

Demon Vampire

Written by Virgil Allen Moore

Erudite Small Press © 2013

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents within are either the product of the author's wildly vivid and poetic imagination, or are used fictitiously to portray unreal events. Any resemblance to living or dead persons, businesses, general establishments, events, or locales, is purely and entirely coincidental.

DEMON VAMPIRE

Published by Erudite Small Press with permission granted by Virgil Allen Moore.

Printing History

October 2013 Erudite Small Press, Revised Edition

October 2011 Erudite Small Press, First Edition

All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2011 – 2013

Cover ©2013 by Virgil Allen Moore. All Rights Reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without written permission. Send email to eruditesmallpress@live.com or visit eruditesmallpress.com for information and to request any permissions.

Published by Erudite Small Press

All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2013 Virgil Allen Moore

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Online Reviews

"As a HUGE fan of Anne Rice's vampire stories...... Virgil Allen Moore blew me away with his Demon Vampire! I loved the transitions between present day and the past......... especially where this author goes WAY into the ANCIENT past! I want MORE books about these ancient vampires from Mr Moore! His characters bring the story to life, and he is gifted with that wonderful "Author Imagination" whereas the reader, we have forgotten lesser characters........ who suddenly appear in the story again, taking center stage! This book was simply put: GREAT! Anyone who is a fan of this genre........... put this on your "to read" list!"

-  Christine Tuttle "chrissy"

"Some stories are like appetizers, others are like lunch and my favorites are like desserts. In the case of Demon Vampire, I can easily say it's like a Thanksgiving Dinner with every single fixin' you can think of! - When you finish the book, one thing I can almost bet is that you will go back and re-read Chapter One!"

\-   Ellie Mendez

"This is a very well written exciting new series. Virgil Allen Moore's writing has a way of immersing you into his vampire world. Gone are the stereotypical vampires and legends. Mr. Moore quickly pulls us into his world where he rewrites the definition of vampire and leaves you craving for more. Not only do you find yourself personally invested with the characters, Mr. Moore toys with challenging our own morals as well as the characters of his new world. You can't help but give in to the temptation to stay up until dawn to finish because you cannot stand to put it down. Best new series in a genre that has been lacking a great read for quite some time! Readers will find themselves counting the days until the next book to continue the series comes out."

- Kathy

"I am unable to remove myself OUT of the book. It has totally sucked me into its realm! It's like walking into a dream where you do not trust your senses because you do not know what is around the mist coming up off the ground. Dreams that feel so real you can feel the pain, taste the pleasures it has to offer and the darkness we all have inside of us. Demon Vampire has totally blown me away!"

-  Nora Barteau

# Chapters

Prologue – One

Prologue – Two

---

One – The Abomination and A Tainted Whisper

Two – The Sweetness Of The Dream

Three – Sway With Me

Four – Getting Up To Speed

Five – The Lady In The Dark

Six – Waking Back Up Into The World

Seven – Another Night Begins

Eight – Scripted Fate

Nine – Fate Has A Sense Of Irony

Ten – Kismet

Eleven – No Second Thoughts

Twelve – The Course Of Destiny

Thirteen – The Simpleton

Fourteen – The Meadow

Fifteen – The Illusion and The Gilded Blood

Sixteen – Failing Memory

Seventeen – More Than A Date

Sub Chapter – Black

Eighteen – Welcome To The Fold

Nineteen – The Request

Twenty – A Night On The Thin Red Line

Twenty One – The Education

Twenty Two – The First Truth

Twenty Three – The Small Things

Twenty Four – Lies In Truth To Save A Life

Twenty Five – Coming To Terms With Reality

Twenty Six – The Facts Of Life

Twenty Seven – The End Of One Life

Twenty Eight – An Intimate Moment

Twenty Nine – Come Inside

Thirty - Behind The Scenes

Thirty One – Cursory Explanations

Thirty Two – Preparation

Thirty Three – Option Two

Thirty Four – The Eventuality

Thirty Five – The Island in the Pale Still Water

Thirty Six – Redefining Terms

Thirty Seven – Finding The Path

Thirty Eight – Alternatives To Death

Thirty Nine – The Walk

Forty – Coming To Terms With A New Reality

Forty One – The Daylight Hours

Forty Two – Adapting

Forty Three – The Desire For Blood

Forty Four – A New Kind Of Different

Forty Five – Checking The Goods

Forty Six – Approval

Forty Seven – Finding Usefulness

Forty Eight – The Prelude

Sub Chapter – Red

Forty Nine – The Concert

Fifty – The Years In Between

Fifty One – More Time To Kill

Fifty Two – A Pleasant Haunting And Another New Life

Fifty Three – The Words In The Dream

Fifty Four – The Visage

Fifty Five – Back To Reality

Fifty Six – The Uncomfortable Conversation

Fifty Seven – A Simple Solution

Fifty Eight – Another Unwelcome Change

Fifty Nine – Being Alone With A Monster

Sixty – The Accusation

Sixty One – A World With Meaning

Sixty Two – Talking To A Demon

Sixty Three – The After-Hours Proposal

Sixty Four – The Unwelcome Guest

Sixty Five – An Old Friend

Sixty Six – The Ululation of the Nightmare

Sixty Seven – What Lies Within

Sixty Eight – The Ocean Rendered

Epilogue
Foreword

To the realities that propagate in our minds that we calmly tell ourselves do not exist - I ask you. If the worlds once rendered in a fleeting moment of joy and lust, can paint a vision of truth in sense and touch. Where lies fault in remembrance of those who have fallen from rust? Is it their fate to caste them off as dirt with a rinse as such?

Dreams create reality. They live in us until we give them sustainable form for all to see and hear. They are real. To treat them as less, would be a sin.

\- Virgil Allen Moore

Special Thanks

To my loving wife for supporting my vivid imagination.

And to my wonderful fans for reading my story.

# Prologue One

"If pain was a memory, time a test, and forgiveness the only measure of good left in this darkness: I will be endlessly tormented by the souls of those who never forgave me for what I became," his eyes slipped into the embrace of a lucid dream as his voice faded into nothingness again.

Soft seamless skin united against a carapace of faces. White winding lace and flowing rivers of satin were clothed over a beauty that was beyond an all too perfect memory. The details of a gathering, people shaped around a central world filled with a lie woven into the veins of each delicate row. The feeling of a vivid moment returned. It was a sensation fated, meant to be, the years lost, only remembered now as an echo. The pressure of a kiss once so familiar, known, and welcome was there again. It was beautiful, it was everything they both longed and yearned for it to be. It was a union, perfect and loving in all the ways it should have been. It was theirs for the day, a wall of bliss unmatched by the horrors yet to be.

Small flakes of snow fell. They graced everything in sight. Slowly, the sections of white faded to gray and then to deep black. It touched the satin, the pale skin, darkening it with a sinister feel. The light quickly crept away from his eyes. He reached out to his loving bride. Their hands clasped, the pressure of each finger pulling on the next, failing. Blood flowed as her hand ripped away from his. A searing pain developed in the back of his eyes. It gave flashes of pure red, memories that forced him to remember the events that led to that day.

The dream was collapsing. The beauty was losing to the blackness that now covered the world. The pain was overwhelming the bliss that once held the moment. She was gone, his gorgeous wife was no longer there. Her warmth was extinguished, swallowed into the darkness.

The fleeting dream was lost, buried in a sea of experience.
Prologue Two

On an examination table in the basement of a hospital morgue, laid a strange sight. Black and bloody, it rested dead and motionless in its slumber.

"Twelve thirty four, subject doesn't appear to be human," the coroner determined with an alarmed look. He spoke aloud into a voice recorder above the table. His eyes paced over the body.

"Then what is it?" the young female medical intern asked reluctantly. "What could do this to someone?" she ran her gloved hand over the wet black plates that covered the whole of the corpse. "There's no pulse, whatever it is, it's dead."

"It's almost like armor, isn't it?" the coroner remarked as he examined the lower left side of the creature, "and it's missing a large piece of its abdomen."

The intern tried to lift up one of the plates, it didn't budge, "these are part of its skin." She traced her fingers over the large wound on its side, "and these appear to be claw marks, or maybe even bites taken out," she pointed to the edges of the broken plates. There were parts that had been torn at, rendered into pulp. The skin underneath was wet and dark, almost congealed. Blood pooled on the side of the examination table from the open wound. "It's sad, really. He looks powerful whatever it is."

The coroner watched in disbelief as he was forced to agree with a nod.

"Look, it's a type of vampire. Whatever it is, it has fangs. At least what's left of them," the intern pulled back the remaining section of the upper left lip. The creature's face had been ravished. Its lower right jaw bone was exposed. A few of its teeth were missing, but the sharpness of its fangs was clear enough. Its eyes were closed and covered with a black film over the lids. "Someone didn't like him."

The coroner sighed, "all this means is more paper work."

"What do you mean? He's a dead vampire, there's not much paper work other than reporting it to the state. It's someone else's problem when it comes to figuring out who he was and how long he's lived." The intern couldn't stop staring at the creature's fangs. It was fascinating to her. She thumbed over them.

"Stop playing with those! He can still cut you," the coroner shouted. "Besides, you're overlooking one important thing. There's a dead vampire on the table. No matter how weird this one is, he's still in one piece."

"So?" the intern questioned as she removed her hands from its face.

"So when was the last time you saw the remains of one? Or even heard of any remains?" the coroner crossed his arms. "They never come to us in this condition, this intact. It's always charred clothing and a few remnants of bone. Or a dried husk if there is any form of a body. But never this, never this - whole of a thing."

"Is that because it takes a lot to kill a vampire?" the intern guessed.

"Exactly. If this is a murder, than the person doing it usually wants to inflict as much damage as possible. To a vampire that means either sunlight, bleeding them out, or silver to stop their regeneration. But this doesn't look like any of that. He appears to be torn at by something. This was done by raw force, not by exploiting a weakness. Whoever did this to him was-"

A loud crashing sound rang from the other side of the large open stainless steel room. They both ran to see what had happened.

"Sorry about that. I had placed your wife's birthday present on the counter before I scrubbed out. I hope it isn't too damaged from the fall," the intern sighed and looked at the crumpled edge of the rectangular box that now laid on the floor.

"No, it doesn't look that bad." The coroner chuckled, "but that does help me to make a good point." They walked back to the body on the table. "Let me ask you something. If you wanted to destroy that package, I mean really destroy it, what would you do to it?"

"I don't know, I guess burn it, put it in a trash compacter or a shredder," the intern gave it a passing effort as she again felt the stiffness of the black plates on the corpse. They were interwoven into each other, extending from under the skin itself.

"That's my point. You know that you can burn it, crush it, and chop it up. There isn't any other reason messing around with any other method. Otherwise, the present wouldn't be destroyed. It's the same with a vampire, except that if you fail, you'll get your throat ripped out," the coroner lifted up its left hand. It was clawed and covered in the same dark wet plates as the rest of the body, only smaller to allow for finer movement. "This is the part that bothers me. If the murderer did this to him, it means that this was the best way to kill him."

"I don't follow," the intern was stumped as she reached for a fresh scalpel off the sterile tray.

The coroner put the limb down. "If it burns, burn it. If it bleeds, bleed it. If it can be poisoned, poison it. It's simple with vampires. There are only a few ways to kill them. What troubles me is that if the murderer had to rip a piece of his face and stomach out to kill him, does that mean he couldn't be killed any other way?"

The intern tried to cut into one of the plates. It didn't cut. She put the knife down on the side tray. She thought about the enigma for a minute as she paced to the far side of the room and back again. A chill ran down her spine as she read into it.

"Well? Am I wrong?" the coroner followed, waiting for an answer.

There was another crash. This time it was the scalpel that had just been placed on the tray stand.

"You're not wrong," a deep voice bellowed out, filling the room. It had a rumble to it that was disturbing, inhuman.

There was a feeling that the air became instantly colder. The intern and the coroner turned suddenly to see the black creature sitting upright on the exam table. It was inches from them. Its eyes were still closed. The black liquid covered them entirely. Its plated skin moved and shifted over its wounded side. It filled itself as they watched. The jaw that was once exposed, closed. The dark substance slid into place to reform the other half of its lips. The face was whole again. The eyes shifted to reveal an unsettling pure white. It was staring at them without real eyes.

The coroner and the intern stood, shivering in place, not knowing how to react. The chill in the room became more pronounced. The intern shivered and the coroner's hands began to shake at his side.

The creature took in a deep breath, filling its collapsed lungs. It restored itself. The coroner stepped back towards the foot of the table with the intern. They slowly made it to the far end of the room, more than thirty feet from the only door. It was the farthest away from the creature they could get.

"I was having such a nice dream. I hate when I wake up," the dark voice boomed again, echoing throughout the sterile room. "Another failed attempt," it was sad, subdued. It jumped down from the table and landed without a sound. It was graceful, too graceful to look like it did. "Did they find my mask?" it asked calmly as it stared at the coroner.

"You didn't have anything on you when you came in," the coroner managed to say, shaking as he held his female intern behind him and to the side. He was trembling more than she was. Her right hand gripped his upper arm with all her strength.

The intern shifted her eyes to a clear belongings bag near the door. She said nothing. It was only out of fear that she remembered the small bag that the local examiner brought along.

"I see. Thank you." The creature disappeared from sight and reappeared next to the bag.

The intern stared in horror. She spoke automatically, under her breath to the coroner, "But he had no pulse, I don't understand. How did he regenerate without any flowing blood? I read all the reports from the original study in New York. Dr. Thompson was very clear on their regeneration abilities. He shouldn't even be able to stand right now. Not with that much blood loss."

The coroner carefully backed into the personnel lockers on that side of the room. He left the intern staring at the dark creature standing in front of them. She was frozen with fear.

"I'm a little different from what you may be used to," the creature's booming voice was still horridly out of place with the content of his words. "Herald didn't know what I was back then."

The coroner slowly reached into his locker for a gun loaded with silver bullets. It was the only method useful to slow down a vampire with a well-placed shot. He racked back the slide, loading a fresh bullet into the chamber. He was nervous, not sure if he could even hit the creature. He raised his arms up, shaking as he moved. He fired before he could accurately aim. The bullet struck the creature just below its left eye. He had intended to shoot the chest, above the heart. It was a shot that he had been trained for. But this think was not what he was trained to face. He was shaking. He only meant to wound, not kill. He wanted anything just to slow this thing down and study it more. But that window was shut now. The casing hit the floor.

The intern let out a scream as the gun rang out in the confined room. She watched in horror as she began to realize what was actually happening next.

The creature didn't flinch. The bullet passed straight through, embedding itself into the far concrete wall with a thud. The black plate under its eye shifted and instantly closed the newly created wound in its face. The demon didn't move, it didn't breathe. It stood. It stared at the coroner.

The coroner and the intern were frozen with anticipation of the horrors that were about to be taken out on them. He regretted his rash actions and she more completely regretted her entire career choice.

"Who? What are you?" the coroner lowered the gun, figuring it to be near useless. "You shouldn't be able to heal from that. Not that quickly. Not from silver."

"The power of silver and the weight of a name no longer hold any value for me. Perhaps one day I will tell someone, but not tonight." The demon flashed out of sight and in front of the coroner. He squeezed the middle of the barrel with his thumb and index finger and pinched it shut. It folded instantly under the immense pressure.

The intern was barely able to gasp as she witnessed the ease in which the creature displayed its strength.

The demon turned to the intern, "my heart doesn't beat anymore. My body doesn't need it to." He reappeared next to the bag and opened it and took out the mask. He turned back and slid it up, over his black, demonic face. The mask was perfect white with painted dark eyebrows lips and a half smile.

"Why a smile?" the intern asked, accidentally blurting it out through sheer curiosity.

"It's not a smile," the creature lowered his head for a moment. "It's a memory," he pressed his hand against the swinging door ready to leave. "It's a smirk," with his last words, he disappeared again. There was no sound. The door didn't even sway as he left. He was only gone.

Out on the street, the moon above shined brightly as the creature looked up from a vacant road, "when I look back at how all this happened. How all this began. The fragmented stories that all came together within my mind. I would have never thought it would end up as it did. I think of what happened, what lead to where I am," he reached into a fold in one of the black plates and pulled out a small journal. He looked down as he opened the red stained pages. He spoke to himself, under his breath, "I read these words and think about the lives they represent. The pain, the memories, the deaths they remember for me. After fifty years, I've found I regret everything except that first night."

"Since it was a beautiful dream I had tonight. Let us begin with how it started fifty years ago. Let us begin with a dream."

# Chapter One

The Abomination and A Tainted Whisper

So sweet was the wet rain that flowed through the throat of life. It kissed the sky as a nimble tongue danced over a sharp tooth. This was the culmination.

The demon inside dripped with excitement. Wet senses, tense thoughts played in his mind. He leaned in, her neck was warm, tender, ready for penetration. This was his first in centuries.

His hand gripped her delicate shoulder. She sighed from the pressure. It was celestial. A brown cashmere sweater was all that kept the barrier between the touch. His skin was light, a contrast to her tanned olive tone. He stood slightly taller, nearly six feet to her thin five eight frame. Her face was oval, feminine. Her lips were glass. Her dark green eyes added detail to her perfect expression. He had induced a reaction within her. She was attracted to him. His sinewy build appealed to her. His hair was calm fire, down to his shoulders. The dark brown hues were the only remaining link to his humanity. A sudden breeze shed light to his black eyes, shielded in thorns. Her extended mortality had been his muse until that night. The clouds were about to tear open from above, the nightmare had almost come.

The field adjacent to them offered little cover to the anticipated events. The century oak was solitary in the night. The sun had abandoned them long before they had arrived. His breath on her neck was telling. It was going to happen. She knew that. She demanded it. He pressed as the hard bark pushed into her from behind. She drew him to her. The tree pitted her back with a unique sensation. There was ritual in this act, a feeling of events that had come together. This was her time to enjoy him. After many nights of catering to his whims, placating his desires. She was able to purely experience this act. This singular moment was hers.

Her long brown hair shifted as needles in the wind, exposing her supple veins, "this is what I want," her voice almost silent, loud only to his ears. She panted, waited, wished for it. Her lips pale, flush with the idea of what was about to take place.

A streak of lightning set fire to the night, illuminating the privacy they had sought out so carefully. The shade of the oak held the last mystery as the sky gave away the secrets of nature around them. The area was euphoric, its flash of brilliant incandescence spread the dark dream even further into the night. Just as it came, it was seen and gone. It lingered in the eye for only a fleeting moment. Then everything went black in a hush that left a yearning.

Before he could answer, the demon within had spoken. His fingers were not his own as he stripped the fabric away. Her flesh was intoxicating. He grasped the back of her head with a pure intention. His hand cradled her slender exposed neck. The once gentle fingertips that were used to caress now drove into her, piercing the skin of this eerily beautiful girl. She tensed. She let the pain subside to her newfound pleasure. This was welcome to her. An essential feeling to obtaining what she wanted.

His face caressed hers in an embrace. A passionate deep kiss led to his tongue drawing a line away and down to her throat. His lips were speaking to her body. His fanged teeth wet and sharp. He entered her in one motion.

Her breath was quickened to the pace of her heart. Crimson flowed, soaking, flooding the once dry clothing that remained in the stormy night. Her bra the only intact article concealing her breasts from his piercing gaze. The warm red liquid cascaded down her chest. Her long black skirt absorbed the rest of the pain. Her inspiration was heavy, labored, she exhaled in ecstasy. Her arms wrapped his cold back. She loved this. With each mouthful, she softly sang the experience to the empty shadows.

The demon spoke without words. She heard his voice in her blood, "you are the sacrifice that will allow my rebirth. You are the gateway to my desires. Your blood is my road." The phrase didn't mean much to her completely focused and enthralled mind.

He smiled as he drank her life. She shifted her hips towards his attempting to connect them further. He pulled her leg up high and tight. Close to his side. Her quiet moans filled his keen ears with music. He pinned her to the tree with excessive force.

This was exactly what she had asked for. To be with someone that needed her as she was, as the inhuman monster she really was. This was ephemeral, but needed. She wanted something more than the normal vampire, a difference in power. To be influenced, to be controlled, a pressure that could be felt instead of told. She wanted a demon within the nightmare of her world.

He continued to devour her, to let the blood flow. She gasped, trying to ask him to stop. Her mouth dry, unable to speak. The words lost on her glazed mind. Her arms failed her. It terrified her, yet it was enticing. It felt eerily good. The intensity climbed and washed over her as he bore deeper. The sensation filled her being. She stared into his black eyes as she lost consciousness.

Chapter Two

The Sweetness Of The Dream

The storm descended. It wet their bodies through the filter of the leaves. The blood spilled, mixing into the roots below. This was not unpleasant in her mind. Only unexpected. It was a way out of her existence. Finally an end to the greater expectations held by her disappointed father. She accepted this death.

He had consumed her. Her body stood soulless and broken against the tree. He eased back to reveal her torn neck. It flopped in the increasing weather. With her stained skin void of life he held her in place. His eyes examined her. She was beautiful. His palate was quenched. This was the result of too many nights of temptation.

"Amber from the vein," his voice was dark and piercing.

Her blood painted the tree.

The night sky bled and obfuscated the loss. With a glass moon high in the heavens he set her to rest. He propped her low against the tree where she lost her once extended life. Turbulence shook the leaves from above attempting a simple burial. Wind rustled the field throwing her tattered clothing from her eviscerated body. She laid there, empty. The flesh now a shell of the person who had once trusted him.

His eyes gleamed black in the solid midnight beneath the oak. The crack of the thunder marked his soul. The spark of the lightning jolted his memory. There was a small seemingly insignificant remnant willing to accept the evil he had done. It tried to convince him the blood was a necessity. That she had to die, that she had wanted it. It persuaded him to eat. To feast and siege conquest on the world for more. Its insatiable will whispered softly to the dreamer inside the dream. It influenced him with a vision of things to come.

His voice echoed through his lips. He stared at her with all his guilt, "this is what you are. The intriguing flavors you secretly salivate and intensely lust for," he smiled. It was becoming a part of him. It tasted pure, coating his tongue. Silky, it quenched his thirst as he remembered the joy of the moment again.

He viewed the once animate youth ravaged before him. It was done. His fists shut tight against themselves. He knew this was wrong. He wished his closed lips would obey. That he might feel any measure of sorrow for this evil. He wanted to prove he was not the monster he had become. There was deception here. Deep inside the corners of his mind he enjoyed the depravity. He sweetly craved it, aching for its presence. His mind was torn to the solace of the finished sanguinary act.

His eyes closed. The red fleeting apparition somehow soothed and calmed him. It was murder. He could hear it above the raging storm. It coursed through him. It forced echoed visions of her dead body to torment into his soul. It spoke again, "the vast ocean of power I can grant you. The absolution I offer, to walk without equal as an abomination among monsters. To be feared as no other," the voice sighed inside of him. There was a warm breath in the back of his thoughts, "am I truly so disgusting? Is this not what you asked for? Do I not tempt you? Offer you what you need? Do I not wet your tongue with my invitation?"

Fear swept him. His mind was sovereign no longer. His gut knotted in indecision. The hot blanket of seduction that had cloaked him was convincing enough. It was generously welcome. He hesitated, not knowing the demon's destination or his own. He could feel his soul slipping. A grip once tight now failed him.

"Let it happen. Give yourself to me. All you ever have to do is acknowledge me. Your soul will satisfy my desires, my requirements," the voice was commanding. It spoke as a god dwelling in the recesses of his senses. It continued, "rip, tear, rend, and swallow the blood like milk," the demon inside beckoned with a sadistic suggestion.

He was unsure. The deal was tempting. Even acceptable in a sick flight of fancy. The power was enthralling. His confliction was disturbing him. He was not a murderer. He knew as much as he doubted his own integrity. It was still tempting. It did wet his mouth to think about it. It was keen on his fingertips. Absolute strength on a level unrivaled. The knowledge that no other being would ever be able to contest him. It was a spectacular promise, remarkably seductive.

The voice posed its question a final time. Its confidence unrelenting, "is my simple price so steep, so dire? Costly? That you would die a fool's death to deny me the path fate has allowed me to etch in the stars?"

# Chapter Three

Sway With Me

The club was packed with dark and dreary souls as the lone singer took the stage. She wore a long black gown with her hair to match. The bass picked up. The drums tapped. She counted a measure. She wanted a moment to see who was in the crowd. Who would be watching her tonight? Her eyes combed over the room. Nothing. Just the same thirty or so people that were always there. Another measure began. She sighed before the microphone. Her tone was felt by the whole of the crowd. They began to pay attention. The eyes were descending on her. The complacent stares of youth that she was so familiar with. Another measure and she drew her breath at its end. The bass thumped louder. It signaled her to begin. And she did. With her low sultry tone she lulled the crowd. The words of the song were like a magic spell that soothed everyone in the room except for her. Promises of intimacy, romance, embrace. The lyrics were hers to project on everyone. But they were meant for no one there.

It had been weeks since she had any real interest in anyone there. The same faces no matter how intricately painted bored her. She wanted something better, something more to her life than the usual trouble that walked through the night and into that tiny door at the other end of the room.

The bass thumped on as she stared at the empty table in front of her. There was never any one there. The population of the club was either on the dance floor to the side or at the bar near the back. No one ever sat down. No one ever interesting enough to break the cycle and stare back at her on the lonely stage.

The last words rang out from her soul as the beat came to an end. The drums stopped. The bass lingered and faded. She closed her eyes hopping for anyone to appear at the table. When she opened them a moment later it was still empty. Her heart sank. She whispered to herself, "I wish there was something more than this. Someone more." She stepped down off the stage. She made her way to the bar and picked up her purse. She was leaving. She had other plans that night. As she walked out she turned and thought of that lonely table again and let the door close slowly behind her.

# Chapter Four

Getting Up To Speed

A young man was quickly roused from a bad dream. Sweat beaded off his forehead and back to his short black hair. His breath eased. He believed the nightmare was behind him. He opened his deep brown eyes to a white ceiling. The same he had seen when he last slept. He lay motionless for a moment. He thought about the dream he had. The seductive nightmare that he couldn't look away from. He felt each sensation, every caress, every bite. It was a visceral dream, almost a hallucination. But it couldn't be real. He sat up. His sheets fell to the end of the bed. His dampened clothing was the only layer that kept him cool through the prior night. It all clung to his thin fit physique. He was attractive, but his five foot seven frame was less than average for his age. But his demeanor was not. He was calm and calculating as he thought about the nightmare. It didn't disturb him for the same reasons that it might someone else. He was unsure of it. The feelings were too real. He wasn't sure if he had begun to enjoy the sensations or if he was still dreaming.

He lived in a mostly normal room for a teenager. A dorm style set of furniture and a limited wardrobe. The room was painted a light sky blue with a white ceiling for contrast. It was simple. He liked it that way.

Three pictures hung on the wall by his tiny bed. The first was framed in a dark cherry wood. It was of his parents when they were younger. A tall young man with brown hair and a small thin woman with short nearly pure white hair stood lovingly together. The flash of the camera gleamed red in her eyes and not his. The second picture was in a newer, cheaper frame. It was of him as a boy, riding an old bicycle for his birthday. The kind you might find at a local garage sale. He was eight in the image as it proudly proclaimed at the top of the photograph in black crayon. The third was in the same type of frame as the first, an expensive cherry. It was of him and his father in a large field of farm wheat. He was ten. They were running as the picture was taken at the length of his father's arm. He appeared to be very happy and content in the scene. A memory from when he could let go and enjoy his childhood. It was a surreal memory compared to the others. It calmed him.

It was the last days of May. Spring had loosened its grasp on the season. Summer had come and begun to set in. The temperature had risen. It broke into the high nineties on an average northern Florida day. The light had fled from the sky. Though it influenced his room little. He had no windows. It was a cheap apartment. The kind sandwiched in between other units. He had been asleep through most of the day. The near absolute black provided a wonderful environment for rest.

This solitary boy was Zack Giver. In the past weeks, he'd felt different. This dream was not the first. He had been more distant than normal after each one. There was a longing in him that needed to be filled. Something that he had to do, unknown to him, pulling at his thoughts. There was no challenge at home. He required a calamity. He wanted to get out of his own world and pursue a goal, a hobby, a person worth pursuing. He didn't want his life to become atrophied. There were too many things that were stagnant as is.

He sat up on the edge of the bed. He reached for his silver rimmed glasses and slowly put them on. He tried to remember the dream again. He knew it was important. He thought he needed to be somewhere. Somewhere in a dream.

The alarm clock on his old mp3 player kicked in with an agenda. It blasted a fast paced song. It was Buckethead. Not a song you could easily ignore. He leaned over to hit the stop button. His concentration drifted. The moment was gone.
Chapter Five

The Lady In The Dark

On the top floor of a nearby hotel, a tall young woman laced up the half-corset of a rather unique outfit. The room was dark. Nothing was cast in any great detail. The shadows let only shades of gray hues paint the room. Her long back exposed the shape of a white angel's wing. The tattoo was down the right side of her back. A single light from the hall shed a small glimmer of her true figure. She was a vixen in black lace and leather. Her dark hair gathered over her bare breasts. Her face was beautiful. She was a teenage goddess. Her blue eyes glowed from behind her straight flowing hair. She had light, sunless skin.

There was a knock on her open door. A young man in a black suit let himself in.

The young man spoke from the shadows. His face was shielded in darkness. His voice was impatient, "remember, you were the one that asked me for this assignment. They are targets. They are all simply targets. He is a target, nothing more, nothing less."

The gorgeous half-dressed girl sat on the edge of the dark living room sofa as she answered, "I know he's supposed to be the next incarnation of a demon, but look at him." Her voice was commanding yet compassionate. She pointed to a black and white photograph on the large coffee table. It was partially hidden by the poor ambient light. "He's only a boy. No older than you were when you were turned."

"And look how far I've come in two hundred years. Have you forgotten the story of the child that gave in and awakened the demon? A thousand years meant nothing against merely ten years of pure-blood-lust in its hands. He holds the polar opposite of a true god in his flesh. Remember why you're doing this, why he needs to die," the young man spoke with purpose and urgency. He believed what he was saying. The boy's death was necessary to him. "He is a monster, remember that."

"I know it's to save humanity and all. Kill the teenager and save the world or some appalling shit like that. But seeing his face, his expression. He doesn't seem the type to give in to something like that." She raised the photo, examining it, "you're sure Marin will follow through with the assassination order if this all goes bad. You're sure I won't have to do it?" she tied up the corset. She laced it up in front. It exposed her delicate arms completely. A white sleeveless dress shirt acted as a slip to the black corset over top her skin.

"Of course, I'd never ask my own daughter to kill someone I was responsible for. However contractually speaking you are the one signing on the dotted line for this. If for some reason Marin doesn't follow through then it will fall back on you to cause an accident leading to his immediate demise. At the very least you'll be required to give him some bad advice that could be potentially fatal. At the most, you will have to end his life directly," the figure in the doorway stepped into the room and opened the kitchen's refrigerator. The light illuminated his face. He was a young boy himself, no older than fourteen. His short dark hair appeared black in the dim light. He took out a glass of dark red liquid and placed it on the open breakfast counter. He closed the door gently.

"What do you mean? An 'accident'? Are you serious? Should I tell him he can walk on water and then try to drown him to death? Or some other outlandish attempt like that?" she laughed as she slid a black partially laced stocking up her leg.

The boy returned to the archway next to the hall, "no. I mean that if you are placed in a position where you have vital information about a current situation, you could possibly tell him to travel down the wrong path instead of the safe one. That's all."

The young woman pulled the stocking up the other leg, "and about my background?" She unfolded a long white slip, "will the singing position present a problem?"

"No one knows you work there. You never have to tell him about your little hobby," the boy adjusted his tie. "You can keep that part of your life to yourself. You can meet him outside of a Burger King for all I care. Where and when is your choice, not mine. He goes out so rarely that you'd never run into him on your own, not by chance at least." He drank the red liquid and licked his lips, "Whatever you do, I shudder to think he'll be able to look away from you long enough to realize what's actually going on. You make a very convincing sixteen year old," he swirled the glass, preparing to drink more.

"I'm only as young as I can afford to be, you know that more than anyone, David," she put a white slip on.

"I told you to call me father, Kyli. Sometimes I think you are your mother. You're so similar after all," David replied.

"But I'm not a drug addict, dad," Kyli unfolded a long black skirt.

"You're correct as always," David continued to swirl the glass in his left hand with a sigh.

"So he's not going to suspect me at all? This will be nothing like the last time?" Kyli stepped into the opening of the long dark skirt.

"No, there shouldn't be any issue. I do want to warn you though. He's quite intuitive for his age. What he lacks in conversation he makes up for in understanding. He hasn't turned, and he's already feeling people out. It's definitely the demon gift. So don't get on any subjects that are close to home, got it. Stick to the script, and everyone will go home happy and alive," David sipped from the glass again.

"Except for him, right? Everybody lives and he gets to be the one that picks up the check at the end of the party. Payable upon death for the greater good, right? What a fate for an unknowing random kid. To be the host to a demon of all things and he doesn't even know it yet. Poor Zack Giver," Kyli pulled up the skirt and zipped the side.

"It's sad, but necessary. His death will protect billions in the end. We just have to document it and let their man do the rest," David slammed back the remainder of the glass. His lips slightly splashed with the dark red color. The liquid absorbed into his skin as he turned back into the hallway.

Kyli gazed at the photograph of Zack on her coffee table. "Too bad, he's handsome."

Chapter Six

Waking Back Up Into The World

There was a knock at the door. It was Zack's father, John.

John Giver was a pool designer that learned to be a landscape architect. With the decline of pools in the greater Gainesville area he found it hard to pay the rent. He was good at his job. Too good in fact to get any repeat business. His pools didn't wear down. They didn't need the regular high maintenance of other pool systems.

John had recently turned to Zack to help with rent. It was something that wasn't a big issue. Zack had helped with rent in the past. He took on odd jobs here and there restoring cabinets at the homes of John's pool contract jobs. It was a simple thing that he enjoyed doing. It was straight forward work. He'd sand, dust, refinish, and smooth sand followed by a few layers of stain. It allowed him to zone out enough and not think about what was going on in his life at the time.

He exhaled as the last memory of his dream was lost, "coming."

He didn't know what type of occupation he wanted to pursue. He was good at restoring things. He would always get complemented on his work with cabinets. He thought about what could be and what might be in the future.

He wanted to relax. To go somewhere that he wasn't used to. He wanted to be alone for a few hours. Where there was no one to bother him. There was a local Gothic night club open at 8pm. It came to mind because of a flier that advertised that it allowed minors. It was a place where a person could just sit and watch the live music for the cost of a soda. He wanted that kind of solidarity. He needed it. He wished to be alone in a crowd of people. The concept sounded nice. Lately he felt he was never alone with just his thoughts.

Physically, he was lean. Although his woodworking skills toned his arms, his shirts were always too loose to show it. Most girls overlooked him passing on the street. He wasn't particularly tall. He wasn't muscular, or athletic. But he was attractive. Those who took the time to look into his eyes understood that instantly. He had a gaze that was captivating. A sharp, gaunt face with dark brown eyes and short black hair gave him a stoic look that a few girls could resist once they saw him. His chin was broad. It made a very masculine face. The only problem was that he appeared unapproachable. He was always alone.

"Zack, you didn't fall back asleep, did you?" John called out into the silent room.

He stared out across the room, "no. I'm up." He adjusted his round glasses again. They weren't the most stylish pair. They were an heirloom passed down from his grandfather. His father said that they were made of nearly pure silver. He considered them priceless and kept them in good condition because of it.

John finally walked in. "Zack, I know that look. You can't remember the address, can you?"

He didn't say anything.

"You're going somewhere tonight aren't you? Do you need a ride?" John offered.

John Giver wasn't a traditional father. He was more of a friend to Zack than a strict parent. John knew his son, perhaps a little too well. They had been there for each other as friends and family since his mother left when he was two. Without knowing it, he was there for his dad. When he was older, Zack always knew what to say to stop the tears. John chose to never speak of his ex-wife. Only mentioning her when he needed to answer a question of what she was like. Living with a single parent made him more self-reliant in John's eyes. He was able to stand tall in the face of emotionally damaging events a normal kid might not be able to deal with.

