The House on Blackstone Moor."

Quote about my fiction:

"In the attempt to find the just measure of horror and terror, I came upon the writing of Carole Gill, whose work revealed a whole new dimension to me. The figure of the gothic child was there. Stoker's horror was there. Along with the romance! At the heart of her writing one stumbles upon a genuine search for that darkness we lost with the loss of Stoker."

Carole Gill Official Author Blog/Website

Please visit my blog for latest excerpts, updates, and loads of free stories online!

http://carolegillofficialauthor.blogspot.co.uk/
STILLNESS (THE VAMPIRE'S LAMENT)

By

Audrey A'Cladh

In the soft blanket of dust and cobwebs

In the dim, musty rooms, long empty of echoes

The air has not been stirred for decades.

The whole of the domicile seems to slumber

Settled on the bones of its structure

In a bed of the untended grounds.

Once, behind the iron lace-work, and stone curtain

Once, across the deep carpets and polished wood

There had been music and poetry.

There had been conversation and debate.

The finery of those unmindful of time,

With rustle, thump, and laughter through the night.

To some it would have appeared ironically "lively."

To some it would seem a "Celebration of Life."

See how they dance and laugh and carouse,

Hear how they discuss the philosophy of the ages,

The carefree indulgence of those who have nothing but time.

Yet live each moment to its fullest.

Beyond the still solid gate covered in vines,

Beyond the overgrown drive under the cypress canopy,

Up the wide stone steps where the lizards absorb the sun,

Through the great oak panels who have forgotten they are doors,

Down the dusty soft hallways, womb-like and hushed,

In a deep, interior parlor, he sits.

He may have sat there as long as the house itself,

Even he has forgotten how long.

The things around him are cold and inanimate.

The dances, songs, and conversation long died in the air.

In this empty room, he contemplates the still air

And cannot remember why he has existed for so long.

On his right hand rests his head, heavy with a fatal despair.

In his left hand dangles a rich red ruby pendant.

After decades, his memory stirs, the 20-year locust of the soul.

He hears dim echoes of laughter and music,

He recalls the sound and smiles of faces long past,

He remembers the stimulation of friends old and new.

He remembers the one who wore this jewel.

And how she outshone it, a warm flush rises within.

Yes, there were still reasons to live.
About The Author

Audrey A'Cladh is an artist of many media; poetry is often where many ideas begin. She currently lives the nightshift in California, USA with her two partners and many cats. She can be found on Facebook and is the owner of The Temple of Shadows, a spiritual haven for those of dark spirituality online on Facebook as Temple of Shadows and at TempleofShadows.org.

MARKUS

An Excerpt from

CODE BLOOD

By

Kurt Kamm

The dopamine was flowing and Markus felt electrified. He was SOARING. He jumped into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut. Behind his oversized dark glasses, he squinted from the glare of the sunlight and creases spread from the corners of his eyes. He held up the plastic take-out bag in one hand and looked underneath to see if it was leaking. The bottom was clean and he placed it on the floor mat between his feet. He opened the glove box of his PT Cruiser, took out a bottle, and squeezed disinfectant gel on his hands.

"Unfuckingbelievable," he exclaimed, and rubbed the gel over his fingers.

"Oh my God, you're freaking me out," Audra said as she drove out of the Surfrider parking lot. "I can't believe you did that."

"It was nothing."

"Did you get blood on your hands? Aren't you afraid of – ?"

"Pathogens? No." Sure, Markus was afraid of blood-borne pathogens, but he wasn't about to admit it to Audra. Besides, when the gods offered up a severed foot to him, he was bound to accept it.

"Glad I made you come?" Audra asked.

Markus didn't answer. He looked at her over the top of his sunglasses, revealing his red irises. "It's so bright at the beach, it hurts my eyes. Vampires burn up in sunlight like this."

Audra returned his gaze. "Except you're an albino, not a vampire."

"Albinos burn up in this light too." Markus took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked inside the plastic bag at the girl's delicate foot. The fibula and tibia, severed just above the ankle, shone white through torn flesh. "I don't think we're gonna want the rest of the halibut," he said.

Most of the blood had run out onto the parking lot blacktop, but a small amount still dripped from the torn flesh onto the white Styrofoam container with the remainder of their lunch. Markus rolled down the side window and squinted again. He reached into the plastic bag, eased the bloody sandal off the foot with his thumb and forefinger, and tossed it out onto the dirt on the side of Pacific Coast Highway. He closed the window again and leaned back.

"This is epic!" he exclaimed.

Someday, he would have a hearse, but for the time being, the funky old PT Cruiser would do. When Audra was with him, she insisted on driving. She claimed his weak eyes and heavy foot on the gas pedal made her nervous. He humored her.

During the 20-minute drive from the beach to his apartment near the California University campus, Markus leaned against the passenger side door and admired Audra's body. He wondered what she had looked like six years ago, without her tats. She must have been hot even then. Some days, he hated the bitch, but today she looked particularly delicious. She was wearing her cut-off jeans, short enough to show the beginning of the curve of her awesome ass, and a tank top that revealed the colors and mosaic of her upper body tattoos. Her long, black hair cascaded down over her bare shoulders. While everyone in the parking lot was staring at the accident or looking at Audra, it was easy to pick up the foot.

He touched his prize through the thin plastic bag. He felt the toes, the arch, and cupped the palm of his hand against the ankle. The look of Audra's body, the image of the blood spilling out onto the blacktop, and the foot in the take-out bag sent a wave of sexual excitement through Markus' body. He forgot about the discomfort of the bright sunlight and felt the familiar tension build in his groin. By the time Audra turned onto Albion, a short street filled with APARTMENT FOR RENT signs that ran between the Los Angeles National Cemetery and the edge of the California University campus, Markus had an insane erection.

"I'll be up in a second," he said when Audra drove into the carport. Markus jumped out with the plastic bag and walked into the alley. He lifted the lid of one of the metal dumpsters, pulled out the Styrofoam container with the halibut, and tossed it away. Markus shivered with excitement. He was certain he would remember this as one of the great days of his life – the afternoon he walked out of the Surfrider Restaurant in Malibu and picked up a severed human foot. He ran up the stairs to Unit 2.

Inside, Markus went into the kitchen, took off his dark glasses and hat, rolled up his long sleeves, and scrubbed his hands in the sink. He took latex gloves out of a drawer, pulled them on, and spread some old newspaper on the counter top. He drew his treasure out of the bag. It was a right foot. Rigor mortis hadn't set in yet and he could still bend each toe. He marveled at how delicate and perfect they were. The nails were dark pink and the second toe was longer than the first, something Markus found kickass. He thought it would be wicked to see what it looked like with Audra's runic toe ring. He held the foot at eye level and saw a nicely shaped ankle below the broken stumps of bone. The girl lying on the blacktop had looked delicious. It would have added so much to his enjoyment of the foot if he knew what she looked like naked.

"I'll be there in a minute," he called to Audra in the bedroom. He turned on the kitchen faucet, held the foot underneath the spray, and rubbed off the sand and congealed blood. He dried the foot, put it in a plastic bag, and placed it in the freezer next to the bag containing the hand, nestled among the frozen peas. It was a left hand, and he had not yet paid for it, which was a problem. Now that he had a beautiful foot, the hand meant nothing. The squirrel head in the third bag meant less than nothing.

Markus went into the gloomy living-dining room where he did his Internet hacking. Software disks in plastic containers littered the floor. On the table, covered with black velvet and a dozen dark red candles of different sizes, he kept his computer, monitor, extra hard-drives, two printers, an unused router still in its box, and an assortment of motherboards and other components. A tangle of wires and cables, plugged into surge protectors, hung off the edge of the table. This equipment allowed him to pry into people's private information. Markus considered himself a great hacker, but he desperately needed some new malware. Firewalls were becoming more sophisticated, well beyond his own ability to surmount them. The Russians and Indians sold the best stuff, but it cost money, thousands of dollars, and Markus was low on funds.

When he worked his way through firewalls to ransack personal files and information, he sat on his throne, a wooden chair adorned with carved gargoyles. He rested his feet on a black Los Angeles County Coroner body bag purchased on Craig's List for thirty-four dollars. The website had advertised the body bag as "used." A trio of unmatched black wrought iron chairs surrounded the table. Heavy black drapes covered two windows that looked out onto Albion Street. The walls and ceiling were pale blue because the property owner wouldn't let him change the color, but in the semi darkness, it wasn't a problem. There was one floor lamp in the room and the shade was covered by one of Audra's black shawls. He rarely turned it on; the light from the computer screens was enough.

Markus did a quick check of his e-mails. He had accounts under different names with several carriers and ran his own SMTP server. His most confidential e-mail address, reserved only for close and important friends, was fangs@markusblood.com.

He hit SEND/RECEIVE, but on a Sunday afternoon, nothing but spam showed in his inbox and he deleted everything. The important communications came at night when his vampire friends were stirring.

He turned on the MP-3 player anchored in a speaker base and the death-rock sound of Fear Cult filled the apartment. Markus loved his Goth dungeon. It would satisfy any vampire. During the six weeks since Audra had moved in, she had improved the décor and the dark mood. She added the black and dark red velvet, the black lace, the candles, and the roses. Audra loved roses. Bouquets the color of blood, dried and preserved with hairspray, hung on the walls. Best of all were the roses on her body.

Audra had lit the candles and he could smell the aromatherapy scent drifting out of the bedroom. He didn't like it nearly as much now that he realized she had the same scent on her hands from the massage oil when she came home from work. He paused at the door of the bedroom and saw her lying face-up on top of the bed, wearing only a bra and panties. He watched her stretch, keeping one leg flat and bringing the other up at a right angle. She held on to the piece of old wrought iron cemetery fence they used as a headboard. A small patio table on one side of the bed functioned as a nightstand. A weathered church pew and a massive Victorian dresser with spiral-turned legs were the only other pieces of furniture. Before Audra dragged him to the Salvation Army to buy furniture, Markus had slept on a mattress on the floor.

Markus was eager to get it on with her – his body needed some nasty sex. He stripped off his pants and sat down on the bed. Sexual electricity swept through him and he forgot the things about Audra that annoyed him. He ran his finger up her thigh and across the tattoos on her stomach. Tattoos were almost as wicked as blood, and Audra had the tattoos. Audra looked way sexy lying there. Markus thought about the girl lying in the parking lot, blood spurting from her leg. A girl with blood on her skin was sweet. The sight of blood aroused him. The taste of blood excited him. Blood play – cuts, punctures, and bites – drove him wild. Sharing blood with someone you were really into was a fantabulous experience. He bent over and kissed the ring in her bellybutton. "I wanna suck a few drops of your blood and do you," he whispered.

She pulled away from him. "Not now, I need some rest. Besides, I can't keep going to work with bleeding fingers." She looked at the clock on the nightstand. "It's almost six; I have to be at work in two hours."

"I'm all rammy. I want you. You have to –"

"Just chill. Wait until I get home."

Markus clenched his teeth and lay down next to her. He tried to think of something that would extinguish his craving. He thought about Audra's exotic dancing at the club – that was a real buzz-kill. He wanted her to quit, but there was no way she would give it up. The first time he saw her at the Alley Kat, with black and red tattoos, he couldn't get over her intense body. He dreamed about her. He thought about her. He kept coming back to look at her like all the other men and even some women. Everyone liked to inhale Audra's body and fantasize about what they wanted to do with her. He decided he had to have her. He wanted her to belong to him. Now she had moved in with him, but he still had to share her with everyone else at the club. Markus couldn't bear to go back and watch her dance while everyone ogled her tats and reached out to touch her.

Markus moved toward her on the bed. "It's time," he said.

"I said wait until I come home from work."

"No, I mean it's time to stop dancing."

Audra sat up, gave him a look, and laughed. "Right. Like, you're gonna take care of me? I need to earn a living."

"They said the tattoos would cost twenty thousand," Audra had told him the first time she stood naked in front of him. "Where could I get that kind of paper? I was sixteen and had ten dollars when I got off the bus in L.A. Dancing's the only way to make good money, especially with the extra stuff."

He wondered what else Audra was doing at the club. He had a good idea what the "extra stuff" was, but she wouldn't tell him. She didn't have to; he knew her job was to bring strangers' fantasies to life. He had picked up girls like her in the clubs for years. Audra was a good lay. Actually, she was a great lay, but what if she brought home an STD? Even though he knew she took care of herself and had regular checkups, Markus was becoming increasingly concerned. The thought of catching an STD frightened him. He had already seen enough doctors in his life. His excitement was gone. The electricity in his groin petered out. Markus rolled over and closed his eyes.

~ ~ * ~ ~

When he awoke, it was eight o'clock p.m. and Audra was gone. He got up and walked naked into the kitchen. He opened the freezer and pulled out the plastic bag containing the foot. It was a blue-gray color now and hard as a rock. Markus admired it for a moment, whispered, "Dee-licious," and put it back in the freezer. He opened the refrigerator and took out a container of vanilla yogurt mixed with raspberry jam. It was his favorite – when he swirled the jam around it looked like coagulated blood on a girl's immaculate white skin. On the way back into the bedroom, he opened the container and licked the jam with his tongue.

Markus rummaged through his closet and pulled out the olive duffel bag hidden under a pile of dirty clothes. He unzipped it and took out the rubber arm, syringes, needles, and plastic tubing, all wrapped in a towel. The arm was excellent. It wasn't real, but it worked and made it possible for him to learn how to insert a needle into a lifelike vein. After he became proficient at inserting the needle into the plastic arm and drawing out the colored fluid, he began drawing blood from his own arm. The first time, he missed his vein and stabbed his flesh. The pain was terrible, but he clenched his teeth and poked around with the needle until blood began to flow into the syringe. On the second try, he hit his vein immediately. As the days passed, he kept practicing on the back of his hand and on his arm until he was certain he could do it. He had become a vampire paramedic. Audra would be very impressed, but this was not anything she needed to know about.

He took a sterile syringe out of its package. There were two left, both of which he would take with him tomorrow night. Markus tied the rubber tube around his bicep, trapped the blood, patted his vein to make it stand up, and stuck the needle in near his elbow joint. He pulled the plunger up just far enough to see blood start to fill the syringe and then yanked the needle out. The entire process took about fifteen seconds and Markus was satisfied he could do it in his sleep. He didn't expect any problems. His prey, the China Doll, was young and would have healthy veins that were easy to penetrate. Sometimes veins rolled sideways under the skin. If that happened, he would just have to keep trying – that's what the medical technicians did. The China Doll wouldn't know the difference anyway.

He finished his yogurt, wrapped everything in the towel, stuffed it into the duffel bag, and buried it again under the debris on his closet floor. It was eight forty-five p.m. and the night stretched out before him. Markus felt restless and edgy, fueled by his unsatisfied sexual arousal. He got dressed and went out.

On nights when Audra was dancing and he wasn't working at CU, Markus often walked the short block down Albion to the Los Angeles National Cemetery. The entrance was secured after dark by enormous iron gates almost a mile away, but he knew a spot where two of the eight-foot high metal bars on the fence were missing. He had his own private entrance.

During the day, the cemetery belonged to the mourners and visitors who strolled among the thousands of tombstones that ran off in straight and diagonal lines. At night, the cemetery was dark and grim – it belonged to the dead, the undead, and to Markus. His weak eyes were no handicap in the gloom and he wandered the narrow streets – across Constitution Avenue, up Chateau Thiery, across San Juan Hill – stopping with a small flashlight to examine the names and ranks on the gravestones:

Arthur Rodriguez, SSgt. U.S. Air Force, 1957

Robert Bensinger, Cpl. U.S. Army, 1917

Alex Nicholas, Capt. U.S. Navy, 1912

Markus tried to imagine the unique death of each person and the way the blood might have drained out onto a battleground or dissipated into a cold sea. Six months ago, he discovered a tombstone for Audra Barnes, Lt. U.S. Navy, 1988. When he met Audra, he thought it was an omen.

He drifted between the rows of tombstones and listened to the wind blowing through the branches of the tall eucalyptus trees. In the distance, the whine of the cars on the 405 Freeway became the wail of lost souls. Markus became Vlad Drackula the Impaler, living on his estate in fifteenth century Transylvania. He stepped up onto a gravestone and addressed his followers. "Come, follow me, fellow vampires, through this lonely gothic forest. I will find victims for you and we will gorge on their blood. When we have sucked them dry, we will dismember them and place their heads on the spikes of the fence surrounding my property." Markus surveyed their glowing eyes and sharp teeth. They were impatient to begin the hunt. "As protector of this pack, you will bring me the most beautiful woman. I will ravish her, then rip open her white neck, and feast on her crimson elixir." The vampires standing around him stamped their feet and nodded in agreement. He was their undisputed leader. It was time to begin the blood hunt. Markus looked up into the clear California night and heard the sound of the wings of thousands of bats that would accompany them on the hunt.

On his way home, Markus climbed over the fence on the far side of the cemetery and walked around the perimeter toward Albion Street. At the corner of Sepulveda and Wilshire, he passed the homeless man who lived under two grocery carts with filthy blankets wrapped around the sides and covered with strips of building insulation. Markus knew how easy it would be to surprise the vagrant, rip the blankets away, jump on him, and kill him before the old man could even cry out. The guy was filthy, smelled, and might be HIV positive. Markus reconsidered. Not even the hungriest vampire would touch the vagrant's blood.

He walked along the sidewalk and thought about Audra's body. He thought about the foot in the freezer and about the rare Bombay Blood running through the body of the China Doll. Audra wouldn't be home for several hours and Markus was totally jacked. Instead of heading home, he continued down Sepulveda to the titty-bar that advertised: FULLY XPOSED WOMEN – BUSIEST CLUB IN LA – FREE ADMISSION SUNDAY NIGHTS.
About The Author

Code Blood has won several awards, including:

2012 International Book Awards; Fiction Cross Genre Category First Place

2012 NATIONAL INDIE EXCELLENCE BOOK AWARDS®; Faction (fiction based on fact)

The 2012 USA Best Book Awards; Fiction: Horror WINNER

LuckyCinda Publishing Contest 2013 FIRST PLACE; THRILLER.

Kurt Kamm lives in Malibu CA. He has used his contact with CalFire, Los Angeles County Fire Department, Ventura County Fire Department, and the ATF, as well as his experience in several devastating local wildfires to write fact-based firefighter mystery novels. He has attended classes at El Camino Fire Academy and trained in wildland firefighting, arson investigation, and hazardous materials response. He also is a graduate of the ATF Citizen's Academy

Each of his novels has a firefighter with a special skill: Wildland / Arson Investigation / Fire Paramedic / HazMat Specialist. Each mystery is told from the viewpoint of the firefighter and the story revolves around his specialty. He is currently working on his fifth novel, a USAR mystery.

His latest and fourth mystery - _Hazardous Material_ – is now available. _Hazardous Material_ recently won the Hackney Literary Award for Best Novel of the year.

www.kurtkamm.com

VAMPIRE HISTORIA

A SERIES OF REVELATIONS: NICOLAI'S FATE

An Excerpt of the Upcoming Novel

By

Scarlette D'Noire
VAMPIRE HISTORIA

A SERIES OF REVELATIONS: NICOLAI'S FATE

A Short Story

By

Scarlette D'Noire

Württemberg, Holy Roman Empire: 1548

Why did I run? I am a coward! I did not flee to save myself. No! I want to die, but I will not give him the satisfaction of watching. "Curse to Hell the man who made her!" In a panic, my life force withered as I ran deeper into the woods in a state of panic.

~ ~ * ~ ~

Moments before, I watched Annalise slip away, so beautiful as she lay dying.

"You are a disgrace to this family!" Wilhelm screamed as he plunged the blade through her heart. In shock, I pulled the sword from her chest and threw it away from her. Wilhelm snatched me from behind, pulling me upward by the back of my shirt. We stumbled across the barn, falling backwards. I landed hard on top of him, stunning him with the full weight of my body. My heart raced as I hit him several times, until he no longer moved. Why is this happening?

I knew her father hated me. He thought me a disgrace, and blamed my father and our Moldavian heritage for our outdated religious beliefs; strong in the faith of the Holy Roman Empire. My father had fought for Stephen III and he would never allow me to align with these heretics. Instead, I fought for King Ferdinand to maintain control of Württemberg.

Since I was not party to the Reformation, I fought against the Schmalkaldic League, with whom her father pledged his allegiance. I pledged to defend the Holy Roman Empire to the death. At the Battle of Mühlberg in Saxony, our victory put an end to the Schmalkaldic War and sealed our fate. He forbade Annalise from continuing our relationship a demand to which neither one of us would adhere. Yes, I knew Annalise's father hated me, yet I did not think he would resort to killing his own daughter to keep us apart.

~ ~ * ~ ~

I ran to Annalise. Collapsing to my knees, I scooped her up and balanced her on my lap, pulling her close to me. So much blood! I pressed hard against her chest to stop the bleeding, yet her blood coated my arm. Tears stung my eyes as I cradled her and prayed to God to save her. "You did not do anything wrong my love. Hold on! I am with you." Did she deserve to die for loving me?

She cried out for me. "Nicolai . . ." That was all she managed to say in a soft voice. I leaned over to kiss her. As our lips touched, a piercing pain shot through my back. I looked down to see the tip of a blade emerge below the right side of my chest. I should have been in agony, but the shock of it all did not allow me enough time to think about the pain as I lunged forward to remove myself from the sword's blade. I spun around, catching Wilhelm off guard and knocking him to the ground, and then I ran.

~ ~ * ~ ~

Adrenaline flooded my body as I continued to run into the night. I stumbled into the forest, bleeding profusely from my chest. Disbelief consumed me. Annalise... dead at the hands of her own father! Weakness made my body heavy, slowing each footstep as I made my way through the woods. The rain fell hard and relentless, the droplets removing any trace of blood as quickly as it poured from my wound. In the chilly night air, each breath grew fainter with every rapid exhale. The smell of damp earth filed my nose. Weakened, I fell to my knees. Where is God now? "I curse you! You are not my Father in Heaven! You are a plague in my life, killing everything that is beautiful and pure. I curse you to Hell and wish to die a death far from You!"

A figure in the shadows startled me. "Are you quite sure you are through with our God, my son?" He spoke a different language, but I understood him. I struggled to answer him.

Dying. I am dying! This stark knowledge gave me the courage to speak my mind. Fearless, the anger of my heart poured out of my mouth.

"To hell with you and your God! Do you not grasp my situation? I am dying. My beloved lies cold in death for no greater sin than that of love! Yes, I am through with Him. I have no further use for this life or for your God! They are both a curse! Go! Leave me to die."

"You understood my language. I see you are an educated man Nicolai." The stranger smiled a wicked smile.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" I grimaced in pain.

"I know many things about you. Your glorious victories against my people. How you slaughtered them under Petru IV Rares, as they tried to cross the Prut River at Stefãnesti." He continued to smile, but his eyes were cold and dark.

"Tartars." I spit blood on the ground in a mock attempt to curse their name. "Ironic, if you came to capture me you are too late. If you came to kill me then show yourself and finish the job."

The stranger moved toward me. His face clear in the moonlight. With each heartbeat, fear quickened my heart. Weaker, I thought I was hallucinating. Who is this strange-looking man? Each feature appeared distinct; sharp, yet I could not make them out individually. His eyes were piercing, the shade of a deep blackness. The liquid color seemed to bore right through me. His eyes not only shone; they seemed to control the night.

Strangely defiant, I would have been terrified if not for my present situation, for I knew I was already dying. What more can he do to me? Nothing! My last moments were at hand and I wished for it all to be over. Death was not a stranger. I had seen its ravages many times in battle.

I tried to remove the image of Annalise's fear as she realized the blade had pierced her heart. My mind raced. I experienced her fear at the thought of death. Her sorrow crushed me. I could not bear the thought of life without her. I had to escape this nightmare. I focused on the fields where we would go to be alone in happier times. Where I planned to propose to her. I struggled to find the place in my mind where we always ran to share stolen moments. Our haven from the world. I imagined the warmth of the sunshine on our skin, the smell of her hair as she lay in my arms. I wanted to hold her one last time. But my thoughts only returned to the fear and pain in her eyes as she lay dying.

"You cannot remove those images so easily, can you?" I shuddered from the pain, but did not answer. "Why should you think about the beauty of life or the pureness of your love if you are through with this life as you said? Why do you cling to the things that God made if you curse this life and God to Hell?"

Is he reading my mind? Causing me to experience Annalise's pain and fear?

"Who are you? What do you want from me?" My apprehension overwhelmed me. In the back of my mind, I regretted the things that I had said. Now, it was too late.

"No, no! Do not second guess yourself!" He was upon me, grabbing me and pinning me against a tree. "You cursed God and begged to be set free, so, I shall set you free." And with that short speech, he ripped into my neck, drinking my blood.

Our two bodies intertwined. My legs buckled, weakened I gave in to the attack. The stranger let me slide down the tree to the ground, his chest on top of mine. Methodically he drained me of my blood. I whispered Annalise's name as I reached upward into the black of night for her; my life, over. The rain fell softly now as the full moon cast a glow throughout the night. The stranger stopped and stared down at me in a curious fashion. "Repent," he said. Too weak to speak my eyes stared unfocused my jaw slack. He scooped me up and bound upward into the darkness of night.

~ ~ * ~ ~

In an instant, we were at the barn where Annalise's body lay bloody and still. The stranger listened, "I hear her faint heartbeat," he said as he stroked her hair. With savage intent, he stared at her neck. His bony fingers stroked her skin where her jugular pulsed ever so slightly beneath her pale skin. Death was upon her. He reached down, touching her wound, his fingers intermingling with her blood. He slowly raised his hand to his lips to lick his fingers clean and started the process all over again. I was outraged. How dare he touch her! "What are you doing? Get away from her! Why did you bring me here to die? To torment me?"

He glanced at me, twisting his lips into an evil smile. "To answer your prayers. Your beloved still breathes. She has not completed her journey from this life. She will meet the God you never will and find peace from this life, but you, my son, asked for a different fate." He grabbed me, pulling my face close to his. Through his eyes, I peered into the darkness. Dazed, I could not look away.

"I denounce you to a place between this world and the next," he said as he bit into my neck again. Blood dripped from his mouth as he paused.

"I denounce you to find no peace in either world. For you will roam and search, but you will not find."

He released my body. I slumped forward on the brink of death. The stranger bit into his own wrist and let his thick, dark blood flow. He sat on the floor of the barn and grabbed me by the hair, thrusting his wrist into my mouth just as my heart was to take its last beat. To my utter horror, his blood revived me. My senses heightened. The booming of his heartbeat rang in my ears. Images of death flooded my mind as his blood flowed into my body. "You will drink of their blood, trying to fulfill an unending thirst. You will drink of their breath, searching for the answers, looking for that which you lost. But follow them not all the way, for surely you will die, cursed to Hell for all eternity." Anguish overwhelmed me, instinctively I prayed. "Doamne iarta-ma," I begged.

The stranger threw me across the barn and laughed. "Too late for that, my son. God cannot help you, nor forgive you." He picked me up by my shirt and pulled me to Annalise. "Listen. Do you sense her heart beating?" I strained to recognize what came so easily to the stranger. "Listen for the rhythm. Each beat is a sonnet to God. A steady pleading to go back to Him. A reminder of the greatest gift ever given to us. Each beat brings us closer to home, and I am afraid, Nicolai, your beloved's life song is almost over." He laughed. "Shall I make her one of us? Snatch her from God's hands and thrust her into yours to roam the Earth restlessly with you?"

One of us? I cannot allow Annalise to be taken from God! My mind was racing. I did not know fully what I had become, but I feared the worst. This beast has condemned me. I cannot let this happen to Annalise! "No, please don't!" I whispered. Alone! The sensation smothered any hope and despair overtook my senses. I shuddered as the cold penetrated me to my core.

"Yes, Nicolai. The cold takes a little getting used to, but blood always helps ease our affliction."

I turned toward Annalise. Her breath called to me. I lay down beside her and ignored my tormentor for a moment. I closed my eyes as I pulled her onto her side. She lay facing me now, her bloodstained chest close to mine. I held her in my arms. I opened my eyes and looked at her face. She looked like an angel. I knew she would be dead soon. The agony of it all was too much. Tears flowed from my eyes, to my surprise. I was dead, and very confused. "Careful. Your thoughts will be hers. I do not think you wish to send her to the Other World with thoughts of fear and regret." Time with Annalise was running out. I pushed the fear and anguish from my mind.

"Kiss her," he demanded. I readily obeyed and kissed her lips gently.

"Do not be afraid, my love. I am here with you," I whispered softly into her ear.

The stranger stared at me. His lips curled into a slight smile, his demonic eyes danced with excitement.

"From the life force of the innocent you will breathe and seek the knowledge of their hearts to bring you back to your Love and the redemption of God. From her final breath, you will see what you have done to your soul. The life force of the Innocent is your key, Nicolai." I did not understand his words and let them roll off me. I focused on her breath entering my body as I kissed her. I could not figure out if her breath was flowing into me or if I was pulling it out of her, as our life essence mixed. Euphoria swept away reality.

~ ~ * ~ ~

Now we were in the field of grass; her eyes shined brightly, and life coursed through her veins. I was in ecstasy! "Annalise, I love you." She laughed, pulling away from me.

"I love you too, Nicolai. And I shall wait for you."

"Wait for me where?" I no longer saw her, yet I sensed her voice, which started to fade as her heart ceased to beat. A great void came between us, like a vacuum of darkness sucking me away. I struggled against it, trying to get closer to her.

"Return for me, Nicolai." I faintly heard her say.

~ ~ * ~ ~

Confused, I was back in the barn. Pain seared through my body as I landed, the benefit of the stranger throwing me away from Annalise. When I opened my eyes, he was staring down at me. "Do you wish to go to Hell?" he asked, so matter of fact.

"I told you never to follow too far. You must pull away before their final breath. Or you will die!"

He pressed his fingers to my lips, still stained with Annalise's blood, forcing me to taste of it. The rush was instant. Hot lava pumped through my veins. I lost track of what I was doing. The absolute horror of it all. Completely full of yearning, my new nature emerged. The edges of the room dimmed, and sounds muffled as if under water. My senses focused in on a faint metallic taste in the air. The aroma of her blood set my tongue on fire. I wanted more; demanded it!

I Lunged at Annalise and tore into her neck. The sweet nectar of her blood coated my tongue and slid down my throat. The elixir of life. I pulled hard suckling her lifeforce away. I never truly loved her until this moment of unyielding passion. Every kiss we shared, every embrace flooded my brain. The faint sound of drums played rhythmic as I sucked to the beat. The beast in me ignored the slowed pace of her heart. I did not care if she died in my desire to consume her. A foul bitter taste flooded my senses. I hesitated and released my fang's grasp on her neck. Unsatisfied, I tried to pull Annalise back to me and drink more from her, but the fiend would not allow me. He held me on the floor, my head resting in his lap, in a chokehold rather than any nurturing embrace, until the craving subsided.