John looked almost nothing like Zack, begging an answer more times than not of what his mother looked like. He was over six feet and had naturally light tanned skin. His very light brown hair and blue eyes were a stark contrast to his son.

"No. I'll take a bus," Zack said calmly. "I just want to blend in."

"The kids at this club are going to be dressed very well. Some will be in elaborate costumes. To blend in, you need to dress accordingly. Trust me. I was your age once," John had a smile on his face. A sense that he was steering his son in the right direction. "How do you think I met your mother?" John sighed, "put these on. You'll thank me later," John handed him some clothes on a hanger and stepped out.

He began to get changed.

"Hey Zack," John said through the door.

"What is it?" Zack peeled off his clothes.

"Why don't you go with your friends?" John suggested.

He turned to the door, "you know the answer to that."

"Yeah, sorry. I keep forgetting they moved away," John apologized.

He put on the pressed clothing his dad picked out.

John waited in the space between the bedroom corridor and the kitchen of the apartment. The decoration was minimal. It lacked a woman's touch. The only appealing feature of the whole apartment were the windows. Four large panes covered the entire gap from the kitchen to the far wall where John's movie shelves were. Their view was of the Gainesville tree line and the surrounding apartment complexes that littered the horizon to the east. The third floor offered sunlight that flooded the living room each morning and a sunset that was perfect every evening.

He opened the door.

"You look good son," John complemented. "What's the name of the club you're going to?"

He didn't answer. He had planned to catch the bus downtown and then ask where the Goth club was.

John spoke up, "it's Club Sauger. You mentioned it last week. It's always better to go out with as much info as you can before you get in over your head."

# Chapter Seven

Another Night Begins

Later that night at the club. She sat at the lit make up booth. She touched up a few things on her face. She retraced her eyeliner and stood up. This would be yet another disappointing night. Or so she thought.

Her gown was long and dark as it always was. Her hair to match. She took the stage as she always did. No nerves to dissuade her performance. She enjoyed singing the same low melodies. It seduced her as much as the crowd. It calmed her to sing. It distracted her from what she really did most nights.

The bass picked up. The drums tapped. She waited a measure. Her eyes were closed to the room. She expected the same old audience. The same old crowd of uninteresting people in front of her. She let the measure play out as she slowly bobbed her head.

She opened her eyes. She was ready to sing. The bass lowered. The drums quieted. She opened her mouth with every intention of singing. But when her eyes met the table in front of her there was no sound. There was someone sitting before her. Someone looked right up at her. It gave her a chill that she didn't expect. He was young, handsome, and he gazed at her with every ounce of his being. His deep brown eyes were only for her.

She stared back with a gratification that was unfamiliar to her. He was at the lonely table when no one else was. Finally, someone interesting.

Chapter Eight

Scripted Fate

Meanwhile, an hour earlier. Zack studied the bus route to Club Sauger. He told his dad that he'd be back around 10pm. When he got to the stop it was partially filled with people from all ages mingling about. In the distance there was a small group of five slightly older kids pushing around a younger one. He knew that he had a little time. So he wandered over to check it out.

It was a fight. From what it sounded like, they wanted money from the kid, a cell phone, an mp3 player, a portable gaming system, something of value that the kid didn't actually have. He had stumbled upon a grade school mugging.

As he approached, one of the bullies called out, "hey! Turn the hell back and get lost!" The kid had a short buzzed haircut, like the rest of them. A gray hooded shirt rounded out the look.

He knew what was going on and he didn't like it. There was a feeling somewhere deep inside him. He wanted to stop this from happening. He wanted to protect this innocent middle schooler from getting his ass kicked. At least that's what he wanted to tell himself. Somewhere inside he wanted the conflict to come. So he played dumb, "what was that?" He stepped closer. He knew exactly what the guy had said.

"You know him?" another one of the bullies asked Zack. "You know this kid?"

"Yeah, he's my little brother's friend." Zack kept a straight face with the lie.

The two bullies immediately pulled him forward. They held him by the arms and drug him to the rest of the group. They pushed him down on his knees. Another gang member frisked him for anything valuable in his pockets. He had nothing but the bus schedule in his pockets.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he remained calm as he spoke.

The largest one instantly punched him in the side of the face. He went down and they held him to the ground. They were refocusing their attention away from the crying kid. The plan had worked.

"We're takin' what you got. You have a problem with that?" the other bully asked with an attitude.

The lack of light hid their faces well, being so far away from the bus stop Zack couldn't make out their descriptions. He had planned on making a full report to the cops later that night on what had happened. The gang all looked like they were over eighteen. That meant felony assault on a minor. That meant jail time for every one of them. That meant the kid would be safe. But that wasn't going to happen now. It was too dark.

He thought they were smart to pick the location, and that he was too brash to walk into it. His cheek was pressed into the road by one of their shoes.

He looked over to the middle schooler. He was small, round, and about eleven. He was crying his eyes out, "please don't hurt me anymore. I don't have any money. I've got nothing, I'm poor. Please, just let me go," the small boy's voice cracked. It strained under the stress of the situation.

He looked back at the two bullies in front of him, "I don't have anything either unless you really like to know when the city bus gets here. But I'm not going to let you beat this kid up. Let him go and do what you want to me instead," he stood up for his morals against the white high top that pressed into his face. It was honorable but it was about to get him killed.

The small gang didn't know what to think. They stopped kicking the young kid. The thugs looked at the large guy, not knowing what to do next.

"I don't have all day, I've got a bus to catch. What's it gonna be?" Zack pressed them for an answer while they held him on the gravel median next to the road.

The larger bully huffed and squinted his eyes at Zack, "go ahead. Let him go. We'll take it out on this guy instead. We'll make sure he gets to where ever the hell he's going with a few extra colors."

The gang let the middle schooler go. The kid ran away crying and flailing his arms. The five immediately turned to Zack. For the next seven minutes, they kicked the crap out of him. In a sick twist of irony, when the bus came, the gang was the one that hailed it for him. They walked him to the steps and shoved him onto the bus. He stumbled up the stairs and walked in with a busted lip, a black eye, and some visible bruises. The gang promptly ran off as the doors closed.

"Hey kid, are you alright?" the old bus driver asked Zack. He was an older man in a blue city jumpsuit.

"I'll live," he replied. His lip bled. He stumbled in and sat down in the middle of the bus. He took his shoe off and opened a small compartment. He returned his shoe and deposited the bus fare with a sigh.

He rode the bus and got out four blocks from the club. He walked slowly there, taking his leisure. He was tired. He only wanted to sit and enjoy a little peace for himself after what had happened. His cheek was swollen and turning purple as he walked up to the door.

Posters that displayed the great musician Demetrius Del Marin were lined one after the other on the outer walls. He played musical goblets. He did everything from classical to his own upbeat compositions. His face was everywhere lately. He was a self-proclaimed vampire. And in the Gothic community, that was big. He was more famous as a classical musician than ever lately. But he got his start with the Gothic crowd. Something about being a vampire just turned those people on. And he was coming to town.

The black door was a welcome sight behind the very large bouncer. It was decorated with simple tones of red, gray, black, and the occasional stripes of white. It was inviting in a creep sort of way. But the main attraction that night was posted next to the door. Live music. It calmed Zack's mind, especially through times of stress. It was something he needed.

# Chapter Nine

Fate Has A Sense Of Irony

"One of those days?" the tall bouncer asked Zack. He looked at the busted lip and face. The man's muscles were larger than his head. He was wearing a black tank top and faded pants with silver chains and piercings on them.

He had clearly arrived at the right place.

"Yeah, you could say that," he replied with a nod. He fished out a ten dollar bill he had in his sock and gave it to the bouncer.

The large man waved off the money, "just promise to buy a drink at the bar and we'll call it even. Looking at your face, you seem like you could use a break," he undid the velvet rope barring the black door. "Ask the bartender for a bag of ice. Tell him Bret said it was okay," the bouncer felt sorry for him.

He went directly to the bar, "soda," and put down the ten dollar bill.

"You sure that's all?" the bartender asked him. His suave appearance insulted Zack's split lip by its mere presence.

"Bret told me to ask you for some ice," he spoke up, tending to his lip, "and a napkin."

"Sure," the bartender gave him a white cloth napkin with ice, then a large soda with a straw.

He found his way to an empty table a few feet from the stage. The band was just warming up. There was only a bass player and a drummer. No sign of the singer yet.

The table had two stools. He sat down at the closest. He placed the ice against his lip and cheek. Blood populated the once pure cloth instantly.

Inside the club, black and red were the main themes. The patrons followed suit. They dressed in intricate Gothic designs. He could spot at least five pairs of fairy wings from his table alone. In comparison, his dark clothing almost seemed too bright. There was an even blend of men, women, girls and boys mixing and joining up throughout the busy club. The house lights were still up. It surprised him that so many people were having fun with the lights on. The club was filled, but not full. Most of them were on the dance floor, swaying to a Scott Peeples remix pumped through the speakers as the band got ready. He instantly recognized the video game it was from. It was a solid trance beat that made him feel relieved. This Club Sauger had a good sense of fun to it. He began to smile for the first time since the dream.

He looked around, still no live music.

He pressed the ice to his face. The house lights dimmed. The show was finally about to start.

The bass picked up. The drums tapped. At the far end of the stage a tall beautiful woman stepped up from behind the curtain. Her long dark hair flowed as she walked between the bass player and the drummer. Her dark corset and long skirt followed. She was gorgeous in the pale light.

The house lights rose.

She was a goddess. He couldn't help but to stare at her. Her eyes were closed. She let the music play beside her. The bass thumped. The drums tapped away. But she was the only person in the room. As her eyes began to open he kept his attention on her beautifully serene expression.

Then she opened her eyes.

# Chapter Ten

Kismet

She opened her eyes to the crowd. She had planned on seeing the same empty table as she always did before her. This time things were different. She recognized him immediately. There was a shock that ran up her back as their eyes locked. He had been staring at her since she walked on stage. It made her feel like she was naked. His deep gaze was piercing. It was Zack Giver. He was the vessel of the demon vampire incarnate. The same young man she was contracted to kill an hour ago.

There was no sound as she stood there. Nothing could hold any distance between them. She forgot the lyrics to the song. She forgot her own name for a moment. He was just too focused on her. Every part of him was attentive to her every movement. She couldn't help but freeze in the intensity of his stare.

The bass player slowed his rhythm. The drummer tapped less and less. The song was over without ever really beginning. She put her hands on the microphone to steady it. To steady herself. It was something she never did. It was more to steady her nerves than anything else. As the stage lights dimmed and the house music was turned up. She could still see his eyes admiring her, consuming her.

She knew it couldn't be avoided. She had to talk to him that night. She stepped forward with one leap of courage and began to fall immediately. In her narrowed view of the moment, she had walked off the end of the stage.

Zack Giver caught her instantly in his arms. He had reached her before the chair he was sitting in could fall. He was slightly cold to her. It was a feeling that was warmer than the other men she'd been with, but somehow colder than the rest. He was different. He was a demon.

He held her in his arms for a moment. He kept his eyes on hers. He hadn't planned to save anyone that night, but it seemed fate had a different plan that night.

"You saved me," she told him. "I don't think anyone else here could have done that."

"Perhaps one day you'll be the only one able to save me when the time comes," he slowly lifted her to her feet. She was soft, but intensely warm. It almost hurt his skin to even be close to her. There was electricity in their touch. He liked it.

She looked at the table in front of them. She looked at the chair on the floor. He had begun to turn. No human could have made it to her in time. The demon had already sowed his dreams with its promises.

He took her hand. He led her to his previously lonely table. He picked up the chair from the floor and helped her into it.

"You seem to be doing this a lot for me recently," she smiled.

He wasn't sure how to respond. This had never happened before. He never made a point to rescue beautiful women that were falling. It felt surreal. But it had happened. He had caught her instantly. The feeling was still settling in as he thought of what to say next.

"What's your name?" her light, smooth, sensual voice spoke under the club music as she sat down next to him.

He raised his eyes. She had thin blue stunning eyes and a perfect oval face sat atop her elegant slender neck and body. She was a dream painted in flesh and blood. "It's Zack."

She reached out with her delicate, white polished fingers. She put her hand on the back of his. There was an instant spark again. It spread through both of their arms. There was another silent connection made in this simple moment. Their touch was hauntingly familiar at first encounter. There was something that their bodies knew that they did not. It was a memory of the skin, of the flesh that neither was fully aware of. It was an instant attraction.

A light scent slowly made its way to him. It was mellow at first. Then it entranced him with one full inspiration. He looked down at their hands. Hers were long and slender. His were thin yet toned. He moved his eyes to her elegant corset. The blue laced ribbons caught his attention soon enough. It was hard to hide her voluptuous figure but the tight clothing accomplished what it needed to. A black lace & ribbon choker held a rather large all-pink heart-shaped buckle at the base of her throat. He stared at her neck and was disturbed at how easy it was to keep staring. Her flesh was inviting.

He finally paused for a moment to speak, "and what might you be?" Her soft hand still on his, he drew his attention to the milky light skin on the girl's arm.

It was an interesting question that prompted an interesting answer. "Here to meet you," she smiled playfully.

"Yes. You are," he wasn't sure what he was saying. The words only came out as he spoke them. He was in a daze. This young woman had a glow about her. It was commanding and seductive. It was sensual and captivating. She was a beneficial distraction in his situation. He didn't feel the pain of his bruises anymore. There was only her face and the wonderful sent. It was intoxicating. It was welcoming. He finally placed the aroma. Cherry and lavender. They were two of his favorite smells. She was nothing like any other girl he'd ever seen. He remembered what his dad had once said about first impressions. She had definitely made his night.

"Careful about staring," she said with a slight smirk to her lips. "You might like what you see." The tips of her fingers slid across the back of his hand. She was beginning to actually enjoy the sensation of his touch. She thought about her obligations, but was too distracted by his deep eyes.

The sensation was pleasurable for both of them. He enjoyed her touch. The contact was enriching, the feeling instant. The connection was strong, fast, arterial.

He was too focused to think to ask her name. Her eyes were too entrancing as they stared back into his soul.

She shifted to his cheek, "what happened? You look like someone used your face to clean their fist."

Her voice was sexy. He was amazed by how she sounded. She tilted her head to the right. She shifted her hips to the side slightly, gently, femininely. Her hand was still on his, lightly caressing it. She attempted to get information by baiting him. She wanted to know without seriously probing about what happened. Anything she could get now would help her later. When the moment came it might be a little piece of information like this that might result in his death. She needed to remain objective, to calculate the situation to her advantage. It was working.

"I tried to be a hero," he said softly under his breath. He didn't enjoy his attempt at saving the kid. He didn't really know why he even thought about it to begin with. He had never done such a thing in his life before. It was like it was someone else's decision.

"Careful about doing that," she warned him, sliding her hand up to his bruised face.

"Because I might get hurt?" he smiled. The warmth of her skin was comforting, soothing to his injury. She was hot, physically. He could feel the heat rising from her touch. He liked it.

"Because you might become one in the process," she said cheerfully. She dropped her hand back down to the table.

He thought about her words. He didn't respond. He was too perplexed as to why she was so warm. He wanted to know why she smelled the way she did. He wanted to know why he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He wanted to know more, to see more of her. His eyes were glued to her black hair as it swayed when she spoke. She smiled again.

He couldn't take his eyes off that smile. It was disrupting his thoughts. The black satin corset absorbed the light from the room, taking in his concentration as well. The blue lace did all but shine within itself overtop the thin white shirt. Her skin lightly showed through. She was a Gothic angel. It was his personal fantasy come true.

He spoke out of the silence, "You still didn't tell me your name." His heart beat quickly. His face was flushed, "I'd like to know what such a beautiful women's name is." He was light-headed with the thoughts of who she might be. He wanted to keep her talking, to know more about her, anything to keep hearing her seductive voice hypnotically soothing his mind.

"I'm from Washington, originally," she wanted to be up front with him. It was an inviting concept. To be honest for a moment with someone that she would otherwise constantly lie to. The thought was refreshing to her.

"Like that vampire book?" he asked smoothly. He became slightly embarrassed when she clearly had no idea what he was talking about.

"Washington, D.C., not Washington State. It's just so many hundred miles north of here. I lived in a high-rise hotel there with my dad on the eighth floor," her spontaneous spirit seemed to drop away when she mentioned living in the capital. She had recalled something unpleasant. It was something that she didn't want to think about.

He picked up on it immediately. He changed the subject back, "you still haven't told me your name." He was getting comfortable with her now. He stared less and focused more on her brilliant blue eyes. He wasn't thinking about the pain from his lip anymore. He was only thinking about her.

"You're right, I haven't told you," the young girl played with him. She could tell he was attracted to her. It was obvious. It was something she thought to take advantage of later.

He was curious. He enjoyed talking with her. At the same time he could feel that something was wrong. In the back of his mind there was a voice that told him she was dangerous. He ignored it.

Chapter Eleven

No Second Thoughts

Her black hair shifted as she leaned in towards Zack. Her chest pressed against the table, "apologize first."

His eyes drifted. She had a magnificent body, "for staring?"

"For causing me to miss choke on stage for the first time. No one has ever looked at me the way you did from this table. It was overwhelming. Moments like that can never be taken back. I want an apology," she knew her position well. She had to take back control of the situation.

He raised his hand this time. He leaned forward to her. His hand caressed the side of her soft face. The warmth kissed his skin again. It was something that he would normally never do. He had a reserved personality. This was unlike him to be so bold. But it had to be done. He wanted to be closer to her. He leaned ever closer, "I'm sorry for stealing you away from the moment."

She didn't know what to say. Blood rushed through her body. It flushed her cheeks. It chilled her back in a sudden rush of sensation. She enjoyed his hand, his touch. There was a soft pressure to it that she wasn't used to. She stared back at him, "I think that'll do." She leaned back. She had to break contact between them. It was too intense. She enjoyed it too much. It had gotten to her. He had gotten to her. She pulled away.

"Thank you for this," she smiled and stood. "With that, I have to go before anything else happens tonight," she leaned into him and kissed him on the cheek. Her soft lips were warm and wet on his bruised skin. The feeling was electric. She didn't want to pull away. She had to.

"Don't go. It's only-" he wanted to keep talking.

She gestured to the clock at the far end of the club with one animated finger.

It was already, "9:50 pm," he said as he realized he had ten minutes to run four blocks or risk being left by the final bus of the night. He had to leave her.

"See, tempus fugit," her smirk was genuinely enjoyable.

He adjusted his glasses. He knew it was Latin. He just wasn't sure what it meant. But he knew he had heard that phrase before.

"It means 'time flies', Zack. You should have studied more," her black hair swayed as she stepped backwards. The scent filled the air again. It overloaded his mind. Her skirt flowed, catching his attention with every twist.

He snapped out of it, "you haven't told me your name yet." He wanted to know before he had to run for the bus. Name or not, he might be left behind if he didn't leave immediately. He didn't want to take his chances until midnight when his father got off of work. He had to run soon.

"It's a secret. Call it penance for making me miss the opening song," she was toying with him. It was everything she could do to keep from leaping on him and pulling him into the closest bathroom with a lock.

"Then what can I call you?" he called out as he backed away towards the door.

"Call me 'K', for now," she turned. Her long clothing swayed as she walked into the back stage area. He didn't want to look away.

It was 9:54 pm. He rushed out the door. He jogged down the street. The summer heat pressed on his lungs the whole way. Three blocks later he saw the Gainesville city bus stop at the end of the road. His breath hastened. The bus was about to turn in early for the night. The final block was torture. He was the only one there, right before the route turned the corner. He huffed and panted as he got on and thanked the bus driver with a nod for seeing him. He walked to the back this time and collapsed in the seat. He was exhausted. Sweat dripped down his face. He passed out.

Chapter Twelve

The Course Of Destiny

Five blocks away a young woman walked carelessly into a dark and steamy alleyway after a late night party. She was drunk and aimlessly lost.

But the man in the shadows found her easily enough. He stalked her for fifteen minutes, making sure that no one else made it down that secluded pathway between the streets. He approached her, "give me everything you've got."

The young woman was too far gone to understand his request. She could barely hear him over the clouded thoughts in her head. She stumbled to the side and fell onto the concrete.

"Okay, if that's the way it's gonna' be, why not," he began to unbuckle his belt.

A loud thud rang from a nearby trashcan. Something small and fleshy had hit it. The woman and the man looked over to see what had made the sound, but nothing was there under the bright moon.

"Look harder," a dark booming voice commanded from the distance.

He walked over to the trashcan slowly. The woman still didn't understand what was going on, she was in no hurry to leave, yet. He scanned the area. He looked down. There was something on the ground. It was small, and bloodly. It was fleshy. He picked it up and instantly understood what it was. The horror shocked him beyond words.

"Do you recognize it now?" the demonic voice echoed. This time it was closer. It was behind him. Its cold breath on his stiff neck.

There had been no pain when it had happened. Nothing to indicate he had been attacked. It had only happened. But he realized it now. As the fear welled up inside him, the pain came with it.

The woman looked over to see the creature behind him and shrieked. It was cloaked in black plates and holding a large curved staff with a blade at one end.

He turned around to no avail. The blade pierced his stomach and bored in. His member fell to the ground as he grasped the blade with both hands. He couldn't even scream.

The woman was hysterical. She called out, "What are you doing? Oh my god! What are you doing!?"

The creature began to walk to her. It drug the body of the stalker behind it with the end of the long scythe. It took her hand and forced her to stand upward and face it. She was inches from its wet black face. Its touch was cold and hard.

Its voice boomed again, "saving your life."

In an instant, it was gone. The body of the stalker was nowhere to be found. All that was left was a trail of blood and a lone piece of torn flesh that would not be missed.

The creature reappeared at the edge of a rooftop a mile away. The stalker in his hand, held only by his neck. It plunged its hand into his chest and pulled out the barely living heart. "To think, at the time, I saw him as the monster," it sank its fangs into the heart and let the refuse fall.

"Looking back I remember Marin's life. The hardships he faced before and after we met," the demon's voice bellowed out into the night. The creature disappeared from the vacant rooftop.

Chapter Thirteen

The Simpleton

In the winter of 1902, an odd young man was born on the northeastern shores of Virginia. His name was Del Marin. Growing up, he wore his hair short and black. He had a light skin tone, pale from birth. His father was French, his mother American. The father traveled to the states in the hopes of raising a proper family. As a child he was focused. He actually enjoyed laboring.

As time passed he shoveled horse stalls in an effort to provide for his sickly mother. During this, his father drank what little money they had left. He didn't seem to care. His mentality was to keep working, to provide for his mother. He was perfectly happy to accomplish the job at hand. There was something about farm life that suited him. Every morning he got up, did the same couple of jobs all day long, and went to sleep on the same beaten down wooden bed. The next day he got to do it again. It was straight forward to him, something he came to know well as he repeated them year after year.

By 1921, he had grown into a handsome man. He had been employed for eleven years as a farm hand. Little changed, except for the things his older taller body was able to let him work on. His face had elongated. His eyes had become piercing atop his defined cheek bones. He had a face that made most women hold their breath when looking for the first time. He had grown to six foot one. From the years of labor, he was lean and highly toned. He still kept his hair short, only slightly longer than when he was a boy. He was the model of health and attraction in a simple package that wished for neither.

The prior year, his mother had finally perished from the red death, tuberculosis. His father had left on the night of his nineteenth birthday. Shortly thereafter, he was informally adopted by the farmer he had been working under since the age of eight.

He had begun to see the changes in the world around him. There was a boom across America. Cities were expanding, automobiles and suits were becoming the new precedence instead of horses and straw hats. He was figuratively left behind by everyone in town. The few people that were ever nice to him either moved away or stopped talking to him altogether. Not one to conform, he continued his position at the farm that he was accustomed to. He didn't care what others thought. Shoveling, cleaning, wrangling, feeding, fixing, and building were his everyday chores. It was simple straight forward work. He had found a sense of calm in what he did. He was proud of what he could do with his own two hands.

Six years passed. He was now twenty-five. He had built a reputation in the newly expanded town as a strong worker. He was very proficient with his hands. He was trusted by everyone that knew him and most that didn't. His good looks led to attract many women in the local area. Stories of their intentions spread and were the talk of many late night conversations among young women. Despite the vast number of takers, he had begun to court a single young lady named Demy McHugh.

She was an heiress to a nearby tobacco plantation. She was slender yet curvy. She had curly long brown thick hair. She had big deep brown eyes. Her face was soft. She was the catch of the town. Even with all of her suitors, Demy fancied Del. She liked his surprising wit during their encounters just as much as his firm grasp of her body when he embraced her. They quickly and frequently found the time to express their desires for one another throughout the week. Eventually, she became pregnant.

Knowing Demy' father would not allow such a simple farm hand to marry his beloved daughter, Del walked to Mr. McHugh's personal estate the day they found out. It was located on the far outer reaches, opposite his residence at the farm. He made his way at the eye of dawn, treading past the stores which had come to know him. The milk company, the slaughter house, the corner store at the heart of it all, the owners all knew him by name. They waved and greeted him as he came near. Everyone knew what he was doing that day, what he was trying to accomplish. As he crossed the streets, hordes of small children watched. They were anxious to see what was going to happen, and were far more nervous about it than Del. He exited the edge of town with the McHugh estates in the far distance. As the sun lowered in the sky, he climbed the steps beside the cobble stone driveway leading up to the main gate.

The white three level house was visible from the outer property wall, a distance of more than two miles. He slowly made his way down the path to the front door. The grass lawn was wide and well kept, without the slightest sign of wear or damage. Every fifty feet there were two three foot standing stone place markers, each one adorning a lavish 'M' representing the McHugh name. He smiled as he remembered the time he spent working to dig the holes for their placement. He had never actually seen the pillars themselves. He was happy that he was able to make each hole level and tight for them to rest in.

At the end of the road was the McHugh house. White siding with brown balcony accents for each of the floors was the decorum of the house. It had been built in 1870, when the McHugh family came to Virginia. The former plantation house was given to the workers manning the fields, a glad gift for the several dozens of low paid laborers tending to the fields that helped pay for the house. Mr. McHugh had a philosophy that a paid worker is a happy worker is much faster and more productive worker than a one that is not.

He stopped at the front steps. He kicked his shoes together to remove the mud and dirt from the long walk. The hardwood floors on the house porch were pristine. He was timid in marking them up. He sat down on the lowest level and took off his working shoes. In only his socks, he approached the large red double doors.

He knocked twice on the heavy red paint.

A tall, thin old man with an almost pure white complexion answered, "yes? What business do you have here young man?"

"I've come for the master of the house," he spoke up.

"Who may I ask is calling?" the butler asked him.

"Del Marin," he smiled. He was confident, having all the time of the walk to build his nerve for this moment.

"Wait here, outside. He will be with you soon," the butler closed the door.

He waited and stood diligent for almost an hour. To him, the time was nothing. It passed much quicker than the trip there. The lights in the house were fully lit by the moment the butler reopened the front door to face him again with a reply.

"The master is not available," the butler said with pomp and disdain towards him.

He said nothing.

"Didn't you hear me? I said the master is not available. You can go home," the butler instructed firmly.

"Yes, I heard you clearly," he responded.

"Then please leave. You can no longer carry on your endeavor here," the butler said while attempting to close the door.

The door stopped abruptly on his right foot. He said nothing to the pain it caused. The sound of crunching flesh and bone rang into the open silence of the moment. He wouldn't admit it, but the door had broken two of his toes.

"No thank you. I'll wait." he smiled, masking the swelling in his right foot.

"I'm sorry you were unable to understand what I was trying to tell you with your underdeveloped farm-boy mind. The master is not home. Come back tomorrow," the butler was being blatantly rude now.

"No. You said that he was not available," he took a deep breath and continued, "if he is unavailable at this time, and you had to confer with him for an hour to determine this, then he is obviously on the premises. Therefore, he is home," he stared into the eyes of the now irate butler. "And therefore I will wait for him to become available."

The angered butler gave no reply. He simply peered down to refer to Del's foot that blocked the doorway.

He removed his broken foot. A small streak of blood trailed under his sock.

"The master will be out shortly," the butler slammed the door, rattling the red wood frame.

# Chapter Fourteen

The Meadow

A bright sunny meadow contrasted the bus Zack was just on. A tall rolling field of wheat painted the landscape of the scene with complete peace and a flowing breeze. It was fall. The clouds were thick in the sky. There was a stonewashed tone over everything in sight. A soft chill filled the air. He felt something was wrong.

He walked. His hands brushed the tips of wheat. The serenity of the moment was so beautiful that he had to gasp to catch his breath in the brisk weather. In the distance, slightly up a hill, there was a depressed section in the pasture. It was darker, redder than the rest. There was someone there, sitting, collapsed in the center. He ran up the hill. The wheat had been tamped and beaten down by something unnatural.

There was a trail of blood leading to a girl. It was 'K'. She was slumped, surrounded by a few tall sparse stalks. Her throat bled. The choker was ripped. The right side of her neck was torn out. The veins were exposed, the skin rendered. He had to fight an overwhelming nausea. The smell of dead, rotting flesh wafted in the air. Terror set in. His hands covered his mouth.

Then he felt it. He sensed a wet warm liquid running down his chin. Something was wrong here. Slowly, he removed his hands to reveal a cascade of blood that ran from his lips. It poured over his fingers and down his chest. It was warm, soaked with life. He had done this. His hands were covered with her blood, her extinguished life.

A dark voice spoke with calamity from the sky above. Its message struck fear into his mind, "rip, tear, rend, and swallow the blood like milk. This is what you are. Taste the nectar and devour it. You will not deny me for long."

# Chapter Fifteen

The Illusion and The Gilded Blood

"Wake up kid!" the old bus driver nudged Zack on the shoulder. "Come on kid, this is where you got on before. I know you don't want to ride back to the station with me. So get up already."

He had fallen asleep on the bus. His eyes slowly opened as the old man continued to jostle him awake, "where am I?" He was groggy, still attempting to settle back into his head and get his bearings. The dream he had was startling. Too visceral, too real. He could still feel the wetness from the blood on his chin, his lips. He could smell the scent of cherry and lavender in his nostrils. It made his mouth water.

"We're at your stop, kid. You've been asleep for at least the last hour. I was getting worried," he looked at Zack. He helped him down the steps.

"What time is it?" It hadn't felt like an hour. He opened his eyes further. The dream had finally vanished.

"11:27 pm. Don't you have a curfew, son? You should get home," the bus driver said.

"Of course. Thanks for getting me up," he waved slightly.

"Sure kid," the bus driver pulled away as he waved and closed the folding door.

He headed up to the third floor. He ran up two steps at a time through the flights of stairs. The elevator had been broken since last summer. Apartment 310 was his place. He came up to the door and placed his hand firmly on the handle. The door was already open. It swung with the weight of his arm. Something was different.

He smelled a rich thick tomato sauce wafting in the air. John didn't cook. He approached the scented doorway with caution.

The door flung inward. A somewhat young brown haired woman in a pink cooking apron stood and stared at him. She was genteel. Her face was small, her chin broad and cute. She was on the shorter side, thin, and very petite. He could swear she smelled like cinnamon cookies.

"Can I help you?" the woman spoke with a light North-Eastern accent. She was prim and upright, she was unlike anything he was used to seeing.

He wiped the dust off the door and checked the number on the front plaque. 310. This was his apartment. "Who are you?"

"Zack! You're home!" John ran up behind this mystery woman and ushered him inside before she could reply. He closed the door. He positioned himself next to the woman. He placed his hand on the small of her back, "this is Diane. She's my new-" John was cut off.

Diane finished John's sentence, "-his date." The awkward silence in the room was palatable.

He heard the floor creek. It broke the tension as he cracked a small grin in the silence.

Diane continued, "you must be John's son, Zack. I've heard so much about you. It's very nice to meet you," she formally curtsied. "I need to finish up dinner. We'll all talk later," she left for the kitchen.

John guided him back to his room.

He knew what was in store.

"Now I know what you're thinking. So no, I told her everything about you and my past this time. She knows I was married," John ducked into his room a little more. He put his back to the door as he whispered, "and I really think she's a keeper."

"Glad to hear it," he sat down on his bed and thought about the dream again. His fingers still felt cold and wet.

"Thanks," John lowered his eyes, "so I take it you know what tonight means?"

"Of course. I'll be in here while you make it with the Betty-Crocker girl," he knew the drill. He was supposed to be quiet and put some music on while his dad was busy in the other room.

"You're a good son. Try to get some sleep," John backed out.

He didn't say a word in return. He only gave an affirmative nod as John stepped away and shut the door. He was tired. His eyes were heavy. The ice helped him more than he realized, John hadn't noticed the black eye because of it. The swelling had nearly disappeared. He checked his face in the mirror on the wall. It was almost healed. He felt parched again. He was heavily thirsty after he sat back down on the edge of his small bed. His stomach was empty. He was craving something new, something richer than he was used to. Something thicker.

Then it happened. His face went flush, faint. He blacked out. He fell back onto his bed, cold and silent.

The dream was coming again.

# Chapter Sixteen

Failing Memory

"Are you sure you gave him enough?" a young man's voice spoke. It was completely unfamiliar to Zack. He sounded upset.

"Yes, I gave him twice the regular dose. I have done this before you know. Don't worry. It won't kill him." He recognized the second man's voice as the bus driver. But his tone was different. He sounded somehow younger than he was. It was the same voice, only quicker, lighter.

He couldn't open his eyes. All he was able to make out were blurry shapes and a faint red light coming from above him.

"Did you test the sample? Does he have it?" the first man's voice was impatient and charged. He wanted a quick answer.

"It will take time to know. These tests aren't instant. We're talking more than 300 years of latency with this one. It won't emerge until after the thirst has become a biological need. Even then, it might take some time. Be patient. You've waited this long, haven't you?" the voice explained.

He could feel a pressure on his mind. There was something different about this. It wasn't a dream.

"At least we know he's a vampeal. That in itself is good news. It means it is still viable," another voice said. He noticed the slightly younger undertone to it. There was something adolescent about it, high pitched and boyish, nothing like the rest.

He managed to open and clear his eyes to see a shut cabinet door before him. There was a blurry hue to the edges of the crack that let the light in. It was surreal. He pushed on the old double doors. His arms met with great initial resistance. It was closed tight. He went at the door again. A bright light began to shine through. It was blinding. His eyes tried to adjust to the sudden radical shift, the doors faded. He pushed as his fingers pierced the doors and they disappeared into a mist.

He fell forward onto the floor of his bedroom. The lights were off. He darted around to the other side of the bed to pick up the clock. It was a little past seven in the morning.

Chapter Seventeen

More Than A Date

The phone rang in the total darkness.

Zack's mind was still in the dream when he picked up. "Hello?"

"I know what you are," a young woman's voice answered. The voice was soft, warming. It felt familiar, yet new.

"Did you kidnap me last night? Are you the one that took me and laid me in bed?" he spoke with a straight forward tone. The question was a matter of fact to him.

"No, but I might if you're nice," the feminine voice was being playful, inviting.

His head was pounding. His face was sore and swollen now. It hurt as he placed his left hand on it, leaning on it accidentally. He felt thirsty again. "Do I know you?"

"Don't joke like that, Zack. It doesn't become you," the voice was friendly. She knew him even if he didn't recognize her. "It's 'K', from last night."

"How did you get my number?" he asked as he held his throbbing head. He thought it was weird that she had gotten his number out of the blue. But there was the more pressing question on his mind. He wanted to know what had happened to him.

"That's what you ask me? Not 'how are you doing?' or an 'it's nice to hear from you. I'm glad you called.' Does it truly matter how I got your number? Or are you upset with the fact that I called you so early?" K wanted to play with him a little. It felt good to tease him.

He remembered how she felt the other night. The warm sensation of her skin on his was intoxicating. "It's not that. I had a strange dream and you're just so-" he stopped.

"So what?" K asked. Her smile could be felt through the phone. She wanted to hear what he thought of her.

"So amazingly hot," he spoke instantly. "You're like a blazing dream. I wouldn't have thought you would ever talk to me, of all people at the club that night. Regardless of how, I'm glad you called."

"But I knew you wanted to, though. That's what counts, Zack," K remembered the feeling of his different skin. The delicate touch, the way he looked into her eyes. It made her smile again.

"'K' would you like to-" he wanted to ask her out.

"It's Kyli," she said energetically.

"What's your last name?" he thought about the way she looked last night. The headache returned before he could explain. His throat was parched.

"Slow down, sweetie. You haven't earned that privileged info yet. We'll get to proper introductions on the second date." She thought about what she wanted to do to him the next time she saw him, "then we can go as fast as you'd like."

His head was splitting open. He thought of the nightmare, "Kyli, did you ever have a bad dream that you weren't sure was only a dream?"

"You're paranoid, Zack. Relax. Dreams are meant to deliver messages. They aren't supposed to be dangerous," she knew that he was startled for some reason. She feared that his gift might have developed beyond what she had been told about in the report. "Besides, if it wasn't a dream, there'd be a mark. Someplace difficult to reach."

"Like what?" he slowly checked his arms and legs.

"A set of two red marks on an unknown location, somewhere interesting on your body," she was flirting directly. She suggested things that a steady couple might find regular, but not as the two strangers they were to each other. She enjoyed the thought of leaving the marks on his unfamiliar flesh.

He thought about what she said, "you mean like a bite?"

"No, like two lips pressed against your skin from fresh red lipstick. What did you think I meant?" she was toying with him again. She wanted him on his toes.

It worked, "I thought you meant to bite me." His headache subsided as he thought about her burning lips.

"No, but I can do that if you want me to," her voice was suddenly somber and faintly seductive. She needed to get close to him any way she could in order to fulfill her part of the contract. But the offer was serious, genuine. She remembered their touch at the club.

He was quiet on his end of the line. He was still thinking about her lips on his.

She spoke up, "do you like music?"

"What kind?" He could feel a date in the near future. He enjoyed the thought.

"Classical goblets," she spoke with an enticing whisper. It sent chills down the back of his neck.

"Musical glasses?" he didn't know where she was going with the idea. But he wanted to play along.

"-Musical goblets, NOT glasses," she corrected him with assertion. "The musician is Demetrius Del Marin, and he is quite good at what he does. I think you'll like him. He'll be in town for a string of concerts soon. The next one will be tonight."

He remembered the posters in front of the club. The Vampire Demetrious Del Marin. He thought about the dream again. What was it they called him, a vampire?

She heard the pause in his voice. She pounced on him with force, "Zack, you're telling me that you want to reject a proposal from a tall beautiful girl?"

"It's not that," he replied. "When's the next concert again?"

"Later tonight. Now do you feel like continuing what we started at the club?" She wanted him to come with her. She needed his cooperation with this. But she wanted those eyes on her again. She wanted the feel of his touch again.

He could feel the hunger in the back of his throat subside. He enjoyed the thought of seeing her, of being near her again. "Where do you want to meet?"

"I'd say my room. But that's only where we'll end up. We have to go on a little journey first," she played with the idea further in her mind.

"That's not an answer," he pressed back.

"I'll pick you up," she smiled. She liked being pushed back.

He gave his address with a grin. "Then I'll see more of you tonight?"

She relished the thought, "as much as you're willing to."

He smiled again, "Then I have only one question before I let you go." He thought about how she looked up on the stage that night. The look of amazement she had as she met his eyes. "What is it about me that startled you so much that night?"

She blushed, "you're different, Zack. You're not what I thought you'd be," she spoke softly, slowly. She was thinking of his face, how he looked broken and all alone at that table. The intense eyes he used to watch her with. She could feel them on her again as they spoke.

"How different could I be?" he could almost see her blue eyes through the phone. She was a Gothic goddess to him.

She felt her breath quicken, "you're more special than you know, Zack." She thought about the report she had read. This was supposed to be the modern day incarnation of The Black Rose. He was to become a demon. She thought about the contract again. "Maybe you're right. You're not so special yet. All you need is time. Someday I'll explain why. On some dark cloudy night this will all make sense. Just know there is a reason I find you interesting," she chuckled to herself. A tingle ran through her body as she continued to think about his eyes.

"What is it?" He thought about her warmth. It was nice. He wondered about the rest of her body.

"You're cute," she said as she thought of his stoic face.

The sound of rain fell against the bedroom wall. It began to storm. It was a sound that he had become used to having no windows. A low roar. He had more than relaxed by the end of the conversation. The disruption of the dream had passed him. He wanted to talk more. He wanted to just hear her voice.

"You still there?" her soft words rang through his mind. There was a pleasant chill to her words.

"I'd rather be there," he said smoothly.

# Sub Chapter

Black

Dark satin sheets. A soft, enveloped touch. There were lips pressed to his. It was a sweet taste, smooth and haunting. His arms could feel the fabric of the sheets and the warmth of another as he tangled under them. There was no light, no glimmer to cast an eye on this scene. Zack knew only the touch, the warm feel of the moment.

"It's okay. This is what both of us want. What we deserve, to be together," Kyli's voice seeped into her actions as she held closer to him.

Her skin shifted against his. She was pulling him, drawing him nearer. His hands slipped over her shoulders, the heat was unreal. Her body was perfect, porcelain to his fingers. His eyes meant nothing in the space. The embrace was the only reality that was recognized there. Time held no sway as he kissed her lips. The minutes passed to forever as they pressed deeper and deeper. The hours faded, giving way to new sensations that he had never felt before. The rhythmic pulsing movements that shook their bodies could be felt throughout the world as they were created under those satin sheets.

"Is this real?" he wondered aloud.

"It is to me," she kissed his lips, pulling his head to her. "It is to us, Zack." She bore her face into his right shoulder. "But it's not real enough for you," she sighed and let her lips nuzzle the nap of his throat. "Not yet," she tore into his neck suddenly.

Blood spilled into the black satin. The warm slippery fluid cascaded between their union. It painted a feeling that was as damning as it was lubricating. They pulsed, entwined as she pushed into him, hard, passionately. He couldn't speak, couldn't bring himself to ask the questions teeming on the tip of his tongue. There was only the knowledge, the feeling of what was happening. His blood was being drained, and he was enjoying it.

Chapter Eighteen

Welcome To The Fold

Zack had fallen asleep immediately after the phone call with Kyli. His new dreams were beginning to disturb him further and further. He wasn't sure if they were an adolescent thing, or if they had something to do with her.

"Wake up, we have a guest," a sharp, eerie voice whispered quickly and without warning. It shook him awake. He could smell something sweet in the air. It was new, different than he was used to. He slowly opened his eyes.

"Wake up sleepy head," a different, more feminine voice spoke up. It was above him, next to the bed.

He turned his head and felt a warm hand next to his face. It was soft. It burned against his skin, "you feel amazing." He placed his hand against the smooth skin. He looked up to see Kyli kneeling at the side of his bed.

"You seem pretty relaxed to find me here. Does anything ever affect you?" she asked.

He thought about it. It was strange that she was in his room. There was definitely something wrong with it. But at the moment he didn't care. He caressed her hand, "this does." There was that warmth again. The clear difference in their bodies that was so enticing to him. He slid his hand across hers. He wanted to worry about how she could be sitting there in his room, but he couldn't, he didn't want to. There was the touch and her eyes. Those same eyes that were up on that stage last night. They were enthralling.

She blushed. He had given her that same look from the table when they first met. That same intensity.

"Aren't you going to ask me how I got in here? To your room?" she wondered.

"That would only be a real problem if I didn't want you near my bed," he pulled her closer from around the waist.

She could feel the weight of his arm on her. She smiled, "then I have a request. Come with me."

He inhaled as that same scent filled his lungs. It was coming from her. He leaned in closer, it smelled delicious. "To that concert tonight?" he smiled back.

She took his hand in hers and stood up, "no. To my room."

Chapter Nineteen

The Request

The plantation was silent except for a faint arguing sound coming from deep within the house. Roughly three minutes after the butler left, a short, stout man in a light tan cotton suit appeared before Del. He was in his later fifties, with a brown and gray beard. His brown eyes had the same flare as his.

The stranger looked him up and down. The man smiled and spoke, "well, boy. You have some damn fine nerve coming here like you did," the man's voice was rough and crackling. "I assume from what you said to my butler, you aim to talk to me about something rather important. What might that be?"

He took to his feet and faced the unknown man. "Are you the master of this house? Are you Mr. McHugh?"

"Yes. That is the name my mother gave me. Now what business do you have here with me at such a late hour?" he asked patiently.

"Sir, my name is Del Marin," he was interrupted.

"Marin? Is that French?" he commented.

His train of thought was temporarily broken. "Yes, sir. It is. Now it's mine." The pain in his toe began to ache. His resolve returned. "Sir. I've come to declare my intentions for your daughter."

Mr. McHugh raised his left eyebrow. "And what intentions are those?"

"I've come to ask you for her hand in marriage," he rushed through the words so quickly that Mr. McHugh had trouble hearing them.

"What was that?" he raised his hand to his ear.

He took a deep breath. He repeated himself, slowly and with diction.

Mr. McHugh understood every word. He took another look at Del. "Nope."

"What?" he was confused.

"I mean, no. Son, you have to understand, Demy has more than a dozen suitors that all come from good families. How can I give her to you when you can't prove you'll be able to provide for her?" Mr. McHugh had a fine point.

He realized his one flaw. He needed to find a solution immediately. "What are they?"

"Who are you talking about son?" Mr. McHugh wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"The other suitors. What are they? What are their professions?" he asked with enthusiasm.

Mr. McHugh scratched his chin through his beard. "Well, I suppose there's a doctor, a musician, and a lawyer after her. The rest are just from upstanding families."

"And would you rather pick one of them over the others? Would a suitor with one of those professions meet your personal requirements to be her husband?" he was building his case.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Where are you going with this?" Mr. McHugh sighed. "You aren't thinking about doing something crazy, are you son?"

He begged with all his heart, "Mr. McHugh, I truly care for your Demy. I also want to make this right in your eyes. What can I do to prove my intentions are best for your daughter?" he spoke with honest sincerity.

Mr. McHugh was blunt, "I will not have a dirty young man marry my daughter. And there is no amount of money someone in your line of work can make to ever convince me to condone what you have planned for her, regardless of your good natured intentions."

"Then I will make it right sir. I will become what you require of me, for Demy's sake and for yours." He waited for Mr. McHugh's reply.

"You are not what I had ever expected to come into Demy's life, let alone the man who would be the father of my only grandchild." The old man lowered his head and sighed, "However, I am not a cruel man. Change your profession. Make yourself into something you and I can be proud of. Only then will you have my blessing." He reached into his jacket pocket for a cigar. He placed it in his mouth and struck a match to light it.

"What do you want me to be?" he was pure and put himself in Mr. McHugh's position. He wanted nothing more than to do the right thing by him.

"Go to school boy. Become a lawyer or a doctor. Do something to make people happy and right the wrongs of this world." He had no idea the power and precedence he set when speaking those words to Del.

Chapter Twenty

A Night On The Thin Red Line

There were five lights between Zack's apartment and the first turn Kyli took. Her large station wagon cruised over to a bank of hotels on the eastern side of Gainesville. Her vehicle matched her dark presence. It was black with a red interior.

He almost didn't realize it while he was in the car. But there was that scent again. That inviting smell that he wasn't quite used to yet. It wasn't perfume. It was her. It was her blood. He turned to look at her directly as they stopped in front of The Waterfield Heights Hotel. He stared at her. The blood was wet as it ran down the far side of her neck. He leaned forward, "What happened to you?"

"That's going to require some time to explain. For now, let's get upstairs," she shut off the engine.

They walked inside the lobby of the hotel. A pompous older man in a black tuxedo answered, "May I help you Miss?"

She covered her neck, "no." She squinted her eyes sharply and turned to Zack, "we're going upstairs, now."

He looked at the fancy clerk and immediately went with her, "show me the way."

Her long flowing dress was a different version of the same style she had worn at the club. It revealed a tattoo of a white feathered angel wing that ran down the right side of her long back as she walked. Her hair shifted from side to side as she led him down the hall and to the elevator. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

"You're staring," she commented without turning around.

"How can you tell? Are you psychic?" he asked.

"You hold your breath when you stare," she made her point.

"No. I'm just refusing to look away," he spoke quickly. He was intrigued as to why they were at the hotel and what secret she had to tell him in private.

"Are you ready?" she raised her hand to the floor selection panel.

He didn't respond. He only smiled.

She pressed the seventh floor. The elevator rode up and opened to a long hall with only two doors at the end. Everything was more ornate. The carpet was newer. The walls were brighter. She led him to the door on the right.

He noticed there was a silver engraved plaque that read, "Kyli Waterfield."

"That's my name," she smiled and turned the key to the door. "Come in."

Chapter Twenty One

The Education

Six months transpired. Del had gone to law school. He was in his second semester of college, on his way to a full law degree in Richmond, Virginia. Demy felt full of pride for her soon to be husband. She was a good twenty six weeks pregnant and very happy. Mr. McHugh was happy. He was following the advice he was given. It was not his preference to become a lawyer at all. He was merely completing another task at hand. He needed to be something he was not in order to marry the woman he cared for. College was only a stepping stone to achieve that goal. He didn't find difficulty in the material. He simply absorbed it and learned as he went. His vocabulary increased. He became a scholar in the eyes of his professors. Demy and Mr. McHugh were beginning to notice that he was no longer a simple farm hand. He had become a man of education, until one night, when his morality shaped the events of his destiny.

Each day after his classes, he studied and reviewed what the teachers had taught that day. Through self-review, he had managed to swing perfect grades. His methods were not so much thought out as they were methodical. He simply kept at it, earning him a high place in his soon to be profession.

Day to day, nothing much changed, until one night in the middle of winter. He was walking home from the Richmond campus just after eight o'clock at night. The sun had been down under the horizon for hours. The last study group had let out more than ten minutes before he had packed up. On his way out from the campus, there was a quick, but definite scream. He was one of the few people around to hear it. The sound was of a woman being attacked between two of the outer buildings. His heart quickened.

The smell was disturbing as him ran to help. It reeked from around the corner before he could see what was going on. He reached the woman as a dark figure dropped her to the floor. The woman's body sloshed on the ground, covered in visceral fluid. Her throat had been torn apart. The little moonlight from the clear sky opened his eyes to the shadowy horror of this dying woman in front of him. It was dark. He couldn't see who or what this other person was. He was able to make out only one distinguishing factor, white silvery hair. It was somewhat short and hung straight down, splattered with dripping blood.

He had intended on saving the screaming woman. It was a pure act that held no hesitation in his mind. He simply reacted to someone in need. As he looked down, the situation was clear. The pile of flesh on the floor was no longer alive. It bubbled as the last remaining remnants of air escaped from the woman's lungs. A gurgling sound spit blood onto his shoes. The woman was dead, and now he was soon to be the next victim. He stared at the alien figure. He looked for a knife, something shinny that the killer might have slaughtered the woman with. To his confusion, there was nothing in its hands.

The shadows created a fine cloak that acted as a line dividing the space between them. It was inches beyond the dead woman's body and the stranger in the dark. Barely any light illuminated them. Somehow it moved as if it knew what he was about to do, as it could feel his intensions. With each movement he made to advance, the stranger moved in. He slowly shifted towards the fallen woman. He felt watched as he made his way into the moonlight.

Before he could reach the girl, the darkness closed in. He intended on taking the body to at least be identified. He felt that no one should die without a name. Having her family know what happened would be the least he could do. He wanted dearly to fulfill Mr. McHugh's second condition, the request of righting the wrongs in the world and making people genuinely happy. He considered this one act in accordance with those wishes. This was part of what he had to do to earn that level of respect.

The figure instantly pinned him to the wall with sudden and exacting force. Dust plumed off the well-built structure. The sound was painful. The feeling was unreal. A thin delicate hand held him against the concrete wall, outstretched by itself in the light. The light shown up to a black cloak the unknown person wore. It shielded the remaining body from past the elbow. Its sharp fingertips cut into his chest. Its white gleaming skin was unnerving in the moonlight. Blood dotted his white shirt. He watched as a pair of red eyes glowed from the blackness in front of him. It was terrifying. He was a strong man, fit and toned well enough to defend himself in an average fight. This was no fight. There was no contest here. This person held him with one hand outstretched, with little effort. He weighed over two hundred pounds. He was not easily lifted. The stranger managed to pin him solidly without any continued exertion. It was impossible. As inhuman as it was, it was happening. This one thin arm was killing him as it bore deeper into his skin.

He fought to gain a forward foot hold on his attacker, pushing against the wall for leverage. The stranger didn't budge. They only kept an unrelenting pressure on his chest that seemed to be slowly increasing.

"I need to save her," he was able to whisper.

A hissing voice spoke, slightly feminine, yet with a deep presence to it, "that woman is dead, you have nothing left to save."

His lungs were being deflated. The figure was slowly pushing further, not waiting for a response.

He mouthed two words, 'her dignity.'

The stranger dropped him immediately to the ground. He coughed as the figure stood over him. He spit up a handful of blood and painfully cleared his throat.

The voice, now softer than before, spoke again, "you would carry her back? To her town, to the rest of them? To preserve her dignity?"

He nodded.

The shadow let out an eerie laugh, shouting out into the heavens with an unreal tone.

He grasped his chest as he pulled himself over to the mangled girl. He checked for signs of life. There were none. There was only a corpse, nothing more. His hands were covered in the victim's blood as he tried to lift her.

"You're serious, aren't you?" the shadowy stranger laughed again. The same infernal feminine howl escaped its mouth, "you have a death wish to play with my first meal of the night. Is it really worth it?"

He nodded again. There was a pain growing in his chest, something was filling his lungs. He had trouble breathing. He clasped his neck. Blood from his hands further soaked the front of his shirt.

"You are diligent. I'll give you that. Stupid, but diligent." The stranger held still in the dark, just beyond the reach of the light, the same red eyes glared.

Suddenly the figure rushed at him and threw him against the wall again. Its pale white hand gripped the lower portion of his rib cage. Its fingers had pierced his skin. Blood flowed down his stomach, spilling over his belt and to the ground.

The stranger taunted, "do you want to die boy?" The figure leaned into him, positioning itself inches from his face. It came into the light willingly. This was no man. It was a young woman with silvery white hair. She was thin and small, nearly a full foot shorter. The girl had porcelain skin, flawless to his sight. Her chin was small, her jaw pointed to a shallow angle. She had a large effeminate forehead. She was petite and gorgeous. The only part of her face that was difficult to understand were her eyes. They were a translucent red. There was a small pin of black in the center. The rest was a thin veil of red that he could easily see through. Her eyes seemed to shine in the moonlight. Her hair shielded part of her face, the white strands overlaid with blood splatters. He peered into the endlessness of her eyes and saw nothing.

He caught his breath, gasped and inhaled. He finally answered, "I will do what I need to." Blood poured down his lips after he spoke. It flowed down his chest, painting a thick red streak.

"A curious reply, warranting an unusual course of action." She took a hold of his neck tightly with her left hand.

He was suffocating.

She was preventing him from breathing. "You will do what I need you to. I will make sure of that. I will turn your flawed sense of mortality into your curse. You will be forced into a grave scenario to which there are few solutions. You will forget me. You will never speak of me, and you will not witness the measures I take to ensure this."

His mind became hazy. It faded to black. The white haired monster watched him pass out, making sure he was unconscious before she loosened her grip on his throat and chest. He fell to the side, motionless on the ground. She opened her mouth, baring a set of large fangs. She came forward and further into the light. She bit into his throat, sucking and drinking most of his blood, nearly leaving his veins dry. She raised her left arm and placed her hand in his mouth. With a quick motion, she struck his jaw upwards. The trauma forced his teeth into her flesh. It caused her blood to draw into his mouth and down into his body. She pressed on his stomach and chest to force it through his system. He unknowingly drank her cursed blood.

"You will be something none of us will," she removed her hand and wiped his mouth. "A walking contradiction. A paradigm."

Chapter Twenty Two

The First Truth

"It's a bite," Kyli said the moment Zack closed the door.

"How did an animal bite you in the neck?" he dodged the obviousness of the question and wanted to let her tell him instead.

"It wasn't from an animal," she put her keys on the kitchen countertop.

"Was it mutual?" he probed.

"You're quick," she smiled as she gestured to her leather couch and sat. "And no, it wasn't."

"Then I take it you're not involved with him anymore?" he sat down next to her.

She laughed a bit, "it's not like that. He attacked me while he was looking for you."

He was silent. He thought about what she had said.

"I said he attacked me because of you," she repeated.

He looked at her blue eyes again, "I heard you. But how can that be? What would he want with me if you were right there?"

"I told you that you were different Zack. I meant it," she took a deep breath and thought about the consequences of what she was about to say. She weighed them and thought how much harder it would be if she didn't explain. "You're not human."

He heard the words. It didn't register.

She could see this wasn't going to be easy. She leaned into him. She pressed her body against his and looked into his stunning eyes. She moved into him and touched her cheek against his. That same electricity was there. It coursed through her as she came closer to him. She let her lips slide over his cool skin. She kissed his neck.

She took a deep breath and whispered into his ear, "relax. It only hurts the first time." She pressed her teeth into his neck. Quickly and suddenly her fangs pierced his skin. Blood rushed from his neck and into her mouth. He couldn't move. Her warm hands pinned him to the couch.

Chapter Twenty Three

The Small Things

The creature stood facing the east. He had fed well that night. The armor was pleased, he was content. The sun was about to rise. It was reaching the edge before dawn. Pink hues filled the sky as the white began to fade from his eyes. The black plates receded back into his skin. Slowly, steadily, he regained his human facade. His long black hair let out as he stared at the warm colors that shifted before him.

"The small seemingly insignificant things that I remember about that night. The way her hair swayed. The expression on her face as I held her hand. The lingering smell of the blood on her neck. Everything was so perfect back then," its voice bellowed out across the rooftop, echoing into the street below.

Yellow and red crept up as the light shown brighter in the clouds. The peak of the sun was rising further, calling with it the start of a new day. It was another moment he would feel as he had ever since he had become what he was now.

"It all changed after that first bite. My life, my world. Everything that I knew to be right was shattered and replaced by a hidden truth that no one ever dared to search out," it said to itself as the sun rose up.

It happened slowly at first. Small crackles of blood crisped in its skin. The thin layer of blood hardened and flaked. Then it hastened, bursting into flame in a fire ball that wafted into the heavens all at once. But the creature didn't burn. It didn't feel any pain, any sensation of the stark and defining event. In a flash the remaining blood that had coated him was gone. He stood naked on the roof. His toned body belonged to a man in his late twenties. He was handsome and exotic with his long hair. The fire had only consumed the blood, nothing more.

He stared at the sun as it warmed his body, "the little things that I never knew until that first lie."

Chapter Twenty Four

Lies In Truth To Save A Life

The sting in Zack's neck was temporary. It was strange, he knew he had been bitten, but that wasn't what bothered him. It was the pressure. Kyli's lips on his skin, her hands on his shoulders. The weight expressed on his body was unreal. It didn't make any sense.

He panted under his breath, "How are you doing this?"

She stopped. It was a fairly direct question. She wasn't used to someone asking such a thing after she had bitten them. She left up off him and watched the wound on his neck.

He wasn't sure what to do. He was light headed and the thought of standing up made him nauseous. He sat only inches from her, his leg still pressed to hers. He felt his neck. There were two smell holes that were slowly bleeding. "Why are there only two?"

She chuckled a little. Such direct and straight forward questions. He was so unlike anyone she had ever met before. It begged an answer. "Because of these," she smiled wide and showed her two long fanged teeth to him.

"Are you a vampire?" he asked in disbelief.

She was impressed, "no screaming, no asking why the hell I would bite you. Just a simple question if I'm a vampire. You are different Zack Giver, you are very different."

He held a little pressure to his neck.

"No, don't do that. I want to see if it will stop on its own," she asked him with a friendly gesture. She realized her fangs were still showing. "Sorry." She closed her lips and exhaled. "This should help," she smiled. The fangs were gone.

"So you are a vampire." He took his hand away from his neck as she requested.

"Not exactly," she stared at the wound on his neck. It hadn't stopped bleeding. "But before that, I need to tend to that."

He was a bit confused. She was the one that had caused it in the first place. He had heard about vampires of course. The fictional tales of blood suckers that whisk away people in the night and drain them dry of blood by morning. She had definitely whisked him away. And she had tried to suck his blood, but she wasn't trying to kill him. That part was different. He didn't feel any menace from her. There was only that warm caring touch he had felt every time he was near her. Whatever she was, she didn't plan on killing him that night.

She walked over to the kitchen and took out a crystal glass with a dark red liquid in it. She walked back over and checked his neck, it was bleeding down his shirt. "Here, this will help."

She dipped her finger into the red fluid and dabbed it on his neck. It was soothing and cold. The pain was gone. It was replaced by a new unknown scent that filled his mind. It wasn't as strong as the one he'd smelled in the car, but it was close. It wafted off her fingertips as she took her hand away from his neck and sucked on the tip of her stained finger. Her red lipstick matched the dark ruby color.

"Is that blood?" he asked as she continued to stare at his neck.

"And if I say yes, will you believe me when I say I'm not a vampire?" she waited for a response and she kept her eyes on his neck.

"Yes," he said softly to her under his breath. It was almost said more to himself than to her. A kind of reformation to understand what was about to happen.

The wounds instantly closed on his neck before her eyes. She smiled again, "good, it worked better than I hoped it would."

"What did?" he asked as he instinctively checked his neck. He couldn't feel the puncture holes anymore.

"See for yourself. The bathroom is at the far side of the room. She pointed to an open door.

He rushed to the mirror and stared in shock as he wiped away the blood. There was nothing there. The wounds were healed. "What was that?"

"Blood," she stood up and walked over to him, standing in the doorway.

"You mean vampire blood?" he questioned her as he tore his eyes away from his neck and stared back at her.

She was long and beautiful in the archway. Her arms were stretched up across the top. She leaned to one side playfully. "No, it was human blood." She licked her lips, "nothing like your blood though, but certainly not vampire blood."

"Then why did it heal?" he asked as he walked naturely closer to her.

She lowered her arms to around his neck, "I told you, Zack, you're not human."

Chapter Twenty Five

Coming To Terms With Reality

Zack thought about his situation. Where he was, the events that led to the present. It was too surreal. Vampires were fiction. There was no such thing as regeneration, blood drinking, or immortality.

He voiced his opinions to Kyli.

She nodded enthusiastically, "you're wrong."

He didn't know what to say.

"You're not completely wrong, but you are wrong," she got up and went to the kitchen to gather a few things as they talked. "Regeneration is simple. It's all over the animal and plant kingdoms. Lizards and most plants can grow back a section of their body that is cut off. It happens all the time."

"But I'm not a lizard or a plant," he declared promptly.

"No, you aren't." She took a knife out of a drawer.

"So what about blood drinking? Is that a hobby of yours?" he asked casually.

"No, it's a necessity. I need a little to survive. Otherwise something bad will happen." She grabbed a large roll of paper towels.

"But people don't normally do that, neither do animals," he argued his point.

"No, but they do. There are tribes all over the world that drink the blood of cows and other animals for nutrition." She took out a small bucket from under the sink. "And then there's the vampire bat. I don't need to explain that one."

"What about immortality. Living forever is an insane idea. Nothing lives forever." He was trying to justify the last legs of his reasoning.

"Wrong again. Turtles live for centuries as well as some whales." She walked back over to the couch and sat down.

"But not forever," He tried to make his last stand.

"Then put a number on eternity. What exactly is forever? Twenty, thirty, a hundred lifetimes? If you could live that long, would it really matter if you continued to live forever past that?" She put the roll of paper towels on the large coffee table.

"But even if a turtle can nearly live forever, it's still not a human. We're not turtles, whales, lizards, or whatever. We're human," he declared proudly.

"No. You're not. And neither am I." She put the bucket on the table and grabbed the knife in one hand. "It's simple to prove as well. Watch."

She drove the knife into her forearm and pushed until the tip pierced the other side. He watched as the blood ran into the bucket. She didn't wince. She didn't even seem to react to the fact that her arm had been sliced through. She only stared back at him.

"The only reason why you don't believe vampires exist is due to the fact you've never come across one. Just as there are hundreds of creatures in the world that haven't been cataloged yet, it stands to reason that there are other types of life. Some in fact that have the ability to regenerate," she pulled the knife out of her arm. The blood stopped. She took a sip from the glass of red blood still on the table. The same one that had healed his neck moments ago. Within seconds the wound closed. It wasn't completely healed, but it was well on its way. "As you can see, blood is a necessity as well."

"So I take it you're immortal too?" he wondered as he sat next to her. She was still the same beautiful woman that had come into his life the other night, but now she was something else, something more than human.

"No. I can die. I'll live a lot longer than the average person. But I can still die." She dabbed her finger in the red blood and traced it over the wounds on her arms. They closed and nearly disappeared from sight on contact.

"So you can get sick?" He was curious.

"No, thankfully that isn't a worry of mine. At least of normal pathogens at least." She gathered the bucket and went back to the kitchen.

"Then you can get hit by a truck and die?" he suggested.

"God no. I'm a little more resilient than that." She poured the blood into the sink, "granted I'd probably need to set a few broken bones to crawl out of something like that though." She washed off the rest of the blood in her arm. "No, I'm pretty tough to squish."

He thought about what she had said earlier, "But you're not a vampire? How is that possible?"

"How are babies born?" She walked back and sat down again. She began to wipe the blood off of his neck with the towels. "Genetics."

"You mean XX and XY?" he had paid attention in class last year.

"Exactly. My mother was human and my father is a vampire." She cleaned him off with a few more wipes.

"Was?" He picked up on the context immediately.

"It happened last year. It's not like it wasn't something that wasn't eventually going to happen," she sighed.

"Cancer?" he guessed.

"Drugs," she corrected him. "She was an addict and after she was turned it got worse. The things that would normally kill a person can have the same type of effect as heroin to a vampire. She used all kinds of disturbing things, and often she'd end up in some strange alleyway in a dumpster until after sunset the next night. It was a chore to have to hunt her down."

He thought about how it must have been to live with a parent like that. He had no idea something like that could even happen. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Don't be. I'm not. I'm not human, but I'm also not a vampire like my father. I don't get depressed about the sun like everyone else I know. I can take a stroll in the afternoon sun any day I choose to." She took the trash and bundled it up into a ball. There was a trashcan on the other side of the room, more than twenty feet away. She threw it. It landed perfectly with a swoosh.

"What are you?" he asked again.

She smiled, "I'm a vampeal. Same as you."

Chapter Twenty Six

The Facts Of Life

Zack thought about what Kyli had said. That he wasn't human. That he was a vampeal. He admitted that his neck had healed. But it must have been some kind of a trick. An illusion designed to fool him or freak him out a little. Whatever she was doing, it was working.

"Think about it, Zack. I know you could smell my blood in the car. Your breathing changed. It happened in the hallway too. It wasn't me that took your breath away. It was the smell of my blood." Her logic was sound.

"Okay, I'll admit I noticed your blood in the car. But the hallway was different. You're gorgeous, I couldn't look away." He stared at her eyes and leaned into her.

She wanted to stop him, to continue with the conversation. She wanted a lot of things in that moment. "Wait." She leaned back and took a few breaths. "This isn't how this is supposed to go. I'm supposed to tell you about what you are and you're supposed to freak out a little more than this. Not keep staring at me with the deep passionate eyes of yours."

"Then what do you want me to do?" the tone of his voice was telling, suggestive to her.

On a more relaxed evening they wouldn't be talking right now. At least in any intelligent or audible way. She would have taken him and flung him into the bedroom on a whim if he were any other man. But he wasn't any other man, he was Zack Giver, the present incarnation of a demon vampire. She had to keep in control. She had to steer the conversation again.

"Kyli, do vampires dream?" he asked out of nowhere.

"What? You're kidding me, right? Where the hell did you come up with that at a time like this?" she was progressively in a losing fight. Every time she would try to make a point, he would get quiet, let her think it over, and he would start staring at her again. It was damning. She thought about his question, "dreams are the cradle of the imagination and the seat of our power. Without rest and blood, there would be no gifts, no vampires. And we would surely all go insane from the inner torment. If we didn't dream, we'd be awake for twice as long during our endless lifetimes."

"Then you need blood, what, every couple of days?" he watched her face for a reaction and placed his hand on her previously wounded arm. "Does it still hurt? After?"

"No, it's diurnal," she responded automatically. She was used to speaking with her father's scientists about this type of thing. The vocabulary rolled off her tongue with ease.

"So daily? And you dream every night?" He wondered about his own dreams lately. What they meant if she was telling the truth.

"Yes, and of course. Sometimes a few times a day and night. Cat naps are a sign of low blood sugar and with us, that also means anemia. We have to drink to level out. And if you do sleep, you always dream. Whatever it is, it's usually vivid. If you didn't, it would mean you'd feel a hundred by the time you reached fifty." She sighed and thought about her first dreams. Her strange gift.

"Then do vampires and vampeals have gifts?" he picked back up immediately.

She wasn't sure she should tell him what was on her mind. It was getting too close for her comfort. The personal details that she had always told herself would remain secret were about to be disclosed. She sighed, "yes, but isn't there something else you'd rather ask me?" she slid her hand up the side of his arm.

He felt the warmth of her touch against his pale skin. He thought about it and the question came to mind, "why are you this-" he paused and searched for the word at the tip of his tongue, "-hot?

"Vampeals are fundamentally flawed. We can't support the iron clad immune system that a full vampire has so we use a simpler approach to staving off infection and other illnesses," she continued to caress his arm as she spoke.

"You're talking about a fever, aren't you?" he read into it instantly.

She smiled, "yes. And it's also the same reaction that the human body has against becoming a vampire."

Chapter Twenty Seven

The End Of One Life

The following day Del awoke next to the body of the murdered woman. He was not in the alley. He was in front of the local police station soaked in her blood. Everyone believed he had tried to save the girl but didn't have the strength to carry her all the way to the hospital. They took him in. They cleaned him up. They stitched his chest and stomach, and put him on an all liquid diet in the intensive care unit of the hospital for the night. They saw him for what he was, a hero. The local cops told him he was lucky to be alive. The killer left two others dead that night. The whole town searched for the culprit, though no one was ever found.

To everyone's surprise, he returned to his classes the following morning. He was exhausted, but perfectly able for some reason. Most of his injuries had healed. He was walking again without any trouble. He was happy everything was falling into place again. That everything was returning to how it was. Everyone treated him fondly. Mr. McHugh approved of the marriage earlier than projected. Demy happily accepted his wishes for the wedding to be set the following month.

The day passed, and he became sick. His body harbored a high fever and his limbs were cold to the touch. Rather than be hospitalized again, Mr. McHugh took him in as already part of the family and had every doctor in the county examine him at their private estate. Each doctor gave him what treatment they could. Nothing eased the fever of one hundred and nine. Everyone told him he should dead. It wasn't right to live as he was. Not with all the suffering.

The second morning his temperature fell. He had strong chills and an uncontrollable shaking. The five attending doctors covered him in thick blankets and warmed his bed with an old sterling silver bed warmer. His body was ninety-four degrees and dropping. His eyes were sensitive to the light and he shied away from the open windows. Demy was worried in the other room as he spent the entire day shivering. He was incoherent and seemed to call out only to her.

By the third morning, his shaking had subsided. He was feeling much better, though still weak. His pupils had closed to a point and the brown color of his iris had disappeared. The doctors were dumbfounded. The greater change was that the whites of his eyes and the iris itself had turned to a transparent crimson. His skin had lightened. His fingers had thinned as his body had lost weight. He looked sickly again, but he didn't feel any worse. If anything he felt stronger in his newly frail form.

Mr. McHugh's maids served him hand and foot, giving him warm liquids and hot food. They tried to avoid looking him in the eyes as much as possible. His appearance disturbed even the doctors. Mr. McHugh refused to let Demy see him. His temperature remained low, though he was recovering steadily. He slept more during the day and was up during the late hours of the night. He still had an aversion towards light. He was barely able to look at the sunlight through the windows at dawn. Though his body was cold, his legs had severe burns on them near where the silver bed chamber warmer was. The doctors weren't sure why he hadn't died yet. His core body had stabilized at fifty one and a half degrees, though his limbs were far colder. He now brought a chill to even the warmest rooms in the house simply by walking into them.