"You cannot drink from the dead. It will poison you." Dead. I killed her! Mortified, I wanted to go back to Annalise, to the green field and the life we had before. He laughed in a low cynical voice and squeezed my neck harder. "It's too late, Nicolai." His words echoed in my ears as I faded into the blackness.
About The Author

A lover of all things vampire and chocolate, this is her first attempt at writing fiction. She is currently working on two books in the Vampire Historia, a Series of Revelations: Delano's Disciple, Anthony and Delano's Undoing. Two short stories in the series will release soon: The Making of Marea and O'Ren, Keeper of the Shadows. Originally from Chicago, she is an American author currently residing in Florida. Scarlette D'Noire is a nom de plume used to protect the true identity of the author, so she may bring Vampire Historia, a Series of Revelations to light without consequences.

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FORGOTTEN IMMORTAL

By

BellaDonna Drakul
Chapter I

One cannot be dubbed as truly insane until they have seen all that others would believe is imaginary. For what one sees that others choose not to see is what separates the boring from the truly interesting. Simply stated, a maniacal genius is usually seen as someone who sees images of a reality that cannot be magnified by those who see all as blind or those who "live inside of the box." However, in my world, it is hard to decipher what is real and what is not. I have been told by several that I dwell in a box that is neither here nor there and that I am far too out of touch with society as a whole. I am not exactly sure why everyone sees me as such, but it could be because many feel that I am not in my right state of mind. Or it could be due to the fact that I spend a large portion of my time in solitude, even though I'm happily married. But what I think it might actually be is that I am a "drug addict" who suffers from delusions brought on by severely potent hallucinogens who isn't willing to admit it. And why must I be branded as an addict? I am not what others call me. I am not an addict, but rather an "experimenter in the field of hallucinogenic studies." Yes, that sounds much better indeed! And as long as I keep telling myself that, then it will eventually be seen as true in the eyes of others. Unfortunately, my beloved bride also sees me as something of horrendous addictions, but she has a reason to, I suppose.

When we first met ten years ago at The Filmfest Hamburg in our homeland of Germany, we both gave in to the temptations of "full mental awareness" brought on by euphoric hallucinogens like acid and mushrooms. We were willing to love only each other as compared to others who lived in a world of free love and let our partners know immediately. No, we did not believe in sharing the one you were with, but rather the drugs you held in your hand. We spent many days and nights together after we met in that sultry month of lust and lost inhibitions. She was the most glorious creature I had ever laid eyes on and I almost stopped using drugs altogether just to be with her, but she objected to it completely, which made me love her even more. Yes, my lovely girl with a wild streak was all I needed to survive in a world full of chaos and there was nothing I would ever want more than her. Fortunately, as the years have passed into my present time in the early winter of 1975, my love for my dearest Isotta Emory has not only grown, but expanded to an "obsession," as it may be. The very thought of her is intoxicating – from the vision of her dark auburn hair to the seductive words that exude from her lips of petal pink. I am enthralled by her alluring blue eyes that hypnotize me with one stare and her kind interior that melts my heart every day. This is why she is so wonderful in every way to me. She is all that I need in my life and there is nothing that could ever replace her in my heart. No... that is a lie. I am not as in love with her as I was ten years ago. In fact, there are days that I despise her completely and it is because of my misuse of the illegal substances that brought us together in the first place. As I recall, I can still hear the first time she told me I was acting like an addict, nearly six months ago, when the temperature was as hot as her temper...

"Benedikt... don't you think you're going just a bit overboard with the acid?" She began with a sweet tone, her now aged lips pressed tightly together, with her hands on her voluptuous hips. "It's making you act like a delusional ass! And would it really kill you to clean the house once in a while? If I wanted to live with a disgusting pig, then I would have married one! Oh, wait – I did! Get up, you sick bastard!" Oh, did I forget to tell you that she went from an angelic beauty to a psychotic bitch? I suppose I didn't, but I think that speech alone speaks for itself. It is sad to think that it took such a small amount of time before she lost all hope in me. We used to be so close, so happy, and so much in love. But as the years progressed and I started experimenting with stranger and more dangerous hallucinogens than those my wife and I took together, she stopped caring and spent more time yelling at me. It was never-ending unfortunately, and seemed to get worse the higher I was, which was pretty bad.

My eyes were severely dilated as Isotta screeched at me and all I could think about was how she was ruining my intense trip. So, as with everything that occurred between my beloved and me, another hateful fight arose in a drug-induced state, which was the only way I could cope with it all. "Why is it every time you open your mouth, you act like a crazy troll on coke? I am so sick of you!" I howled, lit up a pungent cigarette, and blew the smoke directly in her face. "Now, are you going to bitch about that too? Leave me alone, woman..." I laughed as my wife continued to scream at me. I soon blocked her out and took another hit of acid I had hidden in my pocket. I then crawled into my formerly lovely bedroom two feet away and flopped down on the dusty-looking duvet cover as Isotta rushed in to yell at me further.

"Why must this keep happening, Benedikt? We... we used to be so happy and now... now I've never felt so miserable in all my life!" The pale goddess wept profusely and fell to her knees next to me, pleading for me to return to her as her admirable husband. "I beg of you, mein Liebster, you are my everything in this world and I am dying on the inside, knowing that you are killing yourself... please stop this, mein Liebster... please..." she uttered, trying to grab onto a lock of my brownish grey hair to show she cared, but it was too late.

"Oh, stop with the whole 'my love' crap – I'm tired of hearing it! That phrase means nothing to me and it's getting to where... to where..." I fumbled on my words at that point. Well, that was not entirely true. I wasn't exactly sure how to rephrase what I was saying because I already knew that what I wanted to tell my darling wife would not only emotionally hurt her, but probably kill her internally. And as much as I tried not to utter the last part of that sentence, my wife urged for me to do so.

"What, Benedikt, what? Say it! Tell me you don't love me anymore! I know that's what you want to say, isn't it? Isn't it? If you despise me so much and have the gall to stand up to me, then you will say it! Or, if you care for me, then say that! Say something because I can't be with someone who won't tell me how he feels... I need someone who loves me more than his drugs... I need my husband back... please!" Isotta wailed louder than before and I can honestly say it broke my heart until the acid started accelerating rapidly throughout my body at an alarming rate. Unfortunately, my mouth also sped up and my words were not those of kindness by any means.

"Shut up! Just shut up for five minutes please! Stop being such a lousy bitch and leave me alone – at least for five freaking minutes!" I hissed at my wife, which in the past would have been out of the question, but ever since my hallucinogens became more important than she was, nothing else seemed to matter. My job at Alter Botanischer Garten Hamburg as the park's head gardener was no more, my friends since childhood have all but disappeared, my parents won't speak to me for fear that I will beg them for money, and the only good thing in my life is my wife and she disdains me which is completely understandable. Actually, the only thing that keeps me whole is the one thing that also destroys me. But how can you loathe something that makes you feel so good? I do not know and, honestly, I don't want to stop using just to find out. "I just... I just... just need you to go... go away... Just go away... and leave... leave me alone..." I mumbled as the image of my breathtaking wife waved in and out before my eyes and all soon became rather interesting to view or at least that's what I believed as everything around me became rather hazy.

"Benedikt, mein Liebster... are you all right?" I partially heard Isotta say in a peculiar voice as the brown wooden paneled walls of our bedroom began to melt behind her in wavy, nauseating lines. "Benedikt, are you in there? Oh, darling... come back to me... Benedikt, come back to me please... Come back to me, mein Liebster..." But the longer I gazed at my wife's face, the further she seemed to fade away as the walls turned from a boring brown to glorious shades resembling a rainbow. A rainbow right in my bedroom was swallowing me whole like a giant hungry monster that was taking me as his grandest meal of all time!

"Look, Isotta... the rainbow is back again with all its wonderful colors! It's back, Isotta, it's back... it's back!" I yelped happily as it felt like my wife was trying to calm me down, but it was of no use. Well, she might have been, but I wasn't completely sure. It felt as though my body was being held down on my bed, yet it also seemed like I was sinking into a pile of quicksand. All was turning into something bizarre for I was speedily traveling into a fantastical hallucinogenic world. "Ah... red, orange... yellow, green, blue, indigo... and the brightest and most magical of them all... violet! It's all so beautiful!" I laughed maniacally as my wife and everything around me seemed to disappear and a land full of wonder and make-believe sprouted all around with lustrous trees full of the most brilliant green leaves I've ever seen. "Isotta, look at all the trees! Oh, my God... it's all so tremendous! Come feel it all with me..." As soon as I uttered that last foggy sentence, the vision of my enchanting wife nearly faded away, along with her voice, and I was soon surrounded by a world that was not only lovely, but beyond extraordinary as well. At least that's what it started out to be...

Once my eyes became clear and the humdrum of my home life faded away, there was a world of colorful perfection in front of me. And even though I was familiar with the supernatural aspect of this realm, for I had been here numerous times before, I sensed that something was new, but couldn't put my finger on it. It almost felt as if my delusional land of peace, filled to the brim with talking flowers and bewildering gnomes of all shapes and sizes, was somehow altered, but I wasn't sure how. No, this did not seem right at all... my euphoric place of all that is blissful and amusing seems frightening and puzzling. It is no longer bright and cheerful, but rather hollow and dark. Usually, I "see" this type of reality when I take a darker hallucinogenic known as DMT, also known as dimethyltryptamine, which is often described as a psychedelic substance that causes a total loss of connection to conventional reality with the encounter of indescribable spiritual and alien realms. In simpler terms, it's the type of hallucinogenic that sometimes makes you see horrific sights rather than those of a more pleasant nature. Many times before, I have taken it, when my wife was away on business in Hesse with her mother, just to feel something more frightening as compared to something vivid, which I am not experiencing currently. But now, at this exact point in time, I am feeling like I've just stepped into a hellish land as I hear a demon's voice speaking to me... lavish graves surrounding me from all directions accompanied by the stench of decaying flesh that burns my nostrils something awful.

"Benedikt Emory, indeed a blessed and brave individual, I call you out to put your abilities to the test and find me!" I was greatly flustered by the voice I heard, almost as if it was over a stadium speaker, and while I knew I was quite delirious, there was something that seemed off. The calling sounded almost too well known to my ears, as if I had heard it recently. I flinched from the touching of a cryptic tree that slapped me from behind. Or maybe it didn't, I don't know.

"Who are you? Isotta... is that you, meine Liebe? Your vocalization is very alluring..." I giggled playfully, still feeling paranoid as the previous tree has now uprooted and is walking towards me. My God... this stuff is good! I'm kind of scared, but giddy all at the same time, so it evens out.

"No, Benedikt," sighed the deep voice, "I am not your wife, for she is nowhere to be found here." The sadistic unknown being said, terrifying and confusing me all at once, "My name is Domek Hadon and I have come to you with a favor of unimaginable proportions." I gasped at the sight of the statuesque yet obscure-looking man, eyes and face as pale as new fallen snow, who appeared from nowhere and stood close.

"What... what do you want from me? I... I do not know who you are." I shivered and stared up at the nearly seven-foot tall gentleman whose blackened locks waved heinously in the wind.

"You shall know all there is to know soon enough, but for now, I need you to come and find me." The large creature sighed in ghostly tones. "My bones and flesh are separated entirely and need to find their way back together... you must search for them and make them whole again. And then you must feed me blood until my vampire existence returns... Do not fail me, Benedikt, or you shall die!" As soon as that confusing and horrid display of words was pronounced, I awoke from my drug-induced state faster than I ever had before. All was unreal and the worst part of it all was my bedroom was black as pitch whereas before it was brighter than the sun. Nothing was what it appeared and what made it all the more interesting was that I think I just met a vampire...

Chapter II

All will be revealed when the secrets of mysterious worlds present themselves for the rational people to see. It is then and only then that all will make sense to where everything becomes more feasible to those who bow down to reality. I am not one of those lucid beings, per se, but someday I would like to be one... for about an hour or two. Honestly, I've done the drug-free life and it makes all of my normal problems harder to deal with and life in general rather boring. My wife seems distant, I do not have a career on any status level, and my very existence is so tragic that I pray for death day in and day out. There are days when everything is glorious and I have no need to complain, but with my hallucinogens... everything is uncommonly flawless in every way, no matter what. But here's something I question: is it wrong to feel happy all of the time? Is it bad to live in a realm of splendid creatures and bright colors rather than one of bleakness and hate? And is it considered sinister to take a pill or mushroom to make me feel better about myself for once in my life? No, it is not, and I'm tired of people telling me it is! However, as my most recent "voyage to bliss" has come about, I have found someone who agrees with everything I just mentioned. In fact, he thinks I am his savior and begs for me to help him. Isn't that wonderful? But what's even better is that the bastard is claiming to be a vampire and wants me to bring him back to life, which is all too exciting for words! Or was it just all a "bad trip" and none of it really happened? I had to find out and the only person I knew who would know would be...

"Isotta... may I have a polite word with you?" I mumbled shamefully as I slowly strolled into my dining room at an hour past nine on a gloomy night in mid-December. I stared into the saddened eyes of my wife, who casually stood from a plush dining chair to face me, and said. "I am ever so sorry, mein Liebster..."

My dearest gracefully walked towards me, brushed a thinning greying strand from off my face, and whispered sweetly. "You must stop this drug-induced behavior, for you are by far too old for such silly things." She smirked impishly, which reminded me of the youthfulness that she spoke of. "You're not getting any younger, nor am I, so this must cease, mein Liebster. Now go wash up; supper is almost ready." Isotta smiled and kissed my cheek softly as I thought further about what she said. Nonetheless, she was right as always. When I was in my late twenties, this type of lifestyle was fun indeed, but I was pushing forty and this state of paranoid delusions was probably one that I should forget. But as I said before, if it makes me happy, then why is it seen as wrong? Age is only a number, but experiencing a world that few will ever see firsthand is one that I do not wish to ignore, especially not now that I've met an immortal that time has forgotten about. Perhaps that will convince Isotta to listen to me!

"I will wash up momentarily, but first I need to talk to you about something rather important to me." I huffed sadly, grasping onto my wife's hands, which brought forth a concerned expression to her delicate face.

"What is it, Benedikt? What's wrong?" she whimpered as I found myself telling her everything that had taken place a few hours ago when I left her in this land of realism. Unfortunately, after I spoke of petrifying visions of an immortal that only I could see, my lovely wife burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "Have you lost your freaking mind, Benedikt?" She chuckled louder, bringing forth a heaping pot of stewed meat to the dining table. "So let me get this straight." She paused to hold back a small giggle. "While I was worried out of my mind about your mental health, you were talking to Dracula, who begged you to save him?" Isotta cackled wildly, filling glass bowls with our meals, and nearly fell out of her chair. "Dear God, Benedikt... how much acid did you take? I seriously hope you keep this little tale between us. People would think you were mad and lock you up in an institution! Hopefully, this will be our little secret..." she said calmly, while gesturing for me to eat my stewed supper.

"But who's to say it should be?" Isotta raised her eyebrow at my comment, which showed she thought I was insane. "Maybe this wasn't a hallucination, but instead a realistic message from a being who came to me for help. Isn't that possible?" I screeched with the hopes that she would feel as I did. Regrettably, she did not feel the same.

"I swear, Benedikt, every time I try to give you the benefit of the doubt and force myself to believe your rambles, you say disturbing things like this and make it impossible!" my wife hissed, dropped her spoon into her bowl, and stood from the table angrily. "It is nonsense like this, brought on by your drug usage, that makes it hard for me to stay with you. I honestly can't take it anymore and I feel like I'm losing my mind! Hell, if you tell others about this, then they will shun you from society and eternally brand you as an enamored idiot!" Isotta paused as the veins protruded in her forehead. "Are you taking DMT again? I swear, if you are taking that crap again, I will leave your ass now!" she howled and I knew that I had pissed her off, which was typical with most phrases that came out of my mouth, but not like this one. Sadly, I didn't care because I knew what had happened was true no matter what she believed.

"I promise you that I'm not taking that anymore and I swear I'm telling you the truth! Can't you find it in your heart to believe me?" I clasped my wife's hands in mine as she attempted to walk past me into the other room, which forced her to listen to what I had to say.

Isotta bit her lip with frustration, released her grasp, and sighed with pain. "No... I cannot do it anymore and if you believe this idiotic story that much, then you can shout it from the rooftops for all I care! I'm going to my mother's house... I'll contact you tomorrow." she screamed with tears streaming down her face. She grabbed her purse and stormed out of our home.

Here was the problem I was faced with. I could have chased after her and apologized like a true gentleman would. But seeing as how I was still mildly dazed from my previous hallucinating state, I decided to take the road less traveled and shout my secret from the rooftops. I immediately rushed out of my home, literally climbed up onto my shingled rooftop, and hollered maniacally, which brought the attention of all of my nearby neighbors. "Hear me now... there is a bloodthirsty creature that begs for our help! He is an ancient vampire who desperately needs our assistance in finding his scattered body, putting it back together, finding blood for him to feed off of, and helping him live again! Who will join me on my journey to rebuild a forgotten immortal?" And soon the boisterous laughing began from those I thought were kind people.

"Stay off the drugs, Emory! Nobody believes you, so shut up! And for the record, you need to be locked up for screaming such insanities, especially so late at night! You are a whole new level of insane, buddy, and you are the one who needs help!" shouted a rather rude man, joined by other likeminded individuals, who seemed pretty decent in the past, but not so much now. "I am telling the truth! He came to me in a shadowy dream... he needs our help urgently. Please have a heart and support me in this crucial mission!" I sighed desperately, which was altogether ignored like before, more laughs coming forth.

"Yes, I'm sure he did... a drug-induced dream! You are such a fool, Benedikt Emory, and should have been institutionalized a long time ago!" jested the man again as others gathered around him closely and began pelting me with rotten food and rocks, knocking me off of my rooftop in the process. "You freaking loony... save us all the time of forcing you out of town by leaving now on your own freewill! We don't want your kind here anymore and spit on you for your foolishness!" The angry mob began literally spitting on me as they forcefully began nudging me away from my home towards the edge of town, screaming profanities the entire time and continuing to pelt me with old food. It was indeed a shameful state of affairs, one I would never forget.

"Listen to me, dammit – I'm not making this up! He is real and if we don't help him, then he will kill us all simply out of resentment. If anything, I'm trying to save us from our own premeditated deaths!" I hissed with the hopes that my neighbors would change their minds, but they didn't. The food and spit continued and the rocks became bigger with sharper edges. The pain and embarrassment was too much to bear, but I stood my ground... at least as best I could, which didn't change their minds. "Please stop this, I beg you to stop! You... you have to listen to me... please!" Alas, this is the moment of my existence where I have never felt lower. I have become a mockery to everyone to the point where I have literally been shunned from town. I have never been more ashamed of myself than I am right now. Why didn't I listen to Isotta when she warned me that others would truly think I was crazy? I thought she was being judgmental, but after the incident that just occurred, I'm starting to think she might be right. I was an idiot for shouting such witless rambles... an idiot who should be shunned! But what if I wasn't really a simpleton with crazed visions of an actual vampire? What if he was real and only came to me in a hallucination because nobody else believed him? Was it even possible?

"Get out of town now, Benedikt Emory, and never show your face here again! If we see you around this neighborhood or anywhere else in town, we will be forced to alert the law enforcement and have you removed from the premises permanently!" The crowd proceeded to hiss as I stood my ground until they had to violently throw me out of town and lock me out of their majestic gates of judgment. It was all too humiliating, but perhaps it was for the best. But fortunately for me, when my wife returned the next day, hopefully to forgive me with loving arms, and saw how I was treated, then she would stand up for me and plead for my return. She would tell everyone that I was lost and confused, proving to them that I was not unbalanced as they believed. Yes, my dearest Isotta would make everything all better and all would return to normal! No... that wouldn't happen either, no matter how much I wished for it. I hate to admit that, but it's true. Sadly, I think now that I have been removed from my home, which I had owned for over ten years, I am left alone to fend for myself in a world that no longer wants me. It is tragic to have to deal with such an unspeakable state of affairs from people you assumed were your allies, but it is one I'm sure has happened to others.

Now I had to do what was requested of me by an unknown being who reached out to me in a dream that I don't believe was as hallucinogenic as everyone else did. It couldn't have been for I know it was true. If it wasn't then how do I still remember it? Usually when I take acid, or any other kind of psychedelic, I don't recall too many things except for the brilliantly painted visuals. So if that is factual then how is it I recall everything Domek Hadon proclaimed almost as if he stood in front of me in solid form? None of my other "drug trips" have been that way so this one had to be real. But what if it wasn't and I was mentally diseased, or worse an addict, like everyone claimed? What if I just lost my wife because I wasn't willing to stop my demented habit like she begged me to? I would die a million times if that were the case. Had I made an atrocious mistake that could never be erased? Oh, God... what have I done? There are so many questions that I am not entirely sure about and I fear that if I'm not already insane that I will be soon enough.

However, this might be a blessing in disguise. Yes, it certainly could be! Perhaps I can prove everyone wrong of their drastic opinions of me and make them believe that I am telling the truth about the alleged vampire. Maybe then, they will see how wrong they are and find it in their hearts to allow me back into town. Oh, my God... that is the best idea ever! So I will go look for the remains of Domek Hadon, reassemble his body from scratch, find blood for him to feast off of, reinvent his vampire existence, and show everyone in town that he is real and I'm not a brainsick fool! Oh, Benedikt Emory, you are indeed a brilliant man! Now if only I could get everyone else to view me as such... I know that I am not all here as I believe I am, God knows the drugs aren't proving my innocence, but I will prove to everyone that I am of sound mind. I know this to be true and I will not rest until they know. But until then, I will be on a hunt for the remains of a true immortal!

Chapter III

When you have become an outcast in a land you once called home, your only option is to make the wrong things right until you can return. But who's to say that you will be welcomed back with open arms? One can never tell, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't at least try. No, I can't even say that with confidence. Unfortunately, I have been cast out of my home by my neighbors for reasons they believe to be factual, whereas I see them as flat out critical judgments. I mean, I know I'm a possible drug addict, but that doesn't place me into the crazy category. Does it? Sadly, it does and, because of that, I have been branded as a mentally insane drug addict and I know that to return to my home, where I'm sure my wife has returned by now, would be quite imbecilic on my behalf. So with that being stated, I have decided to go out on my own and fend for myself while doing as Domek Hadon has requested. Yes, it is time for me to travel far and wide for the remains of my superior immortal and deem myself worthy in his eyes. It may not be easy, it may take a lifetime to complete, and it may raise my levels of being completely psychotic, but I know it is what I must do. For in this plane of existence, when a man has lost everything, he is only left with circumstances that others would label as trivial, yet he sees as the most significant as a whole. And now, as my journey continues with the hopes of finding my vampire master, who is dubbed with the moniker of Lord Heathen, I will not leave any stone unturned until I find his remains in full. Once that is completed, I will feed him properly and bring him back to the land of the living, where I pray he will embrace me into his world of vampirism. That may be wishful thinking, but still hopeful. Yes, it may take far longer than I plan, but seeing as how I have nowhere else to turn, to the time does not matter at all...

~ ~ * ~ ~

Days pass by like weeks and then to months as the sun and moon cross paths more times than is necessary. Or is it? At this time in my life, I am not exactly sure of the date, but I roughly assume it is late February or early March in 1976, as the air is still chilled, but not as badly as the beginning of early winter. That's the feeling I usually had when my beloved Isotta and I took long walks below the maple trees in our neighborhood. Oh, how I miss my wild girl... I pray that she is safe and that the townspeople have not ridiculed her for her husband's foolish actions. Hopefully, she stood up for me and decided to leave Hamburg, but I know deep down inside that she agreed with them all. It's terrible that I can admit that, but as people say, the truth hurts, especially when it's so obvious and in your face. And this particular verity was beating my face senseless. But how could I blame it? My wife had every reason in the world to leave me, I was rather maniacal with the decisions I made in life. I mean, who spends such a large portion of their life in a twisted series of drug-induced hallucinations? This man for one, but that's beside the point of my tale. However, since that topic has been mentioned, I have found myself doing more experimental hallucinogens over the past few months as I continue my search for Domek's severed body parts. It may not be in my best interest to do so, especially with my recent overactive use of DMT, but I know it is for the best. I mean, how else am I supposed to find a vampire in psychotic delusions if I'm not in a drugged state of mind? If anyone knows the answer to that, I'd like to hear it!

~ ~ * ~ ~

Time keeps passing by, or so it seems as I grow rather weary searching for Domek Hadon. I am exhausted beyond belief and have barely eaten a morsel in at least a week or two. I have, fortunately, been able to stay hydrated when luck strikes me and I have come upon a pond such as when I traveled to Bavaria, Saarland, and Bremen. But that is not often, or at least I'm not looking in the right locations. Oddly enough, I have even begun drinking small amounts of blood from wounded vermin so as to "keep connected" with my master in the hopes that he will embrace me into his realm once he returns. Not necessarily the sanest action to commit, but one I feel is appropriate... at least that's what the psychedelics want me to believe and the taste isn't too bad. All in all, the best news thus far is that I have found several potential victims for Domek to feast upon when he awakens, except I have not been able to catch them as of yet. Perhaps my luck will change once I find the remains and put them back together, whenever that might be. Hopefully, it will be sooner rather than later because the dehydrating hallucinogens are wearing me thin and I am beginning to lose hope in this mission completely. "Oh, fortunate and humble lord above or below... please spare my life and sanity and show me the way towards my new master!" And I swear as soon as I said that, or perhaps I believed it to be so, I found a dank cave in Lower Saxony that I had never noticed before, even though I had been to the area numerous times beforehand. "My God... that's where you are!" I shrieked joyously and literally skipped into the cave with the hopes of bringing back Domek, if he was there at all, that is.

~ ~ * ~ ~

Hours later, I find myself crawling towards the darkest part of the cave, as instructed by Domek in my delusional state several times before, and begin clawing at massive amounts of dirt and clay where my lord is supposedly buried. The heinous odor inside the deepest part of the cave is enough to make me choke on my own vomit, large chunks rising rapidly in my throat, but I know I must ignore the stomach churning feeling and proceed with digging. It is all a grueling and torturous task to endure, certainly one I will never forget. Luckily, the more I throw particles of soil around for what seems like far too long, I find myself touching what feels like a fragment of bone. "Is that you, Domek Hadon, or another of similar qualities?" I jokingly say aloud as I begin tapping on the odd matter repeatedly and sure enough it is indeed bone that I am touching and what I hope is part of Domek's body. How unfortunate it would be if I found someone or something else! Alas, the deeper I dig, the more I find pieces of a skeleton with what looks like a gaudy ring placed upon the right hand as foretold to me by Domek. I couldn't help but gasp with intrigue as I carefully removed the skeletal remains from the tainted earth and began placing them together like a bewildering puzzle that I fear cannot be solved. My mind is frazzled instantly for, unlike most puzzles I arranged as a child, this one did not come with a picture as reference. "You just had to make this harder for me, didn't you, Domek?" And yet again after what seemed like hours upon hours or quite possibly days, I finally completed the full skeleton. My hands are torn with bruises and small cuts, but I know it will all be worthwhile once I am blessed with the gift of immortality. With that thought running around in my head, I am now ready to bring him "back to life." But how exactly am I going to do that when there is not a drop of blood anywhere nearby? "What am I to do now, my lord?" I howled and as if from literally beyond the grave, I heard a familiar voice...

"Bring me the woman they call Isotta and let me drain her of her blood...With hair as auburn as can be and lips as pink as the petal, a true beauty in all forms... Only she can bring me back to the realm of human attachments. And if you can accomplish that successfully, I will bless you with the gift I possess." Domek spoke in my brain almost as if he were in that cave with me in spirit.

"No... you cannot possibly mean my beloved bride. Can you? She is all I have left in this world. Anybody but her, master...I can bring you the blood of twenty virgins, but not my wife, anybody else, but not Isotta... I'll sacrifice myself wholeheartedly before I give Isotta's blood to you!" I wept and continued to beg Domek to choose another to feed off of, but he already had his mind made up.

"Perhaps at a later time, but not the present... you will be mine when the time is right." He breathed heavily, all the while appearing as a phantom voice rather than an actual body. "Nevertheless, until that instance arrives, I crave the blood of Isotta Emory and shall wreak havoc on you if I do not get what I want!" Domek screeched and I do not know how this was possible, threw me across the cave violently to where I cut my back viciously upon the jagged walls. I wailed in gut-wrenching agony and began yelling at Domek with intense fury in my tone.

"There – are you happy? I am bleeding, you can take me instead!" I screamed, splashing my own blood onto the walls with the hopes that Domek would see it all as enough to tide over his insatiable bloodlust. "Drink it, my lord, drink! It is enough to bring you back, isn't it? Or are you a selfish bastard and want more from me? Is that what it is? Have I not done enough?" I squalled in a hostile tone as I continued to spray my blood all around. Unfortunately, I had to stop within a minute or two for I was becoming rather weak and eventually dropped to my knees. "What more do you want, master?"

"I want her! She is the only one that can reanimate me... bring her to me posthaste or suffer the consequences of what I could do to you! I shall heal you for the time being until you bring me what I desire, but you will be punished until then as a reminder." Suddenly, I felt the sensation of my heart being crushed by someone's hand as I looked all around and sensed that Domek was closer than I believed and not just in the realm of lost souls. He had kept his promise and telepathically healed my wounds, yet it was not enough to make me feel whole again. And once he repeated himself with phrases I cared not to hear, I followed his orders like a mindless drone and departed on the next train towards Hamburg with the feelings of weakness from the blood I lost...

~ ~ * ~ ~

Days later, on a locomotive of a rather large size, I found myself near my homeland and sadly found my darling bride at the local market, still looking as radiant as ever. As soon as I was able to regain my strength to the best of my ability, I approached her with fear in my heart. "My God... Benedikt, is that you?" she whispered, looking around to make sure nobody saw us together as I nodded my head. "Where... where have you been, mein Liebster? I have been so worried, it's been many months since I've seen you! Where..."

I immediately cut her list of inquiries in half and whispered to her in frightened tones. "There is not enough time for that, my darling..." I clutched onto her dainty body, held it tightly close to mine, and continued speaking. "I need you to come with me now. Would you be willing to come with me for reasons... reasons I cannot explain to you now?" She nodded with a smidgen of horror painted across her face, but knew I had no intention of ever hurting her. Or at least that's what I wanted her to believe. I was a horrible husband on so many levels and this most recent one was no exception as I took my innocent bride and boarded a train back to Lower Saxony to perform a slaughter of unimaginable proportions.

~ ~ * ~ ~

Yet again, days later, we arrived at our appointed destination and traveled several miles towards the cave where Domek's bones laid. I was completely heartbroken at what was to occur next, yet I found some comfort in the situation as I prayed Domek would be kind and embrace Isotta into immortality as well. At least I hoped he would, but as we entered the cave, I sensed an emotion of rage coming from my lord and knew that he would not approve of what I prayed for.

"I see you have come back to me, Benedikt, and with the prize I so eagerly requested..." Domek sighed seductively as Isotta looked all around to figure out where his voice was coming from. I sadly nodded my head at what he uttered and, without warning, Domek telepathically forced me to slice into my dearest wife's throat with a nearby jagged rock and drip her blood onto his skeletal remains. "More... more... more, I say! Give me more blood!" Domek hissed and just as quickly as Isotta's blood began "quenching his thirst" almost to the last drop, Domek's fragile remains miraculously sprang to life and began regenerating flesh and muscle tissue from his head to his toes. Unfortunately, my wife was his first victim and he didn't seem to care, but I still did!