Demy no longer sat in the other room next to him. She found him terrifying. She spent her time away, thinking about the baby to come. Her feelings for him were waning.

By the morning of the fifth day, he had to have the windows completely covered. Even the reflection of the sunlight in the room burned his skin. The doctors concluded that he would have to remain indoors to avoid further injury, a prognosis he did not enjoy. He had been a day laborer his entire life. His future didn't look good. He felt strange all the time. His normally sturdy constitution had changed. All of the doctors left, believing he no longer had a condition that was treatable. He was slowly being abandoned by everyone.

He knocked on Demy's room on the fifth night after the incident. He could hear her through the thick wooden door. She got up rather quickly. When he received no answer he spoke to her instead, "Demy, I will always love you and respect your choices. I am glad to have had you in my life," his voice was raspy, darker than his normal self.

Demy finally opened the door. He could feel the sadness in her eyes when she met his view. He was a monster to her now, a freak with a simple mentality. He was in no way the strong vibrant man she once knew. He had grown paler by the day. His tan was gone. The years of sun spots and calluses he had built up were gone. His hands were smooth, his skin porcelain. He had changed into something inhuman. She couldn't reply. She could only weep and run back into her room. He could feel her heart ache, he could hear it, feel it with an intensity that wasn't familiar to him.

That night he put on the black tuxedo Mr. McHugh had bought him for the impending wedding. He took his time placing every article of clothing. He ensured each piece was perfect. He had the red tie that Demy had given him as a present. He thought it reminded him of the blood that ran down his chest the night of the murder. At first he didn't like it, but then he thought of it as a memento. A way of remembering the young woman that had died. He found it comforting somehow. It was a symbol for both the event and his love for Demy. He was happy to wear it. He stepped out onto the porch to look at the partially full moon in the sky. He wanted a moment to clear his mind.

Mr. McHugh stood to the left of the front door. He had something on his mind. It was something he wanted to say that was weighing heavily on his heart, "Del, you know what I asked of you. I gave you the time to make my daughter happy." He coughed and lowered his head. "Son, you had all the heart in you to save that girl that died. I'll give you that much." He raised his head, "but that night changed you, made you into something my daughter is having trouble dealing with." He placed his left hand on Del's right shoulder. "Something the likes of what happened to you sticks in the head. It doesn't go away, especially for the people that got to watch it up close. Del, do you understand what I'm telling you?"

His chest was tight. He anticipated the moment to come.

Mr. McHugh gestured to the steps, "you know what I'm asking. Don't make this hard on me. Don't make this hard on her. Please, just let her go. She can't even look at you anymore." He kept his own eyes lowered, making sure not to look at him directly.

His blood red eyes seemed to glow in the pale moonlight. His skin was almost white under the porch. He did not appear as a normal man should. He knew that Mr. McHugh was right. But there was still a small hint of anger that welled up in his eyes. He felt a deep sadness that he had never known. There was a chasm inside him that had developed from the love he had grown for Demy. He had become a part of her entire family. For the last six months he had become accustomed to their way of life. It felt wrong to him that it should end after everything he experienced with them.

The moment of anger subsided. He relaxed. He found a calm that embraced him. He hung his head low while stepping off the estate and out of their lives forever. He never said anything else to Demy or her father that night. His heart sank as he set foot on the main road, the same road he traveled when he asked for her hand in marriage. This time no one was there to greet him. No one waved or followed him past the corner stores. He was alone as he treaded silently. He walked and reflected on what had transpired, the events that ended his life.

Chapter Twenty Eight

An Intimate Moment

Zack found it instantly hard to concentrate. Kyli was too warm. Her body was incredible, inviting to a fault. He struggled to speak, "What am I looking-" his eyes widened at the sight of her face. It became brighter. It nearly glowed with a healthy blush. The torn skin, the deep tears in her flesh were gone. He pulled her even closer to him. He brushed the dried blood away from her neck and stared in amazement. He held her tight. He examined her while his breath ran across her skin. Her flesh, her scent filled his being.

"Are you enjoying this?" she prodded. She clearly was.

He didn't seem to hear the question. He was too set on her throat to care about anything else. She really was, "not human."

She pressed into him, tightening his grip. "More than you know," she leaned into him again and bore her fangs quickly into his neck. She sipped a fast sampling of blood and relaxed.

He was amazed at how fast she was. It was over in a less than a second. He did wonder though, "Why isn't there any pain now?"

"Autonomic localized anesthetic with accelerated tissue regeneration," she said with a smile as she wiped his neck clean with her lips. "It's one of the first things a vampeal learns physiologically."

He was impressed. She held an ever increasing level of fascination. It went beyond attraction. He was hooked on her now. He studied her neck. Her scent wafted off of her skin. The fresh blood was still in her fabric, it smelled wonderful mixed with the cherry and lavender. He swam in his senses as he made his way closer to her automatically. He kissed her neck. It was light at first, then it became heavy. He pressed his teeth into her throat and she moaned under the sensation.

"If I knew this would prompt you to pay this much attention to my neckline, I would have shown you this earlier," she mentioned as he unknowingly began caressing her back. He treated her gently, sliding his fingertips back and forth over the area. It gave her pleasant chills that danced along her body. She was beginning to shiver from what he was doing to her. It was light, sensual, and intimate. It everything she liked in a private moment, in a personal moment. She closed her eyes and let him work. "Either way, I like what you're doing."

He stopped and she sighed. She had been thrust back into the conversation again, unwillingly. He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, he only instantly realized it as he opened his eyes to her. It was like someone else was controlling his arms.

"What's wrong? Why'd you stop?" she breathed heavy. She truly enjoyed his touch. She didn't want him to stop, not yet.

He caught his own breath, "I'm not really sure." He could feel something was different. Something had changed within him. He raised his hand to his head. A warmth ran down his face. A red shower of color shaded his view of her. He stared as he slowly let the vision become clear. Blood ran down her neck again, from two puncture holes. He slid his hand down and instantly felt something sharp. He exhaled, "I have fangs."

Chapter Twenty Nine

Come Inside

"Of course you do. You've been feeding off me for the last two hours," Kyli said as she caught her breath. She was exhausted but happy.

Zack thought about the time that had passed. It shouldn't have been two hours. It was impossible. Maybe twenty minutes, but never that long. "Are you sure?" he wiped the blood off of his face.

She smiled, "look at the time."

It had been two hours. Even a little past. He could still taste her on his lips. He had enjoyed it without even realizing it. "Don't we have to get ready for something?" his head was swimming in a pleasant haze.

She panted, still easing her breath into a controllable rhythm. "For the concert," she slowly got up.

The phone rang.

She answered it in a daze, "yes? Of course I'll be there honey. Yes, yes, I know. Love you too." She laughed to herself quickly, "of course I know. But it's just so easy." She hung up the phone.

He stared at her from across the couch. Love who? The words were unable to come off his lips.

She could feel the question this time. "Sorry about that. He's my mentor. He hates it when I talk to him like that. It really gets him deep down."

"You mean your sire?" he ventured a guess.

"No, but kudos for reading up on the matter," she laid back and grinned a half smile. "That would be if he made me. But being a vampeal, my father made me what I am. Which is why I have a mentor instead of an actual sire to teach me what I need to know in life."

"What does he teach you?" he pondered as he calmed down. His heart was still racing and his mind was everywhere at once. He thought about the concert, sitting next to her, the date. Spending more time with her. He loved every thought.

She thought about her answer and decided to withhold what she could, "Only what I wish to know. The details are private. It's not like a tutor. There are things that we need to learn that no one in their right mind would teach another person."

"You mean how to kill?" he picked up on it immediately.

She thought about her response. He had guessed it far too quickly. She wondered how long it would be until he knew her secret entirely.

"To feed and hide the body?" he filled in his theory.

She took her chance to spin it away from anything that might land too close to home for her. "Of course. But we don't always have to kill someone. If we're careful and silent, we can get away from a quickie and leave the subject passed out somewhere until morning. Then they think that they were just mugged or maybe had a bad hang over. The drunk ones are the easiest really," she recalled a few of her past encounters and smiled wider.

"Then he'll be at the concert too? I'll get to meet him?" he wanted affirmation that she was telling the truth. He wanted that security.

She thought about how obvious the answer was to her and nodded, "yes, he'll be there. You'll get to meet him."

Chapter Thirty

Behind The Scenes

"As I see it the results are pretty conclusive," man in a white lab coat spoke from one side of a small room.

"Then he has it? It's inside of him?" David asked intently from the far end of the room. He held a small goblet of blood in his left hand and swirled it.

"Yes, it's pretty clear and dry. It matches the samples that Yugo gave us from the previous host," the man in the coat stepped away from his station. He took off his white lab coat and hung it up on a nearby wall hook. "To think that he was smart enough back then to save a vile of blood for later testing. He's really too damned cunning that one. You should be careful."

"You know I always am," David slammed back the glass of blood. "Besides, I have you to keep tabs on him for me."

The other man reached into a locker and pulled out a long gray coat. "Of course you do," he put it on and reached into the locker for a long brimmed gray hat. "You always will," he reached for another item deep within the locker. He flipped a small lever in the back and pulled out two metal flasks. He put one in his left breast pocket and the other in a hidden pocket facing his back on the same side. "You always will, David."

Chapter Thirty One

Cursory Explanations

"Now it's time for some blood. I'm feeling a little dizzy after all that. Giddy, but too dizzy to enjoy a full concert while staring at the performance." She stood up and went to the kitchen.

"We just had each other's blood. Why do we need more?" he didn't see the point of drinking more when he had enjoyed her blood so very much that he had completely lost track of time.

"Our blood doesn't really count. It will sustain us a little, but in the long run a vampeal needs to drink human blood from time to time," she opened two bottles and set them on the counter. She gestured for him to join her.

He followed and sat at the breakfast bar. Something weighed on his mind. He wasn't hungry. Clearly not the same way she was. "You keep calling me a vampeal. Does that mean you think one of my parents was a vampire?"

"It doesn't mean I think it, I know it," she pointed to his still protruding fangs. "Besides the fact that your mother left you when you were young. It's a telltale sign that she was the vampire half of what made you."

He thought about it for a moment and then thought about something else, "when did I tell you about my mother?"

She froze for a second. It wasn't something they'd discussed. It was something she had read about him. She panicked and forced an answer, "it's part of my gift. I could feel it when you mentioned her."

Did he mention her earlier? He wasn't sure anymore.

"Regardless, you have two options before we leave," she pointed to the bottle in front of him. "Drink the blood and be safe about it."

"What's option two?" he took hold of the bottle and opened it. The blood inside was still and watery.

"Not being safe," she drank from her bottle.

He smelled the blood. It was cold and odd. "What's in this exactly? Shouldn't it be congealed?"

"Take a sip and you tell me," she smirked.

He lifted the bottle and leaned it back against his lips. The liquid slid back and graced his tongue. It was far colder than he had imagined. It tasted like milk mixed with a bitter after taste. "What is this?" he shook his head and downed the gulp.

"Blood with a little medical thinner added to prevent clotting." She took another sip.

"And why does it taste like milk?" he asked.

She smirked, "why indeed?"

Chapter Thirty Two

Preparation

David drove back to his apartment. He smiled all the way back. He had confirmed it. The demon gift was going to manifest in Zack Giver. He was now in the perfect position to obtain what no other vampire in history had ever claimed.

He pulled up to the hotel and handed the valet his keys. He rode the elevator all the way up to the seventh floor without breaking that pristine smile.

Within a few weeks Zack would be dead, the contract holder would be dead, and Kyli would gain possession of the greatest power of all.

He turned the key to his room and walked in with a feeling of satisfaction that he hadn't had in decades. He was about to gain the best asset of all. Soon she would have the demon gift to use as he saw fit.

Chapter Thirty Three

Option Two

"So there's a reason why it tastes like milk to me?" Zack asked.

"Of course there is," Kyli chuckled. "But you're not going to like it."

"What is it?" he wanted to know why it tasted so good to him. There was a purity to it that he had never known before. It made him feel amazing.

"It has to do with your favorite flavor or memory associated with it. It can be anything really but everyone is different. All vampires are vampeals, all blood drinkers taste blood differently." She put the bottle down, "think about it. Did you ever taste your own blood? A drop from a paper cut or a small scrape? It's dull, wet, and slightly unpleasant," she gestured to the bottle in his hand. "Now to a vampire that same blood is delicious because its body craves it."

"Then what does a vampeal like you crave? What do you taste when you drink blood? How does my blood taste to you?" he stared at her again. His eyes pierced her soul as he waited for an answer.

She inhaled, "cranberries. Nothing but sweet cranberries."

"Then that's what my blood tastes like to you?" he pressed as he reached for her hand. The warmth enveloped his arm quicker than he could realize. He could feel her heart race again.

She had trouble speaking for a moment as she stared back into his eyes. Then she forced an answer, "purely exquisite cranberries. That's what I taste when I drink your blood, Zack. It's unreal."

"So why do I taste milk when I drink yours?" he wondered.

She let go of his hand.

"What's wrong?" he didn't see it coming. But then it happened out of the blue.

She laughed out loud. So loud that it shook the room with a small burst of sound. She blushed and tried to keep eye contact with him. "It's kind of embarrassing. Are you sure you want to know?"

"Of course," he was serious. He wanted to understand what it meant. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could remember a part of a dream. Some deep demonic voice booming a fated phrase that he couldn't quite remember. He needed to know the connection.

She calmed herself and spoke with a straight face, "let's just say it has to do with a time when you were younger." She could see he wasn't getting the reference yet. She added another clue, "it's a mommy issue."

He didn't see the link.

"You weren't breast fed for long as a child, were you?" she was on the edge of laughing again.

He understood the inclination. "I guess not if what you're telling me is true," his somber nature wouldn't let him feel any embarrassment for the situation. It was a matter of fact to him and that was all. The odd thing was that he didn't even think he was ever breast fed as a child.

"Well I'm glad you were able to figure that out," she finally calmed down and regained composure. She was ready to change the subject.

He didn't miss a beat, "so what do you mean by not being safe?" he asked as he downed another gulp of the bottled blood with disdain.

"You have two options in this world. You can drink the thinned out blood or you can do it the hard way," she grinned sadly. There was something that came to mind. Something unpleasant to her that she didn't want to recall.

He didn't care for option one. He began to ask, "what's-"

"-The hard way is waiting until your body needs the blood to function and you end up attacking anyone that's near you," she walked over to the trash can and dropped the empty bottle inside with a thud.

"That sounds bad but manageable." He thought about the recent headaches, the thirst in the back of his throat. He took a deep breath and realized what she meant, "you mean bite?"

She responded with a cold tone that was unlike her normal self. She slumped her shoulders and was silent for a moment. She was disturbed about the subject. "No, I mean viciously ravage them until you severe their mortal coil. You will take everything from them, every drop. And when you're done, when the hours have passed and their body lies dead and limp at your feet, you will be different. You won't feel regret. You won't feel pain. You won't feel any of the things you might think you would feel after killing someone that you had loved. When it happens, and I can assure you it will. You will feel full. You will feel giddy from the experience. A happiness will wash over you from the fact that you have your mind back after the constant biological starvation you had put yourself through during the past week of scratching your eyes out from the sick dreams!" she said with intensity. "And after it's over. After it's all over with. They'll be dead. And you'll feel better for it. Even if you don't like it. Even if it makes you want to scream out loud in agony and curse your soul for what you've let yourself do to them. They'll still all be dead! And there won't be a damn thing you can do about it but feel fucking happy for it inside of your sick tinted and twisted head!"

She turned away and headed to the bathroom with a speed that was inhuman. A few tears shimmered as she passed out of his view. She flipped the light on and slammed the door. This was something personal. She spoke not as a bystander, but as a former aggressor. In her past, there had been a person close to her, a human that died by her inability to recognize what she was and what she was becoming. He could see that she didn't want the same thing to occur with him.

He wasn't sure what he should do. He knew that consoling her might not go well. Though not drinking the thinned out blood would be ignoring the very moral of her story. So he sat, picked up the bottle and drank. The taste of thin milk flowed into his mouth and down his throat. The illusion was powerful. But the thought unsettled him. He did this because of how she had reacted to his initial aversion to the blood. He told himself that this was against his own free will and out of an obligation, he continued to drink. But there was something else at work in the back of his mind. Somewhere deep within him, he did enjoy the taste. It was wholesome and filling. It felt right to him. Regardless of what he told himself, he found an unmistakable pleasure in even this cold thinned out blood.

Eventually he became very tired. He was swelled from his meal. After the first, he had gone into the refrigerator and drank three more bottles. He did it slowly. He savored them drop by drop. Several hours passed. He sat down on the couch and blacked out with an ample smile.

Chapter Thirty Four

The Eventuality

The sounds of Kyli in the bathroom crying gave way to delusions in Zack's dreams. Visions of clouds and blood swirled in his mind. The words and actions of the day mixed into an ocean of memory. The scenes diluted his worries and cares. The blood had worked into his body. Soon the events didn't matter. He didn't care how she had managed to get into his room, his apartment. None of it mattered to him anymore. The world became silent. He was alone in the void of the moment.

There was a desolate beach with no one around. It was solitude. A red sea splashed at the sand. Black clouds traveled across a streaked sky. Lightning ripped sections of turbulence out of the air for him to see.

"Did the aroma of her blood entice you? You gave so much effort intricately examining her throat," he knew this dark voice. It called out from the shadows of his mind. "Do you think she doesn't know what you really are, that you an ephemeral demon set to destroy anything you touch?"

He knew this feeling. The pressure weighed on his nerves. There was a hatred that he tasted in the back of his mouth. It seethed. It licked at his subconscious doubts and worries.

"There are few creatures that will ever know the terror I wield, that you presently wield. Blood is the fuel that burns through your veins. I am the match," the sound of the words emanated from all around.

He said nothing. He held his tongue out of more than caution, he was gripped by the stark words. It tempted him.

"Did you like the vision of her throat torn out? The serene meadow brushed back to reveal her slaughtered corpse?" the voice pressed, from beyond the shoreline, from far out into and beyond the red ocean.

He refused to answer. His will slowly came back to him. A small perseverance returned as he began to make sense of where he was.

"Eventually you will crave the flow of fresh blood from every heart that still beats in this world. Eventually you will call to me," the voice rang through his ears without sound. It pried at him. It taunted him to action.

He bit his lip. He tried to shut the message out. Cold fingertips slid over the back of his neck, sending stern chills through his body. There was someone behind him.

"It comes slowly at first to all who dare to taste the feeling of power. The pleasure of lust is before you. All you need now is to know the pain of immortality. Everything will slow as you drink it in. The wine will last. The meat will abound. The blood will flow. Once you awaken me, once you accept me, there will be no confusion to the course. There will be no hesitation to cause any doubt. You will be mine and behind your cold eyes I will force you to perform." The ocean rumbled. Waves crashed at his feet. He was afraid to turn around.

He screamed out. He seethed with anger. He nearly suffocated from the steady whisper. It gnawed at him. He turned around, slowly, not knowing what he might find.

Nothingness sat waiting on the shore behind him.

"Focus Zack," the voice called.

The sky began to rain black liquid. It soaked him. The voice toyed with him. His anger gripped his thoughts.

"Your emotions are good. They will serve me well in my war. The contender is within your own body. It is a stage that will play the motions if it must. Anger will prime your flesh to do my bidding. It will cement my puppetry over your life, your personality. The hatred I provoke in you shall be the key to the gates of my personal Avalon." The voice sighed, "if they let you live." A crackle of thunder rang in the distance. "But thankfully she might serve useful in that regard."

He steadied himself. He tried to calm down and resist the demon's influence over him. He could feel the attack, his mind bent as it was forced into complying with each wish, each word the voice spewed out. He hated it. He wanted it to stop. He said softly and without essence, "stop."

"Petty attempts to stave me off are futile and eventually to no measure. Greater men have tried and greater still have succumb to my lush dreams. I will show you horror. I will show you pain incarnate. There will be blood with no end. You will be trapped with no other route less my gift, my key cast in blood at your broken feet," the voice breathed heavily in the distance. The rain stopped.

He squinted. He looked out into the abyss of the nightmare and saw nothing.

"Blood tells. It changes what you are inside. The hunger that resides in you is a pitcher waiting to be filled. You will watch it rise, and I will watch it overflow and spill. Let yourself slip, become what we both feel you are." The rumbling voice waited, "you won't last long with her. You can smell it already, calling you, tugging at your white virgin teeth. The scent of her gift, her blood. Rip, tear, rend, and enjoy swallowing her silken blood like smooth warm milk. It will only take time until you accept my offer, until you accept me."

The same cold fingers slid across the back of his neck. They smoothly clasped his throat. Lips pressed to his left ear. A breath without wind spoke, "until you need me."

# Chapter Thirty Five

The Island in the Pale Still Water

Zack awoke to Kyli. She had to shake him hard to wake him from an apparent nightmare. He was covered in sweat. He spoke, clear as day, his eyes were firmly closed, "I will never need you!"

She stepped back. She wasn't sure why he would say such a thing to her.

He opened his eyes. He wasn't tired, not dazed at all. He felt better, much better actually. His body was light, almost springy. He looked around the room. It was bright, but his vision was still blurry. The sun stung his eyes through the blinds but he didn't have to squint for some reason. He pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Kyli, are you there?" he looked around. The whole room was heavily blurred. "Why are my eyes so out of focus?" he randomly searched for her in the bright sunlight.

"Over here," her voice called from across the room.

"What's going on? Did something happen?" he held his head for a moment.

"Nothing really. You were having a bad dream," she told him gently.

"A bad dream?" He barely recalled the fleeting moment of terror in the back of his mind. A chill slid up his back as he remembered. "I was resisting something, screaming out to it to go away and leave me alone. But I couldn't say it loud enough. It was disturbing." He propped himself back up on the couch. "I hope I didn't say anything that bothered you in my sleep." He remembered last night. Her storming out of the room. "And I'm sorry for bringing up what I did last night. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No it couldn't be helped. But thank you," she accepted his apology. "To answer your question, I'm right here, and I'll help you after you drink this," she handed him an insulated cup with a lid and straw.

"Are you sure you know what's wrong?" he asked, his vision wasn't getting any better as he rubbed his eyes.

"Yes, Zack. Have I lied to you so far?" There was something about her intentions that he didn't want to trust. She was holding back something. But he wanted answers, so he waited.

"No reasons that I can think of," he sniffed the end of the straw. It smelled like ice cream.

"Cranberry juice," she said with confidence and a smile.

"Of course," he knew it wasn't cranberry juice. He took a sip from the cup. It didn't taste like cranberry juice. It was cold like juice, but thicker, smoother. There was a slight film to it, like drinking thick chocolate milk. It tasted good, very good. It was wholesome even. It filled his appetite and satisfied his thirst. He knew this taste.

"I told you, cranberry juice," her playful tone had come back. She smirked.

"Maybe to you. To me it's a milkshake. To the average person this is A- blood." He was getting good with his sense of taste. He had recalled the flavor from the last bottles he drank. They were clearly labeled in the fridge. "What's wrong with my eyes?" he tried to adjust his glasses up and down, change the angle, anything to help get things into focus. Nothing helped. It began to bother him.

"Close your eyes and open them the second I ask you to," she sat down next to him on the couch.

He closed his eyes tight, "sure."

She swiftly and quietly lifted his glasses off his face without a sound or reaction from him. "Now open your eyes and look right at me."

He flung open his eyes and focused on her immediately. "What'd you do? I can see you so clearly, so vividly now." He took a moment to admire her. He absorbed every part of her being as he looked her up and down. She had changed clothes since last night. She was wearing a thin black low-cut tank top with navy blue boy-leg shorts. He knew she was tall, but her milky legs were far longer than he had imagined. Her skin was just as flawless as he had dreamed. Her shirt left little for him to fantasize about. The ribbed cotton fabric was light and hid only the most intimate features from his sight. She appeared slimmer than in the club, more toned. She was beautifully sculpted and proportioned. She was a Gothic Goddess.

She leaned forward. Suddenly, her scent filled the air. Cherry and lavender overcame him as the smell rushed through his lungs. She was far more seductive when she had relaxed at home than buttoned up at any club. His eyes stared at every inch of her body. Examining every curve, he couldn't stop himself. She was gorgeous before him.

She enjoyed the attention. She welcomed it as she drew closer to him.

"You are so... beautiful," he continued to scan up and down, across her naked skin.

Her black hair showed darker than normal, her eyes a fresh blue that were accented by the room. He was in awe of her.

She felt a wave of excitement as she watched him mouth the words. "Thank you, Zack. You're cute too," she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. There was that cool skin again. The supple flesh that she wasn't used to. It was inviting, it was distracting. "I think I really like you."

"When did you hate me?" he slipped his hand across her back. The warm sensation burned as he embraced her.

"Not anymore. Not with that face," she chuckled. "Not with that touch. But it's part of being a vampeal in the end."

"How so?" he couldn't get her scent off his mind. It was overwhelming. He moved closer to her, slid his fingers behind her neck. He felt her hair. His fingertips danced over her skin.

She enjoyed the feeling of his hand on her neck. She took a moment to relish it before continuing. Then she went on, "what do you remember of the vampires you've read about in books? The facts they mentioned. Everything and anything you can think of concerning them?" She propped her head on her hand, with an elbow she pushed into the back of the couch. She let his hand keep touching her skin. It was soothing, gentle. She let herself be played with.

He stopped suddenly and thought about the question, "do you mean like Dracula and other popular vampire books?"

"Yeah, everything, all of it," she stared at his face. "Start with the basics. Tell me what you think you know and we'll go from there."

"There's the need for blood. And then there's the threat of stakes and sunlight. They burned in direct sunlight." He focused on the furniture around them. His eyes were surprisingly sharp. He noticed small trace freckles on her skin that made her even cuter than he remembered. He tried adjusting his glasses, and realized they were gone. "When did you take my glasses?"

"Remember the part about self-regeneration? Powerful healing abilities?" She held his glasses and tapped them on her toned bare right inner thigh. She wanted to bait him. She wanted him to touch her again.

"I need those to see." He reached for the glasses, and she jutted backwards. The glasses were millimeters out of his reach. He fell onto her.

"You can see me fine right now, can't you? I know I can see you," she was flirting with him. His body was pressed against hers, his weight fully across her legs and abdomen. She pushed on his chest with one hand and lifted him with ease. "Next is strength. All the books always talk about how strong vampires are."

She set him back on his side of the couch. He could feel her fingertips as they pressed into him. The warm touch, like hot knives on his skin. She got up and went to the middle of the room.

"And then there's finesse and agility," she turned away and bent over into a full handstand. She faced him while upside down. Her hair fell loose to the floor, long and black, shiny and straight, it danced by her hands.

The color in her eyes amazed him, "such blue."

"What was that? You like my shorts?" she bent her legs and twisted them to the side. "Do they really look that good?" she straightened them out.

"No, I didn't mean that," he continued.

She pouted. She enjoyed playing with him. "You don't like my legs either?"

He knew he should have seen it coming. "Really?"

"Okay. I'll stop." She relaxed as she held the position.

He was skeptical. "Yes, a handstand is impressive, but I don't see what that has to do with proving-" he stopped mid-sentence.

She lifted herself onto her fingertips, and then took her left hand away.

"But you're only a little more than a hundred pounds, that would be easy for someone in shape that knew what they were doing." He defended the fact that Kyli's acrobatic prowess was skilled, but still very human. He focused on her face. She wasn't even exerting herself in that pose.

"And this?" she supported herself with five fingertips, then shifted to her index finger alone. "Hurts just looking at it, doesn't it?" With her other hand she put on his glasses and pivoted into a standing position. She shifted her legs down and lifted her head back up. She sat back next to him on the couch again. "Still think I'm merely talented?" she smiled as she wore his silver glasses proudly.

Chapter Thirty Six

Redefining Terms

"What about speed? Aren't vampires supposed to be really, really fast?" Zack raised his eyebrows with doubt.

Kyli quickly blitzed and pinned him into the couch. The actions unfolded as he took in a single breath. Before he was able to exhale, she had overtaken him. There was a trace, a hint of motion. It was fast, far faster than he could easily follow. She held his wrists behind his head. Her body pressed on his. Her warmth affected him. Their skin reacted to each other. It was intimate.

"Don't forget about speed," her hair dangled down in his face. It whipped across his eyes and nose. It acted like a tunnel that connected their faces. It was captivating. There was stillness in this moment, this display.

"I want them back," he said calmly.

"When I'm done with them," she responded, not letting him budge an inch.

"Do vampires have gifts, supernatural abilities?" he softened his voice. He was pacified by her face. He didn't care that she was holding him down now. He started to enjoy it.

"Yes. There are three very different types. Focus is a gift that enhances some aspect of the vampire. Either physical or mental, it hones that part of the person." She tucked her hair behind her left ear and let go of his right hand.

"You mean it's not a focus ability if it does something to anyone else?" he deduced.

"Yes, we call those alteration gifts, or in some cases, psychic gifts, abilities activated at will by the mind. They affect an individual other than the user. Considering both of those gifts are extremely varied, that covers most of it," she sounded like she was reading from a vampire text book on the subject rather than recalling a passed down history of her kind. "And then there's the demon gift," she broke eye contact. It sombered the mood. "A gift like that has real power."

"Real power? Like picking up a car?" he asked.

"Zack, I can pick up a car," she sighed. She crawled closer and pulled him over to her with one arm. She leaned into his shoulder, "think bigger."

"A gift that can stop bullets?" he threw the idea out there.

She shook her head, "no, that would be an alteration gift."

"The ability to control the elements? Weather and fire, something like that maybe?" he tried a little harder.

"Bigger," she buried her head into his arm. "I'm talking about the power to control the minds of a thousand people at once, or the ability to lift entire land masses on command."

"You mean demon gifts can lift islands?" he was astonished.

"No, I said entire land masses, not islands. They have the potency to overturn continents if they choose to do so," she gravely informed him.

"That's impossible. That kind of power doesn't exist. Even if it did, why wouldn't they have used it already?" he asked fervently.

"Blood, they need oceans of it to use that level of gift." she was suddenly quiet.

He was speechless. A chill ran through his body. He knew what an ocean of blood looked like. It seemed too eerie that she would mention such a gruesome thing. The memory of his recent dreams came back to him. It was too similar.

"Are you alright Zack?" she felt the change in his skin. He was flushed.

"No, it's okay. I was just thinking of what that would take." He became pale.

"Hundreds of thousands of people would have to die to let them evolve that far, to let them accrue that much power." She let go of his arm. She turned him to face her. Then she pushed him back on the couch and propped herself above him again.

"That sounds terrible," he responded as he tried to not stare at her seductive body. A twinge of pain rang through his head. A flash of the red ocean came from his memory. It was unnerving.

"There's a catch too. The demon gift's ability isn't the worst part. They absorb their hosts in time." She eased her grasp of his shoulders. She rested her head on his chest.

"They? These are abilities we're talking about right? Not actual demons?" he worried over the thought. Her head was so close to his heart. It soothed him. Her words were terrifying but his pulse raced as she came closer.

"Demon gifts are abilities, Zack, not people. They have grown with each incarnation, with each vampire they appear in, taking on new attributes as they evolve. The longer a vampire lives and drinks blood, the more powerful the gift becomes until it asserts dominance. It forces the vampire's mind out and controls the body directly. In essence, it kills the vampire host. That is why they are called demon gifts. They embody terrifying power, but are considered curses by everyone, since they come with the ultimate cost."

His mind ached. He didn't want to accept it but he had to. There were too many things that she had said that made sense to him. That she had shown him. Eventually he gave in. "Okay, I believe you."

She let him up.

He thought about his situation, "considering everything you've said, what does that make me?"

"You're a vampeal Zack, just like me." She stared at his deep brown eyes. She knew he was far more than just another vampeal.

"Just without the strength and agility," he added.

"Eventually it will come. You've already begun to heal." It was hard for her to think as she continued to stare into his eyes. Her mind wanted to be with him. There was something about him that drew her in.

She still wore his glasses. She pointed to them and tapped on the edge of the frames. It was a clear reminder that his vision was now perfect. He had been revitalized to a better state of being. He had energy, boundless energy. He felt as if he could run a marathon without breathing. There was a sensation of strength that he had never known before. He decided to test it a little and have some fun while doing it.

"Kyli," he said in a devilish manner. He leaned into her.

"Yes?" she inquired. She was receptive to his forward advance. She welcomed it. She looked into his eyes and became farther lost in them, thinking of how nice it would be to let things continue as they were, to let them simply have a few years together alone before the contract was up. She indulged in the fantasy for a moment.

She was distracted for a second. In a quick motion he used all his might to lift her up and try to throw her over the couch to display his newfound power.

She saw it coming but was still flung up into the air about a foot above him. She spun with a twist into another handstand on the couch as she came down. Her knee knocked the nearly empty cup out of his other hand. It spilled on the hardwood floor. The other leg kicked him flat on his back. She never fell. She merely pivoted and gymnastically took advantage of the situation. To her, it was effortless as she spun around.

"Is that all you wanted to ask me? That's so disappointing." She dismounted from the couch and sat down on the edge of the coffee table. Her legs crossed as a further sign of her exacting abilities.

He had been owned in his small effort to impress her. "I shouldn't have done that," He understood his mistake clearly. He wanted to flex his surge of power but he didn't think she would be able to react so quickly and precisely. He was unsure of why he did it. He thought it was because he needed to test what he could do. That he needed to do it. But he wasn't sure.

"No. But you're about to make it even between us." She was hiding something. She was smiling too big not to be.

"How?" he faintly tilted his head and raised one eyebrow.

"Look at the cup," she pointed with one outstretched finger.

He examined the splash from the spilled cup that had spread across the floor and next to the rear leg of the table. It was dark and red.

She smiled as she placed both hands under her chin. Her eyes grinning with glee and satisfaction, "It wasn't cranberry juice."

"I know," he stated.

She was confused a little. When the same trick was played on her, she hadn't noticed the substitution at all. He was quicker than he realized. "Do you feel better knowing for sure?"

"Not because of that. I feel better in general," he felt his muscles were tighter even as he thought about it.

"Almost superhuman, right?" she proposed.

"Yeah, does that mean I'm invincible?" he dared to ask the question. He wasn't sure how she might demonstrate her point.

"I can always throw you out the window you if you'd like to find out." She waited for his answer, "we are seven floors up."

"Could I really live through that?" he thought about what it meant to survive something like that.

"Yes and no. It depends on your definition of living. You're far from invincible compared to an actual vampire. However, as a vampeal, you can take a lot more punishment than a normal person. You can die but it takes a lot more to kill you." She got up and handed him the phone.

"What's this for?" he took the phone in hand.

"Call your father and let him know you won't be home for a few days," she instructed. "Tell him you met a girl and will be staying over at her place."

"He's not going to let me do that." He dialed and held the phone to his ear.

"Make sure you tell him my dad is next door. Tell your dad he'll keep a good watch on us the whole time." She put her right hand on his leg and smiled.

He smiled back. He liked the way she thought.

"Are you sure you have time to be thinking about that right now?" She pointed her ear and gestured to the phone in his hand.

The phone rang once and immediately answered. He exhaled. He had never done anything like this before. He wondered what his dad was going to say.

The voice mail kicked in. He clicked the off button and set the phone down. "He's already on the line talking to someone else."

"That's good. It means that he isn't as worried as you thought," she was optimistic. She planted the phone back in his hand and walked off to make them some breakfast at the cook-top in the kitchen island.

"So I tell him to relax? That I'm staying with a gorgeous night club singer for a little while?" he wasn't convinced.

"Hit redial until you get through. This is not as bad as you think it is. Tell him you're okay and we'll go from there." She set a skillet on the stove.

"I say I'm fine and that I'm not human?" he reiterated.

"Don't think of it that way. You are different and as long as you control your diet, no one will ever find out. Think of it like diabetes." She set some eggs out on the counter with milk, orange juice, and bacon.

"So you're telling me that I should treat this like diabetes? As far as I can remember diabetics don't bite people when their blood sugar is off," he watched her prepare breakfast.

"It's like any other blood imbalance. You have to control it to remain normal," she smiled.

"This isn't anything like other blood imbalances," he added.

"Are you sure? How many blood imbalances do you know about?" she affirmed her opinion by gesturing to herself with the spatula. "Now you're starting to regain your old self. You're thinking more about being right than about the actual condition you're in," she smiled again.

"My old self? You just met me. How do you know what I was like?" he held off redialing his dad.

She turned up the heat and got back to cooking. "I'm not telling you how I know," she refused to make eye contact with him. "Are you going to make that call?"

He was silent. He got up and sat at the bar side of the kitchen island.

"How do you like your eggs? Sunny, over easy, or runny?" she completely ignored his silence.

He brought it back to the point that bothered him, "how do you seem to know everything about me?" The answer danced in the back of his mind. Something wasn't right but he didn't want to accept it.

"It's part of my gift," she cracked two eggs into the pan. "Now call your dad back."

"What gift?" he pressed the redial button and held the phone to his ear again.

"My vampire gift." she cracked another two eggs.

The phone rang once and went directly to voice mail again. He hung up and placed it on the counter. "I thought you expressively said that we weren't vampires, that we were vampeals?"

"We are vampeals but vampires aren't the only ones to receive dark gifts from the virus that affects us." She smiled at him, "at least that's what my dad has told me over the years." She added a splash of milk to the eggs in the pan.

"What can you do exactly?" he calmly asked. He wasn't worried about talking to his father anymore. He was still curious.

"I can cook damn good eggs," she smirked and kept cooking.

"You know what I mean. What can you really do?" he was more curious by the minute to find out what she was capable of.

With a straight face she replied, "Stop the world from turning."

Chapter Thirty Seven

Finding The Path

"Really?" Zack thought Kyli was kidding. He laughed.

"No, really. Or at least a few of the gifts have the potential to. There are some very powerful gifts that can do everything from kill people to take over their minds. It's a very different world we live in Zack. As a vampire or vampeal, alteration gifts are the most powerful. They are the types that are physically dangerous to nearly everyone." She sighed.

"What's wrong?" he saw she had lost her cheerful spirit. "You don't have one of those gifts do you?"

"It would have been much easier if I did. Sadly, I have a psychic type gift," she seemed depressed about the nature of it.

"That sounds intriguing. I'm sure your gift is amazing. It's how come some random vampire hasn't attacked you already, isn't it?" he wondered. He thought about what she might have actually been sad about. It had something to do with her gift. It disappointed her, or at least someone close to her.

She perked back up. "Who's to say they haven't?" she tasted a piece of egg and added a little orange juice. "It's all about remaining hidden, not what you can do. If no one knows you're a vampeal, no one will want to kill you." She broke eye contact, "directly."

"Who would want to kill us exactly?" he needed to know what else was going to come for him. "Directly?"

"Just about everyone, directly." she reached for a teaspoon of sugar. "We're not exactly considered an upstanding genetic pillar of our race you know." She added the sugar to the eggs. "We're half-vampires Zack. That means that one of our parents was a vampire that chose to mate with a human. To a human, there may not be anything wrong with that. But to a vampire, it's taboo. It means that one of our parents didn't think the vampires in their life were good enough for them and decided to resort to a human for companionship."

"So that means my dad already knows about vampires?" he didn't think his dad would withhold something like that from him.

"No, probably not. Most vampires that mate with a human do so under the guise that they're also human." She flipped the eggs.

"But wouldn't he know?" he asked the obvious question.

"And how would he know? If she didn't tell him, what exactly would tip him off?" she tilted her head to the side. "Did you think I wasn't human when you first met me?

"I thought you were an angel," he said automatically.

"Only half," she thought about the decisions in her life. The things that removed her from celestial status.

"Then that's at least half a reason to pursue you," he stared into her blue eyes. She was worth pursuing.

"That's sweet but you wouldn't have known if I hadn't told you. That's what probably happened with your mother and father, a few years of fun, a lie that she worked nights, and then you came along," she pointed to him. "Enough about that. Besides, we don't get the kind of gifts that vampires will kill you over, at least not without good reason." She flipped the eggs again.

"Such as?" he pondered the possibilities.

"Trespassing, back talk to someone older than you, and the obvious spilled blood in public." She chuckled, "but you have to be an idiot to do any of that."

He was silent.

"All vampeals get are simple gifts or the occasional focus strength enhancement, nothing that would ever make us a legitimate threat to a full vampire. We just have to keep in line, or at least upwind of them, and we're okay." She took two glasses out of the cabinet. She seemed nervous about the subject. There was a lie somewhere. As she stood there, he could tell she wasn't completely comfortable with it.

He played along, "upwind? You mean we have a unique scent?"

"We smell different to them, not human, but not quite right as a vampire either. It's the pheromones we let off. To each other, we smell sweet, with an undeniable scent that attracts us. It has to do with the virus wanting to complete itself. To a vampire, we smell like bruised fruit, like something that went wrong with the virus. Their sense of smell is shocking. Compared to a blood hound, they are just about half as capable, meaning their noses can be fooled with certain perfumes. But not many." She looked at him. She surveyed his face and added another dab of orange juice to the eggs. She wasn't sure if he believed her.

"Is that why you smell like cherry and lavender to me?" he asked her.

She blushed, "you've been paying attention." Her lips curled at the end as she tended to the eggs. She refused to look him in the eye. She was embarrassed.

"So it's a virus?" his stomach growled as he smelled the sweet eggs cooking. His mouth watered.

"Yeah. That's what my dad's found out over his lifetime. He has friends that test that sort of thing and pass on the knowledge to other vampires. There are entire vampire science divisions dedicated to researching what our limits are. In truth, he tells me mostly for safety. Not for peace of mind," she set down a plate for each of them with a sad expression. She dashed bacon into the eggs.

"So what do you know about vampeals? What happened with the virus to make a person into one?" He salivated over the eggs. They smelled amazing. He didn't care about the doubt anymore. She had relaxed, she was telling the truth now.

"Xx Xy, Zack," she said confidently.

"You're talking about genetics aren't you?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Bingo. When a vampire conceives with a human, the virus mutates the embryo, almost always the same way. Each and every instance is nearly identical, changing the virus to eliminate the deficiencies and take the best of both aspects of each parent to produce a vampeal. At the price of an increased blood requirement, vampeals have none of the downsides of being a vampire." She turned to get out a bottle of soda from the fridge.

"You mean sunlight," he said as he watched her move. Her hair flowed like she was dancing in the kitchen. It was entrancing. "Exactly," she smiled.

"Okay. Then are we the better version?" he wanted to know. "Are there any other types of half-vampires?"

"No and no. The process happens the same way each time, but no one knows why. If we were better, we'd be able to contest them. So far, that hasn't happened. A vampeal will never be any real threat to a vampire." She stirred the edge of the eggs and flipped it in to an omelet.

"Then wouldn't there be many kinds of vampeals? Since it's a mutation, it's random. What prevents any other changes? I thought the same freak occurrence can't happen twice in nature." He thought about his headaches, the thirst he felt when he was around her. He had doubts about himself that he wanted resolved.

"I'm impressed. I didn't think you knew that much on the subject," she smiled again. "Unfortunately, the virus is very predictable. So no, it's pretty uniform. The exemptions are the gifts. For some reason, they can appear in anyone with the virus. Vampire or vampeal, it doesn't matter." She turned away like she knew something he didn't. She thought about why she was talking to him if it all didn't matter in the end. She saddened slightly.

"But I thought vampeals always got the same types of lesser gifts?" he touched on a sore spot in the conversation.

She finished the omelet. She cut it into two and served it. "Yes, but normal vampire gifts can be passed down through vampire families, like inheriting a trait from your parents. These gifts usually grow and are passed from generation to generation. Except the difference is that your great, great grandpa is standing there when you announce what your gift is."

"Does that work with vampeals?" he dug into the omelet with a fork. It was soft from the milk, sweet from the juice, and meaty from the bacon. It was, "amazing."

She sighed and grinned, "thank you." She returned to the subject with a slight grimace, "because most of us don't live past fifty." She stared at her plate. She hesitated to take the first bite of the omelet.

He swallowed, "fifty? You're telling me that I only have five decades to live?"

"No. I'm telling you that most vampeals are either dead or no longer vampeals by then," she finally began to eat.

"What is there besides being dead?" he asked.

Chapter Thirty Eight

Alternatives To Death

"Those that don't end up making bad mistakes in their lives choose to take the right of Redgold." Kyli could see Zack didn't follow. "Redgold can turn a vampeal into a full vampire."

"Is it another form of the virus?" he relaxed slightly and took another bite. "And why do these taste so good to me?"

"I'm damn good, that's why," she boldly declared.

"You know what I mean. This hits the spot, why?" he devoured another bite.

"It's the protein. Your body's craving it now. Over the next few days, you'll need gallons of blood and lots of protein. That's why I told you to tell your dad it will be a while before you're back." She poured root beer into each glass.

"That's right. I still need to get a hold of him," he said as he finishing the eggs. "Now about that Redgold."

The phone rang. The caller ID said John Giver. He answered the phone next to him.

"Dad? Is that you?" he asked.

"So he did call back." She put down her food. She placed her hands under her chin and put her elbows on the counter, "this should be good."

"Zack? Where are you? I saw this number on missed call list and I was hoping it was you. Zack, why are you at a hotel?" John sounded upset.

"There's a good reason for that-" he wasn't sure what to say. He looked to her for an answer.

She reached over the counter and put her hand on his. It was warm, comforting. That spark was there again, intimate as it was when then had first touched. "Put him on speaker," she suggested.

He enjoyed the feeling of her skin on his for a moment and then pressed the conference button. "Dad. I'm okay. I just have something to tell you."

"Mr. Giver? Is this Mr. Giver?" she spoke up with authority.

He set the phone down and waited for the conversation to turn into a circus when she explained who she was.

She continued, "Mr. Giver, my name is Kyli Waterfield."

"Waterfield? As in the hotel Zack's at right now?" John's voice calmed.

"Mr. Giver, I met Zack at the Gothic club he went to. He more than caught my attention," she smirked at Zack. "Early the next day, I called him up and we went to my hotel to talk more." her tone seemed to suggest that more happened than what she described.

"Go on," John merely said.

He buried his head in his hands, silently waiting for it to all end.

"That night I took a liking to Zack. We started talking and talking the next day. I invited him over to spend some time together. We simply were so engaged in such a good playful time, he had forgotten to call you and tell you where he was. I wanted to call and apologize for distracting him so much," she laid the innuendo on thick as she spoke.

"I'm sure you at least kept him safe," John commented. "Then are you related to the hotel?"

"Yes sir, I'm the heiress to the Waterfield Heights Hotel chain. I just moved into town a few weeks ago." She could feel the unease grow in John's voice on the other end. She heard him cough. She decided to act. "My father lives next to me on the same floor. We share the same wall for safety reasons. So he can hear us should anything happen."

John sighed on the other end of the phone.

He watched her work. She was flawless as she painted the lie that was going to keep John at bay.

"So I take it Zack's getting along with you over there?" John asked.

"Yes, of course Mr. Giver. As of last night, I'm Zack's girlfriend," she laid the big guns out.

He tried not to laugh. He played along, "what she means is that I asked her out and she said yes."

"Yeah, that's usually how these things happen, Zack. Now put Kyli back on the phone," John told him.

"It's okay Mr. Giver. You can rest assured that he's welcome to stay here as long as he wants." She wanted to put the last touches on the conversation.

"Okay, all I ask is that you call me every couple of days, and in time, introduce me to this girlfriend of yours," John told Zack.

"Sure dad," he was happy to hear John agreed to the arrangement.

"Good to hear. I'll talk to you later Zack. I take it this is a good number to reach you at?" John asked.

"Of course," he responded as he looked up at her.

"Yes, Mr. Giver. This is the direct line to my room in the hotel," she politely added.

"Good. Then I'll go. Later Zack," John said goodbye.

"Later Dad," he said under breath.

"Nice talking with you Mr. Giver," she signed off.

He hung up the phone, "what was that about?"

"Buttering up your father?" She continued eating, "or the girlfriend part?"

"You're playing with him. He's not going to like that," he stated.

"No. He's thinking that we're getting it on in a private hotel room." She smiled, "and what's wrong with that? You do like me, don't you?"

"More than I can understand," he spoke instantly and honestly. "There's just more to it when you involve my father. I just don't want him hurt by all of this. He's been through enough. Promise you won't tell him?"

She could tell he was sincere. She wanted to make him happy, "I promise." She thought about his comment. It made her blush again.

"As you were saying?" he gestured to her and took her hand in his. The warmth struck both of them again. It was soothing.

"All we needed was to make him think you'd be busy for a while. Last I checked, a teenage boy all alone with a new young girlfriend is pretty much the busiest thing around. You won't want to be disturbed. It's the easiest way to get him to go along with what we needed to do." She had a plan. It was unorthodox, but it was sound. "Were you wondering any more about the vampire gifts?" she nursed her omelet.

He thought about it for a moment. The idea of a power that could overturn continents. It was desirable. The idea of a blood fueled strength that could overpower anything and everyone that might context him. It tempted him. His mind began to wonder. It began to ache again. The room faded slowly.

She released his hand.

A waft of scent plumed in the air as she let go. He thought that this must be the different smell she was talking about earlier. It seemed to come out with deep emotion, exertion. He didn't say anything. He concentrated more on her than her words as the world around him grew darker. The scent was of cherry and lavender again overtook him. He figured some of it was perfume, but that there was a part of the smell that was actually her. It was sweet.

"Zack!" she pulled his shirt forward. She smacked him across the face and returned her hand to the fabric before it had a chance to uncrinkle. It looked to him like she did it in one motion instead of three. "Are you okay?"

The headache somehow subsided. He felt better after being struck. He held his head for a moment, "what happened?"

She wasn't sure how to tell him. She had read about it in the report. She had been told it might happen and she had been told to hit him as hard as she could to snap him out of it. But she wasn't sure of how exactly to tell him this one truth. She didn't know what to say but to tell him exactly what she saw. "Zack, your eyes had turned pitch black."
Chapter Thirty Nine

The Walk

Del walked for a few hours through the night before an uncontrollable hunger overcame him. He felt weak, drained of energy. His throat was parched. It was different than the normal mid summer's day thirsts he had experienced in his decade of farm work. He attributed it to his compromised health and simply walked on. He was great at ignoring himself before his goals. He would always put others ahead of himself. It was normal to him. Regardless of his desires to continue, he collapsed on the side of the road.

He was at the eastern most farmland in the county. He looked around, exhausted and found a horse trough. He easily jumped the fence and guzzled the water. He was surprised at how much strength he still had. He felt tired, but his body didn't seem to reflect it. The water was cold and fresh, but no amount eased his drought.

He looked around. There were horses on one side of the fence and cows on the other. He slowly approached a tall gallant white horse speckled with bits of black. It was cautious, as if it had something to fear from him. "Settle your apprehension steed. My thirst cannot be satiated by you." He approached the horse and brushed its mane. The horse calmed. He exhaled after a deep breath, "but what am I going to do?"

The horse spooked, rearing up in front of him in the open field. Something inside him reacted to the rapid heartbeat of the animal. There was an urge inside him that he wasn't used to. It tried to assume control. He noticed his hands ready to attack. It was an action he didn't want to take.

The large horse thrust its hooves into his chest instantly. The impact threw him back, crushing a section of the fence. He looked down to see that the left side of his ribs were all exposed and broken. They poked through his shirt. The horse ran off with blood on its hooves.

He struggled to breathe. There was a gripping in his veins. He wanted to kill something. He began to feel a strength in him that he had never known. It was infernal.

In the distance, the rest of the livestock kept to themselves. He saw the cows react the fierce hunger in him. The depression in his chest filled. His ribs retreated back into his skin. He began to breathe easier. He stood up and slowly walked forward. His arms were light. There was a pain in him, but it didn't seem to affect his body. He began to run towards the livestock. There was a tingling in his arms and legs. It told him there was power in his actions. He ran and flew through the air with vast speed, and leaped onto the nearest black and white cow he could find.

He tore the right side of its neck out. It bled, gushing to the grass below. It saturated his pant legs and stained his chest. He was pressed into the cow's flesh. His face was engulfed by the fresh red blood. He breathed in the liquid of the cow. He inhaled it into his lungs, his mouth, and into his being. It was relieving, refreshing, and satisfying. He didn't remove himself to breath, think, or pause. He only drank and smothered himself in the cow's flesh. His face, his chest, and his arms were covered in the warm flowing life. The other animals watched as he continued to devour it. They could sense that he was now a predator and not the trusted handler he once was. He ripped the bones from the cow's shoulder as more blood gushed out. It was an effort to consume everything. There was no thought in his actions, only need and sustenance. He could feel his stomach filling, his needs sating.

An hour had passed. He finished the last drops from the cow's severed heart. The pile of meat before him did not resemble the animal it once did. It was formless and mangled into layers of pulp, a level of mutilation that would normally be reserved for trained slaughterhouse workers. He accomplished this with no tools only using his hands and teeth in less time.

He breathed heavily when he finally regained his mind. He realized what he had done. He also knew the satisfaction that had come from the act itself. He had lost his humanity. Whatever he was, he had been changed. What that strange young woman had done to him had altered the course of his life. She had taken away his chances of happiness, his newfound life, but not his goals. He was still determined to follow Mr. McHugh's advice to the letter. He didn't care if Demy didn't want to be with him anymore. He had set out on a goal to better his life. He was going to finish his schooling.

By morning, he found and partially hid under an overturned wheel barrel that had been left abandoned and rusting in the field. He watched the sun come up over the horizon. It burned. His eyes were blinded. He could feel the skin on his hands boil and rise when they were touched directly by the rays. The sensation was mind numbing. He finally passed out under the safety of the wheel barrel.

When night fell, he awoke to a strange sight. His eyes were fine and the burns on his hand were gone. His jacket was still shredded from when he had torn at the cow. There was no pain anymore. He only a sense that something was wrong with him. He thought that since the bright sun had hurt his eyes and caused him to black out, that somehow his body was now completely intolerant to the sun. He didn't understand it, but he knew it was real and happening to him.

He took great measures to avoid the day as time passed. He ducked into barns, ran for cover under large trees, and even hid under the occasional tractor. He hadn't read anything but nonfiction books while in college, so he had no reference to what he had become. He merely continued to observe and adapt to his present situation. He made mental notes on what he was able to do and then eventually on what he shouldn't.

Chapter Forty

Coming To Terms With A New Reality

Zack stared at Kyli as he noticed the light come back into the room. The headache had subsided. He felt better, but disoriented. He remember what she had said, "what do you mean my eyes were black?"

She let go of his shirt, "they turned black for a moment. It was like a wet film glided over them and filled them in from behind the lens itself," she was unnerved by the experience.

"Is that normal for a vampeal?" he asked.

She shifted in place. She was uncomfortable with giving any answer at all. She lied, "it happens sometimes."

He could tell there was something else on her mind, but he was too groggy to ask what. He sat down and sighed.

"As I was saying. Your dad doesn't know you're a vampeal. So we'll keep it that way. You just have to not let it out of the bag when you're around him," she took a sip of the root beer to calm herself. She didn't want to think about those black eyes and what they meant for the future of their relationship.

"How would I do that by accident?" he didn't see the problem.

"Gallons of blood," she pointed out.

He said nothing.

"That's right. The reality is your secrecy is what's keeping you free and alive, at least for now," she took another sip.

"Then someone might want to kill me?" he rubbed his face. "For being what I am?"

She could smell a sweet scent coming from his chest. She could feel a slight layer of sweat on his warm but cooler skin. She enjoyed the sensation as she breathed it in. She needed to steer the conversation again.

She covered his eyes suddenly with one hand, "Zack, what am I wearing right now?"

He thought about it and answered best he could, "practically nothing."

"Just tell me from memory," she reinforced the question.

"A tank top and short shorts." He thought about her thin, sculpted body. It was a nice image.

"Exactly. You can see most of my body, right? For all intents and purposes, I'm naked." She pressed her strange point. She uncovered his eyes and slid her hand to the side of his face.

He didn't resist. He enjoyed the touch as it burned his skin.

"Then can you tell me which part of my body gives you the slightest hint that I'm not just another hot thing for you to stare at? Can you really tell me that I look anything like a monster that could kill you and drink your blood at any fleeting moment?"

He shook his head, "I would have never known."

"It's the same with everyone else. Unless we give anyone a reason to think otherwise, we're the status quo. Unless you spill blood in front of him, John will never know. Unless you get excited around a vampire, they'll never know either." She sighed as she hoped he would accept the answers she had given him.

"Then a vampire can do the same," he figured.

"As much as I can hide as a human, a vampire can do more. To the average person a vampire appears to be simply a perfect specimen. An attractive person that just happens to be talking to them." She placed her hands on her hips and tilted them for a second. "If I had never said anything and just attacked you, you'd be dead." She shook her head. She thought of something that bothered her. "I could have had my way with you and left. You would have never been the wiser. That is if I had to." She dropped her arms down and took a breath.

"That's if I hadn't caused you to miss your first note," he pointed out the small flaw in her reasoning.

She smiled as she thought about the feeling of his arms around her. The sensation when he caught her falling body in an instant.

"Did I say something wrong?" he didn't notice anything strange as she stood there, but he felt it. He could somehow feel the both the pleasure she remembered and the underlining pain she felt about a decision that was still warring in the back of her mind. He understood there was something that she didn't like, something she had refused to do. There was something that morally tested her. He didn't know what it was and didn't think she would actually tell him at that moment either. He looked at her, at her beautiful blue eyes. They were slightly green towards the center, a deep contrast to their blue tint. He decided to lighten the mood finally and speak again. "You know your eyes turn almost green when you get upset. Did you know that?"

She turned on the faucet in the kitchen. She wiped her face and returned to him. Her eyes had become a thin blue again with her regained composure. "It's nothing special," she wiped her eyes again. "As for being with a vampire, if the vampire didn't want to tell him, he wouldn't know. In the daylight we may be able to easily pass for human, but at night, so can they." She opened the island refrigerator. She grabbed a small pack of blood and bit into the top. She instantly grew fangs. She let off of the pouch. "Watch," she poured the blood into a glass originally meant for mixing the milk or OJ before she put them into the eggs. "The teeth react if we need them to. Vampires just don't go around with their fangs out everywhere they go. That would be too obvious. If you need to bite into a bag of what-not, your fangs will pop out before you ever need to think about doing it. It's like a muscle. It's automatic. You're the same. When you bit into me, they came out."

"Then we're immune to sunlight? And we have full control over our fangs?" he suggested.

"No, we can get sunburns if we spend too much time in the sun ourselves. As for the teeth," she smiled, showing off her two pairs of long teeth. She swallowed the rest of the blood in her mouth. She breathed deep, and smiled again. The fangs were gone. "It's as easy as that. You'll learn to consciously do it in time." She reached for the glass of the remaining blood. "Now for the hard part," she slowly drank the glass of blood to the last drop. She set it down and smiled. They were still normal.

"They didn't change." He stared.

"Yeah, freaky isn't it?" she commented, happy she impressed him.

He had no idea that watching a girl's teeth do nothing could be a true sight to behold, but it was considering what he knew about her.

"You can control it. It's a mental trick, like sitting still. It's against impulse, but it can be done. You have to think of the blood as something else, something sweet and delicious, other than what it actually is. It becomes easy with some practice." She set the glass down.

Chapter Forty One

The Daylight Hours

The creature looked like a man now. Naked and perfect in the morning glow of the bright sunlight. His long black hair danced in the heat of the summer wind. He turned and disappeared from the rooftop.

He appeared several blocks away in a changing booth of a clothing store on Main Street. He picked up a pair of pants and slipped them on over his toned and muscular thighs. He buttoned the fly slowly, one by one as he turned to reach for a shirt. He pulled his arms through the sleeves and opened the door.

The female sales clerk instantly noticed his sculpted naked chest. She dashed over to him, "can I help you?" she asked as she noticed the tags on his clothing. "Sir," she had a hard time looking directly at him. His deep brown eyes were stunning. He was handsome, fit, and downright hot. But she couldn't overlook the fact he was wearing their clothes and was on his way out of the store with them. "I can't-"

He stared into her eyes for a moment. He placed one hand on her shoulder. He gripped it firmly, but tenderly. "I am in need of a pair of shoes, size thirteen. Can you be so kind as to help me with that?" his voice was smooth and commanding. It had authority to it.

His voice was luscious to all those that heard him speak. Several women in the store turned to watch him as the clerk led him to the shoes at the far end of the building. His abs danced with each ripple as he moved with each step. He was gorgeous.

The clerk showed him to a small bench where he sat down. She watched him move into the seat and look up at her. His straight black hair fell over his shoulders and across his toned chest. "Size thirteen?"

"Yes, please," his voice lulled her as she found a pair of leather shoes in his size. "These should do," she placed the shoes on the floor and dipped down to one knee. She took his foot and ran her hand up his calve. It was a rock. A tingle ran up her back. He was freezing cold, but in a good way. She laced up the shoe and began with the other. She held his leg the entire time.

"Thank you," his voice calmed her further.

She felt attracted to him. She pushed her hands up the inside of his pants as she sat back on her knees. She was enthralled by him.

He stopped her hands at his inner thighs, "that will be enough. Thank you for your help. I'll be leaving now." He stood up and casually walked out.

Every woman in the store stared as he slowly left. The clerk didn't care about the tags on his clothing anymore. She care for much of anything anymore. She bit her lip as she watched the door close behind him.

Chapter Forty Two

Adapting

Del spent two months repeating the same pattern of trial and error. His visual range had increased. His hearing was amazing. All of the things that he worked hard towards when he was younger, the strength, the endurance, they came so easily now. It was unreal.

He quickly separated from society. He spoke to no one. He traveled from town to town in search of a solution to what he was. He thought there might be something to allow him to walk in the daylight again. There was also the thirst for blood. He couldn't keep killing cows in every town he came to. If he was going to live a civil life at all, he needed to put a stop to his tendencies. He searched for a fix to the issues in his new life.

He headed southwest towards Charlottesville, Virginia. On the way one night while he feed on livestock in a random country field, a young girl of no more than eight years old stumbled upon him. She had a white linen sun dress that was tattered with mud. Her dark hair shielded her green eyes from everyone except his perfect vision. Her sun freckled skin gave way to the idea she was a farmer's daughter. She held her arms tight as the brisk night air wisped by.

She watched him. Then as she slowly understood what he was doing to the cow, tears welled up in her eyes. She was afraid of him. Just as he knew every animal on the farm he grew up with, so did this girl. She was frightened and didn't know what to say. Her feet were covered in the wet dirt from the day's rain. Her knees were trembling. The girl watched as he turned to face her. His face coated in blood. His hair was matted and clumped together from the many cows he'd fed on, his suit saturated in old, coagulated liquid. He was a monster to her.

The girl stood quietly, shaking, not knowing what action to take next. He thought about what he was doing. He was taking the life of the same gentle beasts he had once cared for. It was against his own nature to do what he needed to sate this new thirst. He had to reconsider. He required a plan.

The girl stepped back as he focused on her face. She was young and vibrant. She smelled like molasses, sweet and pure. He licked his lips. He fought the urge to attack and feed on the helpless child. His body wanted to tear her chest open and devour her heart. To feast on her wet insides and drain the life from her thin, small little body. It was a sick and twisted thought in his mind that he had to fight against. He was silent as he watched the girl breathe.

The child slowly leaned backwards and fell down. She picked herself up and ran in the opposite direction.

As blood flowed down his chin, he swallowed what was left in his mouth. The idea that he would desire the death of a child was alien to him. He had to force himself to not follow the little girl. Her scent trailed in the air, strong, pungent. It filled his senses. He decided that he would find a way to succeed at being human in all his endeavors. If he was able to resist these urges, he could rebuild his life, in a way at least. A way to resist the monster within. He found that after drinking a large amount of blood, his skin blushed. The color that had faded from his veins returned. But the red in his eyes remained, along with the gauntness in his cheeks. It was a matter of over indulgence that returned part of his humanity. He saw it as a small way to regain what he lost. He shuttered to think of the volume of blood he would have to ingest from any other creature. If the blood of a cow was just enough to add a hue of color to his skin, it would take more than three people to obtain the same result. He looked down at his hands, he felt the blood spill onto his shoes. He was still a monster and would be seen as one for his actions in time.

He spoke out loud to himself, "at least the cows are big, plentiful, and bred for butchery with clear intent." He stood up and peered in the direction of the little girl. He could hear her wet, muddied footsteps echo in the distance. There was a pulling in his body to chase her, to hunt her. It gnawed at his consciousness. He clenched his fists and turned his back to the soft sounds in the night.

Chapter Forty Three

The Desire For Blood

"Why cranberries?" Zack wanted to know what Kyli's motivations for choosing such an odd flavor.

"Isn't it obvious?" she poured some milk into the same glass the blood was in. She pushed it over to him.

He thought about it while he automatically drank the milk. "Milk?" It was a nice enough choice. It was smooth and soft and he did like it. There was something in him that liked the idea of blood as milk.

She took the glass back from him and poured more milk into it again. She threw it back and slammed the glass back onto the table. "Nope." She had a blood mustache.

"Why is there blood on your lips?" he saw her pour the milk. It didn't make sense.

"You smell, taste, and see what you want to. For you it's milk. For me it's something else. It has to do with a memory. Something that it tied to your childhood," she wiped her mouth.

"So it was blood I just drank, not milk?" he was amazed at how real it seemed. "And it wasn't milk you poured yourself either?"

"Nope, I see it as cranberry juice. I only know it's blood because it's not labeled as juice. For me it's a sweet taste I remember from being a little girl. Some kids like sugary drinks and ice cream, I liked the taste of cranberries," she finished the last drops in the glass. "Milk must be your thing."

He stared at the glass. It was red. There was no trace of white in the cup, only the same dark red that she had poured into her own glass. She was right.

"I can honestly say that I've never met anyone that tastes milk as the flavor of blood before. You're just different," she chuckled.

He laughed a little with her.

"Do you like cows too?" she asked.

"Now you're just screwing with me," he stopped laughing.

"Would you like me to screw with you? It's simple, this is a mental issue that can be fixed with a little therapy." She put her hands up and acted like she was scribbling in a note pad, "and what was the relationship with your mother like?" She tilted her head to the side in a questioning manner.

"I'd like to but I'm not answering that," he said calmly.

A warm sensation ran up the back of her spine. The thought of pulling him into her bedroom and spending the evening, night, and the whole of the next morning was a more than inviting thought. She thought about it and didn't respond for a moment.

"I didn't know my mother," he reminded her.

She realized what he had meant, "of course not. It's not really an issue. I was just messing with you."

"I know," he said confidently as he stared into her blue eyes.

She blushed again and quickly changed the subject back. She needed him to go to the concert with her that night. He had to meet Marin. "Honestly, if milk is what allows you not to vomit, then that's just your thing," the fleeting thoughts of rolling around with him in her bed had passed.

"So I'll have to feed often?" he thought about his encounter with her. He had enjoyed it far too much. There was something inside of him that wanted to feed daily, to feed from her again and again until she was drained to a husk. His head began to pound again.

"Yes. When you do bite that special someone on the neck and suck their blood. I hope to train you a bit so you will be able to do it with grace and power. And most importantly not kill the person." She put up the dishes and walked over into the bedroom. She left him at the breakfast bar.

He heard a rustle and then an article of clothing was thrown out into the living room. It landed on the couch. It was her black tank top. Then she threw her shorts out as well. A second later she peeked her head out from beyond the door frame. She was naked and shielded only by the wall from the chest down, "you coming?"

The idea of following her into the bedroom was intoxicating. He strolled across the room, "of course."

He entered the bedroom to find her already changed into a red flowing dress with a halter top. She spun around to display it to him. It exposed her long smooth back as her black hair tossed and swayed. She put on a pink heart choker and let the long silk ribbons trail down her back and mix with her hair. She wore black low rise heels that were more like flats than dress ware. He guessed that she didn't want to overshadow his height too much. Since she was a full inch taller than him already, she didn't want to draw any more attention to it if possible. The red dress reached just below her knees, letting her shapely calves advertise the appeal of her long legs.

He drank every part of her body. Her hair settled down her back as she turned to see his face.

"Done ogling?" her arms crossed in disapproval.

He kept staring, "you look beautiful."

She uncrossed her arms and smiled. "That's more like it," she took his hand and led him to the foot of the bed. "Now get dressed. We're going out tonight."

"Into what?" he looked into her closet. It was large and had a huge variety, but he doubted it contained men's ware.

"They're on the bed behind you," she gestured for him to see.

He hadn't noticed them at all. To him there was only her in that room. His head pounded again. He was thirsty.

Chapter Forty Four

A New Kind Of Different

Del wandered into a diner in the middle of the lonely night. He was in the same blood soaked clothing he had on when he left two months ago. It was ripped, tattered, and falling off of him. As he approached the restaurant, the people viewed him with disgust. Some people immediately picked up their things and departed. Others shied away. They covered their noses from the scent.

He kept his eyes down and hid his face.

The waitress took one look at him and sighed, "you can't eat like that you poor thing. My name's Charlene. Come with me out back, we'll clean you up darlin'." The woman was kind to him. Her dark hair was somehow familiar to him. She had the same green eyes as the little girl he saw in the field.

He thought she smelled like freshly baked cookies.

She led him out to the back of the diner. She turned on the water hose and filled a bucket of cool water. She threw in a bar of soap. "Now close your eyes darlin'," she sprayed him down. "Now take a seat on the bench over there. We'll get you cleaned up." She took a sponge and dipped it in the soapy bucket. She ran the sponge over him. She focused on cleaning him more than noticing the watery blood that flowed down the back alley drain. Either she didn't care, or she didn't want to know. All that mattered to her was that she was helping a poor beaten down man. "What's your name darlin'?"

"It's Del," his voice was raspy, deeper than it normally was. He cleared his throat. "My name is Del," it sounded better, but there was still a different pitch to it. He tried to compensate for it with little effect. He wanted to know. He needed to understand, "Why are you-?"

"-Because you looked like you needed a bath hun. I don't know what happened to you, what was done to you. Something just called to me, telling me that you needed help." She lowered her head as she removed his torn jacket. "Now let's finish up before my break's over." She carefully rinsed his matted hair.

Blood ran down the bench. The mud swirled into a puddle at his feet.

She walked to a small row of thin gray lockers. She reached in one and pulled out a pair of overalls, "Jed won't miss these. He has enough of 'em," she tossed him the clothes. She reached for a towel and gave it to him. "After you're done getting dressed, sit where you are. I'll serve you up some late night dinner."

She went back to the diner as he removed the remnants of his black suit. Somehow he didn't find any more sentimentality in keeping it as it was. He decided to let it go and move on.

She came back to him with a large plate of country fried steak and a small shot of liquor.

"What's this for?" he referred to her hospitality more than the food.

She placed the meal down at a picnic table a few feet away from him, "the meal is pity." She sat the shot of alcohol next to the plate, "the bourbon is mercy."

He looked at her with a sad expression. A few minutes before he walked in, he was viewed as a monster. Now this stranger had taken the time to help him. It was the first sign of humanity that anyone had recognized in him since the change.

"Are you going to eat? Or am I going to have to feed this to the dog?" she laughed to herself. "You know my dog Poochy can't handle his bourbon. It makes him piss all over the front of the diner. Are you really going to let it come to that?"

"I'll eat," he said softly. His voice choked up from the kind gesture.

The meal tasted good and he quickly finished it. But it was missing something. It didn't sate his hunger. Inside him there was still a thirst to be quenched. Not even the alcohol had an effect on it. It did, however, taste and smell familiar to him. A thin, light scent of molasses lingered in the shot glass.

"What is this?" he asked her while as he held up the glass.

"Oh, that. I just coat the shot glass with a bit of homemade molasses and let it dry out in the sun. It gives off a sweet taste when the bourbon hits it. It's a family tradition," she took up the plate and glass.

"Charlene," his voice was scratchy. "Do you have a daughter?"

She stopped in her tracks and turned back to meet his strange red eyes. "Yes, do you know her? She's a thin little eight year old girl. She's my baby. Did you see her on your way over here? She better not be playin' in that cow field at night again. I've told her better time and time again. That child."

He thought about his answer for a second, "yes, I saw her before I arrived." He wanted to be honest. No matter what that meant.