"I have done what you demanded of me, you heartless bastard! Now you keep up your end of the deal and turn me so that I may have a chance of saving her before she takes her last breath... you owe me that much and you promised as well!" I hollered quite angrily, but as much as I hoped Domek would consider my offer, he spoke of other plans that were not so inviting.

"Oh, you simple mortal..." He chuckled under his breath. "Have you not learned by now not to trust an immortal?" And before I could object to anything he said, his newly reformed body lunged towards me with fangs bared and fed from me in the most putrid way possible. My blood gushed throughout Domek's body rapidly and I sensed he was not done with my blood alone. He soon dropped my nearly lifeless form next to my wife's and I dreaded his last words were not ones of kindness, as I never heard from him again thereafter. "Thank you for everything, Benedikt Emory. I shall now take your delicious blood and carry it with me on my future path of eternal destruction..."

About The Author

BellaDonna Drakul is an international horror novelist and vampirologist from Tulsa, Oklahoma. Dubbed as "the next Anne Rice," BellaDonna is an active member of the horror community, with such famous fans as Stephen King; Sid Haig (Captain Spaulding from "House Of 1,000 Corpses"); Courtney Gaines (Malachi from "Children Of The Corn"); Lucky McKee (director of "May"); and James O' Barr (creator of "The Crow"), and is currently working on her sixth and newest novel, A Stroke Of Death. Her five book vampire series, The Drakul Diaries include:

The Vampire Collection: Short Stories for the Vampire Enthusiast

The Immortal Memoirs

The Kindred Confessions

The Undead Journals

Chronicles of the Ancients

http://www.facebook.com/BellaDonna.Drakul

http://www.branchout.com/BellaDonna.Drakul

DARK HEARTS

By

Sherri Jordan-Asble
The massive castle stretched up into the darkening sky, casting shadows through the surrounding forest. Inside, a dark silence settled over everything. Penelope noticed this strange stillness as she woke for the night. Her vampire senses reached up the shadowy flight of stairs before her actual body. The senses told her the kitchen above stood empty.

The stairs creaked as she walked up them and pushed the old wooden door aside. The old-fashioned kitchen gave her a cold welcome with its stone floors and granite countertops. The chandelier loomed overhead, unlit. Her skirts danced across the floor as she entered the kitchen on bare feet, not feeling the cold of the stone, only roughness. Her bodice was cinched tight and her hair fell to her shoulders in ringlets, always perfect as it had been since the moment she had been turned. Her servant, James, had told her she looked like a doll. Where was he?

"James!" she cried out. The man was completely devoted to her. "James, where's my breakfast?" How unlike him to forget.

The metallic scent of blood wafted through the kitchen. James? She looked up to see a figure standing in the opposite doorway. Cameron stepped into the light that was cast by the moon through the window. His riding boots led to leather pants and a loose shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. Her brother's dark hair against his pale face was set in an eternal contrast. Penelope swallowed hard. Cameron's looks also reflected his dark heart. She wanted nothing to do with him, yet she could smell blood and see it dripping from his chin, and her call for her servant went unanswered. She did not want to admit it, but Cameron would shove it in her face, wouldn't he?

"How did you get here? What did you do with James? You bastard!"

Cameron laughed and stepped closer. He had blood on his hands and smeared down his shirt. "I've come for you, sister."

Penelope grabbed a knife from the counter beside her and held it, pointed it at Cameron, and lunged toward him. He dodged out of the way and grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward him.

Penelope pulled away and swatted at him with her other hand, but he ducked and pushed her hard, knocking her to the floor. In a second, he was on top of her, pinning her down. He smirked. She could almost taste the blood on his lips.

Cameron's smile widened, exposing his fangs, and he lunged as if he were going to bite her. It would be one more law broken, but her brother did not care for the laws set down by the oldest of their kind. He did whatever he wanted. The decrepit elders with all their wisdom would not save her from him.

She pulled on her inner strength, reached one hand up towards the massive chandelier, and willed it to fall. The crystal beast shattered against Cameron's back, stunning him. Penelope took her opportunity and shoved him away. She found her footing quickly and darted out the door.

Down the hall and into the ballroom she ran, sensing Cameron at her heels. The ballroom was lit with small candles flickering around the outside of the dance floor. Overhead, the moon could be seen dancing in and out of the clouds through the huge glass ceiling. The dance floor was barren, but several chairs lined the walls. Penelope didn't hesitate; she skidded across the floor, grabbed a chair, turned, and swung it into Cameron's shoulder.

The chair crumbled, but Cameron barely flinched. Penelope stood there, gasping and looking at her brother, searching his eyes for a hint of salvation. He had been evil since they were children so long ago. She should know better than to think he had changed, or grown up. Their father had spoiled him rotten, yet the first thing Cameron did upon being turned into a vampire was to return and kill him. It had been as if the man had meant nothing to him. The only way to fight Cameron was to become a vampire herself. It was in their lineage, nothing to be feared, but she might have otherwise chosen something else. She could not let Cameron take the land. There were many people dependent on their estate. Leaving it to Cameron was not an option.

Her hands held the broken stubs of wood and she swung them at her brother. He sidestepped and smirked at her. He knew he had her beat. "You're going to hurt yourself with those things."

"No, I'm going to kill you." She lunged forward, stabbing at him. Grunting, Cameron grabbed the stakes and yanked them from her hands. He tossed them across the dance floor, and backhanded Penelope. She fell backwards, face stinging. She smashed against the sidewall and slid to the floor.

"The house and everything in it are mine. That includes you, and you know it. Why keep fighting it?"

Penelope ignored his words and shook herself off. She took off, running down another hallway. Again, she sensed that he followed her.

She ran across the external bridge-way that connected the two main sections of the house. It was a long, narrow road with a massive drop-off that spanned a ravine hundreds of feet below. Penelope ran across; she did not look down.

"Stop it, Penelope. Stop. I mean now. The more you fight me, the harder this is going to be... on you."

Penelope stopped and turned to face Cameron. He stood at the other end of the bridge.

"Brother, evil possesses you. Have you no heart left? Why can't you just leave me alone? I'll never serve you."

"My heart? Evil? Morals and laws are meant for lesser beings, sister. They do not apply to me."

She had been right. There could be no hope for him. She had to end this. Without another thought, she ran towards him, faster than she had run before. She put all of her inner power into the speed of her run; like lightning. At the last second, she pulled her shoulder inward, smashing into Cameron. He fell back, leaning against the railing. She grabbed his legs and flipped him, shoving him over the bridge, busting the railing. He fell.

Penelope watched as he fell, his body illuminated only by the light of the moon. "That's way too much evil for one person." She relaxed as he fell out of sight.

She saw movement under the bridge. An oddly swaying mass undulated upward. Dark and swirling, the mass rose. As it came higher, Penelope could see a cloud of bats flying erratically, yet there strangely seemed to be a pattern to the madness. As the mass rose higher, she could see Cameron in the center of the bats; they flew higher into the air above the bridge. Laughter rang out through the night, and Cameron landed in front of her on the bridge.

He stood there, staring at her with glowing eyes, and a good three feet taller than he had been before he fell. The bats flew towards the moon and disappeared.

"I am not so easily killed. I have more power than you can imagine, Penelope."

"I see." Penelope sunk to her knees, her skirts wrapping around her feet. She put her hands in her lap, palms up. "I give up."

"I knew you would. I knew you would give in when you saw just how powerful I am." He took a step closer to her. "You can't run. You can't fight this." He stepped closer still until he was directly over her, looking down. "You are mine now, sister."

Penelope looked up at him, aware that tears trailed down her cheeks, but ignoring them. "Yes. Yes, Cameron. I'm yours. You were right." She raised her arms invitingly.

Cameron grabbed her by the shoulders, lifting her to her feet. He leaned in and started kissing her, down her neck, across her chest. He touched her hair, gently, as if admiring his precious belongings. He pulled her in close, smelling her hair.

Penelope bared her fangs and leaned in, sinking them into the artery in his neck. Cameron's scream broke into the air, but Penelope's hold was strong. As she sucked his blood, the life and power slowly drained from Cameron, and Penelope became stronger. Finally, she held him up. He had no strength of his own and he was nothing more than a husk. She released her hold and blood squirted everywhere, dripping down her chin and chest and over her bodice. "Yes. That is too much power for someone as weak as you. You can't handle it."

Cameron barely shook his head and croaked out one last word, "Why?"

"I can handle it. That was always your problem. Not that you were evil, but that you were weak. Well, I'm not. You made me strong, all these years of fighting you. I can handle the responsibility that comes with the power, Cameron." She laughed. "You ignored the laws, but the laws are there to keep us sane."

Penelope stretched one arm out, willing a slender piece of railing to pop into it. She stabbed Cameron in the chest. This time her aim was perfect, and Cameron dissolved to dust in her arms.

Penelope slid to the ground, alone. Blood and tears covered her face. She regretted not having made this decision earlier, but he was her brother, and she knew how horribly sad she would feel, and she did. She allowed herself to feel it all. She needed to remember the pain and the loss. She didn't regret killing Cameron, though. It had to be done. Her relief followed the sad regret like salve on a burn.

About The Author

Sherri Jordan-Asble lives with her family in Tampa, Florida. They enjoy kayaking, great movies, and drinking coffee. Sherri has a collection of short stories, Stories to Fight Demons By, published as an eBook, and Summer Blood is Sherri's first novel. She is currently hard at work on her next novel and finishing her Master's Degree in Creative Writing.

https://www.facebook.com/summerbloodvampires

Twitter: @sljasble

VAMPIRE ONSLAUGHT

By

Charles E. Butler

Banging. Dull thuds and screams. Moaning. Souls in pain and torment.

Can't sleep now.

More shouting.

Hell! Better get up. Every other century or so, it always comes down to this. It sounds like we'll have to move on again. Damn!

Peeking through the lid. Chaos. Hunters with crosses and mallets. Wielding stakes and logs of fire. Family members perishing under the onslaught. Unadulterated carnage!

Ouch! There goes the Baroness!

The lid suddenly wrenched from his grasp as an old man stared down at him, gritting yellowed teeth through a gray beard.

"You're next, vampire scum!"

The stake raised high. He had to do something and quick. Reaching out, he grasped the old man's throat and felt the blood beneath the skin rush to a sudden halt. Now to think of a worthy one-liner. Got to take control here and quick.

The Count DeVille moaned way back in the catacombs of the cellar and flame illuminated his resting place. One hunter stepped back as the flames from the coffin licked out savagely at him. The bastards! They've used kerosene!

The old man, eyes bulging under the powerful grip, licked out his tongue involuntarily, knocking his top set of dentures out. They landed just shy of Reed's left shoulder. Reed stared at them in disgust for a second as the phlegm spilled through the old man's lips, soaking his hand as it trickled down the chin.

Gross!

It left sparkling droplets on the gray beard. Disgusted, Reed bent the neck between his fingers and felt the hunter's bones pop. He flung the corpse to one side and stood up tall in his coffin, surveying the carnage around him. Smelling the burning bodies of his family. Long dead by human standards already. Now, they were decimated.

Three hunters ventured into the darkness of the cellar. Their flaming torches illuminated their path as Reed stepped out of his resting place and set off in pursuit. He didn't feel the heat of the flames; his body had become immune to such trifles centuries ago. But he knew that they could destroy his earthbound shell if they took hold.

He glanced briefly into the burning sarcophagi as he passed. Twelve family members cruelly dispatched because of a human belief in old wives' tales. VAMPIRE! That was the word that had everyone reaching for the garlic and carrying out these maddening attacks. One coffin held the corpse of Victoria. As he stared through the flames with his one good eye, she reached out a charred arm to him. The wooden stake had missed its mark and her flesh was melting from her body. That beautiful vivacious creature stared at him. God in Heaven, she was aware! One eye, rimmed in its hollowed-out skull by a salty tear, exploded. Then the other, making a kind of squishy pop as the liquid dampened flames around it. Her bony arm collapsed and reduced to ash before it came to rest back in her coffin. The dissolution had barely taken a few seconds, but Cranwell Reed would carry the memory with him forever. He gritted his teeth and ventured into the tunnels of the cellar in search of the hunters.

He could hear them as they stealthily made their way further into the darkness. But they could never hear his own footfalls. He could make the hunters out in the blackness, their shapes illuminated by their dying torchlight. There were no more vampires in this area. His family had been savagely pummelled by four whiskey-breathed old men who carried mistrust and hatred for his kind in their hearts. No. There were no vampires. Only rats. A few mice too. And a few mutations.

Cranwell called on the vermin allies with his mind. His concentration sent a small wind to extinguish their torches. His eye twinkled and the lid closed over it as he latched onto the mind of his furry army. As the last torchlight died, chittering and scrabbling noises could be heard.

Something woke in the darkness.

He opened his eyes and could see clearly in the inky blackness as his three foes stumbled around frantically for each other, grasping at the air. When they let out panicked warnings, he realized that they were all English. As the rats circled their feet, Cranwell turned and made his way out of the cellar, passing the burning coffins again, but this time not glancing inside them. He heard shrieks as the old men felt small teeth bite at their legs and furred bodies attaching to their arms. Rope tails lashed around their faces. The men screamed like girls in a playground as the might of the rats pulled them down into the faeces and then began to eat.

Outside, the night was just beginning as the sky had turned a deep navy blue. Stars dotted here and there, but the moon wouldn't be visible on this side of the world for another three or four hours. However, astronomy was the last thing on Reed's mind. He scoured the bleak landscape with an eye that an eagle would envy. Searching. Peering through gloom and breaks in the bountiful hedging. There. He spotted the car just a few metres up the road, parked incongruously at the side of the road, masked by a large tree. Cranwell could only glimpse the front fender, but he knew that it held a getaway driver. The humans were so predictable.

The chauffer was a heavyset man with a large beard, but his throat tore easily enough. Reed placed the body in the boot and drove the car to the very edge of the cliff that overlooked the beginnings of the Danube. Water lashed at the rocks below. Inky and fathomless in the early light, but that would bleach out in three hours to become the brightest blue waters on Earth. As he pushed the car over the cliff, his transformation had already begun. The car crashed sixty feet below the cliff as a blood-coloured bat took to the skies and headed North.

About The Author

Charles E Butler was born and raised in the Yorkshire town of Leeds in the UK. He is a writer, actor, and an artist of independent comic books. He quickly developed a taste for the fantastic through comic books and the movies. His own short films under his Su Asti banner are submitted to festivals and have been viewed as far afield as New Orleans. He has written vampire essays for various sites on the Internet and he has been published in notable horror magazines (Diabolique, We Belong Dead, and The Eerie Digest) and vampire anthology books. His special tribute to Count Dracula, Werewolf, The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, and the Monsters of Frankenstein pages can be found on Facebook. His first book, The Romance of Dracula (2010), fast became an internet sensation. It chronicled all fourteen major adaptations of the celluloid Count, with a scene-by-scene breakdown of each film, followed by a personal review of that film. Not only did Butler painstakingly research and write the book, he also illustrated, edited, and published the book. Vampires Everywhere; the Rise of the Movie UnDead followed in 2012 and Vampires Under the Hammer in 2013. His next book in the quadriology concentrates on the hairy creatures of the night in movies. Werewolves: the Children of the Full Moon is in preparation.

Vampires Everywhere; the Rise of the Movie UnDead

The Romance of Dracula; A Personal Journey of the Count on Celluloid

Vampires Everywhere Facebook page:

https://www.facebook.com/VampiresEverywhereTheRiseOfTheMovieUnDead

The Romance of Dracula Facebook page

https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Romance-of-Dracula/157273041028907

THE FOURTH BRIDE

An Excerpt from the Novel

By

Carole Gill
We left the castle in the light of a full moon. I moved faster than I ever had before. In a moment, it seemed that I went from the castle grounds to the edge of the forest. How magical it felt. The great height of the mountain was meaningless when vampire prowess was involved. If I flew, Dracula did as well, soaring even more quickly in his bat form.

Just as we reached the base of the mountain, I slowed down so that I merely floated. It was a strange but pleasant feeling. If I thought we'd feed on wildlife, Dracula did not. He said we were bound for a village.

"The village is not far," he said. "But we must be careful, for we will not have the aid of the Szgany here."

That had a great many implications, all of them serious. Still, we were not deterred; in fact, we were exhilarated, for there is pleasure in the hunt, an indescribable thrill in the stalking.

We came at last upon a small village. There were but a few whitewashed cottages and an inn. The latter drew our attention for it was full of chatter. The people sounded merry possibly the worse for drink.

I was excited. Their perceived vulnerability was like an aphrodisiac. I wondered where we would lie in wait, but then Dracula gestured toward a small courtyard. The place would fit our purpose, bathed as it was in dark, shadowy depths. I crept into a space to await my bounty.

"If you close your eyes, you can smell their blood," he whispered.

As I did this, I realized I could distinguish different sorts of people from one another: men from women and so on. I could even discern their ages. As I have come to think of it since, this blood scent is unique to each human being. Some were more interesting than others, and I told him so.

"They are drunk on wine..." he said.

I nodded and smiled, for it was a heady scent I could almost taste.

He asked me then if I could smell the passion in the blood. This surprised me. I hadn't noticed anything, nor had I thought of it that way. But when he said it, I realized I could!

"It's tangy and salty all at once. I have often been led to people coupling just by that scent alone. Of course, there are other scents along with that!" He waved me off. "Shh, they are coming."

Suddenly, I heard the sound of a man's and a woman's voices. The girl giggled while the man whispered endearments to her. He then began to tease and coax her into coming along with him. Soon, they started to walk toward a house.

I heard the woman ask, "Is this where you live?"

The man replied, "Of course; I wouldn't go to a stranger's house."

They thought that immensely funny and began to laugh. Just as they crossed the road, we rushed forward. Dracula grabbed the man and pulled him into the shadows as I took the woman. Neither cried out. They were too stunned. This was an early lesson I was to learn. "You can paralyze your prey," Dracula had said. "Just be quick and feed well."

This I did. I sank my teeth into the woman's soft flesh. She began to shake as I sucked her blood – and I sucked a lot. It was good and sweet and tasted of spiced wine. She did try to pull away a few times, but I held her in an iron grip.

Dracula must have drained the man pretty quickly because he was soon by my side, kneeling before the woman. He began to feed on the other side of her neck and in other places, too, as he sometimes fed on me and the brides. I think that he realized I didn't like him to do that because he whispered, "Don't be jealous; you do it too."

I made no reply, but instead sank my teeth into the woman's breast and began to feed. This was not sexual. It was good to feed there because that was where her heart was, that wonderful, blood-filled organ, throbbing with life.

"Organs are best, for they are like casks of wine to us..."

Yes, his words to me.

Suddenly, Dracula began to fondle me. To feed and be caressed at the same time is pleasurable in the extreme. When I knew I had drained the woman, I moved away. Then, in the shadows of these bloodless corpses and feeling every bit as evil as the other brides, I coupled with Dracula. Both our passions were raised by our feeding. Yes, it was true. The passion was most definitely in the blood.

Dawn had nearly broken when we left. So full of blood, we found it hard to move, but move we did because we had to.

Purchase at Amazon:

The Blackstone Vampires Series, Box set $2.99. Includes:

Book 1 The House on Blackstone Moor

Book 2 Unholy Testament - The Beginnings

Book 3 Unholy Testament - Full Circle

Book 4 The Fourth Bride

The Fourth Bride

AEVITAS VANUM

By

Fiona Skye

1611 was a very important year in the history of Western Civilization. King James I released his Bible, the version still used almost exclusively by Protestants to this day. William Shakespeare's masterpiece, The Tempest, debuted on the Globe's stage. Henry Hudson was set adrift in the bay named after him and was never seen again. And I died on the dirt floor of a tenement in the Whitechapel area of London.

It was May... or possibly it had been June of 1611; you'll forgive me if I can't exactly recall the date. It was, after all, four hundred years ago. I had been born seventeen years previously, in September of 1594, during the reign of that redheaded virgin, Elizabeth I. My mother was a whore much adored by the so-called nobility of the city, due to her fair skin and pretty blonde curls, and the fact that she did not look or act like a whore.

The night I was conceived, however, she had enjoyed the company of a Gypsy thief from Bucharest, Romania, and not one of the nobles who were her regular customers. She said she fell in love with the Gypsy that night and willingly bore his child. She said that I was very much like him: dark of hair, eye, and skin; lithe and flexible with quick, dexterous fingers. I've always doubted these stories, playing them off as the fantasies of a woman with too little common sense and too much romanticism in her blood.

Regardless of the truth of my parentage, whether Ma bedded Dorin Dragomir for love or because he paid her well, I grew up hard, living on the streets, learning to survive by my wits alone. I stole my first purse at the tender age of five, and soon graduated to breaking into homes and businesses. I was small of frame, skinny really, and could contort my body into all sorts of odd positions, making it easy for me to slip in and out of tiny windows, small holes in thatched roofs, or chinks in walls before anyone inside knew I was there.

Stealing became a way of life for me. It was much more than simply a means to survive. It was an undeniable compulsion, a way to keep from becoming what my mother had become, a way to take care of myself and occasionally the other children who huddled with me at night in the ground floor of a dirty, wretched building in one of the dirtiest and most wretched parts of London.

For years, there had been rumors about an Albanian Count who kept a townhouse on the Strand, near the Savoy Palace. People said he was a demon, or a Satanist, or an evil sorcerer. People said that his wealth came from deals with the Devil himself. People said that if you were caught looking into his eyes, he would own your soul and you'd be turned into some kind of unthinking, unwitting monster. All these rumors were ridiculous, of course, but they made stealing from him all the more attractive to me.

I spent a month sneaking out to the Strand, watching the comings and goings of the Count and his household. I learned his habits and his schedules and even got friendly with one of the scullery maids. She told me of a big party that the Count would be attending at Westminster Palace, and I selected that night to break into the townhouse and take whatever easily portable loot I came across. The Count would be away from his home for the entire night, leaving the place wide open to a quiet sneak-thief such as myself.

I broke into his home and made off with a handful of gold coins. This windfall was enough to feed me for the next six months, provided I could keep them secreted away from the other street kids in my tenement. I had no idea that the man was in the house at the time, no idea that he could hear my entrance and exit through the tiny window in the kitchen, or my quiet steps up the stairs to the main floor and into his study, where he kept the sturdy iron box with the huge padlocked chains about it, where he kept the entirety of his cash fortune. I couldn't have known that he heard me pick that lock and loosen the chains, or that he followed me home that night and watched me intently for the next five nights in a row.

And I had no idea what sort of future he'd already decided for me.

Six nights after my windfall at the Albanian Count's house, I was moving silently across the rooftops of the buildings surrounding the tenement in which I was currently living. It was habit for me, before entering the building, to check all the entrances and exits, all the lines of sight to make sure there were no surprises in store. I'd been assaulted once by a gang of thugs who'd come across me on my way home after a lucrative night of thievery; they beat me bloody and stole my ill-gotten gains, forcing me to seek out my mother, who nursed me back to health and never let me forget what a disappointment I'd turned out to be.

There weren't any hidden surprises that I could detect, so I carefully scaled down the side of the building and slipped in through a high window in the back, landing perfectly silent on the dusty dirt floor. A shadow moved in the doorway, and then suddenly, there was a vise grip around my throat and my feet hung some six inches off the floor.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.

Panic rose up in my breast like a bubble, exploding into my head and sending me into mindless frenzy of sheer terror. I tried to scream, but couldn't get the sound around the thing at my throat. I clawed at whatever was pinning me against the wall; I tried kicking and bucking, but couldn't dislodge it.

A face swam into focus in front of me; a pale-skinned, emotionless face, with eyes the color of moss and lips a pale blue. Those lips skinned back over neat, white teeth... and revealed fangs like a snake's. My panicked efforts to free myself redoubled as I realized the thing holding me aloft by my throat was the Count I'd robbed. My head shook back and forth and I grabbed at his wrist, for it was his hand wrapped around my neck. He chuckled, a sound like two slabs of rough stone being dragged against each other. "Hush, child," he said softly, an eerie familiarity in his tone. "It won't take but a moment."

The Count pressed his body against mine. His flesh, cold and hard like the marble pillars in the foyer of his home, smelled oddly, like dust and old books; there was no stench of sweat or food about him, nothing like the miasma of scents that surrounded people of the day. He put his lips against my throat in an obscene parody of a kiss. A sound like the strangled growl of an angry cat escaped him and then I felt those fangs sink into my skin.

It was like being pierced with ice... until my blood began to flow, and then it was as if my entire body was on fire. He took his hand from my throat and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, clinging to him like a drowning man clings to a rock. I whimpered softly, caught up in a pleasure so intensely painful I thought I would die. Then I knew that he was killing me. I was dying. I could feel my life's blood seeping away into his mouth, where he lapped it up like a kitten with a bowl of cream.

It went on and on forever and was over in the blink of an eye. I slumped to the floor, strength leaving my body, warmth fleeing my limbs. My vision went blurry. The Count's face became hazy and indistinct as it hovered above me. My last conscious thought was, "So this is how it ends at last." My last conscious feeling was the Count scooping me up against his body. I spiraled up towards the ceiling, on wings of molten light, and turned, looking over my shoulder at my tiny broken body being cuddled in the lap of a monster. It didn't matter; I wasn't angry with him for killing me. My entire being was suffused with peace. Heaven awaited, just beyond the edge of the sky.

The sharp, coppery scent of blood hit my nose and my body lurched. I was suddenly trapped inside it again, my hands clamped around the Count's wrist, holding it against my mouth. His blood – sticky, salty, thick – flowed into my mouth and I swallowed it down greedily, a starving man at a sumptuous feast. Nerves that I thought dead flared with heat; my body tingled, it burned. I try to scream, but the risk of losing a single drop of that precious blood stayed my voice.

The Count and I became one, joined through the river of my stolen blood, which I stole rightfully back. Thoughts fired in my brain – vampyri! – and I opened my eyes. He smiled and I knew I was Damned.

About The Author

Fiona Skye, Author of the Revelations Trilogy

Fiona Skye is an urban horror and fantasy novelist currently living in the deserts of Southern Arizona. She shares a home with her husband, two kids, three cats, and a Border Collie.

Fiona's passion for story telling began early in life. At age twelve, she wrote her first short story, which was based on a song by a 1980s hair band. She has dedicated her life since then to writing, only to be occasionally distracted by her insatiable love of yarn and crochet, and the dogged pursuit of the perfect plate of cheese enchiladas.

She counts Diana Gabaldon and Jim Butcher as her favorite authors and biggest influences. Joining these two on the list of people she would wait in queue for a week to have a coffee with are Neil Peart, David Tennant, and Neil Gaiman.

Read more about her at: www.fiona-skye.com

TOUCHED THE SUN

An Excerpt

By

Laura Enright

Narain raised his eyes carefully, staring at the body-strewn field known as "No Man's Land" lodged between the trench systems of the Allied and the Central Powers. Bird song could be heard in the distance, as could the groans of those men still alive and suffering from their injuries. The air was thick with the stench of gunpowder from that day's raid on the German line, as twilight closed cruelly over them. Narain's head throbbed and his arm had gone numb from lying on it while unconscious. The shrapnel from the mortar rounds found its mark, slicing deeply into his right side and left thigh and yet, he had felt nothing as he fell; barely felt the impact of the ground. Regaining consciousness, he lay face down on the cold, moist ground, the pain of unattended wounds causing his body to contract before the wave slowly passed to a dull, sickening throb in his leg and stomach. The commotion of the push over the top had quieted now. There were neither shots nor mortar blasts, just the cries of his fellow soldiers who had streamed over the trenches and the enemy soldiers who raced out to meet. In a variety of languages, they begged for water or relief. Many begged for death. Raising his head slightly, Narain looked around, trying to get his bearings, which seemed impossible in that featureless landscape of craters and the mounds of dirt blown from them. He tried to get to his hands and knees knowing that there was still danger of sniper fire if he should stand and make too large a target. It was as he groaned and lifted his fevered body that he saw it: a figure, shadowy and strange, threading its way through the bodies. To his right, he caught a glimpse of another, and another following behind that. Shivering, Narain willed himself to be still, squinting as he tried to make out what they were. They were human in form, but they moved with a terrifying grace, not the dazed agony of desperate soldiers. Like jackals, slunk low to the ground, they investigated the bodies they came across and, to Narain's silent horror, fell upon some of them. He counted nine; there may have been more, and what he thought was initially the robbing of the dead turned out to be much more sinister.

Narain's blood froze as one scrounged by a body near him. Vivek, staring lifelessly, was an arm's length away when one of the creatures began to nose around his body. Easing back onto his stomach, Narain tried to control his increasing panic as the being moved on to the next body. Private Charlie Perkins was not far and Narain could see by the shallow rising of his chest that he was still alive. The creature, up close, was noticeably human but strangely grey, as if all the blood had been drained from him. His head looked slightly misshapen, especially around his jaw, as if his mouth wasn't large enough to hold the teeth within it, and his clothes seemed to be rotting off his body. Perhaps he was a poor peasant made homeless and desperate by the vicious war, now hoping to make some money by stealing the effects of the dead.

It was very possible he once was.

But as he lurked around the bodies near Narain that night, the creature was something more. He had crouched near Vivek's cold body briefly, but turned up his nose in disgust. He focused instead on the still breathing Perkins, who was beginning to regain consciousness.

"Don't awaken!" Narain mouthed the words, but Perkin's eyes opened as he weakly raised a hand to his temple.

With a squealing growl, the creature dove toward his throat and Perkins screamed, struggling pathetically, unable to dislodge him. Briefly, the creature raised his head, a slightly elongated tongue reaching out to lick the dripping blood from the sides of this mouth. Then he moved back in and reattached himself, Perkins's pointless struggles growing weaker until his arms fell to the ground and he remained still.

Narain's mind was ablaze at the sight of this cannibalism. Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, he tried to take advantage of the fact that the creature's attention was lost in the blood lust and squirmed away from the scene, desperately praying not to attract attention. He had to get away from the horrible sight, the awful wet sucking sound, and the creature's unnerving purrs of contentment.

He passed the bodies of men he had served with: Fred Blythe, Sunil Patel, Captain Reginald Jameson. Half-conscious, the captain, face streaked red with blood, reached out to Narain, but made no sound. When he felt it safe, Narain took the chance to go from squirming to crawling.

In the distance, he could see the entrance to a forest, which stood untouched by the brutalities of modern warfare. It might offer better cover from these beasts or could offer no safety at all. Narain couldn't be sure. He was just certain that he wanted to get away from the fresh brutality happening on the field, already soaked with gore. His own wounds throbbing mercilessly, his mind hot with fever, he decided make a dash for the trees.

He never made it.

~ ~ * ~ ~

Eyes flashed silver in the half moonlight of a cloudless sky.

Mouths watering instantly, there was little hesitation to the wolf pack's scavenging, despite a strange feeling to the clearing; a haunted energy, which raised their hackles a bit. As each one loped onto the field, they took a quick swipe from a nearby body. It was indeed a feast with enough to fill every wolf's belly, so all were allowed to feed as equals with no squabbles over meat. Still, in an instinctual understanding for the need to show dominance, the alpha male sauntered from feeding party to feeding party to chase the feeders away before taking a few bites and moving on.

A few of the humans were still alive and groaned pitifully until a fierce ripping of their throats silenced them. The fact was that never had the pack eaten so well with so little effort and more than likely never would they have the chance to again.

Still, the field made the leader uncomfortable. There was nothing to fear from the humans scattered around. Even those still groaning didn't possess the strength to pose a threat. He looked at his mate, who seemed as uncertain as he was, but they were both too much the opportunists not to take advantage of this lucky find.

A two-year-old raised his head from the shoulder he was gnawing on and yawned. Deciding to sample other dishes, the impulsive fearlessness of youth led to a reckless curiosity that encouraged him to ignore the very same disquieting energy that was making the alpha couple so nervous. While the alpha male might have sensed it, the two-year-old was oblivious to the pair of eyes staring at him hungrily. As he sniffed around three bodies that had seemingly fallen a top each other, the two-year-old was certainly not prepared for what came next.

The yelp of surprise echoed across the field and then there was silence. Raising his head, the alpha male stood stiffly, staring ahead, his ears tuned to any other noises of distress. Licking at his blood-soaked muzzle, he sneezed, then walked forward a few paces. The others had heard it too and were testing the air for any foreign scent. He did as well, but all he picked up was the scent of his pack and the delicious meat dotting the field. There was something, though. That strange energy that had been teasing his fight or flight response ever since.

The other wolves went back to their feeding, but the alpha male sauntered on, taking a mental note of each adult he went past. There was one missing. One that had seen only two winters. He moved in the direction where the yelp seemed to come from and soon picked up the scent of the two-year-old.

There were disturbing areas to this field that made his hackles rise, as had some of the dry bodies he'd turned away from. Very little frightened him in the forest, but this field terrified him the longer he stayed in it.

Stopping short of a strange pile of bodies, he picked up the scent that indicated the two-year-old had gone closer to it, but a quick circle around the perimeter indicated that the younger wolf never left. The alpha male stood before pile, staring at it, an occasional soft growl disturbing his panting. Body stiffened, his ears moving back, his lips pulled back in a toothy snarl, but his tail dropped low until it went between his legs as terror swept over him.

Slowly he began to back away, growling what he knew was a futile warning. Releasing a few barks, he turned tail and ran toward the others, indicating beyond question that the feast was over. His mate, understanding, rounded up those nearest her, herding them toward the forest. A few of the wolves were reluctant to leave, but the alpha male backed up his insistence with some well-placed nips. Wolves began to follow, ripping a last morsel or grabbing an arm or leg to bring back with them to the den. Once the field was cleared of wolves, the alpha male halted, taking one last look at the scene, torn between the meat that would feed his pack and the danger he knew was there. He would lead the pack far away and never return to this field. Let the rodents and carrion birds feast on the meat and whatever danger resided within.

~ ~ * ~ ~

The three bodies piled atop each other began to shift slightly. The sweet coolness of night beckoned and Narain at last felt safe enough to emerge from his grave, hastily dug in desperation the day after the raid by the creatures. As time passed in his near death stupor and morning turned into afternoon, the change occurring within him made the growing sunlight increasingly unbearable. The guns had silenced, but war was waging inside him, worse than any fever he'd ever known. It burned through his veins, the thirst torturous, but the water he lapped from a muddy puddle nearby did nothing to quench it. Eventually, he began to dig into the cool earth, fueled by a sheer instinct for survival.

Why hadn't he died when the creature fell upon him? It leapt upon his back and nothing he did could dislodge it. The pain was astonishingly brief as teeth pierced the flesh of his neck and his life's blood was drained from him. The loss of blood and exposure should have killed him, but Narain remained tenaciously alive, in a strange fugue, listening as those soldiers still alive begged for water or death.

That was the true cruelty of war. Soldiers would linger in pain and misery for days before it was safe for stretcher-bearers to cross safely into "No Man's Land" or death at last released them.

Digging ferociously, Narain had hollowed out a rut deep enough for him to conceal himself. Then he grabbed three of his fellow soldiers and managed to maneuver the corpses over a top him, hoping to block out the full effect of the sun. Already, the battlefield was heavy with the stench of rotting flesh, but there was also the tang of blood in the air and, for some strange reason, he took comfort in that.

He was certain he was going mad. He blacked out occasionally and when he awoke, he could never fully clear his mind. Nothing made sense. If he had the strength to dig, he had the strength to run, so he should be running to find help. But something deep inside screamed to him to stay put. And the fever continued, sending a fire through him that made his skin crawl. A few time, he awoke, noticing that he clutched in his hand a mouse, sometimes a rat, always mangled, blood caking his hands. The last time he noticed it, a queer smile lit his face. Locked beneath a canopy of corpses in the grave he dug for himself, he was subsisting on rodents. Then he heard the wolves and caught the scent of fresh blood as they bit into still living soldiers. The wolves' own hearts beating over the excitement of their plunder resonated within him.

One came sniffing around his den. The wolf was young and healthy, and Narain could feel the animal's warmth calling to him. "Closer," he whispered, as he carefully moved a soldier's arm to get a better look.

The back of his head began to tingle and soon he could feel a swelling heat in his brain as the wolf came ever closer to the odd pile of bodies. Then, Narain struck, reaching out from under the corpses and grabbing the wolf so fast that all it had time to do was yelp before he snapped its neck. He sensed another on the way and froze. This wolf, however, larger and older, knew better, leaving quickly after a few moments of puzzling out the situation. The pack followed his orders and left the battlefield to the dead and dying.

Narain ripped at the animal's neck with teeth not yet suited for such endeavors until he remembered the army-issued knife he wore and slashed into the thick coat. The wolf blood filled his empty stomach and the energy coursed through him, yet he was still in need. Crawling from his hole, he wandered the battlefield. The sentient part of him retreated to allow the feral part to take over and do what was necessary to keep him alive.

He took his knife and slashed at the neck of a nearby corpse, falling upon it and dragging out whatever he could get. Switching tactics on the next corpse, he slashed at the section where the blood had pooled, finding the feeding much easier.

Still, his changing body craved nourishment that could not be found in the blood of animals or the cold blood of the dead. Slowly, he ran a steely gaze through the field in the hopes of detecting the heat of the living. The sentient mind, buried deeply, rationalized his next move. These soldiers were dying in agony. He would help make the inevitable quick and painless.

The feral mind needed no rationalization and urged him forward. One soldier breathed, but was barely conscious. One soldier's eyes were wide and glazed with the shock that made him barely senseless. Another had been writhing in pain since shrapnel shredded his legs and they were now swollen and infected, the tattered fabric of his uniform glued to them by the blood and pus of his wounds. He called Narain an angel of mercy, smiling as Narain slit his throat. This struck sharply at Narain's sentient mind until his feral mind overruled him and he drank desperately.

He spent the night doing what needed to be done until he had satiated his need and was able to climb back into his hole. By the third night, however, as the fever that had gripped him abated, and the pain of his own wounds were long gone, the true horror of it all struck him. While in his blood lust, he had been able to render faceless his fellow soldiers. His victims. Now, he was haunted by the blood that coursed through him, keeping him alive. Their essence taunted him with their agony and fear. He writhed in his grave as the full realization of what he'd become assaulted him.

The creature that had attacked him with its ghostly sunken features had lifeless eyes, its mouth grizzly with serrated, bloodstained teeth that dripped with the gore of its previous victims. It was a mindless thing and fed mindlessly. The thought of himself, running with those ghouls, ripped at Narain's mind. Climbing out of his trench, he fell to his knees and cursed at the sky. Why had he not fallen completely into the madness that would lead him to feed upon his fellow beings? Did these ghouls remember their crimes? Did they carry their victims with them, as he now feared he would?

Rising to his feet, Narain walked slowly toward the forest. He would head east. Instinctively, he knew that when the sun was high enough, it would finish him and the nightmare that threatened his world would end. He left the battlefield and its charnel house smell behind him and prepared for the death that should have occurred two days before.

~ ~ * ~ ~

Miles away, the rising sun shone softly through the trees and Narain sought out a clearing where it would not be hindered by them. In the distance, he heard the muffled sounds of mortars being fired; more food for the ghouls. When he found the right spot, he raised his hands to the sun's fatal rays, but the will to survive, heightened now by what he had become, was too strong and it drove him to shun the light. It would not yet destroy him, but it would sicken him beyond all comprehension if he remained within its rays. He slunk back into the shade of the forest and furiously burrowed deep within the protective earth. Huddled there, panting, he felt the war tearing at his mind. The sentient mind wanted an end to this unnatural existence. Yet, it was the unnatural existence keeping him alive.

Narain awoke to face of a bearded old man gazing down upon him. A candle blazed on the table next to his bed, and two candelabras were placed on the mantle of a currently unused fireplace off to the left. Turning his head slightly, he saw a candelabrum on a long dresser. The man stood over him, wiping at his forehead with a damp cloth, then smiled when he noticed that his patient was now conscious.

"Are you awake?" he said in a deeply, dry voice.

Narain blinked his head, still fuzzy, and nodded. The bed was soft and warm, a comfort he hadn't experienced in quite some time, and sleep threatened to retake him.

"I am assuming then, that English would be easiest for you." Narain nodded again, noting the French accent that shaded the man's words. "No other languages?"

"Bengali, Hindi, if you are able," Narain croaked.

The old man chuckled and placed the cloth in a pot of water. "Let us count our blessings that we both share English." After a pause, the old man studied his face, saying, "Answer this next question very carefully. What is your name?"

The man asked this with such import, that Narain actually felt nervous about his response. He had never met the man before, he was certain of it, but the man seemed to stare at him with a familiarity that was confusing. Blinking and looking around the room, Narain licked dry lips saying, "Khan. Narain Khan. Private in the Indian Army." He felt it almost necessary to continue elaborate. "My father is Mohan Khan, my mother is Preity. They live in Bengal." The man placed a hand on Narain's shoulder. "Well done, son. There will be time for all that."

The man went to a pitcher and poured some water in a metal mug. "You were quite feral when I found you. I had hoped you would come to your senses, but you can never be too sure."

He offered the mug to Narain, who took it gratefully and drained it, the liquid quenching the raspiness of his mouth and throat. His whole body felt brittle. Even his eyelids were sticky as he raised a hand to rub them. The water, while it helped, left him strangely unsatisfied. The old man refilled the mug, offering it to Narain, who refused it politely. Setting it on the table, he stared at his patient, scratching at his grey beard, and commented, "You were involved in quite a battle."

Brows furrowing, Narain acknowledged slowly, "Yes. Yes, I was." He had almost, happily, forgotten the battlefield. Even now, it seemed like a different life. Rubbing his face, he asked, "How long have I been here?"

"Close to two weeks." Nahrian's face registered shock and the old man explained, "I found you wandering the forest. I knew the war had crept into area so, I suppose I was not so surprised to see a soldier wandering in shock. I took you to my estate. My name, by the way, is Alphonse Reno."

"I am Narain Khan."

Alphonse chuckled. "Yes, so you have told me." Narain returned his smile. "Well, young man, if you are able, I will leave you to freshen up." He pointed to a small room. "There are facilities in there." He moved over to a chifferobe. "And a change of clothes in here."

Rising carefully to lean on his elbow, Narain said, "I don't know how to thank you for your kindness."

The gentle smile seemed slightly melancholy. "Gratitude is not necessary. When you are ready, come downstairs. We will talk."

After a pause, the man exited, leaving Narain to stare after, confused. The man's demeanor was pleasant enough, and yet there was a touch of dread. Like a doctor telling a soldier that the leg must be amputated.

Running his hands through his hair, Narain raised his knees and rested his arms on them. He was only a short time away from the battlefield, but it seemed a whole lifetime ago. He remembered so little of it all. The fighting itself, the explosions, the cries of help. The blood and dirt spraying everywhere. He knew it had occurred, but it was little more than a nightmare to him now.

Wandering the woods, though, he had no memory of this. Of course, if he had been in shock, he might have blocked it all out. Perhaps talking to the old man would jog his memory.

The room was curious. There were large windows, but they had been boarded up from the outside so that opening the inside shutters would produce no light at all. He had no idea what time it was, whether it was day or night. Night seemed most likely and for some strange reason, the most desirable.

Still a bit stiff, he made his way into the washroom. It was obvious he had already been bathed and he could only imagine how grimy he must have been when he arrived. The dirt and gore of the battlefield had been cleansed from him and even his thick black hair felt cleaner than it had in a long time. It had been so long since he felt warm and clean. From the boat to the trenches to the battlefield, he seemed always to feel chilled and filthy. The sun of India had seemed so far away.

Narain found Alphonse in a large library/study downstairs, tending to a fire in the sizable fireplace. It seemed to be a large house, several guest rooms upstairs, and downstairs an impressive dining room, living room, and kitchen; like the rest of what he'd seen, the heavy velvet drapes of the study were closed, the room well illuminated by candles haphazardly placed around it. Was the man's skin sensitive to light? Narain had heard of rare cases of this. Taking the chance, Narain had lifted one of the drapes he'd seen in the dining room, but his earlier conclusion had been correct. It was deep into the night and the surrounding acreage was practically invisible in the dark. Still, oddly, he thought for certain that he had seen something. Small woodland creatures, eyes glowing, were scuttling about in the dark.

Looking up, the old man smiled in greeting from his chair and motioned Narain to sit in a straight backed but comfortable chair near the fire. "I must say you look a far sight better than when I found you," he said as Narain took the seat.

At last, Narain said softly, "Sir, I don't know how to thank you for your kindness."

"Never mind that," Alphonse assured him. Studying him, he commented, "You are a very long way from home, are you not?" Narain conceded this with a wistful nod and the old man went back to tending his fire, sighing sadly. "My God, what you boys have given up to counter this awful aggression."

The man seemed to be carrying a burden that weighed upon what would normally be a very jovial disposition.

Shrugging, Narain chuckled softly. "Well, I myself have never liked a bully. If I can help in any way to put Germany in its place, I suppose it is worth the sacrifice." The man said nothing, only stared at him as if he had news to impart, but couldn't find the words. Blinking, after several moments of silence, Narain cleared his throat saying, "I think I will have to find a way to contact my regiment tomorrow."

This declaration forced the issue and Alphonse took a seat across from Narain, gently saying, "Narain, my boy, I need to explain something to you. It will seem strange and very difficult to hear, but you must listen carefully for your life, as you knew it, no longer exists."

Narain stared at him, frowning slightly. What a curiously ominous thing to say. Perhaps the old man was a bit senile. Yet his stomach began to churn a little as flashes began to batter the back of his mind. Strange visions of darkness and pain and a hunger he'd never experienced before. Tensing, Narain's brows furrowed. He would hear the man out. The old man had, after all, saved his life. And after his time in the trenches, it was true, his life would never be the same. "What is it you mean?"

Alphonse looked down at his hands, which were clasped together almost as if in prayer. "Bear with me, dear boy. It is a difficult story. It will be difficult for both of us. I only wish I had another to tell you." Narain's brows remained furrowed at the pain the man was obviously experiencing in his memories as he turned his gaze to the fire. Narain had known him only a short time, but he could tell instinctively that he was a good person. A disquieting thought hit him that Alphonse's words were not those of a senile old man, but rather the words of experience.

"I had a son, you see," Alphonse began slowly, smiling slightly at the memory of a child long gone. "He would be near your age. Everything a father would hope for. I have a daughter too; she is married and far from here. My wife is long passed. What a woman she was!

"Beautiful. Full of courage and passion. What a proud man I was. Yet, with my wife gone, my daughter off on her new life, I had only my son left to keep me company. How strong is the bond between fathers and sons?"

"Very strong," Narain said, thinking of his own father so far away.

Alphonse smiled. "His name was Laurent, my son. I had sent him with a friend to town to conduct some simple business. It should have lasted a few days at best, but he did not return." Alphonse's features drooped. "His friend came back, leading Laurent's horse, Laurent's body draped across it." The old man's eyes bleared a bit as he looked at Narain. "I ask you now, son, please keep your mind open. It is imperative to understand this story." Pausing, he sighed deeply and began, "I had heard of the folk tales; they abound in this country especially among the uneducated, but they were just that: Tales to frighten the weak of heart. Until my son was brought back to me. His friend needed to stay in town a bit longer, but assured him he would join him on the trail. His friend found Laurent a day later, his body cold and mangled." Alphonse shook his head. "I don't know, perhaps the creatures sensed the war that was on its way. They had been dormant for so long. They follow brutality and bloodshed, you see, dining on fallen soldiers and anyone else that happens to be in their path. Like my son."

Narain leaned forward, curious despite incredulity. "Creatures? What creatures do you refer to, sir? Wolves?"

Alphonse admitted, "I hesitate to use the word, for you will think me mad and will shut your mind to all that I have to tell you." Narain indicated his willingness to listen and Alphonse said, "I refer to vampires." To Narain's blinking surprise, he insisted, "Yes, they exist. I was as doubtful as you are, but my eyes have been opened.

"Still, despite the signs, I could not accept what had killed my son. How could I? Obviously, some maniac had fallen upon him and had committed some sort of twisted cannibalism. I buried him in our family cemetery, never noticing the shallow breaths or the faintest of pulses.

"A few days later, one of my farm hands told me that he had found a dead pig. It had been dragged from the pen and the throat was torn open. Wolves had not been sighted in the area for quite some time. That night, we lost another pig and, two days later, the remnants of several chickens were found.

"So I decided to stay up one night in the hopes that I could discover the animal prowling around the livestock. I positioned my farm hand at the pigsty while I found a spot at the stables in case the beast had an appetite for larger fare. Then I waited.

"Several hours went by when I heard a shout, then a horrible gurgling scream, and the squealing of a pig."

The man became lost in his memories as he continued, "The sound of it chilled me. At last, I forced myself to run, lantern in hand, to the pigsty. There, I saw someone hunched over my hired hand, Jorge, who was lying on the ground, weakly struggling to push off his attacker. I shouted out to him, but the man never looked up. I ran toward him, cursing and flailing the lantern. That got his attention. He raised his head, mouth red with gore, and fixed his eyes on me."

Alphonse stopped as if he needed to catch his breath and Narain gently said, "It was your son."

The old man nodded, sighed, and rubbed his face as if trying to rub out the grief. "Those eyes that I had once gazed into with such pride and joy now glowed an eerie red in the lamplight. Were it not for that glow, they would have been cold and lifeless. There was neither love nor hate. I was simply something disturbing his feed. Something he might go after next should the victim he was working on not quench his thirst. I ran toward him again, swinging the lantern this time as a weapon. My son, filthy with blood and the dirt of his own grave, snarled in fright and darted off into the night with amazing speed."

"He brought down your hand. Why did he run from you?"

Alphonse shrugged. "I have asked that so many times. Was it the slightest recognition that kept him from attacking me? Or, alone, without a pack, did he fear he was no contest for me, despite the fact that he could have ripped me apart. Some of the fiercest predators may back down in a surprise confrontation. And at that point, that is all my son was. A predator.

"Jorge was dead. I testified of seeing a huge creature – a wolf or perhaps a bear, running from the body. I hated to lie, but perhaps that was what people needed to hear, since none of the other help or members of the family questioned why there were no animal tracks near the body. They were simple people, people of the land and woods who knew the legends and preferred not to dwell on them too long.

"Those legends whirled around my mind as, two days later, I went to my son's grave and noted the freshly turned earth and the caved-in hole from a body working its way out. I never saw Laurent again. He might be out there right now, hunting with the pack that attacked the soldiers on the battlefield weeks ago."

Narain had found himself transfixed by the old man's story, unable to decide just what he thought of it. Mention of the battlefield stunned him, however, and a sickening feeling overcame him. "What is your meaning? I don't understand why you share this story with me."

Carefully, Alphonse said, "My boy, I think you do. And it is vital that you understand and accept it. It is your only choice to accept who you are now."

The words were spoken with such a lid-slamming certainty that Narain was stunned into silence. Images gripped him as the words began to hit home. He looked up at the old man's gentle face, then back down at the floor glowing in the fire light. In his mind, wolves and ghouls danced among the dead and dying on a blood-soaked field, ripping at throats, slurping the gore. And he was right there with them, joyous in the blood that slipped down his throat, fortifying a body that seemed no longer his to command.

The shrapnel! Leaping to his feet, Narain's chair slid back noisily as he clawed at his shirt, ripping it open. The shrapnel had sliced into him on the battlefield, leaving him breathless with pain. It wasn't clear before, but it was only too clear now. Yet, when he looked at his side, he saw only the remnants of a long healed scar, the knitting skin thick beneath his fingers. He hadn't remembered the injury earlier in the bath, but he did now and he knew for certain that it had been deep enough not to have healed so quickly in a matter of weeks. His legs buckled as he reached out for the chair. The old man rose quickly and helped him to sit. Looking up at Alphonse, horrified, all he could say was a pleading, "No."

"I am so very sorry, son. I can only imagine how painful the memories are."

Narain stared into the fire. He remembered now. The ghoul that pounced on him, bit deeply into him, sucked him nearly dry. He remembered how desperately, painfully, his heart beat as the blood left him and then darkness overtook him. Then, he remembered the pile of bodies he hid beneath. The rodents and wolf and later the forays among wounded soldiers calling for comfort. And the hideous fever transforming him. What he had become now had a name and it was horrible. He had wanted to die. Why hadn't the old man let him?

As if sensing the question, Alphonse explained, "I came upon you digging yourself furiously into the earth. Not far from here. You were raving, desperate to escape the sun, the light of which will only pain you more as time goes on. I gathered you up and took you to my estate, because there was something there that made me think you might be a sentient."

"A sentient?" Narain mumbled dumbly, still staring into the fire.

"The loss of my son," the old man said, "has led me on a quest to understand what I saw that night. I have always considered myself a man of reason, not given to being influenced by superstition and folk tales. But life has a way of challenging devout beliefs. Even the day after I chased my son from his home, I warred with myself. But a man knows his own son. And if a father's grief causes hallucinations, he sees his son clean and whole, not the filthy, broken thing hunched over a hired hand's body. So, my son had become the stuff of legends and, according to the legends, he was as lost to me as if he were still cold in the ground. He was now little more than a beast, like the other vampires whispered about, capable of no other thoughts beyond the next meal. These beings I have taken to calling "ferals," for that is what they are. Mindless. Living on instinct. Wild.

"But life had another surprise in store for me. One that offered the faintest glimmer of hope. A week later, I found myself staring into the fire so lost in thoughts and memories that I did not hear the scraping at the door until it turned into an erratic pounding. What I saw when I opened it...well, I thought for a moment I was losing my mind." He chuckled and poured himself a drink from a stand near the fire.

"Eh, sometimes I think I have gone mad. I wonder sometimes if I'm locked in my own mind and this is all a dream."

Turning his gaze from the fire at last, Narain asked, "What did you see?"

"Jorge. My hired hand, who I had watched being placed in the ground days before. He was as filthy and blood stained as my son had been, but the eyes that met mine were of a different sort. They knew me. The horrible thought that someone might have met their end that night crossed my mind, but judging by the fear and confusion on Jorge's face, I knew it was just as likely that his only victims were pigs and sheep whose bodies would be discovered the next day.

"Jorge was disorientated. He had clawed his way out of the earth and fed and now his human consciousness was returning to him. He came back to my door, hoping I could give him some answers. Unfortunately, I had very few to offer him. I told him what had transpired over the past week. That by rights he should still be in the ground. And I offered my theory on why he was not."

Coming out of his stupor slowly, Narain grinned weakly. "I dare say that your technique for imparting this news has improved since then."

The old man laughed heartily. "Yes, well, I have had practice. But Jorge was only the second of the vampire set that I had seen and the first one was heartbreakingly beyond my reach to communicate with. This ultimately led me to take up my mission. Why had my son, the man who had 'killed' Jorge, been unable to progress beyond the creature that I saw that first night? Yes, the other questions were important. What created them? And particularly important to Jorge, what would he actually need to survive? But if I could discover why Jorge, why you, retained humanity, perhaps I could find a way to bring my son back to me."

Anxiously, Narain stared at his hands, finding nothing different about them and yet feeling as though they were very different. As if he was very different from the young man who left India the year before. And, of course, he was. This war had taken so much from him, but he couldn't reconcile with just how much had been lost. A wave of panicked desperation washed over him again and he exclaimed, "I don't understand. Why do I feel so...normal? Why do I feel like myself? None of this makes sense. I should be dead. I should have died on that field." He turned a helpless gaze to the old man. "Why am I not dead?"

A tear played at the corner of Alphonse's right eye. He closed his eyes to let the emotion pass over him. Then he reached out and touched Narain's hand gently, explaining, "I became an investigator and Jorge my subject and together we came up with plausible theories based on my research and his experience. You, my boy, are sentient. There seem to be two types of vampire. Sentient and feral. The ferals are what may have attacked you on the battlefield. You, and others like you, are sentient. Capable of everyday intellect. Capable of some semblance of your old life.

"We studied the human body, Jorge and I. I traveled abroad, more so than I had ever done before, collecting stories and legends from other cultures. I questioned medical doctors on the possibilities of vampirism – true vampirism as opposed to the legends told of it – and suffered their bemused replies. Most humored me. Some were downright arrogant. And how could I blame them? It went against everything known about nature. And medical science had never had a specimen to study though, oddly, vampire legends appear in cultures around the world. Even in your own India.

"I told this last point to Jorge and he suggested that he might be that specimen, but I warned against this. We are incredibly cruel to that which we do not understand. I feared even the logic of doctors would not keep them from going too far. Besides, to the outside world, Jorge was now a demon. The undead. A monster. Society would never have accepted the truth."

"And what is the truth?" Narain asked, sadly, his horrible recollections forcing him to accept the horrible truth. "Are we not monsters doomed to feed upon humans to survive?" Alphonse sighed before a bit of passion rose up within him. "You are victims of circumstance. In fact, I believe this condition has a medical, not a supernatural, answer to it. It is beyond us now, but progress never stops and one day the answer will be there. You have a chronic condition. A bizarre one, but one you will have to adjust for. You have something, however, that my son did not. You have the ability to make choices. And it is those choices that prove whether you are a monster or not."

"And what became of Jorge?"

"One thing you will discover is that while this condition has limited you in some ways, it has freed you in a whole host of others. There was a time when his imagination never went further than the boundaries of this estate. Helping me as much as he could with my research, Jorge eventually found himself willing to test those boundaries. Apparently, his constitution has become quite durable. He has the curiosity of youth in a seemingly ageless body. And he still sends me details he feels might be important to my research, including the seamier details of what he must to do survive. From what we can gather, it is possible to survive for a time on animal blood, horse blood being particularly potent, but at some point, human blood is necessary. The others have confirmed this."

"Others?"

The old man paused, and then nodded. "Every so often, I go on...expeditions."

"Searching for your son?"

"Yes. A father never loses hope. As I have said, this stupid war has coaxed the ferals from their hibernation. Occasionally, they leave survivors. Newborns as confused as you were. How can I not help them, especially when my son could be the one responsible for their infection? Like Jorge."

"And everything you learn, hopefully brings you closer to bringing back your son."

Alphonse shrugged. "I have only my hope. It is my hope that I will be able to cure my son. To bring him back to me...not only physically, but mentally." Alphonse went over to the side of the chair Narain sat in and placed a hand on his shoulder, saying, "You can look upon this as a gift or a curse. Actually, it is probably both. But it is what you make it. My son never got the choice. I will help you if you like and you may stay as long as you wish. I will tell you all I know. Perhaps we can be of help to each other."

It all seemed surreal. Narain could not deny his memories, however. They were real and vivid and tore at his soul. He watched silently as Alphonse left the room. The old man was right. It was his reality now to make of it what he would. The question was: What could he make of it? He turned his gaze back to the fire, on some level possessing the ridiculous wish that if he stared at it long enough, the fire would burn the memories from his mind, giving him the peace he might never have again.

Note from the Author:

My novel To Touch the Sun takes place in current day Chicago, but since every good vampire deserves an origin story, one of the chapters is devoted to the vampiric origin of the protagonist, Narain Khan. Narain was 25 when he left his family and native India to fight in the trenches of France during World War I. As he would eventually discover after being wounded during a push across No Man's Land, the soldiers had more than bullets and bombs to worry about. That night, the creatures that prowled among the dead and dying of No Man's Land, would change his life forever.

For more information on my novel, visit my website at http://laura-enright.com/home.html
About The Author

I am the author of Chicago's Most Wanted™ The Top 10 Book of Murderous Mobsters, Midway Monsters, and Windy City Oddities and Vampires' Most Wanted The Top 10 Book of Bloodthirsty Biters, Stake-wielding Slayers, and Other Undead Oddities. I'm currently working on a vampire fiction series that is set in Chicago. I'm interested in any number of things, far too many for my limited free time to accommodate. Never the less, I remain a giggling idiot for the ages and encourage the world to follow suit. Some already have. You know who you are.

http://lauraenright.blogspot.com

http://laura-enright.com/home.html

Twitter: troublethebook

DIFFERENT KIND OF VAMPIRE

By

Sherri Jordan-Asble

My name is Summer and I'm a different kind of vampire. I am not like the traditional Hollywood type at all, but I don't know what else to call it. It's just as terrible. It happened so quickly, that day in the Bad Lands.

My friend, Hope, and her boyfriend, Steve, went out there with me. Steve had been there before and found a cave he wanted to show us. I study archeology, so I was very interested. Hope was my best friend, but she would never have let me or any other girl go out to the Bad Lands alone with her boyfriend. She wasn't really jealous or possessive, just pro-active. I guess I couldn't blame her and, since she was my best friend, I didn't mind her coming along at all.

Twenty feet into the cave and pitch black darkness swallowed us. I took out my flashlight and shined it into the dark of the cave, but the light was eaten up by the intensity of the darkness. We could only see about a foot in front of us, or less.

"Yeah, that happened to me when I was here before. I never got past this point," Steve said as he pulled out an industrial flashlight as big as a toaster from his backpack.

"Good move," Hope said.

He turned the light on and it bit the darkness back. We had a good view of the cave. I half expected a flock of bats to come rushing down from the ceiling, but there were none. The cave smelled dead and stale. Steve flashed the light around. Stalactites and Stalagmites reached toward each other from ceiling to floor in eight or nine foot spans. What appeared to be a natural path wound further into the cave, and we followed it. The formations were fantastic. Crazy rocks and boulders stood around dry and forgotten for centuries, evidence of the water that once dripped through the site. Columns of hard stone that looked like poured mud lined the path.

I began to question the naturalness of the path as it began to appear too perfectly cut through the formations, winding around them even deeper into the cave. We found hard evidence that the path had been manmade when we came to a big wooden set of double doors in the wall where the path dead-ended. The doors had to be at least seven feet tall and just as wide. The handles were iron rings, and they looked like something out of a bad western. The wood was dry, but not rotten at all, probably due to the lack of moisture in the cave.