"She better be back in bed when I get home, or that girl's gonna have a whoopin' tonight," her face tightened as she walked back to the diner.

He understood. He had spared the little girl in the field. Then this complete stranger had the grace to help and tend to him. He felt a sense of right in the world.

At eleven, the diner finished closing up. She came out and gave him two dollars, "here, you could use this."

"Why are you doing this?" he didn't feel he had deserved such decency.

"Hun, why shouldn't I?" she smiled.

A car at the front of the diner honked its horn, signaling her to hurry.

"Well, that's me. I hope that gets you where you're going stranger." She got into the work carpool that was waiting for her.

He was so touched by her blind sincerity. He decided to change direction. The idea of finding the coastline was appealing to him for some reason. He had never worked on boats before, but thought he'd be handy with the tools it took to make them. As long as he was able to get work, everything would be fine. Provided he had an ample supply of cows along the way.

Chapter Forty Five

Checking The Goods

"It's too early for the concert, isn't it?" Zack looked at the clothes Kyli had set out for him. He wondered when she had the time to lay them down.

As he looked over the clothes that familiar scent came back. It was sweet and delicious. It filled the room. It overpowered the scent of cherries and lavender.

"There are three things you need to remember about me, Zack. I love Johnny Depp, any movie by Tim Burton, and any song performed by Demetrius Del Marin," she stated as she gestured to an extensive collection of each that lay neatly placed on her shelves.

"So we're seeing a Johnny Depp movie?" he took a guess as he stared at her red dress.

"We're going to a concert, to hear the musical stylings of Demetrius Del Marin," she was excited. "But before that, we need to talk to my father. Now undress or we're going to be late."

"Isn't he that goblet player?" he remembered their conversation from earlier.

"You remembered that he played actual goblets instead of glasses. I'm impressed. But yes, that's where we're going later tonight. But for now, my father wants to meet you. Now get dressed. We'll be heading out in a few hours," she flipped her hands up, gesturing for him to take his shirt off.

"Why does he want to meet me?" he pulled his shirt up.

She thought about her answer. The reality was that he wanted to confirm Zack had begun to turn. He wanted to confirm that he was the harbinger of the next incarnation of the demon vampire. But she couldn't say any of that. She just smiled faintly and spoke the first half truth that came to mind, "he's a father, does he really need more of a reason than that?"

Chapter Forty Six

Approval

Kyli helped Zack get the shirt over his head. She was giddy. It took her mind off of the present dilemma. For a moment, she blushed as she stared at his naked chest. He was toned. His body was thin and very fit. It was almost too fit for a young man his age. By the time he began to remove his shoes, she was nearly drooling.

He unbuckled his pants.

"Nope, not here," she pointed to the bathroom. "You can finish in there. I may be helping you out with all of this, but that doesn't mean I want you to get naked on me."

"It doesn't?" he asked sincerely as his eyes burned into hers.

She thought about the offer and thought about where they were going next. "No, just change in the bathroom."

He took the laid out clothing and made his way to the bathroom. He closed the door.

She stared blankly at the door as it closed, "for now."

He proceeded to dress himself. He put on the white dress shirt.

As he buttoned, she leaned her back on the door, "this concert is for your own good, Zack."

"What do you mean?" he slid his pants down and off his legs.

"I mean that I know some people that are going to be at the concert that might be able to help you." She thought about the real meaning of her words and sighed as she used her silver tongue further.

"You mean vampires?" he stepped into the slick black pants.

"Yes, vampires." She walked over to the bedroom closet. He looped the black and silver leather belt through the dress pants, "by the way, how did you know what size I was?"

"Are you kidding? I sized you up the moment I got you up here." She reached for her jewelry box in the center of the far shelf, "besides, I know someone your size."

He buckled the silver fastener to the belt, "who?"

She opened the box. There was a large assortment of silver, red, black, and pink trinkets. Rings, necklaces, anklets, chokers, chains, and even piercings were in every possible style. "You don't need to know."

He peeled off his socks, "you're really not going to tell me?"

She took out a single silver chain from the box, "it's a surprise."

He put his right foot into one of the socks. He thought about it. Whoever they belonged to, they were clean and pressed. He rolled up the other sock.

She attached the chain to the back of the choker. It hung midway down her back. "You'll find out soon enough," she went silent.

He picked up the black blazer. She removed a set of cuff links from the box and closed it. He put on the blazer and opened the door.

She walked out of the closet and back to the main bedroom. "Put these on," she held her left hand out to display a set of silver cuff links. "You'll need to impress him."

He took them and them to his sleeves. He looked down at his socks. "What about shoes?"

"Sorry, here you go," she reached under her bed for a pair of black leather men's shoes. They were shined and polished. They were in his size.

"How did you know I was a thirteen?" He really wanted to know who these clothes belonged to.

"I told you I sized you up," she took him by his shoulder and sat him down on the side of the bed. "Let's tie these loose ends before we go on, shall we?"

He presented his right foot for her, "that isn't an answer."

"You'll meet him. Don't worry. He really wants to meet you," she slipped the shoe on and laced it up.

He followed along and raised his other foot.

She slipped the second shoe on and tied it, "tonight."

"At the concert?" he stood back up.

"No, before we leave," she went back to the closet.

He checked the fit of the shoes. As he thought, they were his size. "You're too good at this you know. Most people think I have smaller feet."

She ruffled through a large cache of silk neck ties in her closet, "I've got lots of practical experience."

"Brother maybe?" he guessed.

"Nope. I don't have any siblings. I hold the sole weight of my line, no matter how heavy that burden is," her depressed comment was out of place as she came out with a single Christmas red silk tie. "Here, this will complete the look."

"A red tie with a white shirt?" It was summer. He knew it was the wrong thing to wear.

"Pull down your jacket," she instructed.

He obeyed, "you're going to tie it for me?"

"I'm here to help you aren't I?" she flipped up his collar and threw the silk tie around his neck.

"Kyli, am I really going to find answers at this concert?" he sighed.

She pulled the ends around each other and quickly finished. "Not at the concert. At the after party."

"There's a party too?" he pulled the jacket up.

"You look great. Now all I have to do is get ready," she walked off.

"You didn't answer the question," he pursued her.

She walked into the spare bathroom, "I know." She closed the door before he could come in.

He sat down on the couch, frustrated. He straightened his tie. She spent the time doing her makeup and generally getting ready. He didn't know how long he'd been there. The headache was gone. The thirst too. But the hours had flown by. It was almost eight o'clock. Their conversations had eaten more time that he had realized.

She opened the door, "follow me."

Her hair was fluffed and angelic. Her eyes had a light red liner with black eye shadow. Her face was perfect. A hint of color accented her pale lips. She glided across the floor as her dress flipped with the sway of her hips. He followed her into the main hall. She knocked twice on the only other door on that level.

"He's late," she said impatiently.

"Who?" He could see she was agitated but didn't understand why.

Normally David would be at the door waiting for the knock. He was that type of guy to actually enjoy the anticipation of a moment like this. But he wasn't there initially. She was irritated by his absence.

She knocked again.

There was a slight sound that came from the other side of the door.

"Just remember to be respectful of him and to mind yourself," she straightened her posture.

The door opened.

A short young man stood just about at Zack's height. At five foot seven, he stared back at them with dark green lightly speckled black eyes. His hair was jet black and gelled back. His adolescent features were chiseled and thin for his age. He was dressed in a formal dark black suit with gray pinstripes. He was young. The mysterious figure surveyed Zack. He checked out the clothes he had on first. He glared and then shifted his attention to Kyli. He didn't appear to be pleased.

"Where are you two going? Who is he? And why is he wearing one of my suits?" the young man wasn't happy but there was an excitement to his words that betrayed his tone.

The voice seemed familiar to him. He had heard it somewhere before, but couldn't place it. He thought about it as she smiled back.

"Nice to see you too," she was sarcastic.

The questions gave him all the information he needed. He knew who this was. He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he knew. Before she spoke again, before their heated discussion took flight, he knew the relationship of this seemingly young man standing in front of him, even if he still couldn't place where he knew the voice from.

He spoke first, "it's nice to meet you Mr. Waterfield."

"Daddy, this is Zack Giver. He's a-" she was cut off.

"-A vampeal," her father's tone was short and livid. He wasn't happy.

"Well, y-" she was cut off again.

"Yes, I know what he is. But why is he wearing my suit?" her father sighed.

He could feel the tension grow between them.

She stepped in, "he's a boy I met at the club. We're going to see Marin's concert tonight. Is that enough for you? Do you need to know his blood type as well?" it was clear she didn't like to explain herself.

Her father scoffed at the mention of Marin's name.

"Zack needs to borrow your suit for the night," she asserted herself.

"Zack is it?" her father stepped forward to get a close up view of his face. There was a nervous tension in his eyes. He knew something that he wouldn't admit.

"That's my name," he held his ground. His muscles tensed but he stood straight under the pressure of the moment.

"I'm David Waterfield. It's a pleasure to meet you, Zack," he extended his left hand firmly.

He politely shook David's hand in return. His skin was cold and slightly clammy. It was frail. It was a distinct difference to Kyli. They felt and looked nothing alike. He wondered how exactly they could be related.

David lightly gripped his hand. He flexed then let go, "come in. I have one condition if you're going to Marin's concert in my suit."

He examined David's face. He was prepubescent with no sign of facial hair or an Adam's apple. He was obviously turned in his youth but his apparent age was disturbing. If David was the vampire parent and Kyli's mother was human, then it meant that David conceived with someone that was physically older than him, but mentally far younger. It was an odd fleeting thought. He shook his head and dismissed it.

All three walked into the loft. The room was an opposite copy of Kyli's floor plan. There were still hardwood floors but the taste of the room was very different. Black resin coated floors glistened as the reflection of the overhead recessed lights casted shadows on everything. He was impressed by the amount of lighting. More than two hundred individual bulbs blanketed the ceiling of the room. The perspective of them changed as you moved through the living room. What was left of the ceiling was nearly holographic from the small seemly random spots of acrylic black finish. Dark angular chairs finished out the room. There was no couch. There didn't appear to be any forms of entertainment either. David's personality showed through this room. He was a very astute person, not one to bother with the comforts of a home. It was a dwelling alone to him.

He closed the door behind them.

David went to the bedroom closet.

"Zack needs to borrow a few things for the concert tonight," she was direct as she made her request.

David looked at her for a moment. He clearly wanted to confirm something in her eyes. A piece of information that they wanted to keep hidden between them. "You're asking me for a favor?" he contemplated something greater. "Do you enjoy stealing my suit to parade your latest toy around at a show?"

"No Daddy, it's not like that. I'm helping him," she argued.

"You're always helping people," David stood still. He was almost too motionless. He appeared inanimate.

"Zack's not like the others," she contested.

"So he has a job?" David's words were harsh.

He smiled. This was an easy fix. "Well actually, yes, I have a job as an apprentice carpenter," his voice was smooth and his timing was perfect.

It shut down David's complaint. He didn't say anything in turn. His eyes were steely as he came out of the closet with a bright red tie. He was angry but he had come to a conclusion of sorts, "I have an idea that can make this fair for me." He smiled in a manner that put her smirk to shame. It had a devilish flare to it. He had an agenda that was all his own. "Wear this and we're even." his eyes were cold. They didn't seem real.

She interrupted, "what's the catch?"

David didn't break eye contact with him, "No catch, he only has to wear this tie and go to the after party later tonight." He paused, "and say hello to Marin personally." His dark green eyes were eerie.

Suddenly David's left eye slid down and out of place. He was wearing colored contacts. The lens fell sharply to the floor. His eye was a translucent black with a dark green iris.

It was disturbing but he couldn't look away.

She noticed David's eyes, "Daddy."

"What?" David was too focused to notice.

She pointed to the floor, "your eye is on the ground."

David looked down. Before Zack could acknowledge it, he had the contact on his fingertip and had already placed it back over his eye.

He was shaken by the flawless speed. He remembered how she had moved before. It was nothing compared to David. She was right, vampires were something else. They were the complete form of the mutated strain that he belonged to.

David cleared his throat. He turned to Zack, "sorry. You have to understand, this is how we appear all the time," he briefly explained. "A vampeal has the perfect balance of anonymity. You can walk in the sunlight and hide your fangs when you need to. You appear human. Our eyes give us away as the monsters we are if ever people have the mind to simply look directly at us."

"I thought all vampires were able to easily blend in?" he asked her.

She was about to answer him as David stepped toward him, "what Kyli said is true. At present, a vampire is indistinguishable from a human. All full vampires have eyes like mine. Through the invention of modern wide colored contacts we have the opportunity to be normal socialites."

"Are the colors your choice?" He asked David.

"Yes, as with any contact," David assured him.

"No. Your actual color. Is it a choice?" he rephrased his question.

David was silent. He didn't like the question for some reason. It was tied to a distant memory for him. Something too painful to be recalled at such a trivial moment.

"Zack, that's enough," she put her hand on his shoulder.

He stopped but he didn't break eye contact. He could tell David was upset.

"We'll talk later, okay. Let it go for now," she instructed him.

"Daddy, you were asking Zack to meet Marin at the party." she got things back on track.

He thought about the words and what they meant, "meet him? I'm supposed to meet him tonight?"

"That's exactly what I want you to do." David held the red tie up to Zack's right shoulder, "and wear this tie."

He nodded and removed his current tie. They were the exact same shade of red. There was something about the new tie. He could feel the animosity that oozed from David's eyes.

David grinned. His fangs protruded as Zack adjusted the tie.

"Won't Marin be surrounded by body guards?" He brought up a good point.

"Vampires don't need body guards," David stared Zack down. "Mention my name to the door man and he will let you in."

He could tell where she got her sense of wit and deception. There was something tricky about her family that crafted a quick mental response to every situation.

She nodded that he should just go along with David's request.

"Don't worry Zack. I'm sure I'll warm up to you in time," he feigned a smile. He was lying. "I can play the good father when I want to."

Chapter Forty Seven

Finding Usefulness

A few weeks after the diner Del found himself at a local dock in the middle of a clear, cloudless night. He was easily able to hear a dispute between a group of five men and a lone sailor. They were fighting over the right to buy out the sailor's fishing business. It was obvious the man didn't want to sell to the group and they were pressuring him.

He crept closer. It was a bright night despite the lack of a lit moon in the sky above. He could see for miles. His vision was far better than it had when he was a young boy. He watched from the shadows as their argument continued.

"I told you all to get lost. I'm not selling, ever." The man was gruff, short, and had a thick curly beard. He barked at the group, "now get the hell off my dock!"

"That's not how it works old man," the taller one in the group of younger men shouted. He advanced on the sailor, "you're going to sell or else."

The group of men began to encircle and hold down the older man. They were about to beat the answer they wanted out of him.

He knew it was wrong. His morality forced him to act. He was going to stop this. He set out on a mission to save the sailor's life. He moved in to stop the taller one from slugging the old man. He hadn't noticed until then but he was significantly faster. His movements were exacting. They had a swiftness to them. He knew there was power in his body that he had never known. He had a strength that was new and unique. The world seemed to slow around him as he acted. He arrived in the middle of the group in a flash. His speed was bewildering, even to him.

He struck the tall man in the chest. His fist sunk into the flesh like a soft pillow. The other men around him reacted slowly to his sudden burst of aggression. They didn't understand what had actually happened.

His new body thought for him, ahead of him. It was almost automatic. Two of the five men ran at him. He pulled his hand from the tall man and struck both of the two attackers square in the neck. Their throats sprayed arterial blood across the dock as his fingers pierced deep through the skin. The tall man fell to the floor with from the gaping wound. The last two ran off into the distance.

He had surprised himself. His movements were flashes in the night. He had dominated the scene with little effort. He moved to chase after the two fleeing men. He attacked them from behind and embedded his forearms into the remaining men. The impact caused their chests to explode. They went limp, dead from the sudden trauma. The old sailor watched as he slaughtered these men in front of his eyes. Within twenty seconds, all five men were dead.

The fisherman stood as Del walked back to him, his arms saturated in blood.

The sailor spoke up, his voice gruff and tattered, "I don't know what the hell you are boy, but you just saved my ass." The fisherman hacked up a wad of spit onto one of the dead men. "Rot in hell, 'ya bastard." There was a gleam in the old man's blue eyes. He was blatantly happy these men were dead. He was happy Del had come along when he did.

He felt uneasy. He wasn't sure what the man would do next. He had no intention of killing him for his blood. In the same thought, he did commit a graven crime that this man had clearly witnessed.

He asked the sailor a straight question, "you aren't going to tell anyone about this are you?"

"Are you kidding?" the sailor kicked the tall man in the chest. Blood splattered onto his boot. "They were 'gonna kill me, those bastards. You did me a favor." He spit on another one of the corpses lying on the ground.

"Aren't you afraid of me?" he was cautious. He felt out the sailor for what kind of man he was.

"Boy, if you wanted to kill me, I'd be dead. I'm not dead, so that means you're hired," the man extended his right hand.

"Hired for what?" He did need a job. He still wanted to finish school and become a lawyer. However, he realized that being a monster that drains the blood from living creatures caused a hindrance to that objective.

"The name's Bill Saunders. What's yer's stranger?" the arm of acceptance was still fully extended.

He shook Bill's hand delicately. He tried not to smear too much blood on him, "It's Del Marin."

Bill took his hand in with both of his and squeezed. His grip was impressive. He didn't seem to mind about the blood at all. His hands were equally dirty. Grease stains were smudged into each facet of his hands. He was a working man. "My friends call me BS, or Bill if you'd like. Well, Del's a nice name, but I'm a gonna call you Marin." He took out a small red rag from his pocket and wiped his hands off. "The jobs for security. After we take these guys off shore, there'll be more wantin' to buy up my place. I can't have that. As it seems, I can't defend myself against that either. That's where you come in."

"Mr. Saunders-" he didn't like the idea of killing men for hire.

"-It's Bill. And I'm not paying ya' to kill people, just to defend yer'self the way you defended me tonight," he explained the terms.

"But what if someone starts asking what happened to these men?" he asked Bill.

"That they just left one day and we hadn't seen them since." Bill smiled at him. He knew his explanation was spotty at best. "Besides, no one would ever think I could fend off this many of them, let alone kill them like this. Hell, it'll make them think twice about roughin' me up next time. From now on, you work for me Marin."

He thought about his ailment, "I can only work at night. I have a condition that prevents me from being in the daylight. Is that acceptable?" he attempted to be discrete about his new body as the blood dripped from his fingertips.

Bill looked him over again, "hell, if I thought you were normal, I'd have to introduce myself as a leprechaun. Shit boy, whatever the hell you are, you're a godsend to me. I won't pass something like that up either. You're hired!" He clapped his hands together, "now let's take care of this before anyone starts asking questions. Help me load the bodies onto the long boat over there."

A twenty eight foot fishing trolley lay at the far end of the dock. It was painted a water logged pale blue and white. Its fishing mast hung high in the night wind with old tires rigged on the sides to keep it from scraping against the dock. It looked barely functional. It was a beaten, almost broken boat. He saw it as an interesting project. But a project worth doing.

He decided to agree to Bill's request. He assisted him with repairing the boat while he guarded the area as well. He had gained an honest job where he could make the tuition money he needed to go back to school. He found a local college that gave evening law classes. He had Bill track down all the paperwork needed to start up on his degree again. He began to feel human again.

Chapter Forty Eight

The Prelude

Zack finished with the new red tie. He arranged it in a double Windsor. Kyli was impressed. She added a few touches and combed his hair into a loose, stylish fray. He was handsome.

They gathered a few things from her room and went on their way to the concert. The ride was relaxing. Her station wagon was a luxurious transport. He thought about David's intentions. The lie he told and what he was hiding. As distracted as he was, his eyes kept luring him to her neckline. She was seductive enough without the effort of a red dress. He could smell the cherry and lavender scent hovering in the car. That sweet scent again.

She turned to him and lifted his chin with her right index finger, "thinking about anything interesting?"

He nodded. He sat back in the car seat. His head ached again.

"Sorry about that, you haven't drank anything since this morning, have you? Open the glove box, I have a few bottles that I keep just for times like this," she said as she gestured to the oversized compartment.

He reached into the custom refrigerator that held three glass bottles that were filled with blood. He opened one and drank. The sensation of milk slid down his throat. It was soothing. The headache vanished.

"Zack there's something I need to tell you about the virus. The pheromones we put out are different. Vampires constantly exude them, that's why they have such a powerful sway on the opposite sex. We don't. We only secrete them at certain times," she was nervous. There was something she wasn't honest about. A half-truth that she was trying hard to mask.

"It's okay. I've figured that much out. You smell different when you're," he was about to give up too much so he dialed back his tone, "excited. Don't worry, I'll keep calm."

She placed the car in the back of the lot and shifted into park, "you surprise me again. I didn't think you would pick that much up from our little talks."

"I can pay attention when the subject interests me," he stared into her thin blue eyes and placed his hand on hers.

"That's a good test," she smiled and leaned into him. She smelled his neck. He was delicious but he didn't smell like a vampeal. It wasn't the same sweet scent she was used to. He really was different.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" his words caught her off guard.

She leaned back and shied away from his hand. It took her a moment to regain her composure. "Zack, there will be vampires at this concert, more vampires than not. In a normal setting, vampires hate vampeals," her face was grim. She had second thoughts about bringing him to the concert, to the party that followed. Suddenly, she didn't want him to meet Marin. She didn't want him to die.

He continued to stare back into her eyes. It bewildered her.

She thought about what was to come, "if they want to, they'll kill you out of principal alone. Remember what I told you before. You're a living symbol of infidelity to their entire race. Older vampires take that sort of thing very seriously. It means that you are a walking insult to what it means to be a vampire." She broke eye contact and got out of the car.

He followed her toward the double doors of the concert hall. As he approached he noticed how well lit it was. It appeared to be an exclusive event. There were six bouncers that guarded the entrance checking identification and tickets. They were all large men and they were of all different ethnic backgrounds.

He remembered what David said about a vampire not needing body guards and grinned. They certainly needed big enough bouncers. He thought for a fleeting moment about the strength of the men and wondered how strong he had actually become since that morning. A small flash of challenging them flooded his mind. They smelled good. As quickly as the thought entered his head, it was gone as they passed by.

The entrance had a small row of steps that led up to what looked like the front door of a New York style apartment building. It was small except for the decked out gold trim with silver accents. An extravagant banner declared the event to be 'The 5th Annual International Tour of Demetrius Del Marin.'

He turned to her before they reached the door, "will you be safe here?" He was concerned about her.

She began to blush slightly, "I don't have anything to worry about." Her smile turned to a look of dismay as she tried to hide her doubts about what was about to happen later that night.

Two smaller ushers stood on either side of the door. One leaned over to open it. No one asked for them for tickets or checked their IDs. One of the two gave her a map to their seats.

They were alone again in transit. The inner hall was dark. The concert would start soon. A large red curtain stretched across the stage. Recessed lighting dimly lit the room to let people find their way. The ceiling was high and vaulted. It framed the stage as the center of the event. The dark glossed stage mirrored the red curtain above it. It was fitting for a vampiric performance.

She spoke to him quietly, "don't be offended by anything anyone says here. Keep your cool no matter what happens. Vampires can be very judgmental at a pin drop. Be submissive if we separate."

She led him to the front row seats in the curved half stadium. She sat to his right with her legs crossed. They waited for the show to begin.

He leaned into her, "so what's the secret?"

She slowly turned to him, "of what?"

"The concert," he thought about the possibilities.

She smiled and turned back to the stage, "watch the concert. It'll be simple to explain soon."

Everyone was dressed and pressed. He found it odd that no one was wearing red. He wondered why David asked him to wear this certain tie over the other. He knew that Kyli's outfit was ostentatious but there had to be a reason why no other woman there had the gall she seemed to naturally possess in order to wear that dress. He thought about it, then decided to let it go. The answer would come soon enough.

The overhead house lights dimmed. The red curtain drew back to the far corners of the room. A bright white spotlight shined down to the left side of the now open dark stage. A tall man with pale skin and a very thin build appeared. His eyes were strong, piercing. He quickly smiled to the audience as he walked to the center of the stage next to a standing podium. As he strolled, candles behind him spontaneously lit up as he passed and continued to the other side as he reached the stand. He stood peacefully, waiting to take the microphone into his hand.

The announcer spoke over the house P.A. system, "introducing the vampire, Demetrius Del Marin!"

The crowd cheered. She perked up and smiled next to him. The pre-show was about to begin. He didn't know what to think. He distinctly remembered that vampires didn't like to say they were vampires. She had told him as much. And here was one declaring that very fact openly to a sold out concert hall of people.

Demetrius Del Marin began, "I am glad to see you. I welcome you all. Please line up, my precious notes." He was glib as he spoke and looked up to the announcer in the back. "And call me Marin, as my friends do," he spoke with an eerily bold, yet reserved tone. There were small moments of hesitation. He was nervous for some reason. He was anticipating something to come.

He wondered why a vampire would be anxious of anything. Though he could plainly see it on Marin's face. There was a way his eyes moved across the room. He was searching for someone.

Marin wore a black suit the same as everyone in the crowd. The only difference was that he had a red silk tie, identical to the Christmas-red tie he was wearing. No one else had red on, except for Kyli. He thought there had to be a reason for it.

Marin had a well-defined chin, not broad, but edged. His cheeks were gaunt. He had pale superficial indents under his dark brown eyes. His hair was thin long and black. His skin was soft and clean. He wore his hair down to his lower back. It blended into the dark backdrop behind him. It was completely straight with no wave to speak of. His suit looked like a wedding tuxedo. He stopped scanning the crowd as his eyes rested on Zack. His face froze for a moment. He stared for what seemed too long and finally stepped backward a few feet.

The podium lowered into the floor. A table with thirty two crystal wine goblets and a red velvet clothe draped around it came up in its place. A black chair stood behind the table. Marin took his seat. He opened a small black bag and waited for his 'notes' to arrive.

A large line of volunteers assembled at one end of the stage. One by one, people from the crowd approached Marin. Individually they held their hands out palm up to him. He quickly examined each of their wrists. The first two were turned away. They exited the stage and went back to their seats as politely as they had walked up. The third came up. She was a young girl of possibly eighteen. She outstretched her right arm and faintly looked away as she held still. She braced for something as he caressed her wrist with his thumb. He reached for a hypodermic needle from the bag and opened its packaging. He inserted it into the girl's wrist with one fluid motion. He attached the other end of the tubing led to one of the goblets in the back row near him. He carefully filled it partially. He ensured no blood was spilled as he clamped off the tubing and removed the needle. Then he thanked the girl as an usher escorted her off the stage to a waiting bay while her wrist clotted. He moved to the next person in line and repeated the process of denial and acceptance until he had thirty-two goblets perfectly filled with different levels of blood in them.

As the thirty-second person's blood was drawn, Marin dismissed the remaining line. The house lights dimmed. All of the 'notes' had been chosen. He was almost ready to begin the concert.

"Thank you my notes. For you, I will play a symphony for all in the room to watch and for you to especially enjoy," Marin spoke into the microphone clipped to his tie.

Marin dipped his fingers in a small low rimmed white cup of water. He began to play Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata.' He started immediately, without testing any of the notes in the glasses first. The docile melodies were unique to the blood goblets. They produced a sound that relaxed everyone in the audience. His movements were mechanical, not flowing in any preconceived way. The concert hall was enthralled. It was glorious.

He had never heard a musical instrument come close to the sultry intonation of the blood held in the crystal goblets. He watched the room as most of the audience nearly cooed from the hypnotic rhythm Marin played. He had seen a few people play water glasses in the past at school talent shows and at county fairs when he was younger. Blood was different. It had a special sound. It was deeper, fuller than water. It swept the ear with a feeling that moved the soul. It was amazing to hear.

A smile graced his him as he thought of the old adage that blood was thicker than water. It certainly sounded like it was true when it came to music as well. It rang with a deeper tone.

Her hand gently slid over and stroked the top of his as the song played out before them. It felt good. It was warm at first. Then it burned as their hands joined. He wanted the moment to last. He closed his eyes and dreamed of the serene field that he last saw in his nightmares. He concentrated on the beauty. He thought about the overcast that showed the euphoric sway of the wheat tips in the wind. It was bliss.

He could picture her in her red dress next to him, in the calming meadow. The weather tugged at the constraints of the fabric. She smiled. Her eyes closed in a squint. Without sound, she mouthed the words 'I love this, Zack. You really are special.' He could hear her voice in his head. Her voice whispered to him as the sonata played on. He closed his eyes tighter and listened to the melody.

# Sub Chapter

Red

There was a sound. It was similar to a feeling of pleasure and pain. It pierced his being. It did not ring, but it chose to linger in his thoughts. A warm sensation blanketed his skin. This was a dream.

He could sense there was someone else with him. They were kind, but playful. He spoke out, "who are you?"

"That's a difficult question you ask," the voice was soft, effeminate. "Who are we all but things that play with time?" the voice was near him. The words breathed on his skin, on the back of his neck. "I am what I want you to think I am and everything I wish myself to be."

He knew this voice, it was deeper than he remembered, but he knew it. It was, "Kyli."

"A name is only as good as the words associated with it, the memories related to it. What use do I have for a name in this world?" her words, her whole way of speaking were not her own. This was someone else, something that was using her voice.

"How do I know who you really are? How do I know you're not some figment of my imagination?" he posed the question aloud.

"You don't, but I'm not," the voice spoke up.

He felt a warm hand on his chest. It slid up and around his throat, caressing his neck.

"Tell me what you want," the voice whispered.

He didn't respond.

"Let the words fill this dream, let them become this world." There was a hot breath on his face but no image connecting the feeling. There was only empty space in front of him. "Use your hands. Stain them with all that you wish and only after they have had their fill should you ever dare to ask me who I truly am." The voice became silent.

He could smell the scent of someone breathing inches from him in the darkness of the void.

The voice came closer, it entered his left ear, "or begin to think you hold any lesser degree of sin."

Chapter Forty Nine

The Concert

The dream ended suddenly. Zack could hear the song as it ended as well. He kept his eyes closed. He was transfixed on the fleeting image of Kyli in his mind. The eerie presence of what he thought was her.

"Zack," she said quietly.

He opened his eyes as the dream completely dissolved, "yes Kyli, what is it?"

"It was nice, wasn't it? Do you think we can do that again?" she asked softly.

He didn't know what Kyli was talking about. She squeezed his hand and smiled. Her warm touch reminded him of what he felt before the dream.

"Yes, we can do it again." He figured daydreaming together was what she was searching for. He wondered if this was part of her gift. If he had truly communicated with her through their sudden daydream.

The next song's opening note built up, Marin's fingertip rung the glass to a full open note. He progressed into Beethoven's 5th. The room seemed to wave with the succession of the sound. It was entrancing.

He lightly squeezed her hand. He leaned in and gently put his arm around her. She laid her head on his shoulder. The warmth felt almost too good against his skin. She smelled amazing. She was enthralling.

He slipped into the daydream once again as he held her close. Things had changed. The breezy meadow was darker and filled with a heavy fog. His view of the once placid blue sky was limited. The outer boarders of the field were completely obscured. He stood as the wind nipped at the edges of his hair. She was still holding his hand. She was now standing, pressed against him. He was holding her with his arm while his other was interlaced with hers. Her head was past his left ear, her chin perched on the nape of his neck. She was cold in his embrace.

"Is this real, Zack? Are you really here, in this place?" she was about to cry, her throat was tight as she spoke.

It was strange. She seemed different, more herself than she last was. "Yes, I'm here. Welcome to my meadow. It's normally not this gloomy. In the daylight it's actually a lot nicer. This has always been a place for me to come back to when I need to kick back and relax. I come here to look up and watch the clouds. They take whatever shape I wish them to since it's my dream world." He considered ending the moment. He thought about the concert and holding her hand in the real world. She was cold here. It was too strange. He wanted to enjoy the beautiful girl next to him, not a recreation of her. "Normally, I come here to escape from reality. I usually don't drift here when I'm in a place I want to be in."

"How so?" she raised her arms around his neck and rested them onto his shoulders.

"I mean that I'm sitting next to you for real in the concert hall, holding your very warm hand in mine." He felt bashful for a moment. He was reluctant to say what he was really thinking. She didn't respond to his question. "So this is what part of your mind looks like?" She raised her head up and tipped it back. She gazed up at the sky, "you really are a good person, Zack." She lowered her eyes to meet his, "this is very welcoming." She closed her eyes. "I hope that blood won't change your thoughts like it did mine." She opened her eyes. She stared down at his chest. "Visions of red rivers flow in my mind. They are so wide and deep that it's hard to ignore them sometimes. Honestly, I'm quite envious of you."

He knew it was a dream. He had never had other dreams in which the apparitions of his mind spoke to him. Somehow, this dream was special. It felt colder than normal, detached. But real. She answered his questions as a real person would, not at all as he expected her to. She was talking to him as if she was actually there.

"Kyli-" he thought about the possibility of seeing into her dreams. Into the field she had mentioned, "-Will you let me enter your realm, let me see your inner world?"

"Sure. Close your eyes Zack," she requested.

He shut his eyes as he heard the music in the far distance above the clouds and beyond the fog. It sung slowly in from through the many layers of overcast.

The sound of the 5th symphony shifted, cut out, and then returned in a sharper, clearer tone. It was like hearing it from different ears. He opened his eyes. She was gone. There was no longer a meadow. It had been replaced by a dark green forest. A heavy blanket of leaves lay on the wet ground. Rain was still thick in the air. The forest glistened in his eyes. The bark on the trees was nearly black. The high canopy overhead was so thick it barely let any sunlight show through. Dim light came from a stream beside him. The light was deep red. He walked toward it. There was a bright red river of fast moving liquid running through the forest. He knelt at the side of the flowing brook. He dipped a finger in. It was thick. It ran off his skin slowly. It was blood, luminescent blood.

Chapter Fifty

The Years In Between

Six years transpired as Del finished his law degree. Thanks to his constant evening presence the dock no longer had late night assailants. However the nearby cow population had declined greatly. He had to eat something each night. And when a random thug had come around, he obliged them by having them for dinner. Eventually, no one dared to get near the fisherman's property. And in time he went back to his tried and true method of fulfillment, cows. With his completion of what he set out to do, Bill wanted him to move on from the docks.

He found the time to finish night school. He didn't find any difficulty fitting it as long as he sat in the back and didn't make too much eye contact. If he was fed, his color remained. His fangs were contained.

Graduation as a tax lawyer was fitting. It was a simple repetitive task that earned him an honest living. It was a path that was in line with Mr. McHugh's words. It was something he prided greatly.

The year was now 1934. The economy was still in a depression and he was working sparsely as an attorney. He put his weekend nights into doing little chores at the dock. Bill wanted him to leave. He said that his talents could be used anywhere and have a far better effect on the world.

One day Bill voiced his opinions directly. He had enough of Del's generosity. The boat was sparkling. It had been repainted a proper ocean blue. Its small cracks and barnacles were no longer there. He had even cleaned up the dock itself, resurfacing the old wood and cleaning the entire area. The place was amazing. It was a different location to anyone that hadn't seen it as it once was six years ago.

One night Bill asked him to come over to discuss the future. He arrived early, as usual. He was dressed in a nice, expensive black suit. He wore a black short brimmed fedora. His hair was trimmed short and combed back smooth. Bill was dressed in a new, but already well used yellow fisherman's slicker, nearly the same clothes he was in the night Del saved his life.

Bill spoke up, "you've done well for me. You've killed off all those damn bastards before they got another chance at me. In my book, you will always be my friend Marin. But get the hell outta here, and keep doing what you're 'doin."

"Why? Haven't I done a good job for you all these years?" he replied.

"That's the problem dammit. You did too good a damn job," Bill gestured to the boat and the whole dock. "Just look at this place! This would have cost me a fortune to rebuild like this. Instead, I had you and your never ending sense of loyalty. I've abused you Marin. This has to end." He stood up and opened the door for Del.

"But you did do things for me. It was fair compensation," he argued.

"I filed some paperwork for you. That's all dammit. What you did here, this is worth way more than running some errands for ya' is." Bill held the door open, "now go. You're wasting yer' life here."

He tipped his hat to Bill and left, "goodbye Mr. Saunders. Thank you for letting me work here."