Steven tried to open them, but it took all three of us pulling for one to budge at all. Steve shined the flashlight into the crack. "What's in there?" I asked. I could not believe a manmade room lay hidden in the back of this cave that had remained untouched by man for so long that no one remembered it was there. I had done some research when Steve first mentioned it. I didn't believe the cave existed because I couldn't find any record of it.

"It looks like a saloon," Steve said in awe.

Hope pushed up to him for her own look. "Weird," she said.

"Let's get the door open further." I wanted in. Stupid me.

Steve wedged himself in the crack and pushed as Hope and I pulled. We managed to shove the door open enough to squeeze through one at a time. Steve sprayed the room with light. It did indeed look like a saloon right out of an old western movie set. Round tables were scattered around the room, chairs turned over. A long bar ran the length of the room along the right side and a piano, broken in half, lay in pieces on the opposite wall. A balcony stretched across the back wall, stairs coming down at an angle, then turning into the center of the room. I could almost picture prostitutes strolling down, tucking their little pistols in their bustiers and looking for a good cowboy. Or maybe a good cowboy with dusty chaps would slam back a shot of whiskey at the bar. Behind the bar, pieces of mirror that had broken still clung to the wall.

"Looks like the remains of a serious bar fight," Steve said in a hushed tone. It felt as if we shouldn't be there, and he almost whispered as if someone could hear us.

I wandered behind the bar as Hope sat overturned chairs upright. Steve switched the mode of his light to a florescent bar that lit the room more evenly. I used my own flashlight to explore the glasses and bottles stashed on shelves behind the bar. The bottles didn't have labels; I had no idea what they might have been. Sarsaparilla? Most of the glasses were broken or at least chipped. Broken glass crunched beneath my hiking boots as I walked around. "Hey, there's another door here."

Steve and Hope came over to check out my discovery, an unimpressive door that probably led to a storage room of some kind. I wanted in, though; maybe we could find something to help solve this mystery. Why would there be an old-fashioned saloon dug into the side of an underground cave? The door had a wooden beam across it, like an old-fashioned lock. But, why lock it from the outside?

It took a few minutes for Steve to pry the bar open, but once the bar was up, the door swung out easily enough. I pointed my flashlight inside. The storage room before us did not look anything like a storage room, or even a room, really. It looked like another section of the cave. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all stone, smooth as if it had naturally formed that way by eons of water sliding over the walls. It might have been a waterfall at one time. In the center of the floor, a black hole the size of a half dollar had been drilled. It looked like a drain of some sort, but the room now stood just as dry as everything else in the cave.

Nothing about the situation made sense. What made sense about an odd room with a bar on the door at the back of a saloon inside a cave in the middle of a desert? Nothing. The hole in the floor just exemplified the weirdness.

"What the hell?" Hope asked. Steve shrugged. I just looked at the hole. Hope shook her head. "You're the archeology wiz. What is that thing?"

"I don't know. I've never seen or heard of anything like this." The hole peered up at us like an eye. I shined my light around the walls, looking for something, anything that would help explain this, but there was nothing. The walls were all one smooth formation. "This is all too creepy. Let's get out of here."

"Don't wuss out on me now," Steve cajoled. "I'm sure there's more to find in this place, and maybe we'll figure it out."

Chills ran down my spine and goose bumps broke out on my arms beneath my jacket. "No, let's go." Hope must have felt it too because she started to back out of the room.

The door slammed. Hope turned and pushed against it forcefully, but it wouldn't open. Panic jumped into my throat. The bar must have fell. How stupid could we be?

Hope started screaming.

I look back now and wonder if the screaming woke the thing, or if it had already been awake. It must have awoken when we opened the door. Otherwise, we could have just walked out, right? It doesn't matter now.

Something came out of the hole in the floor. It slid up like an oily black shadow and latched onto Hope. She screamed louder. The shadow settled on her skin, covering her face. It slid into her open mouth. The screaming stopped, and Hope fell to the floor. Steve and I stood in horror. It happened so fast and we had no idea what to do.

"Oh my God," Steve said, shining the light on Hope's now missing face. The black oil had eaten through her skin and bone. It slid off of Hope and across the floor towards Steve. He backed away, but only backed against the smooth wall. He dropped the flashlight and it broke. The light flickered out. I could hear Steve scratching at the wall and making an animalistic noise deep in his throat. Then, silence.

I knew I was alone. I knew I would be dead in just a few more seconds. Resigned, I sat down and accepted it. My acceptance probably saved my life, and damned me to hell.

The shadow fell over me. I could feel it. It entered me. It didn't kill me like the others. It lingered on my skin like hot baby oil, stinging, but only a little unpleasantly. It burned on my insides like drinking a really good schnapps or whisky. I thought of death. What would the other side be like? I closed my eyes tightly, waiting for death. It didn't arrive. I opened my eyes a few minutes later and found that I could see everything clearly. I could see every detail of the room as if daylight streamed in. My flashlight was not even on. I stood up and took off my jacket, suddenly too hot. I looked down on my dead friends. They were beyond help. I turned around and the door to the room gaped open.

I walked out, out of the room, out of the saloon, out of the cave. I needed sunshine desperately like air.

When I reached the outer edge of the cave and the sun poured into the darkness, I felt the thing inside me stir. How long had it been since it had seen the sun? Had it ever seen the sun? I didn't know. I only knew that it liked the sun, the heat, and it felt good.

I went home and took a long, hot shower. The thing inside me settled down. I could not think at all when it stirred. I have been trying to control it better, but when it becomes hungry and stirs, I lose control. It turns me into a vampire.

The first time it happened remains in my head like a nightmare. After my shower, I went to bed and slept for over a day. When I awoke, the thing stirred for the first time. My thoughts scattered like dice in a Yahtzee game. When I finally managed to collect most of my wits, It burned hot inside me, wanting and needing to be fed. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't stop myself. I remember thinking this must be what heroin addicts feel like. Nothing else existed; just that burning need.

We, the Thing and I, left my tiny apartment and went to a nearby bar. The somewhat popular spot could supply plenty of what we needed; emotion. The burn eased slightly just by walking in the door. It could feel the current of emotion roiling through the room. Alcohol tends to intensify human passions.

I sauntered my way up to the bar and perched on a stool. I ordered red wine, but I didn't drink it. I swirled it around, and surveyed the others around me. I didn't know exactly what I was looking for, but the stranger inside me did. It did not so much see through my eyes as feel through my senses. When I felt the familiar tingle of attraction, a clean cut looking young man with dark eyes, the thing inside me nearly danced. I still didn't understand the significance. I only knew that it felt better. I smiled at the young man and he came over, like bees to honey; too easy.

I played the "I don't normally pick up guys at a bar, but don't you feel this unusual attraction?" card. He fell for it.

"Do you want to get some fresh air?" he asked.

"Yes, let's go for a walk." We walked down the street, holding hands. I really liked him. He was cute and funny. Unknowingly, I steered him towards a more secluded area. Or did he steer me? It didn't matter. We were alone and he kissed me. The Thing felt like Mexican jumping beans inside me. It came forward in my head, filling me with darkness, like motor oil had been spilled over my brain.

The young man pulled back and I could see fear in his eyes. I wanted to let him go, but I no longer had control. I felt my fingers digging into his shoulders. The thing started feeding on his passion, but continued to feed on his fear. A shadow swarmed out from me and surrounded both of us. I could feel the pull of emotion from my victim and into the Beast; passion, anger, and fear swirled around in a palatable soup. The emotion sucked into my mouth and down my throat like cool water extinguishing a campfire. The man tried to pull away for a second, but then sank down to the ground. The inky cloud pulled back into me, sated. My mind cleared.

I stood up and backed away from the man. He wasn't dead, but he was certainly comatose. I pulled out my cell phone and called emergency services for an ambulance. If he died, how could I live with myself? I told the authorities as much of the truth as I could. Then, I got the hell out of town.

Terrified, I ran. As if running could help me. I left a trail of comatose victims behind me. I think a few of them died. The Thing grew stronger and took over more and more. I had to stop being afraid and fight back. I had to find a way to control it.

I thought I finally managed to get the thing to feed without hurting, but it didn't care much for that. I started blacking out completely when it took control. Finally, I decided I only had one choice. I had to find someone that I could trust to lock me in that cave. I had to put this thing back.

I went to Hope's family home. They were still mourning her loss. They had no closure. I never gave them a good answer about what happened. It didn't make sense to them. I had to explain it to them now and get them to help me. They were the only ones I could trust. I booked a fight to their hometown, and prayed that the Thing wouldn't rise up on the plane.

When I arrived, they agreed to see me the next day. I took a rental from the airport and drove out. I booked a hotel room and visited a nearby bar. I let the Thing feed vigorously to protect Hope's family. I didn't know what else to do.

The next morning, we gathered around the living room. Feeling relatively safe, I started explaining. "You have to believe me. You have to help me." They were stunned. But as I finished up and told them what I planned, I could feel their emotions swirling around the room. I could feel the Thing stirring. I couldn't subject them to the monster. I ran from the house.

Alone, I gained control over the Thing. Hope's family would have to be able to control their emotions if they were going to help me; if they could help me. They probably would not want even to speak to me.

I went back to my hotel room and cried into the pillow. I wondered what would happen if I killed myself. The Thing would be loose and able to kill or find another host. I had to take responsibility. I wondered if it knew what I was planning. I started running through the list of people I knew that could be potential helpers, when someone knocked at the door.

I opened the door to find Hope's sister, Delaney, standing there with a determined look on her face. "Are you safe?" she asked.

I nodded and let her in.

She looked around the room and tossed her leather purse on the table, then turned and looked at me. "I know you would have protected her if you could and I know you want to protect, like, everyone, now. I can't have this thing killing anyone else either, you know?"

"Yes, that's why I came to your family for help."

She nodded. "Okay. I'm going to help you. When do we go?"

"Now?"

"Let's go." I didn't know if she really could do this at first, but the determination on her face made me want to believe. I had to believe.

We bought a new flashlight much like the one Steve had brought with us on that fatal day, and a crow bar. I wanted her to take a sledgehammer as well, just in case, but she wouldn't have been able to use it.

We drove out to the Bad Lands and prepared to climb down into the cave. In the back of my mind, I was concerned for Delaney. She was so young. I knew she could do this, if everything went as planned. But, what if this thing had a surprise for us? I couldn't get hung up on the "what if's" though. This had to be done, no matter the cost.

We descended into the darkness of the cave and came to the dead end, and an empty wall. A small fissure ran from floor to ceiling, and if you turned sideways, you could squeeze into the wall. The doors that had been there before no longer existed. Delaney looked at me with doubt. "I thought you said there were doors?"

"Uh-huh, there were."

"Not now?"

I looked at her and shrugged, and then shined the light into the fissure. The saloon-like doors had disappeared, but there was a large hollow big enough to have held a saloon. "Come on," I said as we slipped in. "Do you think you'll be able to find this to get out by yourself?" I asked her.

"I'll have to."

I shined the light around. No balcony, no stairs, no piano, no bar, no broken glass on the floor. "This isn't at all like you said, Summer." I could feel her doubt, palpable on my skin.

"This thing inside me is a vampire. Don't tempt it with emotion." I swallowed back my own fear.

Delaney took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm just saying."

"I know." I did know. I didn't understand it all myself.

I walked over to where the bar had been. My hiking boots crunched, but when I shined my light on the ground, it was pebbles I stepped on, not glass. I followed the wall around to where the door to the storage room should have been, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Delaney," I called out, beckoning to her with my free arm. I pointed the flashlight on the door. It stood open and the bar unlatched. "This is it."

"Thank God," she whispered, then caught herself.

"No, you're right." I nodded. "I'm going in. Make sure I'm in and bar the door. Then, get the hell out of here and don't look back."

Delaney nodded. Her fear slowly started to rise and I could taste it like cotton candy on my tongue. I swallowed hard and ignored it. I knew I had to get in before the Thing could take over, but I couldn't move. I felt It sliding uncomfortably around under my skin.

"Go, Summer. Do it." Delaney said forcefully.

I felt the Thing trying to come up and out, and I screamed. A horrible screeching sound ripped out of my throat. "No! Run, Delaney! Get out!"

"No. You can't do this." She kicked my leg hard and I fell. Relief swelled up in me. She could do this. Behind that relief, a lava flow of fear slowly began to boil up. I did not own that volcano that threatened. I knew the Thing did not intend to go back in the hole.

A vision flashed before my eyes: the saloon as it had been, filled with people, and the shadow trapped in the hole. The owners of the saloon shoved people in and barred the door. Letting the shadow-vampire kill them all one by one. It learned to adapt as It searched for a host. The pattern repeated for many years, until finally the victims stopped coming.

I started crawling towards the room. Delaney came behind and started shoving me in. The flashlight lay beside me on the floor, glaring upwards, so that Delaney could see inside the room. The Thing began radiating anger as it swirled around in my head, threatening to suck me under like a mad vortex of emotion. I pulled my body forward with my hands across the stony floor. It pulled up and out of me. In a second, I felt myself jerked backward.

"It's out," Delaney screamed. "Tell me it's out."

I checked myself. I was free of it. She trapped it in the room. I looked at the barred door. "Let's get the hell out of here."

We made for the entrance. The fissure should have been there. I searched for it. We couldn't find it.

"Summer, what's going on? You said to trap it."

"No, I said to trap us, without me holding it in... I don't know."

A loud bang turned us around. The door stood open. "I don't think I can do this," I said. "I'm sorry, Delaney. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Delaney turned me around to look at her and shook my shoulders. "Listen. You are the strongest person I've ever known. Hope loved you like a sister because you always had the strength to do what was right, no matter what. Don't stop now. You owe her."

I nodded. She was right. I had to take control. I couldn't expect anyone else to take this responsibility. I owned this, and I knew what I had to do. I stepped into the room and stood over the hole. "All right. Come on," I told it.

Slowly, it rose out of the hole like a viper and wrapped lovingly around me, happy and content.

"It's back, Summer. Oh my God, the opening is back," she called. I knew it would be. The Thing had never really been trapped down here in the first place. It controlled this place. It used it to lure enough people down so that it could find its host. Something happened along the way and the people stopped coming. So, it waited. Then it found me.

Now I'm a different kind of vampire. I just have to deal with it.

DARK COMFORT:

A Modified Excerpt from "Mining The Dark"

THE MOUNTAIN STATE VAMPIRE SERIES

By

J.B. Stilwell
"Can you give a little more help? I thought vampires were supposed to have uber-strength or something."

As soon as I say it, Rick quickly lifts the entire recliner, almost pulling it out of my hands.

"Thanks," I grumble.

"My pleasure," he responds.

Not exactly my idea of a great way to spend a Saturday night – moving my remaining stuff out of my mom's large storage shed. Before working on the Federal Office of Human and Vampire Administration project, I didn't intend on moving to Rowan, West Virginia. Many of my possessions have been sitting in Huntington, gathering dust. It will be nice to be surrounded by my own things again. My new apartment will actually feel like home. Thankfully, my project partner and now co-worker, Dr. Rick Allstedt, graciously offered to help with the move. It's even nicer that he's a vampire and can carry heavier loads. Just sucks that we have to do all of this work after the sun goes down. I guess it could be worse. The sun could be blazing in the winter sky and my clothes could be wet with cold sweat. Oh, and Rick would be a pile of gelatinous muck. So, yeah, this is better.

We lift the recliner into the back of the moving van and return to the shed for the boxes of smaller items. My mom steps outside from the back of her house. Ambling toward us, she says, "Do y'all want some lemonade?"

I look at Rick and smile.

"Thanks, Mrs. Burcham. Lemonade would be nice," Rick says.

My mouth drops open as my mom walks back to the house. "I thought you didn't need to drink human stuff?" I ask.

"I don't," he responds. "Doesn't mean that I can't. I partake every once in a while. Especially when a nice Appalachian woman offers me something for all of my hard work. Well, at least offers me more than a hard time." He raises an eyebrow at me.

I take my box to the truck while stating, "You didn't have to come. No one twisted your arm. I couldn't if I tried anyhow."

He slides his box into the truck then leans against the bumper, smiling. "You know you couldn't do this without me."

I roll my eyes. "I so could have. And probably would have had less aggravation, too."

"And less distraction, too," he quips. "I'm sure your other help wouldn't have been as attractive as me." He winks, then walks back to the shed.

I stand there, hands outstretched in exasperation. I decide not to egg him on. One thing I've learned in the past couple of weeks since we finished the FOHVA project is that if you respond when Rick goads you, it just encourages him to do it even more. It doesn't help that I once let it slip out that I thought he was hot. He likes to throw that up in my face every once in a while. Reliving that humiliation is not my idea of time well spent. But he seems to get a kick out of it. Bastard. And I say that in the most loving way possible.

When I get back to the shed, Rick is already drinking his lemonade and chatting with my mom. Talk about humiliation. The last thing I need is more Emma stories that he'll use to tease me unmercifully in the most awkward of moments.

"Whatcha y'all talking about?" I ask as I reach for my glass of lemonade.

Handing me my glass, Mom says, "Oh, we're just shootin' the breeze."

"Uh-huh," I groan as Rick grins at me. "What?" I ask him.

"Just enjoying the relaxed form of speech you get whenever you're around your mom," he replies.

I whack him on the arm. "Now, Emma Jean, cut that out," Mom scolds me. "Rick came all this way to help ya and that's no way to treat a friend. I taught you better than that."

Rick raises his eyebrows at me. "Sorry, Mom. He can be as hard to deal with as trying to hold onto a greased weasel."

Rick laughs loudly while I resist the urge to throw my empty glass at him. Mom gives me a tough stare, then says, "I still don't understand why y'all couldn't've moved all this stuff during the day instead of comin' out here so late. It's so dark you'll have a dickens of a time driving back to Rowan."

Rick and I look at one another. My eyes widen as it occurs to me that Mom doesn't know that Rick is a vampire. Rick seemingly understands my thoughts and slightly shrugs his shoulders.

"Uh, Mom? We couldn't come during the day because Rick's a vampire."

She looks at me then looks at him, then back at me again. Before I can say another word, she ambles up to Rick, standing toe-to-toe with him as she peers up into his face. I steel myself for what is about to happen, hoping that it's not that bad. Rick looks down at my mom with the kindest look on his face.

She clucks her tongue. "Let me see your teeth," she demands quite simply.

He smiles down at her as I gasp, completely horrified. "MOM!" I exclaim.

She turns to me. "What, Emma Jean? I've never met a vampire before. I just want to see." She turns to Rick. "Let me see your teeth."

Rick continues to smile. "My pleasure, Mrs. Burcham." He opens his mouth and his fangs extend out in all their blood-drinking glory.

Mom humphs as she looks closely into his mouth. "Well, I'll be damned. Those things look sharp! I bet you could open a can or bottle of beer with those things!" She looks at me and love taps my arm. "Good thing to have around if you lose your can opener."

Rick laughs good-naturedly. "I'm not sure if I could do that. Might chip a fang." He winks at my mom.

Mom looks back at him. "Well, can't ya just go to the dentist if that happens? They put caps on other teeth, why can't they cap a fang?"

I roll my eyes, trying not to get too embarrassed at my mom's inquisition. It's like bringing a boyfriend home for the first time. "Mom, please, I'm begging you. Just leave him alone."

Rick shows his exceptional patience. "It's all right, Emma. Jean." He grins. "I'm not sure a doctor could help with these types of teeth. Since they extend from my gums at certain times, a cap wouldn't work."

Mom looks him up and down. "Docs have used prosthetics on other parts that extend."

"OH MY GOD, Mom. Please stop!"

She looks at me again. "What? It's the truth."

Rick laughs. "That it is, Mrs. Burcham. Fortunately for those who need it, that can be done as the part in question is...well, flexible enough that polymer-based synthetic skin would work. Because it can stretch. That's not the case with fangs, which are basically hardened calcium. Which in vampires, they can..." He looks at me. "... get bigger."

"Huh. Well, it's a thought. If doctors can make teeth for me, surely they can come up with something for you in the event ya need it. Maybe y'all can make money in developing the first vampire dentures."

Rick smiles benevolently at her. "Good idea, Mrs. Burcham. I like the way you think."

Mom takes the glasses from us and humphs. "Now y'all finish your work and get on back to Rowan before it gets too late. I'm gonna head on to bed." I hug her good night then return to the shed for the last couple of boxes, trying to run from the embarrassment of the last few minutes. Rick helps me finish loading the truck, smiling to himself the entire time. At this point, I don't dare ask him what he's smiling about.

We close and lock the hatch to the truck, then situate ourselves in the cab. I'm the lucky one who gets to drive this beast of a vehicle. It's not too much of an aggravation if it's a short distance, but the three-to-four hour drive to Rowan is a little daunting. And so far, Rick hasn't offered to share the driving responsibilities.

Before starting the truck, I look over at him. "Listen, Rick. I really appreciate all of the help you have given me with moving my stuff. I hate to sound ungrateful, but can you drive at least part of the way?"

Rick gives me a droll look. "First, you don't hate to sound ungrateful. You have actually made that a competitive sport."

I stick my tongue out at him. My issues with acting like an angst-ridden teen tend to devolve into childish temper tantrums when I'm tired and emotionally exhausted from trying conversations.

He laughs. "Second, all you have to do is ask. I may know what you're feeling, but that doesn't mean I can read your mind." He leaps from the truck and walks over to the driver's side.

Opening the door, I say, "If you know how I feel, then you know how tired I am. Why not offer to drive instead of making me ask?"

He cocks his head to the side, looking at me like I just made the most ridiculous request. "Emma, one thing I have learned about you is not to assume what you're thinking based on how you're feeling. You are one person who is a perplexing study in emotional contradictions. You rarely think what you feel, much less say what you feel. Besides, I kind of like it when you ask me." He winks.

"Whatever, Rick. It's not like you know me that well." I push against his abdomen with my forearm.

His voice drops to the salacious timber he has perfected. "Oh, but I know you much better than you realize." Grinning, he hops into the driver's seat. Shaking my head, I let it go and count up my bad thoughts for the week before getting into the passenger's seat.

"Buckle up," he says. "I've never driven one of these things, so I can't guarantee how safely I'll drive."

"Wonderful," I grumble. "You'll have to change how you're always telling me that I'm SAFE in the company of a vampire."

He grins. "And by the way, I'm in no need for prosthetics for any of my parts." He winks at me.

Horrified, I turn away from him and hunker down in my seat. He just laughs as we hit US 60 toward I-64 East toward my new home in Rowan.

Sitting in my recliner, having some hot coffee and watching the news, I wonder what I can get into on a lazy Sunday. It's my last day off before my first official day with the FOHVA Paranormal Investigations team. I want to spend this time NOT thinking about things that go bump in the night, but I can't help but think of the project work we completed, particularly the last demonstration with the child vampire. Even after having a long talk with my mom, I still can't let go of the idea that we executed a child. Yes, the child was actually a 103-year-old pedophile vampire, but he still looked like a ten-year-old boy.

I've always known on some level that looks can be deceiving. Yet, that experience with the child vampire was an unequalled example of how sometimes what you think you see is nowhere close to being the truth. I'm still trying to figure out why the universe saw fit to make me live through that event, while I'm also trying not to think about supernatural entities. Yes, my life is not only full of paradoxes, but also a study in ambivalence.

Right now, I think I'll opt for some distraction. I'll think of everything else once it's actually part of my job. In other words, I'm putting it off until tomorrow. For today, getting out and exploring more of Rowan seems like a good idea, even if I have to venture out on my own. Rick won't be getting up until later this evening, and I don't want to waste any precious sun time. Might not get much of it in the near future.

I quickly shower, dress, apply my signature pink lip-gloss and black mascara, then head out to my car. Taking long drives around the county is always relaxing. Since Rowan is far from a metropolitan deluge of stimulation, one can almost go into a meditative state while driving. On second thought, that's not so safe, considering the number of deer and other wild animals bounding across the roads at any given moment. I definitely need to find a new way to relax.

I pull to a stop in front of the local diner, The Soup Spoon. I've neglected to realize that it's Sunday; so many local business are either closed for the day or only open after church services are completed. Well, I guess I can always go to the one place that is always full of activity on the weekends, before, during, and after church – the Rowan flea market.

As I head toward the epicenter of friendly and social bartering for goods, I stop at the locally owned gas station, Bobby Joe's Drop 'N Shop. I get out of my car, then suddenly stop to watch a rather attractive man in blue, grease-stained coveralls walk quickly to the side of my car. He nods at me, smiling. "Hi. I'm the only one here right now, so I'll go ahead and pump your gas for you. Want me to fill it up?"

"Oh, yes," I gasp breathily before stammering, "Yes, please. Fill me up, er, fill my car up, yes, please." I quickly turn away from him as the heat of my skin threatens to expose my inner humiliation. I glance over my shoulder to watch him as he busies himself with fully servicing my car – pumping the gas, cleaning the windows, and checking my fluids. This is definitely the type of service you don't find in big cities. I also don't remember ever being serviced by someone quite so beautiful.

Serviced, right. I need to stop thinking like this for the simple fact that I can't trust what might come out of my mouth if he starts talking to me. I try to watch him slyly, appreciating his shaggy, shoulder length black hair bound with a bandana, chiseled masculine bone structure pushing against taut bronze skin that would be the envy of a Greek God. As he squats to check the air in my back tires, I imagine myself running my hands over the fabric that is pulled tight across his muscular back.

The pump clicks to indicate my tank is full, abruptly snapping me out of my reverie. He looks up at me and smiles. "I'm almost done."

I return his smile. "Take your time."

When he finishes everything, he walks over to me and says, "That will be $56.47."

"Ouch," I remark as I hand him my debit card.

Looking at my card, then back up at me, still smiling, he states, "Okay, Emma. I'll be right back."

After a few moments, he returns with my card and a receipt. Taking them from his hand, I say, "Thank you...what's your name?" I'm kicking myself for being so forward, but hey, my only friend in Rowan is someone who sleeps through the day. I'll take a chance and hopefully not make a fool out of myself.

"My name's David. I would shake your hand, but I'm covered in grease." He holds up his hands, turning them from side-to-side and for the first time I notice the multiple tattoos snaking up both of his arms.

I pull my eyes away from his forearms. "Nice to meet you, David. Thanks for the thorough job you did on my car."

"My pleasure. And with these gas prices, you deserve all the servicing you can get."

"Yes, good service does help the feeling of getting screwed." I bite my lip and briefly close my eyes as I mentally kick myself. I am so mentally challenged right now.

David laughs good-naturedly. "No truer words have been spoken. Well, I've got to get back to fixing another car." He walks toward the garage before turning back to say, "It really was a pleasure to meet you, Emma."

I smile broadly as I get back into my car, willing my legs to stop shaking. I'm back at my apartment before my breathing returns to normal and I realize, dang, I completely forgot about going to the flea market. I guess Rowan is full of more distractions than I realized.

I decide to busy myself with housework and reading while I wait for the sun to go down. At least Rick is somewhat used to my nonsensical chitchat. At least with him I'm less likely to feel overly self-conscious about making a fool out of myself. I mean, he's seen me passed out, splattered in blood twice and still doesn't treat me like a pariah. I'll take my good luck where I can get it, and Rick has been quite a charm in more ways than one.

When the sun sets, I open the front door, expecting to see Rick climbing the external stairs. I glance around the apartment complex and don't see anyone moving around the building. Right as I'm shutting the door, Rick pushes it open. I grip the doorknob as I grit my teeth. "Why don't you announce yourself? One of these times, you're going to do that and I'm going to have a stake in my hand. I won't be responsible for what happens after that." I take the charm comment back.

Grinning, he strolls into my apartment. "Been waiting for me long?" he asks.

Rolling my eyes, I plop down on the couch. "I was hardly waiting for you."

"So you often look outside your front door after the sun sets?"

"Only since I learned that the bogeyman is real." I stick my tongue out at him as my face scrunches into a scowl.

He laughs as he makes himself comfortable in my recliner. Resting his hands behind his head, he states, "Our last free night before we start our new jobs as paranormal investigators."

I sit on the couch and try to relax. "Yep, the big day. I wonder what we'll have to investigate first."

He looks at me, suddenly very serious. "Are you ready for this?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

He gives me an oh-give-me-a-break glare. "Okay," I respond. "I'm nervous because it's going to be the first day. And yes, I'm hesitant about just how I will react to things."

Nodding, he says, "That's to be expected."

"How do you mean?"

He leans forward in the recliner, rubbing his hands together. "Well, the project was very emotional. For all of us. You were dealing with a lot of situations that you probably never thought you would have to deal with. And it was traumatic. Especially..."

"Especially the last demonstration."

"Right. How are you holding up?"

"Rick, I told you before that I don't want to talk about it."

"Want and need are two different things," he offers, his voice low and caring.

I look down at my lap. "I have talked about things. With Mom."

"Good. I'm glad that you're not bottling things up. Did you tell her everything?"

Twisting my hands together as I make a show of examining my fingers, I say, "Not exactly."

"Meaning?"

I look at him, exasperated. "Well, it's not like I could give her the details of a top-secret project. Still, it was helpful."

Rick moves to the couch, sitting close, but not too close. He rests his arm on the couch behind me. "Helpful is always...helpful. Was it enough to make you feel more comfortable about things?"

I look up at him. "Sort of. What I don't want to do is relive the experience."

"But you do."

I scowl. "I do NOT. I don't ever want to relive that."

He shakes his head slowly. "I know you don't want to, but even if you don't talk about it, you're still reliving it on the inside." He takes my hand. "I told you before. You don't have to do everything yourself. I was there. I know what happened. I will be able to relate to things. If we talk about them."

"Rick, I really don't want to do this..." I start to get up, but he grabs my arms and holds me down. I try to jerk away from him, but it's completely pointless against his vampire strength. "Rick, just let go of me!" I yell.

He pulls me flush against his body. Breathing heavily, I continue to struggle against him. "Let go!" He leans closer to me, speaking slowly in that hypnotic way he does. "Never," he says as his eyes dart over my face. "I will never let go. Not while you're hurting. And when I know I can help."

I stop struggling, my eyes still narrow in anger. "It's. Not. Your. Place."

He pulls me into a softer embrace, voice still low. "Look at it this way," he says while searching my face. "We're on the same team. I know that at least part of the time, your head is somewhere else. And until you deal with it, you are going to be a liability on any work we do. Consider it me helping myself, if that helps you get through the night."

I push him away, and he doesn't resist. I scoot over to the arm of the couch, running my hand through my hair. I can't seem to find the words to say what I need him to hear.

He rests his hand, palm up, on the couch beside me. He whispers, "Emma...please."

I run my hand over my face, masking the wetness of my eyes. "Um, look. I don't feel comfortable talking to you about it." Quiet fills the room for several moments. I drop my hand and look at him. He's staring at me, mouth slightly open. He actually looks hurt.

I try to explain. "You're too close to the situation. It's like, you know me, sort of. But you don't know me that well. And I just feel that I can't talk to you...without some type of judgment. Or you thinking differently about me."

He purses his lips into a severely thin line. "If you think so little of me," he begins, "as a friend. As a colleague. Then, Emma dear, I think your issues are much deeper than either one of us realized."

He abruptly stomps toward the door. I jump up. "Rick, wait!" He stops, his back still turned toward me. Now I can't stop the tears. I begin sobbing. "I don't know what I'm saying. I'm not explaining it right. I just can't. I can't. It's all I think about. It's like, if I talk about it, it's really real. And with you. You were there. You can confirm my nightmares. That I did it. That I'm...I'm a...child killer!"