He traveled up north to New York city. A steady body count of thugs and mobsters kept him heavily nourished. Everywhere he went, he seemed to attract attention from the wrong people. It wasn't that he enjoyed killing people. It was just that he preferred killing only people that were detrimental to society. In essence, he was doing the country a favor. Wherever he went, the crime rate dropped. Despite his aversion to feeding on humans and killing people in general, he had become quite good at it. He was as efficient with it as he was with farm chores. A simple and quick knock or tap in the right spot was all it took to get the job done.

Chapter Fifty One

More Time To Kill

After he left the clothing store he appeared ten blocks away in a deserted alleyway. He stood in his expensive attire and waited. It didn't take much time. It never did.

A half hour later a men approached him from the back side of the passage. His breath was muted, calculated. He walked slowly as he crept into place and raised his hand, "don't say anything and walk backwards with me behind the dumpster. If you scream, I'll shoot."

The words were familiar to him. He had heard it a thousand times before. A few times in this same side street. He complied as he felt the cold steel against the back of his skull. They stepped next to the dumpster and he waited for the usual to happen. The man with the gun to his head ruffled though his pockets. He turned them inside out when he found nothing in each. It was a pattern that he found a little amusing. He smiled and the man pulled on his shoulder and spun him around.

"Okay, where're you hiding the wallet?" he gestured with the gun for him to take off his shirt.

He slowly took his shirt off to reveal his toned body. He wasn't hiding a wallet.

"The shoes and pants too," he pointed the gun low.

He smiled and nodded once in accordance. He unbuckled his pants and slipped off his shoes to the side. He stood naked against the man with the stainless steel gun.

"What the hell man? Don't you have anything on you of value?" the man was frustrated. He turned side to side and check the alleyway for any witnesses. There was no one around.

It was turning out to be a good day. No one would see what was about to happen next. His brand new clothes had been removed. There would be no blood stains on them. It was turning out to be a good day indeed.

"Okay man, I'm sorry about this, but I'm gonna have to shoot you if you can't give me anything," he cocked the hammer with his thumb.

"I'd rather you not. It will make too much noise. People will come," his voice was low and his grin began to creep up again.

"Why would you care if someone caught me or not?" the thug was confused.

"It's simple," he stepped forward and pressed the barrel against his naked chest. "I don't."

"Hey man, I don't want to kill you if I don't have to. Step off," he retreated against the back wall.

He closed the gap and held his chest tight to the muzzle. He leaned in and spoke softly to the mugger, "that only makes one of us." He smiled devilishly. His fangs drew out.

The man pulled the trigger.

The gun didn't go off.

He had pushed the hammer backwards into the handle of the gun. It was completely unable to fire now. He pressed his other hand over the mouth of the criminal, "it's better this way." He dropped the gun and lifted the man's short. "If you hadn't of pulled the trigger, I wouldn't have known you were willing to murder a defenseless person in broad daylight." He caressed his fingertips over the man's stomach, "this way I can be sure that I have taken one more piece of evil from this cold world of mine."

He pushed his hand into the man's gut. There was a sudden struggle, but it wasn't enough. His hand traveled up. It slid past his liver, between his lungs, to his heart. He grasped it. The body surged with all its might to be released. It wasn't enough. It never was. He twisted and pulled. The heart shed its mortal coil. Blood poured over ground next to the dumpster. It splashed over his skin. He watched as the organ slowed. He bit into it and drained it to a small husk.

Satisfied, he placed the remains of the heart back into its home. He picked up the gun and removed its magazine. He pulled a bullet and held it between his fingers. He flicked the back of it and it shot out into the man's chest. He pulled three more rounds and snugged them into the bases of his fingers. He fired them in quick succession and let the casings fall to the ground. The blood that had splashed on his had absorbed into his nude skin. He walked over to the neat pile of clothing he had removed a minute ago and dressed himself.

Before he left he slid the magazine back into the gun. As he heard the footsteps get closer, he vanished with a smile.

Chapter Fifty Two

A Pleasant Haunting And Another New Life

Del found that living alone best suited his needs and he eventually came to reside in an abandoned hotel over the course of the next ten years.

Slowly he became a myth to the local population. He was the reason no one was mugged within a ten mile radius of the run down building. He only fed at safe locations. He would drag the body either back to his hotel, or find another dark place to finish what he started. He was a boogie man to most criminals, a story to tell the naughty children at night to keep them in their beds. It was said that he killed his victims before they became afraid of him. In the first moments of recognition he acted to end their lives quickly and gruesomely. He would leave large amounts of blood at the scene of everyone that he came upon. He had become terrifyingly fast and cold natured.

The legend grew of the 'Instant Assassin.' It became outlandish and over exaggerated during his ten years at the hotel. The people said that he was seven feet tall, had hair down to his ankles, and that his teeth were the length of sewing needles. This of course was all pure myth. His hair had grown long, but to his shoulders. He was tall, but only six foot one. He had fangs, but they were only a centimeter longer than the rest of his teeth. He felt that the lie was now so unique that he could reintegrate into society again without fear of someone realizing he was the local killer. Since the police never arrived at the front door of the hotel asking questions he figured that they either were afraid of the stories or they just didn't mind losing a few bad guys over the years.

The world war was in full swing, and he wanted to practice again. To be a tax lawyer in a time of war was nice to him. It was the idea of doing a job that needed to be done and nothing else. Taking on cases at night was not so much of an issue as it was compared to his age. Every able man in the country had joined up for service. He had to think of a way to explain why he wasn't on a plane, a ship, or a submarine fighting against the axis powers.

Every time he was asked by a perspective client why he wasn't in the army, he answered truthfully. "I burn in the sun, and can't serve because of my severe condition. So I fight by helping push papers." And he would smile and take their case at a discounted rate for asking.

He handled everything from tax disputes to tax evasion, all from his little one room office in upper New York City. That was all he did until the war ended in 1946. Then most of the men in the nation came back to the jobs they left at home. Suddenly no one came to him anymore because the larger law firms were absorbing all the business in the city again. Very quickly he found he couldn't pay the rent. He was able to make ends meet with the vast amounts of money he had saved. He was in no way lavish. His only heavy expenditures were the new black suits that would get soiled during his nightly walks.

Chapter Fifty Three

The Words In The Dream

Kyli placed her hand on Zack's back, "I'm sorry you had to see this." She stood behind him. "This is my vampeal forest. It's the part of me that enjoys the feeding. It's responsible for my thirst."

He turned and faced her.

"This is what we all have inside us," she stared at the red stream with disappointment.

The trees were hazy in the fog. They gave off an air of darkness. The red light seemed to be absorbed into the black of the bark. He understood that this was no longer his dream. It was hers.

"Do you see how the leaves are corrupted by it? How they turn when it touches them?" she sulked. She looked up as a light breeze brushed some of the leaves off the trees.

He witnessed the natural dark green of the leaves fade to colorless husks as they fell to the ground and were enveloped by the red blood. The red seeped in. It painted them with blood. He looked around. The forest floor was covered with blood and fallen debris. It seemed to writhe under his feet as if it had a life all its own.

"It seemed dark at first," he said to her as he lifted her chin, "pretty in an eerie sense, entrancing in fact, like you are to me." He placed his right hand on her cheek and caressed her gently. He embraced what he felt inside. He embraced her as she was.

"You're not afraid?" she asked.

"Why would I be?" he replied without hesitation.

"It's dark. The blood is repulsive. It's always damp. The earth and sky bleed when I'm here. It's terrifying," she told him.

"I'm not terrified. I like the rain. I like the dark," he ran his thumb over her lower lip.

She was speechless.

"This is part of you," he placed his other hand behind her neck and cradled her head. "You don't have to ask for my acceptance. You already have it."

A tear ran down her eyelash and fell on the ground. The leaves appeared to spring to life as they quickly scurried away from it.

"Look at it now and tell me I'm still beautiful," she wanted proof.

He knelt down. He picked up a leaf. It was alive. Some type of creature masquerading as the vegetation it was eating. It was made from the blood in the river. He looked down at the soil. Small white worms ate the changed leaves and drank the blood within them. They even ate each other. It was a scene of horror as he stood back to his feet.

"I'm a monster. A doll with a pretty shell and a freak inside that pulls the strings," she cried as she lowered her head.

He firmly pressed her to him. He embraced her as she wept. A chill crept up his back. He tried to ignore it. He brushed the hair over her left ear and exposed her milky white neck.

A voice boomed from the sky that only he could hear, "taste the image of her mind. Sink deep into the throws of her flesh. Enjoy the wet, naked parts of her body as you peel the skin from her bones. Let the urge drive you to it. Let it take control and guide your teeth. Take her arm firmly, grip her hair, force her neck to welcome you, and plunge into the vein."

He stepped away from her. He was startled. He had actually imagined doing what the voice had asked him to. He could see himself killing her. He could see himself enjoy the act. She looked at him in distress. She didn't know what had happened.

He screamed to the sky, "I won't! You will never make me!!"

Chapter Fifty Four

The Visage

The dream changed again. There was no music. Kyli was gone. The forest was gone. He was at the edge of the meadow now. He stood on a sandy shoreline. Before him was a vast sea of endless blood that was turbulent. It broke upon the beach.

The form of a person appeared far out near the edge of the breaking tide. It walked to the shore. The female was covered in thick blood. It masked any real detail to her body. The figure appeared to be made from the blood it was soaked in. The naked female apparition walked up to him. As he stared at her body, he could tell it resembled Kyli. The shape of her face, the length of her arms and legs, even the curves of her hips. This thing was meant to entice him, to incite him to action. Its feet stepped to the edge of the breaking tide. He came closer to see its face. Its eyes were open yet glazed over from the flowing blood that constantly dripped down its skin. He could feel its stare.

The blood specter spoke. The words were mumbled, garbled with drowned blood that poured out of its mouth. It was too difficult to make out. Its right hand reached to him, a wet trail tracked its motion in the sand. It placed its hand on his neck. The blood coated his chest, he couldn't resist. It disturbed him. At the same time, it was warm, soothing, inviting.

He closed his eyes.

"Finally, you open your heart," a dark voice echoed through to his core.

He could feel sharp wet fingertips pierce his skin.

"Remember the pain. It will make what is to come much easier," the voice spoke calmly to him. It was sure of itself in a way that he disturbingly had to admire.

"What are you?" he managed to say as his throat was clasped tight.

The dark presence paused. It breathed slowly into his right ear, "I am a choice."

Chapter Fifty Five

Back To Reality

Zack snapped awake. Kyli had softly struck him across the cheek. There was a solid pain on the left side of his face. She had nearly fractured his jaw to rouse him. The sound drew the attention of the people around them. They were stunned that she hit him out of nowhere. She smiled back at everyone and then checked his face. There was thankfully no bruise. She put her arm around him and grinned. The people staring went back to listening.

The 5th symphony was still playing from almost the same moment he had slipped into the daydream. Only a few seconds had passed.

"Zack, let go. You're crushing my hand," she whispered calmly.

His fingers were piercing the back and sides of her hand. A few of the tips were buried halfway to his knuckles. They drew blood that spilled out on to the carpet. He stopped, tenderly pulling his fingers from her hand. He gently applied pressure, "I'm sorry."

She smirked at him. Something had happened. It was clear to her. He had made contact with the demon.

"Never mind that. I'll heal in a minute." She said nothing for a moment, then whispered into his ear, "do you enjoy the show so far?"

He thought about the dream. The vision of her blood soaked body biting into him. He faked a slow nod and stared at her. She was beautiful. He reached his arm around her and pulled her tight. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she wasn't sure how much he had picked up from her mind. She was worried.

"I'm just sorry okay. Just know that," he squeezed her tight against him.

He quietly sat through the rest of the concert in peace. He didn't know what the daydreams were exactly. They seemed painful enough to be real. They were too disturbing to have actually happened. He wanted to explain why he had pierced her hand but he wasn't sure if she would believe him or not. He sat calmly as he mulled over the haunting images that played in his mind.

Demetrius Del Marin had no intermission to his concert. It was a straight two hour sequence of songs with little interlude between them. He played everything from variations on symphony number seven to selected bits from Rachmaninov.

She explained there was a heater under the table of goblets that kept the blood from coagulating long enough to play through the concert. Eventually by the midpoint the blood began to die. When that happened, the pitch of each note was altered. It was a change that affected the entire second half of the performance. She told him that the first section of the show was all classical pieces to accommodate for this. The latter half was filled with original works by Marin himself, all with their tones chosen with this altered sound in mind.

When the last note rang off Marin's finger, everyone had been lulled silent. Each person was nearly put into their own state of bliss. All Zack wanted to do was stay awake. He hoped to ward off any more dreams. He was still gravely distraught by the vision he had.

With the concert over, she pulled out a small vial from inside his blazer pocket. She unscrewed the top and poured a small amount on her hand. The rest she put in her mouth. She turned to him and kissed him. She forced the blood into his mouth.

"Milky enough for you?" she poked fun to lighten the mood.

He was too focused on the kiss to think about the taste. It was delicious. Her lips on his. The burn as their skin touched was aweing. He pressed himself to her and finished the kiss with his own actions. Afterward he spoke, "what did you ask again?"

She was too dazed to answer. He was a great kisser.

He sat there as the concert hall watched Marin exit the stage. He was anxious about meeting him. All he knew was that she somehow knew him, that her father didn't like him, and that he had on a tie that was specially chosen for this occasion. His stomach was in a knot. He knew it was a set up.

They made their way conspicuously down to the backstage entrance. Her red dress caught the eye of everyone they passed. She led him to the roped off area where the after party was to be held. They approached the doorman.

"Your names?" the large, burly bouncer asked him.

He looked at her.

"The man asked you, not me," she told him.

"We're guests of David Waterfield," he said confidently.

The doorman quickly moved to the side. He undid the red velvet rope and let them in immediately.

As he passed inside the black corridor he found ten foot passage with black curtains that shielded the room from the other side. He stopped.

"What's wrong?" she asked him.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" he asked in a cryptic manner.

She thought about the ramifications of what it meant to walk past this point. She thought about the contract and what Marin would do to him as soon as they were alone. She hesitated.

He could feel the doubt in her. He spoke first, "Then let's just see how this all plays out." He smiled.

She was nervous and rushed to speak, "it's okay. I didn't know what was beyond the veil the first time either." She lied. She took a hold of his hand. "What's important is that you move forward."

He solemnly nodded and pulled the curtain back. Dim red candle light flooded his eyes. The inner room was filled with large golden chandeliers that lined the ceiling. They cast a red hue over the crowd.

There was a cold draft that touched on his neck as he entered room with her. A thought in the back of his mind told him that he shouldn't be there.

"Glad to see you still trust me," she forced a smile. "Let's go."

The room was packed with tall, gorgeous people. Men and women of all nationalities were there mingling with each other. Most of the women had crystals, diamonds, blue sapphires, and red gems all over them. Most of the men wore variations of black suits. A portion of them had on long flowing black and gray robes. It was a clear status symbol to the remaining men in the room. There was no one color scheme to their clothing. It was a sharp contrast to the audience outside.

He felt very out of place. Large parties weren't his forte but he managed. His head began to hurt as he looked around the room. It nagged at him to leave.

She linked her arm with his and led him to the middle of the crowd. In the center of the room there was a gathering of people. The black and white colors most of them had on were dazzling. These were the darkest blacks and the purest whites that could be represented in a threaded garment. There were a few specially dressed individuals that uniquely separated themselves from the rest. They wore older styles of Victorian dresses and late Renaissance attire. Some of the men were in white, some not. The same followed for the women. They seemed refined. A few of them looked gaunt. They looked at Zack and Kyli with disgust as they approached. He was sure there were other vampires in the room, though they seemed not to pay any more attention to their passing into the thick of the party.

At the center of the mass of people was Demetrius Del Marin. He stood mechanically. He entertained a wide panel of guests with witty banter and happy smiles. He drank one of the goblets of blood from the show. They had the same unique low bulbed shape. Zack viewed Marin as a skilled conversationalist within this crowd. He seemed more at ease than on the stage. His teeth were showing. They sparkled. They were wet from the last sip he had taken. None of the more regular looking people standing around him were startled by this fact. He simply kept talking as if he had a golden smile and a gilded tongue.

He said one word instantly as they reached their destination, "vampire." He was a mere three feet from Marin.

Chapter Fifty Six

The Uncomfortable Conversation

The guests around Marin all stared at Zack and chuckled as the word still rang from his lips.

Marin grinned with his long teeth partially hidden under his lips, "yes, you have hit the nail on the head child. I am what I have always said, a vampire. True as day, if you'll forgive the play on words." He was suave, smooth. His voice not so skittish as it was on stage only two hours ago. He was in his element here.

He turned to Kyli. She was manically smiling, excited that she was in front of her idol.

He realized he was alone for the moment, "sorry, it's a bit weird seeing the fangs at first." He tipped his head down towards Marin and the others, "this is Kyli Waterfield." He gestured to her.

She curtsied.

"I'm Zack Giver. It's a pleasure to actually meet you Demetrius Del Marin," He spoke with courtesy and enough pomp to please everyone around them. His words were not his own.

"Marin," he replied quickly. "Call me Marin, all my friends do." He was calm and confident. He smiled as he spoke. There was a confidence that he exuded. He actually meant what he said.

"But we're not-" he was about to say that they weren't his friends.

"-Friends yet," she interjected. "So we didn't know. From now on we'll call you Marin," she couldn't stop smirking like a giddy school girl within reach of a pop star. She had a lionized view of Marin.

Marin stared at him for a second. He was searching for something in his eyes, something that he didn't seem to find. He resumed his normal banter with the rest of the group. They discussed the concert and other classical pieces that would sound better when played by bloody goblets. They ignored Zack and Kyli.

He had a question that bothered him, "what makes the blood sound different than water?" The group stopped talking.

Marin had answered the question a thousand times before at his concerts and events. Zack seemed to be the only one that hadn't read his explanations of why he chose blood to work with.

"Besides my obvious affinity towards it as a preference, the tone it produces is warm. The first half of the concert is all classical pieces for a reason. When the blood is fresh, it rings clear notes. As the night slides forth, the tones diminish and the blood allows my songs to pour over the audience in the way they were written," Marin explained the same thing she had told him during the concert.

He understood the concept well enough. He wanted to press Marin for an answer. He wanted to best him in front of his peers. He desired a challenge.

"You mean you write your material with those duller notes in mind?" she was on damage control, perhaps a little too much. She acted like she had just figured it out to placate Marin and the group.

He had to intervene, "you mean you plan ahead? For it to eventually happen that way? So that your music is as dull as it's originally meant to be. Is that right? Or am I misunderstanding your intentions for writing the second half of the concert?" He had his challenge.

His comment stunned the group. It was bold, too bold for him, as a newcomer, to say. Any admonishment she could have built Marin up with had been dissolved. Most of them shied away. They didn't want to remain in such an area of tension. Over a third of the group instantly left. The others gulped a sip of wine and waited for Marin's response. They wanted to watch him verbally tear Zack apart.

"Clever boy you have there, Ms. Waterfield." Marin ignored the question.

He had won the minute. He had stolen the show from Marin.

Marin refused to drink the last sip of blood in his glass out of protest. He looked at Zack with detest.

He waited silently for a response.

"The blood has lost its taste," Marin cleared his throat. He turned to put his goblet down on a waiter's tray. He focused his attention, "Zack, there's something I want to debate with you. Will you follow me?" he didn't seem angry, only fascinated by something he wasn't willing to share yet. "Can I borrow him for a moment?"

This was it. The last moment she would see him. She thought about her actions up to this point and sighed. She pulled together all her nerve and spoke, "it's fine with me, as long as you keep him safe Marin." She kissed Zack passionately and passed him off. She knew what was about to happen next.

Chapter Fifty Seven

A Simple Solution

One day a young cocky man named Ed Fisher walked into Del's tax office and offered him a job at one of the local law conglomerates. He was dressed in a tan suit. His short blond hair and brown eyes complemented his fake smile. He was thin and athletic. He saw him as the type that constantly strove to gain a promotion.

Ed sat down in the office's one desk chair and told him that his law firm was offering a small job. Del was to be given a desk in a back room with stacks and stacks of tax cases to work on day and night. The room had no windows, no bathroom, not even a chair. He was very upfront. No one would bother him, or even invite him to the annual Christmas party each year. He was to be given a job to eliminate his competition and to be merciful about it. That was the extent of the visit.

He accepted immediately. It was a real job, a tedious, simple task that fit him well. He moved his small collection of case files into the cramped back room of the high rise law firm the following Monday night.

Ed ushered him into the room and treated him as a child with no education. He made it seem like the position was more of a joke than plain pity.

He didn't mind. He liked the small room with no windows. It meant he didn't have to sleep every day. He could stay up for several hours and work. Sunlight was the only problem with his old office. He could only be in the room at night. During the day, he had to turn away potential clients with a closed sign. At his new desk, the sun was never an issue. He had no limits.

Ed gestured to a huge stack of case work on the very old and worn desk. There were more than two hundred files from the last three years that needed to be settled. The fiendish smile on his face was difficult to contain. He chuckled and left him alone in the room.

He wasted no time.

By morning one hundred and twenty seven cases had been closed. He was a machine. The entire firm couldn't believe it and challenged it quickly. He had eighty two cases left and they wanted him to finish all of them that night without leaving his desk to prove he actually did them all. The night passed and he had the files on the lead lawyer's desk. There was no real way to check all his work. There weren't enough lawyers employed at the firm to check everything. The sheer amount of files would take a team of men working months just to check if everything was correct.

The lead lawyer only looked at a few cases to sample what he had done. He had completed two hundred and nineteen cases in two nights of work. He was immediately awarded a medal for best new hire of the year.

When asked by the chairman lawyer if he wanted a new office, he replied, "I'm quite comfortable where I am thank you. But could I have a chair?" the man laughed and actually gave him his personal desk chair.

He had instantly gained the faith of his fellows and the admiration of his peers in the city. The two hundred cases he closed affected a great deal of people. He became the 'go-to' man in the tax industry.

By 1949, he was asked to take a semi-permanent position in Cuba to do taxes for the vacationing Americans that didn't want to stop partying until after tax season. It was only going to be a five year assignment but he requested two things at his new job. That it would be an office room with no windows and that he would be able to travel to another foreign position immediately following his time in Cuba. He had gained enough clout to ask for much more and didn't.

The chairman told him that if he was going to specify working conditions, he would have to stay for ten years instead. He agreed and took the next boat to Cuba. He was supposed to be thirty at the time he left the states and knew his young age was going to be a problem for him eventually. The foreign assignment was a way to hide what he really was.

He spent the next ten years in Cuba. In the firm's eyes he was now forty. To the Cubans that had come to know him, he was thirty five. He didn't make friends, only acquaintances through work. He kept to himself other than killing a few local thugs and rural goats that he happened to come across in the country side during his nightly excursions. Despite his time in the region, he didn't pick up any Spanish. He got along with gestures and smiles. With the majority of his clients all speaking English, he didn't have much to worry about. At the end of his assignment, his firm found him a position in Madrid, Spain, a location that he found very appealing. He liked the idea that he could feign away from interpersonal relations in almost any situation by not speaking the language.

By 1969, he was supposed to be in his mid-fifties. Though he forever remained a twenty five year old. The Spaniards there thought he was a young looking thirty five year old. His age had become a creeping problem when it came to the law firm. He thought of another location in which to hide. He was going to move out to Russia. He lived with communism in Cuba and thought it might be somehow similar, but with a different accent that he didn't understand. Unfortunately, his plans were interrupted.

Chapter Fifty Eight

Another Unwelcome Change

One night, a man from Del's past came to Spain knocking on his office door. He had already made the request to be transferred to Russia later that month and was in the middle of packing.

"Is Del Marin here?" a man in his late forties called out from behind his closed door. "It's Ed Fisher."

"Coming," he said calmly.

His speed had increased steadily over his years of drinking blood. He sat at his desk when he spoke. By the time he had closed his mouth he stood looking through the peep hole at this older man, Ed Fisher.

He opened the door. Ed appeared to be highly impatient. He was overweight and breathed heavily. He had changed greatly from the thin and athletic young man that once knocked on his door decades ago.

"Where's Del Marin? I have a letter for him." Ed was dressed in a nice, tailored tan suit.

He spoke without assessing the full situation. It was a mistake that he would later regret. "I'm Del Marin." He hadn't changed his style of suit for the last three decades. It was black and white with a red tie nearly identical to the one he received from Demy.

"You're him?" a look of sudden confusion overcame Ed. "You are him, aren't you?" he surveyed Del. "You're Del Marin, our overseas tax lawyer."

He was silent. He slowly walked back over to his desk and sat down.

"You're him?" Ed asked.

He remained quiet. He played out the scenario in his head. This was about to end badly.

"You haven't aged, not one day. Our records say you're over fifty. Yet here you are in the same suit as the day you started." Ed became angry. He breathed heavy. His health was not what it used to be.

He shivered. He never shivered. He was trembling with unease. He knew what he was about to do and what it meant to the rest of the life he had made for himself as a tax lawyer.

"What the hell are you?" Ed began to shout.

He understood exactly who Ed was, the same cocky lawyer that offered him the position at the law firm. He was the man that was nearly ten years younger than him. He stood as an old man now. It was a mirror into what Del had actually become. The blood had preserved him. It sustained him in a way that was unnatural. And the only man that had figured it out was Ed. He had to do something. He knew what was to come next. In a sudden rush of emotions, he acted.

He drove his entire right forearm through Ed. He moved forward with an unimaginable speed and pinned him to the far back door across the room. His hand pierced clean through to the other side. There was no blood, yet. He had struck Ed with such power that the pressure of his arm against the door prevented the wound from bleeding. Ed was still breathing, for now. Del's fangs poked out from behind his lips as he watched his chest fall and rise.

"What are you? A vampire? What kind of freak are you Del?" Ed became weak. He slumped into unconsciousness after he spoke.

He stood quietly as he held Ed against the door. There was an uncertainty in him. It was a word he had never heard before, "vampire?"

Blood slowly poured down his arm. Ed was dead. He was a nearly forgotten rival from a long forgotten time. He wasn't sure if he could have handled it any other way, but he was sure that he had made a mistake. He should have never spoken to Ed. He should have left the office and ran away. He removed his hand and Ed's body fell to the ground. A small envelope bounced off the ground and landed at his feet. It was a Christmas card with a bonus check. Ed was there to shake the very hand that he was murdered by.

He hung his head low. Blood poured on to the ground and saturated the carpet. With this death, he knew there was no longer a place for him in Spain.

He struck a match that was normally used for the lantern at his desk. He let the match fall onto his desk, setting a blaze to the cramped office room.

He nonchalantly walked outside to the front of the small building. He would be able to fake his death and walk away to his new life in Russia. He knew he made a grave mistake killing Ed that night. He would have to return to a life of scavenging again. Somehow, the knowledge sat well. Deep down, he knew it was his fault. It was a punishment for his own actions. If he had prepared and analyzed the situation more, Ed would have returned to his family alive and he would still have a job. He blamed himself and searched for the nearest abandoned building at the east edge of town. The next night he was headed for Russia.

Chapter Fifty Nine

Being Alone With A Monster

Marin thought about the way he should answer Kyli, "I will for as long as I can." his answer was cryptic, yet trustworthy. He was acting as if he was on stage. He was shy and timid all of a sudden.

Zack agreed to follow. He was led to a small hallway in the back, similar to the one that he entered through but on the opposite side. A black hall with a dark curtain that covered it. Marin lifted the passage. As the curtain fell into place, he stood next to Zack. There was a second hallway that went out to the full auditorium. It appeared to be barred up on the other end so that no one could access it from the stage. It was longer and had gray sound foam attached to the walls to dampen any noise made beyond that point. It seemed not to be used as much, almost abandoned. They walked in together. They were more than ten feet from the nearest person. They were alone. No one else could hear them from this point on.

"Zack, you have a sharper wit than you let others perceive. I'm impressed," Marin complemented him.

"I'm glad to see that someone noticed. Now let's drop this act. I don't like waiting," he knew Marin wasn't there to help him. He could feel it. But it wasn't something he sensed from him, it was from her. He could feel the regret as she kissed him and let him go with Marin. He was going to die in that back room.

"I must apologize, Zack. I'm telling you the truth. I'll keep you safe as long as I can. You're special. And call me Marin, I'd like us to be friends," he said sincerely.

"How would you know?" he was cautious.

"I have friends. You'll live longer with them you know," Marin was serious.

He stepped back. He could sense the power in the tiny room, "then why do I get the feeling you're the one that's going to kill me tonight?"

"Zack, you misunderstand. I simply am in a position to know what you are, who you really are. You are a newly virgined vampeal," Marin put a hint of innuendo to his words. He tried to provoke Zack. He pried at his nature without so much as saying it.

He cleared his throat, "I'm not a vampeal."

"You shouldn't lie to me, Zack," Marin said sternly.

"Then answer my question. Are you the one that's going to kill me tonight?" he stood tall next to the overshadowing vampire.

"I might be," Marin's words rang in the silence.

He stood still and waited for Marin to explain.

"I never asked you to lie to me," Marin exhaled. "But if you had tried that from the beginning, you'd already be dead."

"You never asked me not to," he quipped. He knew he was playing with his life. There was an excitement to it that even he didn't understand. He pressed the issue, "You were the one that was hired to kill me."

Marin narrowed the gap between them instantly, "you really are smarter than you realize." He bore down on Zack, towering over him.

A streak of fear ran through his body suddenly, "I have to go." He turned to the curtain and headed toward the party.

Marin planted his right arm on the wall and blocked his retreat. He had moved six feet in a flash. There was no sound, no movement to follow. There was no other sign of his action other than the fact he was already there. He knew what this was. He had seen it before. He had been a witness to this display of speed before. He knew, without a doubt that what stood before him was a vampire.

"You're coming with me," Marin told him forcefully.

"I can't," he pushed against Marin's arm. It was immovable. It was as if he was pushing on steel.

"It was not a request," Marin's voice changed. It was deep. There was a grumble to it.

He didn't argue. He agreed to the demand.

"You are smarter than the rest," Marin said in a devilish manner.

He shuttered to think of the extent to which Marin was referring.

Marin took his wrist. Zack attempted to struggle. The grasp was iron. There was no fighting it. He guided him to a thin theater control room door in the hall. Its small silver door handle was the only thing that wasn't covered in cobwebs.

Marin stood next to Zack. "A fair warning: don't sweat. Stay calm and collected."

Marin placed his hand on the silver ornate handle. It sizzled. The silver burned him. He opened the door and walked through with him in hand.

The other side held thirty people. Each person was more posh than the next. They looked at him with intrigue as the door began to close behind him. As he looked back he noticed a small amount of blood on the handle. It was Marin's. It was boiling.

He walked through the dark room. There were ten tables with two to five people sitting at each. It was muted. A thick haze of cigar smoke hung low in the room as if it had been there for a long time. There were evening gowns and tuxedos, leather pants and snake skin canes. It was a strange mix. He made his way through the small maze of tables to where Marin sat down.

Marin greeted him with a raised glass of blood. One other person sat at the table. He was haggard and looked far older. His eyes were a light purple. It was something like an albino might have. But besides the obvious, they were normal they were nothing like David's. Nothing like the rest of the people in the room. He wore a red and white fox pelt slung across his shoulders. He had short dirty blond hair with a broad jaw line and stunted nose. His face was riddled with old faded scars, most of which were so light they barely registered in the dim shadows of the room. He was very tall and looked ominous as he cracked a smile.

The stranger placed his hands palm down on the table and leaned forward, "you're Mr. Giver," he said with a Russian accent. He sat back in his chair and tipped it slightly off the front legs. He crossed his arms and put one leg up on the table. "You're shorter than what Ellen mentioned, smaller too." He glanced at Zack in disapproval. "Not fully turned? That's good. That means we have some time."

He looked at Marin as he stood before the table.

Marin turned to him and set his drink down.

"Come, sit," the Russian man instructed with a gesture.

Marin nodded for him to follow the request.

He realized that the Russian wasn't drinking any blood. His skin wasn't even that pale. He appeared to be human or at least very well fed. He pulled out a chair and reluctantly sat.

The Russian's smile disappeared, "Zack Michael Giver, you are not what you seem. You are not a simple creature. You deserve to die when this fiasco is concluded."

Chapter Sixty

The Accusation

The Russian continued, "for now, there is information to be distilled from you that would not otherwise be made available to anyone. This is the only reason why you are still alive. So let us begin."

Zack could feel the anticipation in this man. He felt the well of power within him. He sat in silence as he waited for the next action. He wasn't about to provoke anyone rashly. He needed to play things calmly. He reached inside and took a deep breath. He heard a faint word at first. Then another. It said, "test them."

Without any hesitation he spoke, "then why is it that you haven't found that little nugget of truth yet? If what you said is true and you have the inclination to kill me, why haven't you?"

Marin's quiescent nature fought the creeping smile provoked by Zack's brazing comment.

The stranger however, reacted differently. He fell back in his chair, right onto his butt. He was laughing, very loudly. He made a scene about it. Everyone stared and the room became quiet except for his booming laughter.

Marin helped him up. He was still laughing.

He held tight in his seat. He could feel his heart racing. He had made the right choice.

"Damn, child. You do have guts to say that here," the man smiled wide.

He noticed the man's fangs were long and pronounced, not short like Marin's. He was a vampire.

"Zack," Marin said sternly. "You will behave when making conversation with him." He attempted to save face with the onlookers in the room.

He wanted to push the issue and regain control of the situation. He could feel a push within him that urged him to keep going. He took the cue, "then would 'he' please tell me his proper name so that I can address him adequately?" He knew he didn't have to be so crass about asking. Something inside him wanted to be.

Bad move.

Marin's hand snapped onto his throat in an instant from across the table. It squeezed tight. It was crushing his airway. He only leaned in toward him. It was as if he was reaching for a cup of sugar across the table. It was effortless.

He looked into Marin's eyes. He didn't let up. He pressed on his arm. It was iron again. There wasn't a single sign of stress as he held him in place. No one around the table made a move. The clear struggle didn't cause a second glance from even the most bored in the room.

The air was running out. He was getting desperate. If he used all his new-found might he thought he might be able to shake off Marin's hand. But he asked himself, to what end? If he forced his way out, the rest of the vampires would pounce before he got within ten feet of the door. There were more vampires the further he went. There was no way out. He was going to die, killed by his hopeful girlfriend's favorite musician. He thought there had to be something he could do, something to stop Marin from squeezing his neck until his head popped off.

His gaze shifted to the other vampire. His vision drifted off as he lost consciousness. His eyes shut down. His mind wandered and then went black.

Chapter Sixty One

A World With Meaning

There was a plunge and Zack was immersed. The liquid was warm. It was still. He thrashed as he felt the substance coat his body. It was smoother than water. He opened his eyes. There was no light. He fought to get air. He gasped and struggled as fluid filled his lungs. It was blood, or at least close to blood. It was softer, wetter. It was something else. He broke the surface to a horizon of mist and a sea of what looked and felt like thin blood. There was no land he could see. He was in the middle of a large turbulent ocean covered by a thick gray fog that blocked the stars, or possibly the sun. There was no perception of day or night.

He screamed out, "Is anyone there!?" Again and again, he called. Moments passed as the feeling of loneliness began to set in.

Suddenly, a single hand reached down through the mist. It pulled him up with great speed and ease. It flung him onto a solitary patch of land relatively nearby.

He fell onto all fours and coughed up the liquid he had aspirated. The mist cleared. The plot of soil wasn't big, no more than a hundred square feet. There was no vegetation, no sign of fertility underneath him, only tarnished, partially wet sand.

"You are a demon vampire, just as they said," the Russian accent gave him away. "I mean demon vampeal." He extended a welcoming hand.

This wasn't the deep voice he was used to hearing in these situations. He expected the sky to open up and blood to rain down at any moment. But none of it happened. There were no whispers in the back of his mind this time. No feeling to guide him to action.

"You're the Russian vampire," he wiped his face clean.

"It's Yugo, and I haven't considered myself Russian since I was consulting for the Romanov family. I was always quite bashful when Peter called me into his council room."

"Romanov? You mean you knew a Russian Tzar?" he asked Yugo without hesitation.