I drop to the floor, sobbing hysterically. I feel strong arms wrapped around me. I bury my face into his chest and just let the tears run down my face. No more holding it in now that the dam has broken.

Rick continues to hold me. He whispers, "He wasn't a child. He was a vampire."

I look up into his face, tears streaming down my cheeks. I shake my head and groan, "If he's not a child...then you're not a man."

Sadness sweeps over his eyes as he forces a heart sore smile. "I'm not a man, Emma. I'm a vampire."

I shake my head more. "You're a man to me. And if you're a man...then I killed a child." I look at his chest, staring at nothing in particular.

Rick's chest heaves as he takes a deep, fake vampire breath. "I wish it were that simple. I was a man. Now I'm something different. I guess I'm still a man. And something more. Just like Henry was a child. And something more." He leans back against the couch, pulling me against his torso so that I'm resting between his outstretched legs. He continues, "You can put any label you want on us. We're both vampires. But there's still one major difference. He was a murderer. I'm not. Behavior doesn't necessarily determine identity, unless one chooses to become that which is done. And Henry did. He didn't murder. He was murder. And rape. And torture. And it wasn't like something he did once and then repented. He did it over and over again. Multiple times. For decades. And he enjoyed it. He was the child killer. Not you."

I earnestly listen to him as the tears begin to slow. I look up into his face, daring to let a little hope into my heart.

He briefly smiles. "Like I've said before. The fact that you don't enjoy it, that you question the rightness of it all. That's what makes you one of the good guys. And just as important, it's what distinguishes you from one of the bad guys." He slowly leans forward and kisses my forehead.

I look at him, waiting for any more pearls of wisdom. He just continues to watch me, as if he's wondering if I will stay or run. I rest my head against his chest, breathing deeply as I try to recount each word that he has said. I plan on using them as my personal mantra when I begin to second-guess myself.

I stretch out between his legs, still repeating his words in my mind. Rick continues to hold me, but not tightly like before - just enough for me to be comfortable and not slide away from him. Many moments pass and I slowly ebb into sweet, dreamless sleep.

~ ~ * ~ ~

I wake up with a start. It's pitch black, but I can tell that I'm in my bed. At least, I think it's my bed. I turn the bedside lamp on and breathe a sigh of relief as I recognize the furniture and thick window dressings of my own room. Thank God, I didn't wake up in someone else's bed. It's a first for me saying that. Go figure.

I suddenly remember what happened and look around the bedroom floor to see if Rick had taken up residence again. I quickly grab all over my body to make sure that I'm fully clothed. I need to figure out why I'm always ending up unconscious and waking to horrible thoughts of Rick undressing me, either to clean vampire goo or get me ready for bed. Either way, not ready to give a peep show. Well, maybe not ready.

I kneel down on the floor to look under the bed. Yep, Rick is soundly sleeping. At least he didn't scare the hell out of me this time.

I walk quietly toward the kitchen, intent on making a late afternoon breakfast. Before I know what's happening, I'm pressed against the wall in the back corner of the bedroom. Rick has his arms wrapped tightly around me, his fingers kneading my lower back. His lips are on mine, his tongue forcing my lips apart. I'm stunned. It's like all of it is just happening to me, with very little reaction.

Maybe it is the solace I have found in Rick or the excitement of flirting with David. Either way, finding more comfort in Rick seems like the best idea I've had in a long time.

Rick easily lifts me, his hands cupping my buttocks and carries me to the bed. He lays me down gently, pressing himself between my legs as he continues to kiss down my neck to the bare flesh at the top of my chest. "Um, Rick?"

He groans against my skin. "Uuuuhhhh-hhhhhmmmm?"

I tightly squeeze my eyes shut. "I don't have any protection."

His head jerks up as he looks at me. "I'm not capable of getting you pregnant." He begins kissing my lips again.

I moan against him. "What about other...stuff?"

He raises one eyebrow. "What other stuff?"

Feeling more than slightly embarrassed, I mumble, "Like...viruses?"

He smiles broadly. "I love that you would take care of yourself like that." He kisses the tip of my nose. "With vampire healing and immunity, I'm also not capable of passing any known viruses."

"Oh, thank God!" I exclaim a little too excitedly.

He chuckles before lightly caressing my face with his fingertips. He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip as he kisses below my ear. He licks and lightly sucks his way back down to the bare area of my chest, his hand moving from my face to the hem of my shirt. He skims his hands over my abdomen as he lifts the cloth up and over my head. Tossing my shirt to the floor, he begins kissing the exposed areas of my breasts. He runs his tongue along the edge of my bra while one hand slowly massages me in all the right places.

I arch my back as he continues kissing down my stomach. He runs his tongue along the band of my slacks before quickly unfastening the buttons and sliding them over my hips and down my legs. He grins as he looks at me lying there, naked except for my bra and panties.

Taking one of my feet in his hands, he kisses my ankle before slowly running his tongue up the back of my calf. He pauses at the back of my knee, running his lips over my skin while his hand massages my other leg, fingers leisurely tracing around my thigh. His lips inch up to my hip, then he smoothly kisses across the lace-covered juncture of my legs. He stops and inhales deeply. He runs his tongue inside my waistband, torturing me with his teasing before he hooks his fangs into my panties and swiftly rips them from my body.

I squeal in astonishment and delight. He grins up at me before becoming a blur of motion. Before I know it, he's completely naked and kneeling between my legs. He carefully positions himself between my legs as he crushes his mouth against mine, his fangs dangerously close to drawing blood. He grinds his hips into mine before snaking his arms around me and deftly unhooking my bra. He quickly removes it and tosses it to the floor with the rest of our clothes.

He lies down on top of me, the full weight of his body melding into mine. Both of his hands rest beside my head, playing with my hair as he stares down at me. He moves his hips ever so slowly against me. He kisses lightly all over my face while his hips swivel and rock. He continues this rhythm as his mouth suckles at my breasts. I begin panting, the pressure building between my hips. Right as I feel like I'm going to explode, he quickly thrusts, causing me to scream out as I ride wave after wave of pleasure.

He slows down and grits his teeth, his fangs piercing his bottom lip, thin rivulets of crimson sliding down over his chin. He kisses all over my chest, leaving a trail of warm, red lip prints. He suckles my skin until I think he's going to swallow me whole. He resumes his rocking in an achingly slow pace, taking his time as he lavishes my upper body with his mouth and tongue. His rhythm quickens until we're both panting. He grips the sheets tightly before he looks deeply into my eyes as his body jerks with our fulfillment. Holding my gaze, his crimson-kissed lips slightly turn up before he relaxes and rests his head on my shoulder.

He drops to my side, pulling me into a spooning position. Without either of us saying a word, we bask in the warmth of our bodies, both of us teetering near the edge of more sleep. He kisses the back of my neck, grazing his fangs against my skin. He runs his tongue over the burning area. Did he just take a taste? I run my hand over the red stickiness of my chest. Taste or not, I'm not really caring right now. I snuggle more tightly against him as he rubs his face against my hair.

Damn. We should really be getting ready to go to the research facility. It will be hard to work without a knowing grin on my face. Think anyone will notice? Lying in the bed with all types of wicked thoughts running through my mind, I'm tempted to leave the blood on me, knowing full well that other vampires will be able to smell it. I close my eyes at the thought and wrap his arms tightly around me.

About The Author

J.B. Stilwell is a paranormal romance/thriller novelist who published her debut novel The Source in 2012 and is working on the sequel Mining the Dark to be released at the end of 2013. These books are the first "The Mountain State Vampire Series," a collection of paranormal novels set in the mountains of West Virginia.

J.B. was born and raised in the foothills of Appalachia and currently resides in the Seattle metropolitan area with her husband and daughter. She has eclectic interests that show in her writing. J.B. has a degree in Sociology; her studies focused on crime/deviant behavior for undergrad and race/gender relations in post-grad. She loves to travel, particularly to India, and her varied experiences around the world are woven into her stories.

Aside from writing, she loves to read, listen to music, watch good TV/movies, crochet, and above all else, spend time with family and friends.

Facebook <https://www.facebook.com/jbstilwell.author>

Blog http://jbstilwellauthor.com

Twitter @JBStilwell

VAMPIRING WITH THE TAYLOR TWINS

By

Janiera Eldridge

The Taylor twins, Ani and Dana, live in their own little mystical world that brews just under the surface of the real world in which you and I live. They're unlike any twins you've ever met before. Their world is unlike anything you've ever seen before. The land they live in is similar to the human world; they dwell within the human world, but they're still living rather unusual lives. Ani and Dana are identical twins whose worlds revolve around each other, like most twins. There's nothing special there. But the secrets about their origin are so dark, so twisted, that very few humans know the way the elegant twins came about. I'll share their secret with you if you promise not to tell. Not everyone can handle their secret. Out of the few who know about this lurking underworld, some find it...different; others find it terrifying. They want to know how and why. Can I see them? Can I touch them? Can you turn me, please? If they ask too many questions, they might become citizens of the permanent, immobile dead. It's not possible for them to know how it happened.

They can't know how one twin is a vampire and the other a human.

Ani and Dana are like any other twin sisters. They're both totally different, yet still so alike. Although Ani is a cold-to-the-touch vampire, her passion for life is unbeatable. She loves spending her nights dancing and partying with a delicious, hot-blooded, muscle-covered male. Sometimes, the night ends in hot passionate sex, like when she met six-foot-four Eddie Raul.

He had muscles bulging under his skin, from his chest to his calves. His stark green eyes were automatic panty droppers. His voice was so silky and his love was so good that there was no way Ani could end the life of such sexy man. No matter how much she wanted to feel his perfectly heated blood sliding over her tongue, and then trickle down her throat, his sweet love wouldn't let her do it. He was also a good person to the core, so breaking the "good man's code" with him wasn't an option.

Other times, the night ended (for the victim anyway) in bloody terror. Ani and Dana had come to understand that the only chance they had at keeping their little secret hidden was agreeing only to kill those that deserved to be killed. Rapist, murderers, people who robbed the elderly; that sort of person. They'd come to refer to it as the "good man's code." Many nights, Ani looked forward feasting on the blood of men who had devious intentions after taking her home. She particularly loved the look on one young man's face when he started to realise something about Ani just wasn't right. She had clearly watched a blond, blue-eyed, wholesome, middle-America type slip a roofie in her mango wine cooler. Ani pretended to be drunk as they rode to his apartment during the bumpy cab ride. The look on his face was priceless as he slowly removed her bra when, all of a sudden, she reached up and snatched him in the throat. Forcefully, she yanked his head towards her mouth and whispered in his ear, "Your wicked ways will make you taste so good." Then, she used her blade sharp fangs to slice into Roofie Boy's soft neck. The aroma of his blood was just as deep and pungent as the taste. It was so good she had hungered for the same amazing quality for weeks.

Ani wasn't all about blood and fear, even if it did take up an abundance of her time. She was always proud, even if she could never tell anyone, that she had attended the revolutionary Woodstock festival of 1969. Sure, she was over one hundred years old and forever looked as young as her twenty-five-year-old sister (who also remained twenty-five years old forever), but she still experienced her once-in-a-lifetime love affair in Spain with Diego. Diego was an ex-security guard for vampire royalty and was as full of as much fiery passion as Ani was. One of the biggest regrets of her life was completely abandoning her lover of many decades to focus fully on her sister Dana.

Although Dana, by all appearances, is an ordinary twenty-five-year-old human, she is immortal, just like her sister. Her mid-neck curly hair, bright brown eyes, flawless light brown skin and perfectly white teeth will remain the same forever, as long as her soul sister Ani stays alive. Dana is known to take more of a low-key approach to life. She works as a librarian during the day, has a close circle of friends, and reads an endless amount of books while sipping wine all night. She'd never really felt a need for being with anyone else after her husband was killed during a terrible horse carriage accident almost one hundred years ago. That terrible incident had drawn her closer to her soul sister Ani, but it never allowed for her to love another man again. Her many years of endless youth might not have been as exciting as her sister's, but she's loyal, dependable, and still likes to get sloshed during a night out with the girls every now and then. With a sister like Ani, her low-key lifestyle is perfect for bringing balance to their chaotic world.

Ani and Dana had gotten themselves into some trouble recently, from murders that broke the "good man's code," to a kidnapping of the modern vampire queen. The sister's unique way of life is more in jeopardy than ever before!

Soul Sisters and Dark Expectations details two of the sisters' roller-coaster adventures, which includes the start of reconciliation between the vampires and the werewolves, a fight for survival because vampire royalty want them dead, and the brutal kidnapping of Ani, which put the entire vampire world in jeopardy. These soul sisters' stories will extend far beyond just two books. There are many more adventures to come. The twins have no idea some of these adventures are coming. This vampire world is nothing like the common folklore that people have come to expect as vampire fact. Once I let you in on the real lives of vampires, you'll never look at these blood-drinking gods and goddesses the same way again. You might even learn the origin of these sisters' unusual beginnings.

Enjoy a taste of the soul sisters' world, but be careful who you trust with this information. If their tales land in the wrong hands, it could start a bloody nightmare!

~ ~ * ~ ~

Soul Sisters-Chapter One

Rebecca Thomas dipped her brush into the small pot of lip-gloss and dabbed it softly on her lips. Today had been a long day at the Lola Department Store. The two rich old biddies that were usually bothering her at the makeup counter had been there earlier. Lord, they got under her skin! She checked her watch and noticed there was only forty-five minutes until the store closed for the night. Rebecca turned from the mirror and rolled her eyes when she noticed the door to the ladies' room creak open and a beautiful cocoa-colored brunette briskly walk through it. All she wanted was a few minutes of silence, but another woman in the bathroom always spelled noise. Damn those pesky ladies' room discussions.

The bathroom was painted a soft brown with gold trim around the counters and stalls. There was a small loveseat in the resting area. Rebecca never understood why there was a loveseat; no one ever used it. This powder room was, however, a place of peace where Rebecca could take a few minutes to exhale.

Rebecca couldn't help but turn her head all the way around at such a natural beauty. She whipped her head back to the mirror when she noticed the young woman peering straight into her eyes with a raised eyebrow. She briskly swiped the lip-gloss across her lips once more.

"You shouldn't try so hard to be perfect; it isn't becoming of anyone," the woman said, tousling her hair and looking into the mirror. She loosened the curls around her face by gently extending them with her finger. Rebecca looked into her deep, green eyes, the most alluring thing about her. She looked vaguely familiar. She felt the amount of rudeness the woman was showing to a stranger was pretty shocking. She was startled by the woman's soft, but deep voice. It was dark like hot chocolate, but soothing nonetheless. She felt she had no choice but to listen.

"Well, if you feel that way, then why are you looking in the mirror?" Rebecca rolled her eyes, slipped the lip-gloss brush and pot filled with red, strawberry-tasting liquid back in her purse, and headed for the door.

"I'm not trying to be perfect," the woman said, staring at the back of Rebecca's head. "My beauty comes naturally. Your need to be perfect, despite the fact that you are not, is imposing on other people's ability to be comfortable with themselves and I find it very, very rude." The woman's face looked like stone, but there was a small smirk that formed at the corner of her mouth.

Rebecca wrinkled her nose at the woman's strange remark. Freak, she muttered in her head. The woman's nostrils flared, and in the second it took Rebecca to take another step toward the door, the woman was standing right in front of her.

"I really despise rudeness," the woman said, tilting her head to the right. "Well, you won't be a waste. I'm starving anyway."

In a moment that seemed to defy time itself, the woman grabbed Rebecca by the neck and sunk her teeth into a juicy vein lying right on the neck's surface. When her teeth punctured the flesh, she could feel Rebecca's butter-soft neck break with ease under the skin. Her blood was remarkably sweet and clean. The woman knew that the girl must have been taking very good care of her body. No drugs or cigarettes and very little alcohol. She gradually released her grip on Rebecca's neck when she felt the pulse slowly die in the rock hard palm of her hands. Rebecca collapsed on the floor like a heap of dirty laundry. She had no time to scream or cry for help and the woman felt lucky. She could enjoy her meal in peace. The only sound anyone would remember hearing was the clicking of her heels against the tile as she walked out of the bathroom. She glided gracefully through the store and disappeared into the hot night air.

~ ~ * ~ ~

Dana's tambourine-like ringtone blared in her ear as she slept comfortably in her bed. She wiped her eyes and stuck her head out over the bed to see the clock: It was 12:00 a.m. on a Monday night. Who the hell could be calling me? she thought.

"Hello?" she said into the phone. Her voice didn't seem to be adjusting to the night very well.

"Oh my gosh, Dana? Did you hear about Rebecca?" her friend Tasha said loudly. She said it so loudly, it left her ears tingling. Dana knew it was her friend Tasha because of the extra drama she poured into saying the simple words.

"No, it's 12:00 a.m. and I'm trying to get some sleep. What did she do now? Did she steal your wallet instead of your boyfriend this time?" Dana chuckled as she propped herself up against the soft feathered pillows crowning the top of her bed. She could feel the fog fleeing from her brain a little at a time.

Tasha and Dana had become instant friends since they started working together at Lola. The only possible explanation for their immediate friendship was that maybe the "opposites attract" rule really was true. They enjoyed talking about everything from men to movies. Even though Dana loved horror movies and Tasha loved romantic comedies, they still enjoyed coming together and making fun of the bad movies. They weren't best friends – that spot was saved for her sister, Ani – but Dana enjoyed every minute of hanging out with her.

"She's dead," Tasha said dryly with her voice trailing off at the end, as if she didn't believe what came out of her own mouth.

"Seriously? What happened?" Dana felt a chill run down her spine; she really couldn't believe that someone who had been the "it" girl for so long was gone. Questions swarmed in her head: When, why, how?

"I saw it on the news. The cops aren't releasing what the cause of death was yet. It might be too soon to tell. All the news anchor said was a young woman by the name of Rebecca Thomas was found dead in the bathroom of the Lola Department Store. They said they suspect foul play, but they're not saying much else."

Dana shook her head slowly from side to side in disbelief. Rebecca was the prettiest girl to work at Lola. She made men want to leave their plasma TVs behind on a football Sunday just to get a peek of her. They were always dying to see what cute miniskirt she had on that day. Dana secretly felt jealous of Rebecca many days because of how she constantly got the "perfume girl" shift, which virtually meant doing nothing but spritzing rich women with perfume scents as they drifted along through their expensive shopping trips. After days and days of stocking shelves way too high for her slender arms to reach, the "perfume girl" shift was ideal.

Rebecca simply used to irritate Dana, but she increased that level to hate when she went out with a young man who had come in the store. He had originally flirted with Dana. Dana spent twenty minutes chatting up the chocolate hunk with dreads when Rebecca sashayed over, batted a few eyelashes, and swept him away to another part of the store without saying a word to her. When Tasha told Dana during their weekly Friday lunch together that the man eventually asked Rebecca out, she realized how much she couldn't stand the girl. Never in her darkest thoughts, however, did she ever wish for the girl to die. Maybe she wished her to get smacked around a little bit to knock her off of her pedestal, but certainly not to be found dead. Even at the age of 123 years old, but with the charming and youthful look of a twenty-five-year-old, Dana was envious of Rebecca's beauty. Her long, golden brown hair and bright hazel eyes with full pink lips were enough to send any man over the edge and off a cliff, where he'd never look at another woman again. Dana had given up competing with the beautiful diva a long time ago.

"I-I just don't know what to say. I can't believe it. I mean, you know I didn't like her, but I would never, ever wish that on her, on anyone. Well, if they said her name over the air, that means her family already knows." She closed her eyes and laid her head down on the pillow; she was still half asleep, but able to feel a twinge of pain from the young woman's sudden death. For some reason she got the aching feeling that this death was connected to her. She knew Ani had something to do with Rebecca's untimely death. The shooting pain that bolted up and down her blood stream told her she was responsible.

"Yeah, I really feel bad for her family and for her, of course. It seems like it was so sudden. I hope it wasn't anything brutal. I hope it was something simple and peaceful, like her heart gave out." Tasha seemed a little too upbeat to Dana.

"I mean, she would be too young for that but, you know what I mean. I can't imagine it could have been anything like that because she seemed to be the pillar of health."

Tasha's voice was and borderline frenzied. It was just after midnight on Monday.

"Yeah, it's really a shame. I feel bad for them. Um, Tasha, I'm going to go back to bed. I have to be up early in the morning for work, and this is a lot to process, to say the least."

"Oh, okay, honey. Well, try to relax and have a good night."

Before Dana could say her "goodnight," the phone line went dead. She really hoped Tasha wasn't offended, but after a long day of snooty customers, she couldn't bring herself to conduct such a spirited conversation that time of night. She really did feel a lot of pain for Rebecca as well as her family and the sleepiness was not helping her get her feelings in order. She pulled the covers over her head and let the darkness drag her, full force, into a new world.

Despite a peaceful sleep, Dana awoke the next morning feeling as if she had hardly slept at all. She dragged herself into the bathroom and stared into the oval mirror. She noticed the bags under her eyes as she pulled lightly on the fleshy folds of skin around them. There wasn't enough makeup in the world to cover up the dark circles caused by the restless nights behind her.

Dana showered, dressed, applied her makeup, and swept her hair up into a bun. She held the bun in place with a blue butterfly pin that still had a few sprinkles of glitter left after all the years of use.

Her mother had given her the pin in 1912. She told her whenever she was sad and felt no one understood what she was going through, she could slip the pin into her hair, and all the problems in her world would go away. She also said no harm would ever come to her while she wore it. Dana wasn't so sure about that part, but the beauty of it always warmed her heart. Dana drove to work in a hypnotic haze; she wasn't sure how she wound up in the Lola Department Store parking lot, but she took a deep breath, grabbed her steaming cup of vanilla coffee, and headed toward the door.

The store had an icy and lonely feeling that floated casually through the air, wrapping its numbed feelings around everyone. There were hardly any snooty customers wandering about or cackling groups of women strolling through the store. Dana went straight to the employee lounge without looking anyone in the eye. She put her jet-black purse and baby blue coat in her worn down locker. Tasha was sitting at a table, sipping on her hot cup of more-cream-than-coffee. She must have shown up early to work again, Dana thought.

"So, how is everyone doing?" Dana said, pulling up a chair beside Tasha. She didn't expect to be engaged in conversation for long.

"Well, it's really quiet out there, now anyways. The cops left hours ago, but there is still this nasty sense of death floating around in the air. There are not a lot of customers in here today; I'm going to assume they all saw the news broadcast. I wouldn't want to shop at this store either. It's not every day a young woman dies in a department store."

"Well, I'm going to go out there and give it my best. I mean, a quiet day is better than a drama-filled one, right? It's really tragic, but if the store ends up closing because of this, then we're all in trouble."

Tasha shrugged and buried her face back into her steaming cup of coffee. After the slow and lackluster conversation, the day got a whole lot worse. Today of all days, she was on perfume duty and, during the entire time, only one customer passed her counter. The little old lady that had sauntered by was notorious among the store employees for not letting any of the Black or Hispanic workers, like Tasha or Dana, help her. Today was no different. When she spotted Dana, she simply turned her head and kept walking. Why Dana kept working there when she didn't need to was beyond her. Keeping up a normal appearance was not worth working the job.

Five o'clock could not have rolled around fast enough. When the short hand reached the five and the long hand landed on the twelve, Dana grabbed all of her belongings from her locker as fast as her arms would let her and nearly sprinted for the door. She didn't even take the time to say goodbye to Tasha; it would mean she would have to spend a few more seconds in the death trap and she just couldn't stand to do it. As she gripped the handle of her red 2012 Dodge Avenger, Ani suddenly appeared at her side, sending a sharp jolt up her spine that nearly knocked her over.

"Why do you always insist on sneaking up on me?" Dana asked, breathing hard. "We need to talk. Get in the car."

She knew Ani looked exactly like her, but sometimes the powers of her emerald eyes were overwhelming. When she was at her strongest, they seemed to be bright and beaming like a lighthouse shining over an ocean in the middle of the night. Ani twisted her nose slightly, trying to keep her agitation from spreading across her face. She knew she was going to catch some flak for last night's little incident.

"I'm not going to waste any time getting to the point about this because that would be ridiculous. Did you have anything to do with Rebecca's death?" Dana demanded.

"Who is Rebecca?" Ani swung her head around and looked out the car window at the orange and yellow leaves barely hanging on the trees that lined the street.

"Don't play that game with me. You promised me you would only hunt the people who do wrong, who are evil, remember? Rebecca didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh really? What do you call talking behind your back, saying things like: 'Oh she'd be much prettier if she did something with herself'? What about the time you told me that hunky guy was flirting with you and she took him right from under your nose?"

Dana straightened up in her seat and refocused on the road as she felt the car drifting over the line. Zeroing in at the back of another car seemed to prevent her anger from building.

"You know what I'm saying. We agreed on murderers, thieves, rapists, and pimps, not man stealers."

"Well, she stole twenty dollars out of your purse one time and you didn't even see it. Does that count as a thief?" Ani raised one eyebrow and a mischievous smile spread across her face. A subtle glow radiated from her persona, even with all of the clouds hovering in the sky.

"Did you ever think because we're twins I could be the one caught for the murder and the little bit of difference between our eyes is simply not enough to convince people we're not the same person?"

Dana was not smiling at all. It simply wasn't funny to her, although her sister didn't seem to agree. She enjoyed living a low profile lifestyle, but Ani needed to feel an adrenaline rush every now and then. She certainly loved the thrills she got during her bloodiest killings. Drinking blood seemed to get very boring to Ani after a while and she wanted to find some way to spice things up.

"I wouldn't let that happen," Ani said, shaking her head and staring out the window. She had been around a long time and was still amazed at all the changes the world was constantly going through. The invention of the motor car astounded her and now there were little computerized telephones that could be cradled in the fleshy dips of her hands.

Ani glared out the window as a woman rushed down the street in a short, red skirt and matching tube top. Her hair looked like it would ignite if a cigarette was lit up next to it from all the carbon dioxide that was floating around it. It must have taken a ton of hairspray to hold the blonde tower together. The blonde paced up and down the block. She ranted into a cell phone, complete with annoying hand gestures. Ani could tell this lady really enjoyed her personal drama. Ani was definitely considered a rebel of her time, but it seemed like women just didn't know how to handle their lives today.

"Well, whether you think it could happen or not," Dana continued. "You really need to think of how your actions affect us both." She swore Ani's angry gaze could cut a hole through her glass car window. In half a second, Ani turned her head toward Dana. It felt like she was trying to bore a hole in her soul.

"Your maker will be asking questions soon if any of this gets back to him and from there I have no clue what'll happen," Dana said, trying to shake the nervousness from her voice.

"So, you mean to tell me I'm supposed to go along with draining small animals for blood every damn time I want to eat? Do you know how boring that gets? And the blood is not nearly as sweet. Not to mention I'm hungry all time because small animals don't have that much blood. It even takes a lot of deer's blood to fill me up. I'd rather be out chasing a killer and feasting on his blood than an innocent deer. Do you know how difficult this is for me?"

"No, I don't know because I don't need blood, but I understand that you do. Without you, I'm nothing." Dana's voice dropped as she hit the last word. She tried to imagine life without her sister, but felt a shock shudder through her body when she realized there would be no life without her.

"All I'm saying is you can't keep taking people down like this because they piss you off. These are people, you know. Just because it isn't your family doesn't mean they don't matter. Be more like those vampires everyone likes, you know, like the ones that sparkle in the sun, but still are moody and angry. I love those movies." Dana shook her head from side to side and laughed.

"I can't help thinking about how scared people would be if they knew people like them really existed. I think they'd rather be friends with an alien than hang out with you. I'm sorry. "

"Yeah, and we don't glitter in the sun either, although that'd be a really cool feature," Ani said, smiling. People loved the vampires that glittered, but she knew they wouldn't want to see her coming. Dana was relieved that the conversation had gone well. All of her car windows were still whole and she didn't have any claw marks on her arm. Ani had never physically attacked her, but with her sister's temper. Dana secretly wondered if it were possible. They pulled up in front of their apartment and Ani wrinkled her nose again. Dana rolled her eyes at the thought of what could be running through her sister's mind.

"What's wrong now?" Dana asked, tired of dealing with Ani's diva attitude.

"You should get out more. You have a boyfriend like once every three years and you're happy with that? God, I don't want to think about the last time you had sex."

"I like staying indoors and reading, thank you. Plus, I can't have a man; you'd drain them all." Dana laughed, but her ego took a shot when she realized it had been four years since she had made love to a man.

Dana looked at Ani out of the corner of her eye and realized she was dead on. She refused to change her face because Ani was right too much lately.

A little boy on a bicycle came to a sharp stop in front of their apartment. He was only eight or nine, but he found the two women to be breathtakingly beautiful and was amazed that they looked exactly the same. Both had hypnotizing eyes, but something was different about the one with the beaming, bright green eyes. Her features were sharper, like she was cut out of a block of ice, but she was still pretty. Their dark brown, caramel-colored hair glistened in the sun, although Ani avoided direct sunlight at all cost. No one likes painful and grotesque blisters. Both women were the respectful height of five-foot-ten, and in heels they often reached a towering six feet. Some men found their height intimidating while others couldn't wait to get them in their beds. Dana was never one to hop in the sack with just anyone, while Ani enjoyed playing the hard-to-get game.

Ani got out of the car slowly, trying not to alarm the little guy and scare him away. She kissed him softly on his plump little cheek and then pulled her head away from his neck. His cheeks felt like smooth putty in her hands and that was when she knew it was time to step away. His blood smelled unbelievably sweet; it was a cruel twist of fate that the little ones always smelled the best. His breath had become shallow, like she'd stolen it with her kiss. She waved at the boy with a sly smile as she went into the house, looking over her shoulder to take in his innocence. She didn't want anyone to see her teeth had already begun to extend.

"See," Ani said, standing in the doorway, beaming at Dana while she stood by her car. "I didn't hurt the little one."

"I certainly hope not," Dana replied, not paying her attention-seeking antics any mind. She had seen them all.

Dana checked to make sure the car door was locked and then went into the house, rolling her eyes. She draped her small pink purse on the back of the brown lounge chair in the living room and turned to find Ani standing in front of her with a clear bottle full of a thick, purplish liquid. She immediately felt queasy. Drinking this blood concoction every month had not gotten any easier. However, it was something that had to be done to keep the strength of their bond alive.

"It can't be time to drink this crap already," Dana said as she shook her head. The wavy strands of her hair stuck to her forehead from the thin film of sweat that was glistening there. "Did you put a little sugar in it? That's the only way I'm going to drink it."

"You're going to do it or you're going to die, sugar or not. Now drink it." Ani shoved the used Dasani bottle into Dana's chest. Dana grasped the bottle in her hand and unscrewed the cap. Ani tapped the sole of her foot on the linoleum floor, hoping her sister would man up and chug the drink, but she was in no rush to swallow it and nothing Ani said could make her move any faster. Dana put the bottle to her lips and gulped the liquid as quickly as she could.

This clearly wasn't a good idea, she thought as thick liquid slid down her parched throat. She worked the muscles in her esophagus to ensure that the liquid went down even faster.

"I didn't tell you to do all that," Ani said, chuckling and removing the bottle from Dana's hand so that she could cough hard enough to get the air bubble out of her windpipe. Dana was trying hard not to throw up despite the liquid gurgling in both her chest and her stomach. She didn't feel like cleaning up the blood and whatever else she just drank.

"What did you mix it with this time?" Dana asked, feeling like her mouth was on fire from the acidic taste.

"Pomegranate juice. You like that stuff, right?"Ani said, shrugging innocently and placing the plastic container on the counter.

"Not mixed with blood!" Dana said, still coughing.

"Well, next month, I'll remember that, but for now go ahead and finish this up." She placed the bottle back in Dana's hand, hoping her little bit of sympathy would make the transition easier. Dana let a steady stream of the potent liqueur slide down her esophagus once again and she tried to let her mind wander into a world more pleasurable, like the long and hot summer days she used to spend with her mother and father.

About The Author

Janiera enjoys feeding her book addiction when she is not writing. Writing is therapeutic to her during her struggles with Fibromyalgia. Being unable to work a normal 9-5 is what encouraged her to write full time. When not reading or writing, she is freelance writing web content or articles. When trying to relax, she likes a huge yard sale on a Saturday morning, rainy days to read by, and nacho cheese is her kryptonite. Soul Sisters is her debut novel.

Feel free to visit her book blog where she loves reviewing books, interviewing, and promotional posting for other authors on her blog- http://janieraeldridge.blogspot.com. She loves feedback and welcomes any questions or comments to her email: prettyhaydengurl@yahoo.com, FB Page: http://www.facebook.com/authorjanieraeldridge or twitter:@janieraeldridge.

Other works of Janiera Eldridge:

Soul Sisters Series:

Soul Sisters

 Dark Expectations

Good Ghost Gone Bad Series:

Good Ghost Gone Bad

Good Ghost Gone Crazy (Coming fall of 2013)

Zombie Vacation Series

Zombie Cruise

Zombie Honeymoon (coming fall of 2013/ winter 2014)

THE MERCIFUL MIRACLE

By

Cinsearae S.

He was awakened by a chill that was colder than usual. It swept over his entire body, causing an uncomfortable stiffness that pained him to the marrow. The first muscles to move were those in his face, as his mouth curled into a snarl of disgust. The extreme coldness told him one thing. It was that time of year again.

He took a deep, labored breath, icy air filling his dead lungs. The noise that escaped his lips sounded more like a wheeze. Soil poured into his mouth, and he coughed. His fingers twitched, grasping at the damp dirt around him. His coffin had been through years of earthly wear and tear; the wood encasing his body warped and rotted with time, full of holes from the merciless gnawing of insects.

He despised waking up during the winter season. It only made it harder for him to return back to his dreamless slumber. He still wondered why he had been damned to such a life, but a nagging thought in the back of his mind always reminded him that it was because of the listless, pitiless life he had lived.

It came as no surprise to him when people avoided him while he was alive. He was misanthropic, viewing people as nothing but mindless, simpering, self-absorbed dolts, eager to please only themselves. They were greedy, inconsiderate of others, rude, and faceless. He saw no point in associating with people of such stature. Humankind bored him as well as annoyed him. The only things he ever loved were his wife and daughter.

The energies of the Christmas season were such a nuisance. Humans had turned a holiday of mirth, thanks, and love into one of commercialism and avarice. There was more negativity in the air during this time of year than any other, and it resonated deep into the ground where he slept; a dull murmur that entered his ears, waking his brain from his yearly slumber.

Knowing that he would be unable to go back to sleep, he began to claw his way to the Earth's surface, cursing the world as he did so. He emerged from a churchyard, shaking newly fallen snow from his matted hair.

His body felt stiffer with every passing year, and every year he damned being bound to the Earth for his cold, uncaring ways. His last memories while alive were of Christmas Eve. It was snowing hard, and he had just left a tavern. A young and stupid teen was speeding down the street and struck him; his body crumpling and flying over the car's windshield. He awoke in his coffin exactly one year later, on the date of his death, bewildered and confused, not to mention terrifying everyone he came across. With no mirror to see himself, he didn't realize he bore the pallor of the living dead. With eyes and skin that matched the icy, grayish-white season, his tattered funeral garments provided little resistance to the cold, not that he needed it.

He also did not understand his sudden urge to snatch a stray dog into an alley and tear into its throat, gorging himself with its life's essence. The thick ruby-red substance filled his stomach as he drank, and he felt relief from the gnawing pain in his stomach. A passer-by spotted him in the alley and screamed, running away as he hissed at her, bearing bloodstained fangs.

This ritual continued year after year – rising on Christmas Eve, grabbing his first meal of the night, wreaking havoc every time anyone dared to bother him, and finally returning to his grave before the holiday came to close the following night.

This time, however, his clothing was in mere tatters. He'd be nearly naked if not for a few strategically placed pieces. Even the soles of his shoes had his feet touching the ground. He staggered his way to a thrift store, where a few donation bins outside of the building were overflowing with forgotten garments. As he walked, he commanded his joints to become limber; he felt more like a revenant than a vampire.

A few derelicts were at the bins, picking through clothing that would possibly fit them. They didn't even bother to look up at the oncoming stranger. As he walked, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. People had become so egocentric over the years; they couldn't even sense when they were in danger, whether they were young or old, rich or poor. Nearly drooling, he could almost taste their blood flowing from their veins into his awaiting mouth.

Once upon the crowd, about to attack, one of them tossed him a brown wool coat. He caught it effortlessly, almost taken aback.

"Looks like you need that more than us," one of them said. The derelict didn't face him directly; he merely glanced him over. Still, the vampire was astounded that someone actually showed concern for someone other than themselves.

He nodded at the derelict and threw the coat on. It hung loosely on his thin frame, due to his continuing desiccation, but it was better that it was too large than too small. He decided to spare the homeless group from their deadly demise and traveled onward.

Stores had their Christmas lights adorning the windows and doors with their rainbow array of colors. Street poles were wrapped with pine garland, thick red-and-gold ribbons, and huge bows to match. From out of a few bars, he could hear the all too-tired Christmas classics of "Santa Baby," "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," "O, Holy Night," and "Little Drummer Boy" all meshed together in a single, annoying din. He gritted his teeth so hard, one of his molars cracked. He didn't even flinch from the pain, but someone would have thought he was in pain anyway, with how he grimaced at the cheerful melodies. He absolutely hated Christmas, despising the fact that he woke up every year like clockwork and dealt with the hassle of it all.

He walked along the slushy sidewalk, a few adults running like chickens with their heads cut off, trying to buy last-minute gifts. A few rushed by, bumping into him, not even bothering to apologize. He growled, the noise catching the attention of one of them. A young man in his twenties.

"Fuck off, old man, or get out of the way!" He smirked and continued walking down the street.

I'll show you an old man, he thought, skulking off into a alley, moving with fluid speed. He caught the young man at the opposite end, stepping out from the darkness and right into his path. The young man stumbled back, surprised.

"What the--?" His jaw dropped, incredulous to whom he was seeing in front of him. "I left you back there!" He pointed up the street as he trembled in nervousness. "How'd you—?"

The vampire grabbed him by the collar and shoved him back into the alley, slamming him against the brick wall, raising him off his feet a few inches.

"Where's your soul, boy?" he snarled, his eyes glowing a solid red. The young man was speechless. "You, who cares for nothing; too cold to be considerate, too blind to the world's decay. You all are nothing but worthless parasites!"

The young man scrunched up his face in terror. "Please, let me go...let me go!"

The vampire looked down at the small bag in the man's hand. With his other free hand, he snatched the bag from him. He took out a very small, colorful wrapped box, in pink paper with a royal blue ribbon, and shook it to his ear. Something tumbled about inside.

"Who is this for?" he asked in a gravelly voice, still staring at the present.

"M-my girlfriend. Please, sir, I'm sorry; just let me go. I'll give you money if that's what you want!"

"Let you go? Why, when we're getting along so well?" He chuckled, then gave a big smile, exposing rows of pointed teeth to his victim.

The young man screamed as the vampire lurched forward, tearing into his neck. Blood spurted from his wound like a fountain, splashing onto both of them. Once he had his fill, he dropped the man to the ground like an unwanted rag doll, and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at the spattered red mess on his collar and frowned.

"And I was beginning to like this coat," he mumbled to himself.

He looked down at the dead body at his feet, bent over, and removed a wallet from the man's back pocket. He flipped it open, reading his driver's license, making a mental note of his home address, then picked up the gift he intended to give his girlfriend, and pocketed it. He'd be paying her a visit soon enough. Why not spread the love he had just bestowed to her boyfriend to her as well? 'Tis the season to be giving, wasn't it?

~ ~ * ~ ~

The moon was round and full in the sky, but the vampire couldn't even see its glow for all the garish Christmas lights coming from every direction. A homey little bistro had the most wonderful smells of butter cookies, chocolate, and hazelnut coffee wafting from its location, inviting many people in to warm up and sit for a while. He glanced into the windows from a distance, watching people talk amongst each other, tons of shopping bags at their feet, munching on goodies or sipping drinks from their mugs. He could hear the buzz of many conversations, most of them bitching and complaining about gifts they had to buy for their ungrateful children or picky significant others, problems with returning items after the holidays, getting hideous, unwanted, or useless gifts, the impersonal feel of getting a mere gift card, or the insult of getting a present that was regifted back to the same person who gave it.

He leaned against a pole that was wrapped in gold-colored garland and a few glass ornaments, listening to their idle chatter. The garland made a crunchy sound as he crushed it, and he rolled his eyes. He snatched it off the pole, popping it in half, and draped it around his neck as a sort of mockery. The ornaments had dropped to the ground, two of them breaking with a tiny clink against the icy patches of sidewalk. Sounds of "Oh Come, Ye Merry Gentlemen" drifted from a small speaker hanging outside of the shop. The vampire grimaced again.

"Merry? Merry? There is nothing merry about this time of year," he said to himself, then glanced at the smashed ornaments on the ground. One of them managed not to break. It was an angel, blowing into a trumpet. He picked it up, observing it closely, deciding to hold onto it as he made his way into the shop.

The little bell that hung over the door tinkled as the vampire walked in. Without a word, he flipped over the sign hanging on the door that read "OPEN" to make it read "CLOSED." Immediately, all chatter fell silent as everyone stared at this hideous-looking, homeless person that smelled as fetid as a sewage plant. The owners of the shop wanted to tell him to leave, but their words were caught in their throats. There was something about this man that made everyone's blood run cold.

The vampire smiled at their obliviousness, and purposely took a seat at an empty table right in the middle of the shop. He observed the looks on everyone's faces, from dumbfounded to disgusted. He narrowed his eyes at them all, giving a mocking grin, then ignored them for a moment as he fished through his coat pocket for the angel ornament. Once it was in his grip, he gently placed it on the table before him, and stared at it for a moment. The silence in the shop was so deafening, the dripping sounds of the coffeemakers could be heard.

His deathly stench slowly began to overpower the sweet, hearth-like scents of the shop, but the people dared not to make a move. Still staring at the angel, the vampire spoke to no one in particular. "Care to offer a penniless man a cup of tea?"

One of the workers behind the counter went to work right away, preparing a mug for him. The vampire grinned as the counter guy briskly walked over to his table and placed the tea before him.

"A-anything else, sir?" he asked, wringing his hands in nervousness.

The vampire glanced up at his host with steely grey eyes and gave a quick sniff in his direction. "No, my boy, but please, be calm... you reek of fear."

A patron towards the back of the shop snorted at the remark and leaned towards her friend. "The only thing that reeks is him," she whispered. Naturally, the vampire heard it.

"And it is your very demeanor that reeks most of all," he retorted, staring directly at her. The woman swallowed hard and kept her mouth shut. He continued looking at the rest of the crowd, into the empty eyes of so many empty people.

"You humans are more lifeless than I am. How ironic it is to see that the dead are more alive than the living." He fiddled with the angel on the table for a moment. "What does this symbolize?" the vampire asked, picking it up and showing it to everyone. "What does this represent to you?"

Everyone remained silent, so he rolled his eyes.

"Please, people, this is not a trick question... or are you all too stupid to answer?"

"They're messengers of God," a young boy replied, and the vampire smiled.

"Very good, my young man. I wonder why no adult could answer that one simple question." He leered at the patrons of the shop again before placing the angel back on the table, gazing at it once more.

"Messengers of God..." he said to himself, his voice trailing off. "Spreaders of good tidings and joy. Messengers of love, hope, and faith. Isn't Christmastide a time for such things... as it should be year 'round?"

In one swift motion, he brought his hand down on the ornament, smashing it into pieces. Parts of the angel skittered across the table and fell to the floor. The people jumped in surprise and small murmurs of nervousness could be heard.

"You all make me sick," he spat, his incisors slowly extending in repulsion. "Through the years, you humans besmirched the true meaning of this time of year with your materialism, your gluttony, your senseless minds for 'me, me, me' and 'I want, I want, I want'! I can't stand to hear your weak and petty whining for more, more, more, when there are so many others out there who wish they could have an iota of the things you use in one month, and dispose of in the next! You've lost the meaning of charity, kindness, and goodwill, either hoarding things you'll never use, or throwing them away, when they could be given to those in need! To give something out of the pure kindness of your heart doesn't exist. Anything that is given comes with a price, doesn't it? Gifts have become bribes, tokens from debtors, and trinkets from apologetic persons to alleviate the guilt of something they've done wrong! What happened to the spirit of giving simply for the joy of it?"

Not a single person could answer him.

"Your conversations are laughable, making me shake my head in utter pity." He looked over to one woman who had a very chiseled, stern face. "I've never seen or heard people stress themselves silly over such trivial things--wanting to impress a houseful of strangers with their Christmas parties, worrying whether the tablecloth and napkin rings will match or not, hoping a guest will not be wearing the same dress as they will, or begrudging an invitation to a couple they don't deem worthy enough of attending. Such conceitedness and arrogance," he hissed, continuing to glance over the anxious people, settling on a gentleman in his twenties.

"Or you – your guilt simply roils over you...buying your girlfriend several presents to assuage her suspicions of the deception you've cleverly played against her...by having an affair with another behind her back." The vampire mockingly shook his finger at him. "For shame, young man... but I've seen that this is a game that many humans play with each other these days. Commitment and dedication is a joke in everyone's eyes."

He looked at the palm of his hand, his dead blood congealing on his cold, hard skin. He smeared it across the tabletop. The people grimaced at his actions.

"And sadly, these are same deceptive, superficial behaviors you bestow on your progeny, only to have them grow up and become exact copies of yourselves. Worthless... insubstantial... without merit." His dead-cold glare became even more deadly as his irises became a dark shade of red--a horrible, stark contrast to his white skin. The people began to scream and run around haphazardly as he jumped up without warning and attacked everyone in the shop.

Outside, if anyone had been around, they would have seen large streaks of red continuously splattering against the large windows of the coffee shop, the terrified faces of the patrons, bags and presents flying everywhere as people trampled over one another to get away, and one lone vampire quickly pulling down the Venetian blinds in order to finish off his ghastly feast of blood in total privacy.

When the melee was over, the vampire exited the shop as if nothing had ever happened, quietly closing the door behind him. He kicked a bloodied teddy bear down the steps. The lower half of his face and neck was a ruddy mess, the lapels of his coat so soaked with his victims' blood that they looked black.

"Such stupid, insignificant sheep," he mumbled, walking down the icy sidewalk, gleefully kicking the teddy bear a few more times before landing it on a sewer grate.

He did, however, spare the one boy who answered his question with honesty. As he stared hard into the child's eyes, he could tell the boy hadn't been marred by the twisted and paltry mentality of society, and could only hope he'd remain that way. There was also something about the boy's eyes that sent the slightest of shivers down the vampire's spine, but he shook it off as he turned his back on him. He still wasn't quite finished with spreading his own version of Christmas cheer.

~ ~ * ~ ~

The vampire made his way down the street, coming across a church. He could hear a Christmas Eve candlelight service going on inside, harmonious music emanating all around the grounds. He found a back entranceway into the building, sneaking inside. He watched as the priest stood at the front of the congregation, everyone holding a lit candle in their hands as he spoke.

"Blessed be our Heavenly Father. Born to us was His son who would bring the light, love, and joy of His teachings to the world. And blessed be the Heavenly hosts, who would—"

The priest choked and gurgled on his next word, blood draining from his lips and down his robe as the congregation shrieked. All they could see were two grimy, veined, grayish-white arms reaching around the priest, grabbing him, and then a quick flash of a head leaning forward and biting into his neck.

When the vampire got his fill, he dropped the priest with a thud, the crowd still yelling and shrieking, wondering what evil, foul thing had entered their peaceful sanctuary on such a holy night.

The vampire looked out at the panic-stricken crowd that was reacting as badly as how frightened cattle would. He then glanced over at a nativity scene off to the side of the pulpit, slowly staggering his way to it.

He stared at the baby in the manger, his mind suddenly awash in faraway thoughts of a time when things were much simpler, much more enjoyable.

And then he recalled the day when his daughter Josephine was born.

He remembered when he held her tiny body in his hands for the very first time as his wife passed on, making him promise to take good care of her. He recalled himself crying as he kissed his daughter's forehead in sadness and joy as he held her close. He lost one love, but gained another, and would fulfill his vow to his wife.

He watched Josephine grow, shared every birthday with her, proud of every good grade she got in her classes, watched as she received honors in high school, and as valedictorian, gave the class graduation speech. And then, his pride and joy had been snatched away from him by an arrogant young man while she was in college. She left everything to be with this pompous fool. A career. A good job. A great future.

Even him.

His life was never the same after that. He kept himself estranged from the world and his only child. Was this his reward for her care? Loneliness? Total abandon? Loss?

He threw himself back into the workforce to keep his mind off of things. He befriended no one. His daughter called, wrote, and sent cards every year, but he ignored them all, too busy and too bitter to respond. Then one day, all the calls, letters and cards had stopped. She had finally given up. He realized it one snowy Christmas Eve, when he noticed the absence of a light pink envelope he always got in the mail. He went to his room and opened a drawer, where he kept Josephine's cards and letters tucked away, all of them unopened. Giving a small noise of despair, he gathered them up, sorting them by year, month, and date. Then, he opened every one of them, starting from the beginning.

The earlier letters were full of joy. Brian, her boyfriend, as well as she, were graduating top honors from college. They were each guaranteed a good job upon getting their degrees. The letters progressed as to how well they were doing, although she was disappointed at her father for not showing up at graduation. Within a year, they had bought a house, and were thinking about starting a family. She also wished he would write back to her or call, wondering why he hadn't, and hoped he was doing okay.

The letters continued. Their jobs were great, they had a golden retriever now – Josephine's favorite dog – and she talked about various trips they had taken across the states and even a few getaway vacations. The way she described how beautiful each place was, he felt as if he was right there with her. And for the first time, he cracked just the slightest smile.

And then, the biggest surprise of all. Josephine had found out she was pregnant. His smile faltered. Her job and career were put on hold indefinitely. But Brian continued to be ever-faithful, ever-loving, showering her with the best gifts money could buy, and they continued living in happiness.

She often described how the baby would feel moving around in her, as if excited to see the world. She'd talk about her plans and dreams for the child, wondered what type of life it would live. If it was a girl, she'd name it after her mom, whom she never met – Amelia. And if it were a boy, she'd name it after him, her dad – James.

Tears fell from his eyes after reading this, but he continued on.

Eventually, the baby came. It was a boy, so James he was named. Josephine couldn't help but express her disappointment in her father's continued absence in her life, as well as his grandson's, and he began feeling the pangs of regret and despair. He even noticed a few tearstains on the letters she had written to him. Although everything was described in great detail, and with photos included, he had missed James' birth, first birthday, first steps, first day to pre-school, second birthday, first time on a tricycle...

He crushed the letter to his chest. He had been such a total fool. Although he despised the man his daughter was with, he left himself out of her life out of sheer anger. Who was he to tell her how to live her own life? She was free to make her own choices. He may not have liked them all, but it was no reason to estrange himself from her. His only child. And now, she had a family of her own, and he had estranged himself from that as well!

As he kept reading, he also noticed her growing distress in Brian not showing an interest in marrying her yet. It was as if everything had fallen into place but that. And every time, Brian had some sort of excuse. The job was about to call him away to work in another state for a while, or money was a little tight right then for a big wedding... but Josephine didn't care about a "big" wedding; just a simple "I do" at a Justice of the Peace would have been suffice. So Brian made promise after promise that they'd discuss their wedding plans in detail, but never did.

His anger started to grow again as he kept reading.

Brian's job kept calling him away more and more frequently, leaving her alone with the baby. Josephine's mounting anxiety compelled her to hire a private investigator. When Brian was called for a job that required being out-of-state again, the private investigator was on the case. After a month, the investigator returned to Josephine, revealing several photos of Brian with another woman at fancy restaurants late at night, going into the woman's home and leaving early in the morning, and sometimes her joining him in his hotel room for days at a time. The investigator also managed to get recordings of a few phone calls between the two of them. Either Brian had lied about having a woman in his life already and being a father as well, or the woman knew and simply didn't care. Either way, they spoke back and forth to each other as if they were man and wife.

And not once did he leave for an out-of-state job that month.

Josephine was devastated, numbed to all feeling. No wonder he had no desire to get married. It would only entail him having to give up alimony – which meant half of everything he owned – and he was not about to do that.

In his eyes, he was playing it smart.

Josephine left a trail of the investigator's photos all over the house, leaving no place where Brian would miss seeing one. She left a note on the kitchen table saying she didn't want to see his face when she got back, took their son, and stayed at a motel for a few days. It was during this point in time that she wrote to her father more frequently, asking for advice. After six letters in one week's time, she wrote that she couldn't understand what she did to her father to deserve such coldness from him in return. Little James was five now, still not sure what was going on with Mommy and Daddy, but knew enough to know something was very, very wrong.

That happened in the spring, just before the Easter holiday. There were no more letters, calls, or cards after that.

This was also the same year he didn't receive a pink envelope. Each one always contained a handmade Christmas card. They were first made by Josephine, and afterward, by her and her grandson. The very last card had a little green handprint smacked in the center, decorated with tiny glitter stickers, snowflakes, ribbons, and cut out little presents stuck to the card with "We Love You! Merry Christmas!" written across the top in Josephine's beautiful hand script.

That following Christmas Eve, when he noticed his mailbox was devoid of that pink envelope, he sunk into a deep, black, fathomless low that he never thought possible after reading all her past cards and letters. If only he had continued to be in his daughter's life, maybe she wouldn't have stayed with that jerk for as long as she did. He'd have set her in the right direction again. Instead, he let her continue to make her own mistakes – as a child should do as they were growing up. After all, how can one learn if not by making a few mistakes first? Such was life. But without her father's occasional guidance along the way, it looked as if she made one too many, and her world finally came crashing down around her.

Worst of all, he had broken his promise to his wife.

He wasn't there when she needed a shoulder to lean on. He wasn't there to catch her when she fell. He blamed himself, but shifted all the blame back to Brian as he was snatched to the here-and-now. He watched as a single tear fell from his eye and onto the baby statue's face.

Five years had passed since that last card he got from her and his grandson. Five long years. The year he didn't get a Christmas card was the same year he went to the tavern, washed his woes away in liquor, then was struck by a car and killed, his miserly, wretched life over with – until the day he was reawakened.

He growled and faced the crowd, holding the infant statue by the neck, thrusting out towards the gaping congregation.

"Cursed be those Heavenly hosts!" he started. "For they have not granted me peace, but granted me this living hell, this strange punishment of having to deal with all of you – the blasphemous, the adulterous, the lecherous, the deceitful...the unworthy!"

He put the statue back down and leapt on those closest to the pulpit, tearing them to shreds, as the remaining people flooded out of the church like madmen. He knocked down the candelabras, tore up poinsettias, knocked over the pews, and chucked Bibles everywhere, letting out his frustrations with the world, his undead life and the loss of precious, precious days with his daughter and grandson. The only thing he didn't destroy was the nativity scene, which held the baby in the manger.

~ ~ * ~ ~

The vampire left when he heard sirens in the distance, but the cops would never find him. They weren't capable of tracking him down.

Christmas Eve would be coming to an end soon. He figured he had caused enough mayhem to calm his already aged and fraying nerves for another year... although he still hadn't visited that vile man's girlfriend. He'd be a most unwelcome surprise at her doorstep, indeed, and he grinned in evil anticipation.

The home he arrived at was very spacious, decorated with the usual Christmas fare, including a few inflatable lawn ornaments. He decided to have a little fun and punctured an elf holding a present. He never liked elves anyway. As it deflated, he noticed a doghouse against the side of the home. Now he knew he had to keep an eye out for an animal as well.

He broke into the house through the kitchen door, his footsteps as silent as the dead. On the refrigerator were a few drawings done by a child. He kept moving through the kitchen, and into the living room, then the dining room, passing by a mantle covered in picture frames. A little boy on a tricycle, the same little boy on his first birthday, then a little older, wearing a soccer uniform with the rest of his teammates. He had a gold medal around his neck. Then one of him and his mother, her long auburn hair flowing to the side and wearing a big smile, her hazel eyes bright, her arms wrapped around her son's neck. He looked to be about ten years old, with hair color and eyes the same as hers. There was no sign of a male figure in their lives.

The vampire paid no attention to any of the photos as he placed a dirt-encrusted, gray hand on the banister, and began making his way up the staircase to the bedrooms.

He could hear the faint tune of "Silent Night, Holy Night" coming from what looked like the master bedroom. It was very quiet in this home, considering it was Christmas Eve. He expected any kids still to be up and about, smell cookies baking, mugs full of cocoa and marshmallows everywhere, and a tree to be lit in the living room, with decorations plastered everywhere. This home was as dark and as empty as his soul.

The one room, however, was lit with a warm glow. He made his way towards it, and slowly poked his head in.

The woman was facing the bedroom window, looking out as she sat in a rocking chair. This room also had its own fireplace, the flames nearly died out. A small, three-foot tree was in this room, placed on a table beside the fireplace, decorated with lights, tinsel, and decorations. Several small presents were under the tree, mostly all of them for her child.

Another Christmas song came from the CD player in the room, a song the vampire remembered from his own childhood, but never knew the title of. For a moment, he became still, just listening, allowing emotions he thought long dead now within him to fill him. Suddenly, he felt sad for this woman, as he could feel her own sorrows emanating from her.

There was a large lump on the floor beside her feet. It lifted its head and growled towards the door. The dog. A golden retriever.

Without warning, she turned, also sensing a presence in the doorway. She gasped, but the vampire didn't move. The dog growled a little louder.

"Shh. Calm down, Rocky," she told the dog. Slowly, she got up from her chair, still staring at the shadowed doorway. The vampire took a step back, further ensuring his anonymity. She tilted her head to the side, as if figuring out who it was.

"I can't believe this! How dare you step foot in here after a whole year of not a word from you! James and I don't need you! Not now, not ever, so don't think you can come crawling back here, begging for forgiveness!"

The vampire was taken aback. Her son was named James too?

He fished through his pocket, and held the box in his hands. "Perhaps that's what he was going to do," the vampire replied, "with this trinket of deceit." He tossed it to her, and she caught it.

Now she was looking confused. "What he was..." There was a pause. "What do you mean by that?" She tore off the wrapper, now looking at a velvet black box with gold trim. She opened it.

Inside was an engagement ring. She stared at it for a moment, then snapped the box shut, winging it back at him as hard as she could.

"Way too late for that, buddy," she snapped. "Unbelievable! Get out!"

"Mom?" came a second voice from in another room.

"It's all right, sweetie. Just go back to sleep," she called to him.

"That's not dad... is it?" he asked.

"Brian, get out of here now, before I call the police," she hissed.

The vampire gasped and dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together.

"Josephine," he whispered.

"I mean it, Brian! Get... OUT!"

"My Josephine..." he got up and stepped into the room. Josephine covered her mouth and gawked at her dead father.

"My daughter... my beloved daughter! God had led me to you, damned wretch that I am! He still saw fit to let me find you and look at you one more time!"

Josephine was frozen in place, not sure whether to believe her eyes or not. Her father continued to speak.

"I have reflected over all the years I have lost with you, with your son. How much of a fool I had been after you went away with that poor excuse for a man you call Brian. All your letters... all your calls... how I ignored each and every one of them! I should have been there for you! I should have taken you in when you needed me the most! I was so stubborn and so angry. I felt as if you had abandoned me, when it was I who had abandoned you!"

All Josephine could do was slowly shake her head in absolute disbelief at what was happening right then. He continued.

"I know there's nothing I can do to change the past, and I know there's no future for us, for I am undead. My punishment for abandoning you, for leading a miserable life afterwards." He looked into her hazel eyes and paused before speaking again. "I awaken on this night every year."

Josephine lowered her hand from her mouth, the scene before her still too surreal and grisly to believe. "Dad," she whispered, taking a tiny step towards him. "Dad... is that really you?"

He held his hand out to her. Ever so slowly, she put her warm hand in his taloned, icy one.

"I... I saw you buried. I saw you put into the ground. I saw them put dirt on your grave..."

"And yet I still walk once a year, cursed because of my imprudent ways."

James stepped into the room, and let out a loud gasp. Josephine and her father pulled away, looking at him.

"You..." the vampire started, staring into another pair of hazel eyes.

The same eyes he peered into at the bistro.

"It's the Angel of Death, Mom! The one I told you I saw!" He ran to the fireplace and grabbed a poker, swinging it wildly at the vampire. "You stay away from my mom! You're not gonna kill her too!"

Josephine gasped at her father. "You... you're the one James told me about? The one who killed everyone in the bistro? But... but why?"

James looked at his mom, confused. "You know him?"

Josephine was now stuck in a tight situation. She found it amazing she was able to calm her son down after he came home screaming hysterically about some Angel of Death killing everyone in the bistro, but this...

"James, this--this is your grandfather." She tightened her grip on her son's shoulders.

James lowered the poker, still gawking at the tattered, filthy, undead creature before him. "Grandpa's an Angel of Death?" He looked at his mom in awe. "Are we angels too?"

"We all belong to God, sweetie. But your grandfather here is no angel."

The vampire dropped to his knees again so he could get a closer look at his grandson, tears coming from his red eyes. "James.... James...." he kept whispering to himself, then swept him up in an embrace. "I'm so sorry, dear boy....I'm so, so sorry...."

James tried not to grimace at the stench emanating from his long dead grandfather. But then, he stood up, smiling at Josephine with pointed teeth.

"You've raised him so well on your own. I just wish I had been there to help you."

"Just having you tell me that is enough," she replied.

Gently, the vampire touched his daughter's face, and she did her best not to flinch at his icy touch.

"Please release me, Josephine. Only you can do it. I'm tired. So, very, very tired. I have come to terms with my past, and I see your future will be without further worries. I need not haunt this world, or your life, anymore."

She gave her father one last hug, despite the dried blood all over his coat. "I love you, Daddy."

~ ~ * ~ ~

Josephine led him up to her attic, and sat a chair in the middle of the room, in front of a window that faced east. They talked long into the wee hours of the morning.

"I can't believe you were that angry at me," Josephine said. "All that time. Sometimes, I was sad at your non-replies, and sometimes I was angry. I just couldn't figure out what I had done to make you so mad at me."

The vampire sighed. "I realize it wasn't you I was angry at... it was the fact you had grown up and had to live your own life. I wanted you to stay my little girl forever. My foolish pride was what stopped me from going to you when you needed help." He sighed. "I just wish you had found a better man to share your life with."

"It took me a long time to learn my lesson, but one thing's for sure--I'm definitely not in a rush to find another," she replied. "James is all I need."

He paused. "Just... remember this ordeal, please. I wouldn't want you following in my footsteps once James gets to be at that certain age when he wants to... leave the nest."

Josephine gave a tiny grin. "I think I have it covered."

Despite their long talk, he never confessed to having killed Brian. She'd hear about it on the news soon enough, and he'd be long gone.

The sky was a dull pink. The sun would be rising soon. Father and daughter looked at each other. Even under the black-veined, pasty pallor, and red eyes, she still saw the father she knew and remembered.

"Merry Christmas, Daddy," she whispered as they held hands.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart. "

They embraced one more time before she rushed to the attic entrance, holding back her sobs as she closed the door.

The vampire sighed once more, and took out the photo of his daughter and grandson, both with bright smiles. Josephine came out strong in the end. That was all that mattered. And that gave him the sweet serenity and peace he yearned for during his undead years.

He stayed transfixed on their picture as the first rays of light pierced the sky, the warm, golden-orange glow filling the attic as he burst into flames, still smiling as he stared into the eyes of his beloved daughter.

It was the best Christmas present he had ever received.
About The Author

Dark Paranormal Romance/Horror author Cinsearae S. is the creator of Diary of a Vampire Stripper, Top 10 Finisher in the Predators & Editors 2012 Readers Polls. A digital artist, jewelry designer, and still-photographer, she is also editor/publisher of award-winning, Dark GothicResurrected Magazine. She received the Author's Site of Excellence Award in 2007 from Predators & Editors, and is a cover artist for Damnation Books and independent authors. Her website won a Golden Horror Award from Horrorfind.com. Shop owner of Mistress Rae's Decadent Designs on Etsy.com, (Search: MistressRae13) she specializes in Steampunk, Halloween, Victorian and Gothic-inspired jewelry, accessories, creepy dolls, anthropomorphic oddities, and more. Her store won the 2012 Fright Times Award for "Best Horror Collectible," and was recently featured on WFMZ.com (Channel 69 in Allentown, PA). An avid fan of "old school" horror movies and their villains (Freddy, Jason, Michael, Pinhead) she is also a big Vincent Price fan. Halloween is her favorite time of the year, and she keeps her house decorated year round. She has always been drawn to the flipside of life -- the supernatural, odd, bizarre, Gothic and "darkly beautiful" always being an inspiration to her. She lives with her husband and two rat terriers, aptly named Hades and Chaos. You can also find her on Youtube, Facebook, Pinterest and Twitter.

Cinsearae.s@gmail.comhttp://BloodTouch.Webs.Com

MORE THAN FRIENDS

(a short story)

By

Terri Reid
Chapter One

The wooden door opened slowly, the creaking hinges echoing in the quiet of the night. Jasper Jade Victory, JJ to her friends, entered the office level of the precinct hesitantly. Her usual confident stride was shortened and her face was set in a regretful, but resigned look. She closed the door behind her and flicked the lock; she did not want to be disturbed.

The streetlights from Irving Park Road that ran in front of the police station shone enough light through the large double-hung windows that she didn't need to turn on the overhead fluorescents. Even though it was ten o'clock, traffic on one of Chicago's main streets was still constant and the thrum of passing cars and trucks was a comforting sound that she welcomed.

Pushing back her desk chair, she slipped her purse over the back and sat down, clicking the power button on her computer. She tapped her manicured fingers lightly over the worn wooden desktop while she waited for the computer to go through its booting up regime.

Catching a glimpse of the dark red nail polish, she smiled slightly. The guys in the precinct always gave her a hard time about her nails. But, she figured if she was going to have to dress in a boring uniform every day, wear regulation shoes, and keep her hair in a neat bun, the least she could do for her feminine side was get her nails done. Besides, those long, tough nails had saved her hide more than once.

The login screen finally appeared on the monitor and JJ typed in her password. In an instant, her desktop page appeared. She maneuvered the mouse across the screen and, with a deep breath, clicked on the icon that opened her social networking page. She closed her eyes briefly when she saw that her Friend Request icon had the number one next to it, offering a quick prayer. Please don't let it happen again.

He watched her close her eyes, saw the brief flash of pain, and nearly stepped out of the shadows that hid him. Only moments before he had been charmed by her impatient nail tapping, wondering idly how those nails would feel sliding across his bare chest. How her lips would feel pressed against his own. How her breath would feel, hot and impatient against his face.

But now, the instant attraction he had felt for the woman was put to the side. Now there was a more troubling issue to be resolved. What was she viewing that was causing her to stare into her computer screen with such dread?

She picked up her desk phone and dialed a number. He moved forward on the windowsill, careful to stay in darkness, to listen to the conversation.

"Roy, there's another one," she said. "No, I don't think it's a prank. I think someone is killing these women."

She ran her hand through her hair in frustration. "Yes," she sighed impatiently into the phone. "No, sir, I know we haven't found any bodies and there have been no missing persons. But, dammit, these women are dead."

Closing her eyes again, she nodded. "Yes, sir," she said with resignation. "I'll write a report up and file it away as a prank. Thank you, sir."

She hung up the phone and then whipped a plastic pencil holder against the wall, the impact sending several dozen smaller pieces into the air. "Like hell it's a prank," she yelled into the empty room. "And I'm not going to be told to be a good little girl and just ignore it."

Determination flashing in her eyes, she stood, grabbed her purse, and stormed out of the office, the crash of the wooden store reverberating behind her.

Once she was gone, it was a matter of moments for him to open the window and slide into the room. His feet made no sound on the tile floor and his form cast no shadow from the streetlights. He hurried to the desk she had just vacated and moved the mouse to refresh her screen. A woman's photo was staring up at him in the midst of a newly created social networking page. The composition of the photo seemed odd; the woman was reclining on a couch, her head angled back against the arm with her eyes were wide open, staring straight up into the camera. They looked sightless, he thought, like the eyes of the...

Before the thought could be completed, he saw the small puncture wounds at the base of her neck and knew...she was not only dead, she was undead.

Clicking back on the page, he accessed JJ's home page and clicked on Friend Requests. There were six unconfirmed requests. He clicked on each one and the same pattern appeared; a brand new page with one photo, the victim of a vampire. Six women killed in the space of two weeks and all their photos sent to JJ. What the hell was going on?

He clicked back to the page he originally saw and studied it carefully. There was something familiar about that couch. Where had he seen it?

Stepping away from the computer, he hurried back to the open window and slipped out. He could worry about the couch later. Now he needed to follow JJ and make sure she didn't run into the vampire who was luring her into a trap. He knew all about prey and traps, because he, Lucian Andruska, was a vampire himself.
Chapter Two

Grabbing her keys from her pocket, she hurried through the parking lot to her car. She could access her social networking page from home and study the photos without worrying about her Captain looking over her shoulder and reminding her it was just a prank. Her shoes slapped softly against the pavement of the parking lot as she moved forward. With her shadow flitting from car to car, a brisk autumn wind stirred up a pile of dried leaves and pushed them forward to swirl around her feet. The noise was just loud enough that she didn't hear the soft whisper of wings fluttering behind her.

Pressing the auto unlock button, she stepped forward to grab hold of the door handle when the hairs on the back of her neck rose and she knew someone was behind her. Her hand secreted on the handle of her service revolver, she whirled, ready to fight.

"Whoa there," the man said, stepping back into the shadows protectively. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

She glanced around quickly and then met his eyes. "Where did you come from?" she asked.

"Originally or recently?" he asked, the touch of irony in his deep voice annoying her.

"Recently," she growled.

He moved toward her into the glow of a streetlight and she nearly gasped aloud. As it was, her body reacted with a primitive awakening that surprised and even frightened her.

He bit back a smile. He could hear the blood throbbing quickly through her veins, could feel the rise in her body temperature and could smell the sweet pheromones her body was producing to lure him even closer. She was partially aroused by him, but fighting it. And he was charmed by her efforts.

"I was a few cars down," he said, pointing to a car parked near hers. "I dropped my keys and I was bending over, so I could understand how you might have missed me when you walked to your car. I just came over to make sure you were safe."

Safe. She had never felt so unsafe in her life.

"I'm fine," she said, relieved that the words came out clipped and firm.

"Excellent," he replied, with a full smile. "And now, perhaps we could find a quiet place where I could answer your other question."

Eyes narrowed, she shook her head. "Other question?"

He stepped even closer and she held her ground. He was not going to intimidate her.

Reaching forward, he ran a finger down the side of her face and she shivered involuntarily and swallowed slowly. "Where I came from," he whispered, his breath hot on her cheek, "Originally."

She took a deep, shuddering breath and stepped back, away from him. "Listen," she replied, her voice uneven. "I don't know who you are or what you think you're doing. But I am not a hooker, I'm a police officer. I'm a detective. So unless you want to spend a little time in a cooling cell, I would suggest you step away and take your advances elsewhere."

His lips lifted in a half smile, but he didn't move back. "I know you're not a hooker, Detective Victory," he said, meeting her eyes. "And the only proposition I have for you right now is an offer to help you track down the person who is killing those women who have requested to be your friend."

"What the..." Her hand went to her gun, but he stepped even closer and laid his hand over hers, blocking her attempt. Her back was pressed against the side of her car and her hand was caught between her body and his. And the heat coursing through her veins was making her feel lightheaded.

"I'm not here to harm you," he whispered, keeping an eye out for other police officers who might be coming off shift. "I can help. I think I know why you haven't been able to find the bodies."

Shaking her head, she tried to move out of his grasp. "No, I don't need your help," she stammered softly. "Now let me go before I scream and you have to deal with an entire precinct of police officers."

Bending his head, he drew his mouth along the underside of her jaw line and a bolt of heat impaled her core, turning her legs to rubber. She collapsed against the side of her car and he pressed his body fully against hers.

"Did you drug me?" she murmured, trying to fight the sexual haze that was overwhelming her. "I feel..."

He slid his hands up the sides of her body, slowly, caressing every curve, the power of passion clouding his own judgment. "You feel delightful," he breathed, his mouth hovering just inches over hers. "You feel exactly the way I've dreamt you'd feel."

"Dreamt?" she cried softly, her voice shaking with an undertone of fear.

He looked into her eyes, saw the tears pooling in them, and cursed himself. He could take her; his thrall had broken down all of her natural defenses. But even under the strength of his spell, her unconscious mind had fought back, causing tears to flow in protest. He fought with himself. He could have her; he had desired her for so long. But, a calmer voice reasoned, would he really be satisfied with taking her this way or did he want the whole woman?

He finally shook his head, clearing the passion and stepped away from her, leaving her trembling and confused.

"I don't..." she stammered.

"Shhhh, it's okay, JJ," he crooned. "I want you to go back in time to the point where you first saw me. Do you remember that?"

She nodded slowly.

"Go back, JJ, go back to when you placed your hand on your gun as you felt my presence. Go back and wipe all that has happened since from your mind," he commanded. "Do you understand?"

Once again, she nodded.

"When I count to three, you will return to that time," he said. "One, two, three."

Chapter Three

Her hand secreted on the handle of her service revolver, JJ whirled, ready to fight.

"Whoa there," the man said, stepping back into the shadows protectively. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

She glanced around quickly and then met his eyes. "Where did you come from?" she asked.

"Originally or recently?" he asked, the touch of irony in his deep voice annoying her.

"Recently," she growled.

"Sorry," he replied, keeping his distance. "I was picking up my keys; I dropped them under my car. Didn't mean to surprise you."

Lifting her hand from the handle of her gun, she nodded. "No, you're okay," she said, apologetically. "I've been a little on edge lately."

"Hey, if I had your job, I'd be on edge all the time," he replied with a friendly smile. "And speaking of your job, I need to talk to a police officer in there."

He nodded his head in the direction of the precinct. "Perhaps you could tell me where to find her," he continued. "Her name is JJ Victory."

Studying him for a moment, she tried to decide if he was lying. But there was nothing in his demeanor that convinced her he wasn't telling the truth. "I'm Officer Victory," she said. "How can I help you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Lucian Andruska," he immediately replied, feigning awkwardness. "But you're going off duty. I don't want to keep you."

Shaking her head, she smiled at him. "No, it's okay, really," she said. "Part of the job."

"Well, at least let me buy you a cup of coffee," he offered. "This might sound ridiculous, but I need to talk to you about social networking."

She had nearly turned down his invitation, but after his comment, her heart thumped in her chest and she nodded. "Yes, thanks, that would be great," she said and nearly suggested the restaurant across the street, but realized too many prying eyes from the precinct would be there. "Where would you suggest?"

She trusts me, dammit. That was a rare commodity in his life and he knew within the next few hours it would be ripped away. But, for at least the moment, he would enjoy it.

"How about the Dunkin Donuts on Montrose and Clark?" he asked. "Would that work?"

"Perfect," she said, recalling the brightly lit strip mall on the corner of a busy intersection. "That would be great. I'll meet you there."

She got in her car and noticed that he waited until she drove off before he attempted to get into his own car. "That's a little odd," she thought, as she pulled onto Irving Park Road and headed east towards Clark Street. "Perhaps he's old-fashioned and thought it polite to wait."

She turned left on Clark and rode alongside Graceland Cemetery, one hundred and nineteen acres of unique monuments, gravesites, and family mausoleums that were the final resting places for most of the founding families of Chicago. Recently, there had been some trouble at other cemeteries in the Chicagoland area, but nothing like that happened at Graceland. And although she wasn't sure why vandals, hooligans, and muggers had decided that cemetery was off limits, she was grateful. Once she completed the half-mile drive bordered the entire way by the huge cemetery, she crossed the intersection and pulled in front of the donut shop.

Exiting her car, she noted that Lucian was already waiting for her at the entrance to the shop. He was still standing in the shadows, so she had yet to see his face clearly.

He sent her a self-depreciating smile. "I know a shortcut," he said, opening the door for her and letting her enter first.

Chapter Four

The familiar bright white and pink interior of the shop did a lot to calm JJ's nerves. She stepped up to the counter and he stood behind her, insisting that she place her order and find them a quiet booth where they could speak. He would wait at the counter, he told her, pick up the tab, and bring their order to the table.

Why fight it? She decided and compliantly obeyed and, without even turning to thank him, walked over to a corner booth hidden away from any other patrons, and sat down. Pulling out a notepad and pen out of her purse, she flipped the pad open to a blank page. Busy jotting down basic information, she didn't initially look up when she heard him slide into the booth across from her.

"Do you mind if I take notes?" she asked, glancing up and finally seeing him in bright light. He was the most beautiful man she had ever met. His hair, nearly raven black, was worn slightly longer than convention. His eyes were so blue they were mesmerizing. His lips were full and sensual, and they looked...familiar.

Her eyes seemed to glaze over as she looked at him and he wondered if she was somehow remembering their encounter in the parking lot. He could still feel the imprint of her body pressed against his, taste the sweetness of her lips, and recall the lushness of her curves under his hands. He shook his head to clear the haze. What the hell is wrong with me?

He looked over and saw her close her eyes briefly and she took a deep breath, letting the air out with a shudder. He was pleased that he wasn't the only one bothered by their attraction.

"Officer Victory. JJ, are you all right?" he asked, placing his hand lightly on top of hers.

His mere touch sent a jolt of electricity through her core and her body tightened in response. "Who are you?" she demanded.

He lifted his hand from hers slowly, cautiously, and leaned back in the booth. Studying her for a moment, he nodded slowly. "What do you remember?" he asked.

"You," she breathed harshly. "And me. Together."

Amazed that she could recall the incident, even though he had hypnotized her, he shook his head. "You have an inner strength the likes of which I have never encountered before," he replied admiringly, holding her gaze.

"Cut the crap," she spat. "What the hell kind of date rape drug did you give me and how did you administer it?"

His lips curved in a half-smile. "Date rape drug?" he asked, one eyebrow lifting slightly. "I can assure you I have no need for such things."

"No," she argued. "Then how do you explain my reaction to you. How do you explain..."

She stopped and stared at him, her eyes widening. "In the parking lot," she whispered. "You held me in the parking lot. You touched me. And then you told me to forget. What are you, some cheap hypnotist looking to cop a feel?"

"I can assure you, I am no cheap hypnotist," he said, his face flushing with anger. "And my intentions were purely honorable."

"Is that why you tried to make me forget them?" she asked, sliding towards the edge of the seat. "You're nothing but a low grade pervert and if I see you around the station again, I will have the immense pleasure of kicking your ass into the holding cell and charging you with sexual harassment."

Something was wrong. This wasn't how she was supposed to act. She was supposed to be eager for his kisses, ripe for his arms, and solely, passionately in love with him. He had to do something or he would lose her. She moved to stand, but he grabbed her arm. "I know about the girls," he whispered urgently, "The ones who sent you friend requests."

She jumped forward, pulled her gun out of her holster, and pointed it at him. "You murderous son-of-a-bitch," she yelled. "You killed them."

This is not going the way I planned, Lucian thought desperately, as he faced down JJ's gun. "Listen, Officer Victory, you have this all wrong," he said softly, slowly raising his hands up. "I want to help you."

"Oh, sure, I just bet you do," she responded. "What? You want to make a friend request out of me too?"

"No, I want to prevent someone else making a friend request out of you," he answered. "But you've got to trust me."

"This from the man who tried to seduce me in a parking lot and then tried to make me forget it?" she replied. "Sorry, buddy, that train has left the station."

"I didn't try to seduce you," he said, his voice soft and seductive. "I did seduce you. And you would have let me do anything to you, if I had wanted to take advantage of the situation."

"You do realize I have a gun pointed at you," she snapped. "I would be real careful about what you say and how you say it."

"I only want to help..." he began, but stopped when he saw JJ turn from him and stare out the windows towards the parking lot.

"That's Friend Number Two," she cried, stuffing her gun into its holster and dashing toward the back exit.

"Wait," Lucian called, running after her. "You don't understand."
Chapter Five

Running out into the parking lot, JJ quickly scanned the area. She saw "Friend Number Two" heading towards the entrance of Graceland Cemetery. For the life of her, JJ couldn't remember the girl's name, but she would never forget her face. She jogged to the curb and looked both ways before she crossed the busy intersection. She was about a half mile from the girl when she decided to call out to her, "Stop, police!"

The girl looked quickly over her shoulder and JJ could swear she saw the beginnings of a smile on her face, and then the girl dashed forward. JJ started to sprint, but her arm was caught and she was spun around.

"What the hell?" she screamed, staring at Lucian. "What do you mean by interrupting a police pursuit?"

"She's not what she seems," he said. "It's a trap."

Adrenaline and anger were coursing through her veins now. She really wanted to punch someone. "Okay, tell me," she shouted. "What the hell is she?"

"She's a vampire," he yelled back. "Just like me."

She stepped away from him and nodded slowly. "Okay. Wow. Well that explains a lot," she said in a placating voice. "Thank you for your help. So, now, you just go on back to your, um, coffin, and I'll chase after the other vampire. But, don't worry; I've got a stake strapped to my shin in case I need it."

"I'm not crazy," he said, insulted by her attitude.

"Of course not," she said quickly. "But, really, I can handle this."

With an oath, he dashed towards her with lightning speed, pulled her into his arms, and jumped into the air, landing them both on the other side of Graceland's ten and a half foot wall in the midst of the gravestones, shadows, and shrubbery.

JJ jumped back out of his arms. "How the hell did you do that?" she asked.

"I just told you," he replied evenly. "I'm a vampire. Now do you believe me?"

She shook her head. "No, I am so not buying that," she said. "Are you on steroids or something?"

Lucian stepped closer and JJ fought the sexual pull. "Okay, let's just compromise," he said. "I'll tell you my crazy vampire theory and if you don't find an inkling of truth in my statements, I will help you find Friend Number Two and I'll walk away."

Folding her arms across her chest, JJ nodded and said, "Okay, Luc, give it your best shot."

"That's Lucian," he insisted.

"Whatever." She shrugged. "Go for it."

"All of the girls whose photos you received had one thing in common," he said. "Small puncture wounds at the base of their necks. You can confirm that by using your smart phone."

JJ pulled out her phone and accessed the photos. She enlarged them and, sure enough, realized he was right. They all had the same mark in the same place.

"How did you know about these photos?" she asked. "How did you get access to my private page?"

"You left your computer on at the station tonight," he said. "I knew you were distressed and I wanted to help."

"You broke into a police station?" she asked. "Okay, now I know you're nuts."

"The reason you can't find bodies is because there are no bodies," he insisted, ignoring her last statement. "These girls haven't been killed, they've been turned, and, for some reason, someone wants to make damn sure you know about it."

"Turned? You mean like from human into vampire?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes, exactly so."

"And is that what you were trying to do to me?" she asked. "In the parking lot. Were you trying to turn me?"

He stopped speaking for a moment, considering her question. Generally, when he was pursuing a human female, the climax of the encounter was made even sweeter with a sample of her blood. He hadn't turned anyone in centuries and, even when he bit down in the midst of lovemaking, his companion was so under his spell, she never felt any discomfort. But, with JJ, he suddenly realized, there was no blood lust. There was only desire; mind-numbing, all-consuming desire.

Lifting his eyes to meet hers, he slowly shook his head. "No," he said, surprise and a little fear in his voice. "No, there was no blood lust involved with you. I was just drawn to you. Drawn with an attraction that was beyond my control."

"You're lying," she whispered, her eyes wide and anxious, her heart thrumming in response to her answer.

"I almost wish I were," he replied softly, stepping closer and cupping her face in his hands. "It would certainly simplify things."

"Lucian," JJ sighed, as he kissed her jawbone. "We can't do this now. We need...I need..."

"Tell me, darling," he groaned as he continued to kiss her. "Tell me what you need."

"You need to get a room," said a female's voice from behind them. "But not before we have a little fun with your new girlfriend."
Chapter Six

Lucian's ardor cooled immediately when he realized JJ was in danger. Turning, he pushed JJ protectively behind him. "What do you want, Isabon?" he spat at the goth-attired vampire standing on top of the monument near them.

Taking a few deep breaths, JJ gained enough composure to move from behind Lucian to confront the woman who interrupted them. "Getting your cheap thrills for the night, are you?" she asked, shaking her head at the woman. "Living vicariously through others must be so lonely."

Isabon hissed at JJ, her long white canine teeth reflecting in the moonlight.

"Well, damn," JJ whispered to Lucian. "Is she a real..."

"Yeah, she's a vampire," he replied. "A very angry vampire."

Suddenly, six other female vampires came out from behind them and grabbed hold of Lucian. JJ recognized them all immediately; the women from the friend requests. They had been turned.

Lucian fought to break free, but they held him tight. "Run, JJ," he yelled. "Get the hell out of here."

Before JJ could move, Isabon jumped down from the twelve-foot-high monument and landed in front of the couple; her black patent leather stiletto boots leaving no marks on the ground. She was dressed in black leather leggings, a long black tunic, and a red-laced corset, pulled tight to reveal her voluptuous figure. Her breasts nearly spilled out of the top of the corset and on her left breast was a small tattoo that looked like an Egyptian hieroglyphic.

Isabon noticed JJ's interest and smiled. "It's Egyptian for awakening," she said. "That is, of course, if it was my tattoo you were staring at. If not, I'm sure Lucian wouldn't mind sharing you."

JJ looked squarely into the eyes of the vampire. "Yeah, well, I just don't swing that way," she said. "And if I did, honey, you would not be my type."

Isabon glared at her. "You don't seem to grasp the danger you are in," she said, walking up to JJ and grabbing her jaw in her hand. "Graceland is my territory, my kingdom, and I am building my kingdom in order to eventually take over Chicago."

JJ felt like her jaw was being crushed, but she knew the worst thing she could do was show fear. Isabon was no different from any other street punk or drug dealer that she had dealt with as a cop. She was a bully, and when you showed fear, you lost.

"That explains why we haven't had the problems at Graceland with vagrants as the other cemeteries have," she said. "You've been making Happy Meals out of the creeps. You know, you are what you eat."

Incensed, Isabon lifted her hand and swung it across JJ's face. JJ flew backwards, landing against the brick wall in a crumpled pile.

"You killed her," Lucian shouted, trying to pull away from his captors. "You bitch, you killed her."

Isabon shrugged. "Well, we don't know if she's dead yet," she said, walking over to Lucian and stroking her fingernails down his cheek. "Besides, it's all your fault anyway. You were supposed to be mine. We were supposed to rule together. I saw how obsessed you became with that mortal, stalking her like a rutting buck. So, I started sending her my recruitment posters. I knew she would investigate. And I knew you would bring her to me."

She moved in even closer, her mouth inches from his. "She's nothing but an appetizer, Lucian," she coaxed, rubbing her hands slowly up and down his chest. "Come, let's feast on her together and turn her into a pet. Then we can both play with her."

Lucian stopped struggling and leaned forward, crushing Isabon's mouth with his own. "Yes, my love," he said, trailing open-mouthed kisses over her face. "Release me and we will see to the human."

Isabon stepped back and looked into Lucian's eyes. "You liar," she screamed, slapping him with all her might. "You think to play me? You think I don't know you still have feelings for her? Well your falsehood has just sealed her death."

"No, Isabon," he begged. "Release her and I will be your willing lover."

"And have you always long for your mortal heartthrob?" she asked. "No, I'm sorry, Lucian, she has to die."
Chapter Seven

Isabon strode over the autumn leaves strewn over the grounds of the cemetery to the prone body lying against the wall. She could hear her heartbeat as she moved closer, could smell her blood. Good, she thought, perhaps I will turn her and then I can use her as an incentive for Lucian.

She bent over and grabbed a handful of JJ's hair. "Hey, bitch," she snarled, pulling back on JJ's head, exposing her neck. "I guess you bit off more than you could chew."

JJ's eyes flew open. "Chew this," she growled, thrusting a stake upwards and through Isabon's heart.

Disbelief flashed over the vampire's face just before she disintegrated in a puff of ash. JJ jumped to her feet, retrieving the stake, and turned to face Isabon's followers. But as she stepped forward to take them on, they all crumbled into dust.

"I guess they're following after their maker," she said, walking back over to Lucian.

"You're alive?" he said, not believing his eyes.

She stopped and examined her fingers. "Yeah, but, dammit, I broke a nail," she complained.

"How did you..." he began.

"I told you I had a stake strapped to my shin," she replied. "Didn't you believe me?"

He pulled her into his arms and just held her to him. "I thought you had died," he said. "I thought she had killed you and it was all my fault."

She leaned back and met his eyes. "Why would it have been your fault?" she asked.

"Because I was attracted to you from the first time I saw you walk past Graceland," he said. "I was obsessed with you. And it made Isabon jealous. I wanted you with a hunger I've never experienced before."

She slipped her arms around his neck. "And is that so unusual?" she asked.

He inhaled raggedly. "Yes, it is," he said. "This kind of attraction between a vampire and a human is almost unheard of and certainly frowned upon."

She nodded and met his eyes. "I know," she said.

"You know?" he asked, confused.

"My mother was a human and my father was a vampire," she explained with a half-smile on her lips. "It was quite an unusual arrangement."

"You're a dhampir?" he asked, his eyes widening. "But... you must have sensed me following you."

"Yeah, I've known about you for a couple weeks," she confessed. "But I didn't know whose side you were on. I didn't know if you were responsible for those missing girls and just wanted to bring me into your harem or if you were really trying to help."

"You seemed to trust me tonight," he replied. "Was that just a trick?"

"I wanted to trust you, Lucian," she said. "But I couldn't let my guard down until I knew for sure. Thank you for offering to sacrifice yourself to save me."

She leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his mouth.

Still overwhelmed by her admission, he stared at her in astonishment. "But if you're a dhampir, you're not vulnerable to the weaknesses of either humans or vampires. And," he studied her for a moment, met her eyes, and finally grinned broadly. "You're not susceptible to my thrall."

She smiled wickedly and seductively bit her lower lip. "You catch on quickly," she replied, threading her fingers into his hair. "And now that we've got this figured out, perhaps we could take up where we left off in the parking lot."

The End

About the Author

Best-selling author, Terri Reid is the creator of the Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mysteries. An indie author, Reid uploaded her first book "Loose Ends – A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery" in August 2010. By the end of 2012, "Loose Ends" had sold over 125,000 copies. She has ten other books in the Mary O'Reilly Series and has enjoyed Best-Seller, Top Rated and Hot New Release status for all of them in the Mystery, Paranormal Romance, Horror, Cozy, or Women Sleuths categories. Her books have been translated into Spanish and Portuguese and are also now also available in print and audio versions.

Reid has been quoted in a number of books about the self-publishing industry including "Let's Get Digital" by David Gaughran and "Interviews with Indie Authors: Top Tips from Successful Self-Published Authors" by Claire and Tim Ridgway. She was honored to have some of her works included in A. J. Abbiati's book "The NORTAV Method for Writers – The Secrets to Constructing Prose Like the Pros." She has also had the distinct privilege of guest blogging for Joe Konrath.

Reid is from Northwest Illinois, near the town of Freeport, the home of her fictional characters. Her background is in marketing and public relations. She is married, is the mother of seven children and the grandmother of thirteen. Her constant writing companions are Riley, a Bernese Mountain Dog-Golden Retriever mix; Hans, a German Shepard mix; and McDuff, a Siamese cat.

Website – www.terrireid.com

Facebook -  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Terri-Reid-author/179591462080204?ref=hl
Loose Ends – A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book One)

Good Tidings – A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book Two)

Never Forgotten – A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book Three)

Final Call – A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book Four)

Darkness Exposed – A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book Five)

Natural Reaction – A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book Six)

Secret Hollows – A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book Seven)

Broken Promises – A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book Eight)

Twisted Paths – A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book Nine)

Veiled Passages – A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book Ten)

Bumpy Roads – A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery (Book Eleven)

The Ghosts Of New Orleans – A Paranormal Research and Containment Division (PRCD) Case File

Acknowledgements

There are so many authors I would like to thank for all the help and encouragement offered to me along the way. Charity Parkerson, Charles E. Butler, Patti Roberts, Dionne Lister, Oleg Medvedkov, Terri Reid, and C.J. Ellisson, without your compassion, wisdom, support, and help I would be light years away from publishing this book.

I would also like to thank Gary Morgan, your knowledge of vampires and movies are superb.

Thank you, Beth, at Bz Hercules for putting up with all of my neurotic insecurities and doing an awesome job editing the book.

Special thanks to Sherrie Gearheart for taking time out of your busy charity and helping me bring Nicolai and Delano to life. For that gift, the three of us are eternally grateful.

Lastly, to Joseph Napier, thank you for tirelessly putting up with me and my requests to reread the material for the umpteenth time. You always did so willingly and gave great feedback.

Much love,

Scarlette D'Noire

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