"I'm impressed. From what I've read about you, I didn't think you knew that much about history," Yugo brushed some of the red water off of Zack's black suit.

"What is this place?" he took off his soaked jacket.

"You should know well what that sea represents. You've seen it by now." He grinned, "in your dreams." He raised his hands to the surrounding ocean as it roared and swelled, "you have one too. It is the direct representation of the demon that lives inside a vampire host," he waved his open arms to the landscape around them and then gestured to the loose sand, "and this is the rest."

"The demon inside? I thought it was related to the thirst caused by the virus?" he recalled what Kyli had told him.

"That's right for everyone, except us." Yugo tilted his head up to the sky, "what's out there is them. What's beneath us is all that's left."

"What do you mean?" he didn't follow.

"In your dreams, what is it like?" Yugo asked.

"In my dreams? I don't remember exactly." he didn't want to admit to Yugo what happened during the concert. The flood of nightmares and sensual images he had seen over the last few days.

"Then tell me what he is like," Yugo paused for his words to sink in.

"Who are you-" he knew exactly who. He just didn't want to admit it, or recognize that he had been talking to someone in his head.

"-The demon," Yugo cut him off and waiting for a reply.

He gave nothing as he thought about the visions of Kyli laid out in the dead clearing. The blood soaked visage of her naked body. The words that would resonate in his head as he thought about the silky taste of pure and nourishing blood.

"In your dream world, Zack. What is the terrain like?" Yugo broke the silence and got to the heart of the matter.

He wanted to answer, he was compelled to, "there's a large shoreline." He was reluctant to go any further.

"And a sea of blood?" Yugo's words struck a chord.

"How did you know?" He wanted a clear answer.

"Look around you," Yugo stated the obvious.

"I'm not talking about that. How did you know about my nightmares? About the demon calling at me?" He wanted the bigger answer.

"You are a smart one," Yugo smiled.

"You didn't answer the question," he was angry.

"And quick too," Yugo smiled wider. "The same as the others have and will find out."

"That's still not an answer," he barked in frustration.

"I know," Yugo stopped smiling. He stepped away from him and turned to the sea. "I know because I used to have the same type of dreams. I know because the demon once called on me in my sleep. I know because this is my dream world."

The upper clouds parted. The sky opened. There was no sun, only a red tint to the world. It was desolate. As he tried to digest the sheer size of the world he was in, the mist receded back from the island. For miles, there was nothing but the red ocean, no signs of life or land. The world was empty, consumed.

"But it's not all bad. They do have their perks." Yugo saw the question on his face, "they provide us with amazing gifts to wield."

"What gift? I've got nothing from it but a damn migraine! What the hell kind of present is that!?" he was furious over what having this 'gift' had brought him.

Yugo approached him, "calm down. The demons that reside in you and I are powerful tools. They can be used against their will for our gain."

"Really? For some reason I don't think a naked vampire posing as my girlfriend bathed in blood would listen to any request I might have! Not from all the weird shit it's told me so far!" he was upset. This was the first real time he just didn't give a damn what happened to him. The feeling of pressure was gone from his head. There was nothing urging him to press any further. What remained was his irritation over the situation. "I keep having these whacked out dreams and people keep telling me that there are more and more reasons for others to want to kill me! I didn't ask for this!"

"But you did," Yugo said plainly.

Chapter Sixty Two

Talking To A Demon

Yugo laughed, "then he spoke to you?"

"He? I thought it was an it," Zack lowered his voice as he thought about the ramifications of the conversation.

"No, they were once people," Yugo sighed.

"I thought the 'demon' only referred to the level of power the gift had? That those with them were feared for what they could do because of their talent?" he attempted to keep his calm. He direly wanted to know more.

"You know much for only drinking your first sip of blood a day ago. These are secrets only the demons and a few others know. The finer details are astounding and unnerving, not for the weak," Yugo stared at him. "You just may be right after all."

"For what?" he didn't like the tone.

Yugo didn't answer.

He concentrated on his face in the silence. He appeared more human in this place than at the table. His fangs were gone. There were no scars. He had color to his complexion.

"They would want you to think they are all powerful, that their course is the only path. They will tell you they are the omega to each age. They are wrong and can be manipulated," Yugo's words resonated within Zack.

"You mean they can be tricked?" he perked up.

Yugo bent down and slapped his knees with both hands and smiled, "yes!"

This was interesting. The voice in the back of his head had bothered him. It had sent him frightening images. It tempted him with blood. He enjoyed the idea of turning the tables. Yugo was about to give him the best advice he would ever get. He was eager to know more, "tell me everything."

"Not everything, only what I can. Anything I tell you will pass down to your demon. It is my guess that he is far more coercive than you give him credit. However, I applaud you for reaching out to me like this. Is this the first time you've used it?"

"Used what?" he asked.

"Your lesser demon gift," Yugo said with an evil undertone.

"You mean I did this?" he look around.

"Yes. This is my dream. But it is your gift that brought us here," Yugo told him. "Has it happened before?"

He nodded as he thought of Kyli's dream world.

"Demon gifts are much more capable than elder vampires would ever know about. The demons have greater and lesser abilities. Unlike regular vampire gifts, they are special. It is these minor gifts that allow us to fight the gods of our world. Considering you are here, you have a minor telepathic ability that your demon grants you." Yugo seemed to know everything relevant to his situation.

"Is that rare?" he loosened his wet neck tie.

"It's not a unique gift." Yugo saw his face drop. He was clearly disappointed. "That's not to say it isn't all-powerful. It requires blood to fuel, unlike a normal gift, blood power that accumulates for the purpose of the greater ability the demon wields. It is like a reserve tank of energy. It can be drained by the minor uses."

He asked the question that was at the tip of his tongue, "what happens when the tank is full?"

"Nothing good," Yugo commented grimly.

"What happens?" he persisted.

"The demon awakens. It commands its power directly through your body." Yugo turned away.

"And if I don't particularly want that?" he didn't like where this was going for him.

"It's not up to you. By then you will be dead, and it will have full use over its terrifying greater gift," Yugo's information was damning.

"That's the worst case?" he wanted to be prepared and know what the extremes were.

"No. Worse case, the world population will go down," Yugo grumbled. "Before that, their gift activates."

"And what is that exactly?" he sat down on a small boulder in the sand.

"Your demon knows what it is capable of. Unfortunately, I do not." Yugo sat down and crossed his legs in the sand.

"Did it pick me?" he wanted to know.

"No, your demon is merely wondering as all of them are to their hosts," Yugo explained.

He could feel that there was something more to it than that, "do you know what yours is? Did it ever tell you?"

"Yes it did," Yugo smiled.

"Willingly?" his attention was piqued.

"No," Yugo answered quickly.

"How?" he leaned forward.

"I tricked it." Yugo adjusted his legs.

"And?" he wanted to know how he might be able to demand his demon stop harassing him. To find a way to stop the temptations in blood.

"Disaster," Yugo sulked.

"What do you mean? Did it do something to you?" he shifted on the boulder and placed his hand down. The sand felt eerily similar to the forest floor in Kyli's dream. It was alive but different.

"This is the fruit of my gamble," Yugo looked around. He stared at the mist in the distance then to the ground, "the result of my delicately crafted ploy, a little island of humanity to call my own, and nothing else."

"Humanity? You're a vampire." he didn't see the connection.

"We're all human Zack. We're just infected with something that's changed the rules. How we live, how we survive, has been altered. You are in a volatile situation." Yugo extended his hand out above the soil. A chair formed under it. He climbed into it, "learn to embrace it."

"How am I supposed to do that if I'm dead?" he argued.

"Do it before." Yugo's simple sentence shut him down.

He waited. He didn't know what to say next.

"I'll tell you another secret. The river, lake, seas of blood, they're not what you need to worry about. It is the rest of it, the events that make us, that form us. Our individuality is what's most important to any vampire or vampeal that lives long enough. Especially in our unique circumstance." Yugo took a handful of sand. He let it pour down the sides of his open palm, "the erosion that develops in our mind is a clock. Its hands tell us how much time is left."

"Until what?" he knew very well what he meant. He just didn't want to believe it.

"It wins and we cease to exist," Yugo tipped his hand to let the sand fall completely.

His breath became faint. He felt a pressure on his neck. It was a tightness that was uncomfortable at first. It build and quickly began to choke him.

Yugo leaned back in his chair, "now get out of here. Go back to your own body before you die on me and this conversation becomes worthless."

The mist closed in around Yugo. He disappeared in the haze. The red tint vanished as table returned. He remembered this feeling. He had experienced it before with the cabinet doors before he woke up in his bed. It was new but the same. Reality faded back into existence from the dream world. They were back in the small crowded room.

Chapter Sixty Three

The After-Hours Proposal

Yugo stared at Zack. His eyes were compassionate. He raised his hand towards Marin, "stop."

Marin let go and he collapsed forward on the table. "Marin, he will be of better use to us alive. It seems Zack Giver has a talent that is quite extraordinary. For that, he will be given more time," Yugo stood up from the table. He walked to the door. Everyone in the room turned to watch him.

He coughed in an attempt to recover his breath. Bruises had formed on his neck. He breathed heavily.

Marin stood and helped Zack up to his feet, "we're leaving." He escorted him to the door.

Yugo held the door open, and waited for them to pass. "You are an interesting person Zack." He whispered into his ear, "remember what you learned in the dream world. Do this and we will surely meet again." He waved goodbye in a pleasant, genuine manner to everyone else in the room. He closed the door behind them as he ushered them to the inner hallway. He smiled they left.

He leaned on a nearby wall. He coughed again to clear his lungs. He noticed his reflection in a small dusty mirror. His neck was sore, but no longer bruised. He turned to Marin, "you didn't have to do that."

Marin squeezed his right arm and threw him across the hall instantly. He held him to the wall before the drywall could reverberate the motion. There was no impact sound in the way he attacked. It was unreal. His fingers pressed into his chest. He pushed slowly and pierced the skin as he deflated his rib cage.

His fears were realized. Marin was there to kill him. There was no room to cough, or struggle. He was pinned, his feet were unable to touch the ground. There was no room to scream. He couldn't argue with what Marin was about to say.

"You are of interest to Yugo. Sometimes he can be a bit too pragmatic in covering for everything. You may have something to offer him before we tear your heart out," Marin pushed. There was no emotion on his face. He was calm, cold.

Marin's fingers let up slightly. It allowed him to take a breath and speak again, "what are you talking about?"

"It's simple. There are more people that know what you are than you realize. Though it would seem that death has been delayed on account of something Yugo may have found inside of you." His blank expression was unnerving. He looked into his eyes, "did you think no one would find out?"

Blood began to stain his white shirt.

He wasn't sure of what to say, the pain began to fade away as the headache returned. He only felt it when Marin's fingers moved and shifted. "How the hell could that be? I just found out myself."

"There are more ways than you know," Marin watched the blood trail down his chest.

"So what then? Kill me?" he pressed the issue. He could feel his strength coming back.

"No. It's more complicated than that," Marin said.

"So what then? What happens now?" he struggled to take another breath. He was able to push in chest outward to inhale. Marin's fingers gave a little.

"Until then, smile." Marin let him down. He removed his fingers as he let him drop to the ground.

He panted and gasped for air as he doubled over.

Marin opened a tiny cooler near the far side of the barricaded door. He reached for a small bottle. He walked over to place it in his right hand directly, "make yourself presentable again."

His stared at Marin. He was insane to think everything might be able to revert to what it was before that room. Before that dream.

Marin smiled as he adjusted his tie. "Don't worry. No one will care about the blood stain out there. It's not human." He turned to face the hallway and spoke over his shoulder, "now we have a party to get back to, and you have a beautiful woman to woo."

Chapter Sixty Four

The Unwelcome Guest

Del had crossed into eastern Spain. His trip from Madrid was quick on foot. He moved at night and killed any highwaymen that unwittingly attempted to prey upon him. The time spent traveling hadn't been kind to him. His hair was matted and his suit was coated with layers of old dried blood. There was a distinct smell coming off of him that was reminiscent of death. His eyes still shined a blood red. It demonized his appearance even further. They were even more apparent in his run down state.

During the night he came across a single hut in the middle of a large open pasture. Inside was a young woman making stew. The smell pervaded the air. It reminded him of how wonderful a home cooked meal was to a worn throat.

She hummed something that he couldn't quite make out. He came closer and sat next to the wall of the hut in order to listen. The rickety wood shook as a gust of wind blew by. She stopped for a moment and then continued. She was singing an English nursery rhyme.

"Mary had a little lamb. Its fleece was white was snow," she sang it to a different tune than normal. It sounded like it was made up on the spot.

He peeked through a knothole in one of the shutters. The hut was more of a shack than a place of dwelling. Inside was a young vivacious woman dressed in peasant farm clothing. She appeared to be vigorously stirring the stew over the fire. Her chest rocked to the soft motion of her arms in a circle. Her long untamed black hair flowed down over her left shoulder. She was beautiful. Beads of sweat poured down her skin. He wondered what she was doing in such a place all by herself.

"Mary had a little lamb, Mary had a little lamb, Mary had a little lamb," she sang the same line over and over again as she began to sadden. The voice that was once bright and chipper, lowered. She lamented on something. As she stirred the pot, her pace slowed. Something bothered her. He felt something was wrong.

He approached the only door to the hut. He called out to the woman inside, "hello?"

He heard the ladle drop to the floor. Scurrying sounds echoed from the hut and into the distant field around him. Suddenly, and without warning, the door flung open. The beautiful young woman with very long wisping black hair and Spanish skin stood tall and confident. She stared into his eyes for a moment. He got one good look at her while he transfixed his eyes to hers. She had bright green eyes that tore into his heart with their pain. This was a woman that was expecting someone else. They were truly piercing eyes that kept his attention. He smiled.

He didn't even feel the shot. The long double barreled gun that impacted his chest didn't so much as faze him from staring into her eyes. He hadn't fed in more than a day and was already feeling weakened at the time he approached the door. He didn't flinch as the deer slug entered his right chest and slammed through his upper ribs and collapsed his lung. The trauma was too quick, too surprising for even him to react. The bullet exited and ripped open the back of his black suit. Blood cascaded down his chest. It was the first time he had ever been shot. The pain was surprisingly numbing. It was more of an ache followed by a moment of light-headedness. He blacked out. His eyes shut with the sight of her green eyes.

She realized the look on his face was not malicious as he fell to the ground. He honestly meant her no harm. When she heard him at the door she acted on impulse. She had fired at him with fear rather than any reason or justification. As he lay on his back, bleeding, she had an overwhelming sense of guilt.

His weight had decreased over the years due to a diminished diet and a lack of livestock in Madrid. He had slimmed down to a light one hundred and sixty pounds. Regardless, she dragged him inside. A streak of blood trailed in the dirt. She put a fire poker into the burning kindle for the stew and took out her sewing kit from the corner of the room.

A draft blew the door closed. The fire in the middle of the room lit only the lower half of the dwelling.

"If you survive this, you better have not been sent by Silveretta. If this has anything to do with my land, I'll kill you again before you have a chance to run back," her voice was soft but her words were strict. She drew a long string from the sewing bundle and began to thread it into the large needle. She pulled him up onto her left knee while she sat down and examined his chest. "By the way, I'm Maria. If you were sent by him, you already know my last name, but here's to hoping you weren't." His blood soaked into her dress. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I shot you."

She took the time and effort to stitch his wound shut. The bullet had passed through, so there was nothing to dig out. She bandaged him up and laid him on her small cot to rest.

He laid there in bandages for a day. She had closed the window shutters and sealed the door up tight. It had been cold and she didn't want him to freeze. He was unconscious until the next nightfall. She had treated and cleaned his wound. She cared for him despite initially wanting to murder him at first sight.

A few hours after dusk, he woke up. She was stunned to see him sit up on his own so shortly after taking such an injury. He was pale and far lighter than he was the day before. His fangs had drawn themselves out. His eyes were bloodshot with dark red pupils that stared at her with a yearning, a question. He was thirsty and hungry for the primal need of blood his body had developed. He didn't care why she had helped him. Only that she no longer wanted to end his life. He wanted nourishment. His body demanded it. He eyes settled on her. There was an urge that was consuming him. His body was sinewy and taught. He was the epitome of terror as he stood and watched her. It was a fear that was felt to the core of her soul.

She waited as he closed in on her. He knocked her to the floor and pinned her arms to the ground above her. He was about to sink his fangs deep into her throat until she said something that he couldn't ignore.

"The pain of fear, the ache of mortality. My life is a meal, a quick snack to be eaten by your eternal desire for more. Am I so insignificant that you would kill me without another thought?" her words were crafty and full of eloquence, as well as in English. It was something he wasn't used to.

He didn't know what to think. He let up off of her and allowed her to climb to her feet. She carefully backed away from him. She misplaced her left foot and fell back toward the fire. He caught her in his arms. He saved her and pulled her in close.

She stared at him with displeasure, "you protect me from the fall when you already know you're going to devour my soul?" her face shed its fright and adopted a position of curiosity. "What ferocious vampire spares injury that leads to an easy murder?"

Her words rang loud in his heart. She was much smarter than he had let himself believe. She spoke clear English and was well educated. He set her on the side of the bed and hung his head in shame. He had nearly slaughtered an innocent woman in a rage that was not his own. His craving for blood had gone unchecked for too long. He wanted to gain control again. He wanted his humanity intact if he was to continue living as a monster. He let the water flow from the dry vessel that was his body. This was not who he wished himself to be. He prayed for absolution.

She was amazed that she was still alive. She stood up, "you are very contradicting, you know. Crying for something you never actually did. Especially since I shot you last night," she sighed. "I acted rashly. You only thought it." She sat back down next to him, "do you know why I know what you are? Do you want to know why I instantly knew a vampire had come to my door?"

Chapter Sixty Five

An Old Friend

Del subtly shook his head. His hands still covered his weeping face.

"When I was ten, there was a vampire that lived in our village. He was beautiful. He was far taller than I was at the time," Maria's voice loosened as she spoke. "His long black hair was straight and refined. His chiseled jaw wooed every woman that came across him." She smiled shyly and turned away from him, "he dismissed them all, every one. I think he must have broken half the girls' hearts in the country. His eyes were like yours, only purple. They were an amazing pure purple. The color of the paintings in the cities. He taught me English, how to read, to write, and left me pages of music after he vanished."

He raised his head and wiped his face. She used the edge of her dress to clean his eyes. Her smooth Latin legs piqued his vision and distracted him from his internal anguish.

"I was a little girl, but I was in love with him none-the-less. I know he knew it too." She lowered the edge of her dress and leaned against his shoulder, "he was cold like you are." She locked her fingers in with his, "one day on my fifteenth birthday I offered myself to him. I offered everything to him. I told him that it was for my birthday present," she blushed. He was cold. It was a welcome feeling. A memory. She tightened her grip, "he took my hand and brought me to his house." She nuzzled his shoulder, "we walked up to his bedroom. He laid me down in his bed. I remember thinking the sheets were so soft. He slowly and gently slipped my clothes off one by one. I let him strip me down to my underwear before I told him to stop." She gripped his arm, "he knew I didn't have the courage to go through with it. He had done only so much to placate me, in order to let me know that I had the guts to do it or not. I thanked him and we talked in the bed all night long. Before the morning came he covered me in a white sheet and carried me back to my house in his arms. It was very romantic. I enjoyed everything from that night." She sighed.

"What's wrong?" He felt her hand loosen. He placed his arms around her. He welcomed the attention.

She continued, "the next day he was gone. There was no note, no message to mark his abandonment of all of us. Nothing to say that he ever even cared for me in the way that I loved him," she swallowed the lump that had welled up in her throat. "That was it until a year later. He appeared to me on my sixteenth birthday. He told me that if he stayed the villagers would have hunted him and he would have had to kill too many people that were close to me. He left to spare me their deaths," her tears flowed from her eyes with the pain of her memory recalled.

"He never drank from you?" he was touched by her story. Her skin was warm to his cold touch. It was smooth.

She buried her head in his shoulder again as he held her tight, "not once. He wanted to keep me pure, and then he went away." She squeezed his arm, "you look so much like him." She raised her head again. She had come to a decision.

"Have I done something wrong?" he was used to offending people through his lifetime with his simple actions. He thought she was pulling away from him.

"I know what to do," she ignored his question and began to search for various items around the hut. She gathered a water bucket, a sponge, sheep sheers, a straight razor, a brush, and a cup. "Come, sit here," she sat him on the single in the chair.

"What are you doing?" He faced away from her. His hair was matted and his chin had thick stubble.

She started by arranging his unkempt hair.

"Are you grooming me?" He asked.

She brushed his long tangled hair, "sit still. I have a lot of work to do."

"There's no need," he was proud. But he was filthy and knew it.

She dipped the brush into the water. She used it to wet his head. "I told you to behave, now stay still," she pushed down on his shoulders to square him in the chair.

He fidgeted on purpose, "what if I don't want to?" He chose to be playful with her, something he had not done with anyone in a long time.

She stopped, "let me do this. Please, let me do this for you, for me."

He didn't argue. She was up to something that weighed heavy on her heart, "okay, for you."

He was calm and still as she trimmed his hair, shaved his slim beard, and scrubbed his dirt laden skin with a sponge. She unbuttoned his tattered shirt and tossed the fabric towards the bed. Her fingers glided over his firm chest and abdomen. His life as a vampire had kept him in excellent shape. He was fit and attractive. His lure extended beyond his physique. There was a scent to him that she was entrenched in. He fulfilled her desires and dreams with his simple presence. He only needed to let her act on her intentions.

She walked in front of the chair and faced him. Her desires were obvious now. She straddled his lap and stared into his eyes, "don't say anything, please. Let me let you come to me." She placed her hands on his bare chest and slid her fingertips over his toned flesh, "follow me. Let yourself overtake me tonight. Be my dream. Be my vampire of the night for me." She ran her hands across the back of his neck. She leaned in and held him tight. She gently kissed his neck.

He sat motionless, mechanically indecisive. He didn't say anything.

She eased up and unhooked his belt. She stared into his eyes, "my name is Maria Del Cid. Tonight I'm making you make me happy. Just lay back and let me think of you as my own personal vampire, please. For now, be refined, be classy, be seductive to a fault, be him."

He obliged her. He picked her up and placed her on the small bed. She sighed as she anticipated the night to come. She knew he took her fantasy seriously. He slid her dress up past her hips and over her arms and head. He took the time to recreate her vision of that lost night. He caressed her stomach with the back of his hand and traced his fingers up and down her side. Delicately he enticed her skin and let her excitement build as he teased her body. She gasped. His fingertips lightly scratched the inside of her leg. She sighed as small beads of blood swelled to the surface. His face bore down beside her hip. He placed his lips to her skin and sipped from where the droplets had lifted. She exhaled with force as he slid his face upwards and sank his sharp teeth into the soft space between the crest of her hip and naval of her lower body. He only drank the smallest sips as to not drain the full volume of blood he needed right away. He wanted to make the night last and prolong the pleasure for her. He wanted to fulfill her needs. She breathed deeply as he glided into a more proper position. She nodded her head and he gratified her.

The morning didn't come for hours. When it did the two were satisfied. They had their fun. She had only been drained enough to make her partially weak. Though her body was sore for other reasons. She was awake when the dawn broke and she covered him with her thick blankets.

She whispered to his sleeping ears. Her black hair created a canopy to his face in the darkness of the covers, "I know you will not be here tomorrow. You will leave the moment the sun disappears from the horizon." She placed her hand on the right side of his face, "you were everything he was and more. You were my vampire of the night. For that I thank you," she sat back down next to him and closed her eyes.

They rested under the thick blankets while the sun licked through the small cracks in the shutters. She knew she wouldn't wake in time to see him leave. He would be miles away before her body had recovered from the blood loss later that night. She grinned as her eyes became heavy. She was happy in her last minute of seeing this beautiful man. She fell asleep as sweat still dried on her forehead.

Chapter Sixty Six

The Ululation of the Nightmare

Zack was shocked from the instant turn of Marin's actions. He was unable to move.

"Are you going to be long? We have a party to get back to," Marin was directly pompous. He didn't mention the fact that he had nearly strangled him.

There was an anger that well up in him, "I must be taking too long making it appear that I wasn't nearly choked to death five minutes ago," there was no restraint in his voice, his tone. He knew that Marin had the power to kill him in an instant. He knew that at any moment he could rip his head off. He didn't care. He wanted to fight back. He was urged to from the depths of his mind.

He rushed Marin with all his newfound might. His right hand was stopped inches from making contact with his face. Marin had simultaneously blocked the strike and lifted him by the neck into the air again.

Marin checked the hallway. No one was around. "You do have guts. You aren't willing to accept the situation you're given, even if it's as dire as this," there was a smile that crept up the side of his lips. "You are everything that I've been told and more. I can see why it happens now." He let him down.

He straightened his tie and coughed to clear his throat. Marin walked into the larger open hall and he joined him. As they approached the party, they stopped.

"What will happen?" He didn't like the idea of someone telling him his future.

Marin caught sight of Kyli in the thick of the crowd, "look at her Zack. Really look at her."

He viewed her dancing in the middle of the room. Her mid-length heels made her taller than most of the men around her and almost all the other women. She had put her hair up into a single long black pony tail. It dangled down the center of her back and tossed across her shoulders as she swayed to the music. The lights were lower now. So dim that the ceiling appeared as small stars in the distance above everyone. The atmosphere of the party had changed. The astute behavior had been replaced by enjoyable undulations. Glowing body paint radiated from everyone's bare skin. A series of black lights lit the scene from above. Swirls of emanating color were artistically placed on the arms, chests, legs, and faces of the masses. As visually numbing as the barrage of glowing bodies were, she stood apart. She had arm bands of blue paint on her wrists and the tips of her fingers were dipped in blue as well. A pink glowing choker was on her neck. Her earrings twinkled while short strands of her hair fell down next to them. A thin solitary smear of paint trailed down the front of her neck to her chest, far below the reach of anyone's eyes. Its pink hue appeared very attractive to him. Ample amounts of paint covered her thighs. Hints of blue, red, and yellow were all over them. The strong glow was enough to light the lower halves of all the people around her. She was entrancing. She was confident, bold and sexy. She was in the center of the room and the life of the party.

She turned away from his direct view. The sight of the single large white angel wing on her back was spectacular to him. The white ink in the tattoo glowed by itself under the black lights. Her hair whipped back and forth to the beat of the music. She was the angel in the room.

"Yes, she's spectacular. The whole room is following her neckline and the sway of her hair, her erotic hair," his voice trailed off under his breath.

"What was that?" Marin appeared suddenly in front of him, just enough to partially block his way.

"The red on white, the black on red, the pale-tempting-skin beneath," he licked his lips and stared at her body in the distance.

She noticed him and met his eyes. A chill ran down her back as she realized he was still alive. He was okay. She became flush and sighed to herself. She couldn't help but smile. She was happy he was still okay but she didn't fully understand why. She knew what this meant. Marin wasn't going to fulfill the contract. She had to.

The seductive glance kindled a fire inside him. It was a heated warmth that was known and felt between them. He wanted to spirit her away to the nearest secluded room, somewhere where they wouldn't be bothered for hours. He craved her. He needed her.

"What did you say?" Marin didn't take him for a poet. He had exuded a side of himself that Marin hadn't accounted for. It was a part of him that he didn't expect. He respected the tone and feeling of his words. He grinned and lightened up, "regardless, you need to change that horrid tie," he tugged on the red tie.

He snapped out of his daze. He turned to Marin, disoriented, "what?"

"The tie, I know David made you wear it. But did he at least tell you what was on it?" Marin slipped the tie off his neck and rolled it up. He handed it to him and reached into his own right pocket. He unraveled a new Christmas red tie and began looping it around Zack's neck. Before he had realized it, Marin had tightened it properly and snuggly into a full Winsor.

"So what was on the tie?" he had a feeling that it wasn't the most understanding of words.

"When you get to the dance floor, sneak a peek at the old one in the black light. At least this way you won't look like an idiot to the humans in the crowd," Marin told him.

"And what about the vampires?" he wanted to know where he stood and just how much danger he was in.

"They already know you don't belong here. The tie just made it more obvious," Marin straightened his own suit and checked him out. The blood stains in his shirt were too obvious, "Sorry about that. I didn't meant to ruin your short like that."

"It's not my shirt," he chuckled. He couldn't feel the lacerations in his chest anymore.

"I'm glad to know I at least destroyed one of David's shirts in the process," Marin grinned and showed his fangs.

He looked at his chest. The holes had closed up and were nearly healed. He hadn't even drank the bottled blood yet.

Marin walked over to a large rack of dust jacketed clothing in the back part of the hall. He pulled out a white shirt, "this should fit. But drink up first, you don't want to ruin this one as well."

He gulped the bottle down and removed his jacket and loosened the tie. He changed shirts and refastened everything. The wounds had closed.

"Good to know I can be sure about a few things," Marin smiled at him. He looked him up and down one last time, "that's better. Now let's impress your date," he smiled a very large, sinister grin. He had something else in mind.

Marin led him back to Kyli as the pulsing music came to an end.

She let her arms drop with the beat. She immediately pawed on Zack's chest, "what are you doing back?" She looked at Marin. Her heart raced, "you didn't hurt him did you?"

"I didn't kill him," Marin said plainly and honestly.

He adjusted his collar. His neck was numb.

"Zack was telling me about an interesting thing. He mentioned a dream he had in which there was an ocean of blood," Marin stared at him.

He was surprised. He looked at her, then back to Marin, "yes, of course. What else did I say about that again?" He didn't know what Marin's goal was, but he didn't like the idea of arguing with him either.

"You suggested that we all have our dreams painted by a psychic artist, as a treat for Kyli, a present of sorts. He said it would be nice to see your dreams and how beautiful they were after he mentioned it during our conversation about why vampires dream," Marin said with a smile, gesturing to him, then her.

"I did?" his expression was flush as he stared back..

"You did?" she asked.

"I did," he proclaimed proudly. He felt that he should play along with whatever Marin wanted to show them.

"Then let me guide you to an experience that will reveal the treasures of your mind." Marin gestured to him, "thanks to Zack of course for the idea."

He placed his arm around her. She was cold this time. Her normal warmth had been stripped away by something. "You're welcome," he smiled. He turned to her with a question that she didn't answer. Something just wasn't right.

Marin grinned, "just make sure you remember who to thank for introducing you to her."

The message had a double meaning for him, though he didn't fully understand it at the time. He pondered the idea for a minute, but her neck was too hungry for attention. He lost the focus of the conversation.

They all made their way through the crowd and to the front door. Her painted body drew ample eyes as they exited. Every male, and even some of the females in the room stared. They all watched her pass. Their path was barred by no one as the bouncers cleared the way for Marin and his companions to proceed. The red rope was held open for them as was the door going directly to the opening of the theater.

There was a large stretch limo parked next to the curb. Her station wagon might have looked like a land yacht, but this was a vessel worthy to be called a luxury vehicle in the sea of cars that treaded the night. The silver accents on the door handles shined against the red LED lights strung outside of the concert exit.

Her glowing neckline disappeared as the black lights shed from view. Marin placed his right hand on the handle. There was a distinctive sizzle as he held it open. A drop of blood fell to the sidewalk from his hand. Zack was oblivious to the event. He kept his mind on her as she climbed into the limo. The line on her neck reappeared with the rest of the glowing paint as she entered. She enthralled him. He didn't even notice who else was in the limousine as he sat next to her in the middle of the vehicle.

Marin slipped in and shut the door. He sat against the only entrance to the back cabin. He closed his right hand for a moment, then opened it. It had healed.

The limo driver let off the brake. "Where to?" his voice was soft, effeminate.

"Cherry's place," Marin said as he reclined in the leather seat.

"Who's Cherry?" Kyli didn't know the name. She considered herself well informed in Marin's matters, a requisite when dealing with a well-known and very respected vampire that knew the fact she was a vampeal. David made sure that she knew everyone Marin knew as a measure of added protection. She was constantly told to never trust those who were not vetted personally by him. She was very alarmed.

"Calm down. Everything will be okay as long as I'm next to you," his words were honey to her nerves. He put his right hand onto her left thigh. It was smooth and pleasant to touch. It had warmed up again. It was inviting. A chill rang through her skin as he caressed her. She clearly enjoyed it.

She was still apprehensive, "that's not what I meant, Zack." She took his hand off of her leg. She didn't want him to lead them into an inescapable situation. There was already too much of the situation that was alien to her. Marin should have never came back with him. Whatever was about to happen, this was new territory for her. She knew she was fast and skilled with many weapons, but Marin was a full, bound-in-blood vampire. If she stood against him she'd be dead before her heart could race the fear to her veins. She linked her arm with Zack's. It was cool to touch, intoxicating. "We can't do this," she whispered into his ear.

He leaned over to her and whispered back, "honestly, what could happen that hasn't already been threatened?" His words weren't his own again. There was an ironic poetry to them that disturbed and intrigued her. He was right but he shouldn't know he was that right.

She squeezed his bicep. It was rock hard. "Did something happen in there while I was gone?"

"More than you know," he sat back and rubbed her hand under his.

"What could have happened in the fifteen minutes you were gone?" she was confused as she put emphasis on her underlined point. He shouldn't know more than her. He was the mark. He wasn't supposed to know anything more than what she had told him.

"Now, now, my guests. We're here. Let's make our way to a wonderful experience," Marin waved his hand to the door as the limo came to a stop.

He saw nothing of interest outside. There were some old one story worn buildings and a single black door with a red handle in the middle of them. The moment came and he recognized what it was. It was Cherry's place, the residence of a vampire.

The driver pulled around to the side of the building. It looked like an apartment complex. This didn't appear to be the home of a vampiric psychic artist.

While he had a moment, he checked the red tie in the black light of the limo. It read: 'Goblets are NOT Instruments' in large lettering. He chuckled and thought about how much trouble he would have been in if Marin didn't have the restraint he did. He could be dead but he wasn't. He was never supposed to walk out of that dark hallway. He was never supposed to see her again. But he did. And he wondered what it was all about. There was a secret here that everyone was in on except him. He decided to follow along and go deeper into the mystery. Something inside him wanted to know.

Marin leaned over to him, "I told you."

She couldn't bring herself to think about what Marin said. She was too worried about where they were.

The driver got out and opened the door. He was poignant as he stood straight. But his long straight black hair covered most of his face. The hard shadows cast from the strong street lamps covered the rest.

She got out first, then he did. Marin followed. Most of the area wasn't paved. It was filled with small bits of gravel. Dry dirt wisped around as small dust devils leaped up from the ground. It was desolate.

"It's this one," Marin said from thirty feet away. He had spanned the distance without a sound. He stood next to the black door.

"Of course it's the black one," he said to himself and began to walk. He thought about what he was about to do, "it's always the darkest path."

She tugged his jacket sleeve as he stepped forward, "don't do this, Zack."

"But it'll be fun. Besides, your dad knows this guy. He's even your idol. What's wrong with having a picture painted?" He wanted dearly to relax from the stressful time he endured with Marin and Yugo a short while ago. He wasn't sure what was going to happen in there, but he was sure that Marin didn't want to kill him. So he pushed to know more.

She stood close to him, "I don't know this Cherry. We can't risk being near a vampire that might find out what we are." She was being unjustifiably cautious and she knew it. There was a limit to what she could say without letting him in on what was actually happening. She was in a corner and she knew it. She had to find some way to pull them both out.

"What could happen really?" He could feel her unease. He like how she was worried about him, about them both.

"Pretend you actually suggested this idea in the first place," she said boldly to him. It was her last effort to get them out of there alive.

He thought about the reality of the situation. There were no options here. It was follow the deadly menacing vampire musician, or die.

She furthered her point, "a vampiric psychic artist paints the inner dream world of the subject she interacts with. She enters the mind of the person through a deep meditation or with constant touch."

"So it's a type of gift. Can it be trumped by another psychic gift?" he asked as he thought about the lesser demon gift Yugo said that he had.

"The term psychic isn't necessarily a vampire gift. So no. It's most often an offshoot of the dormant empathic ability of the person magnified by the vampiric change. She could have another actual vampire gift that we would have to deal with if this turns bad," she streamed through the explanation.

"This is already bad. We're just trying to prevent it from getting worse," he leveled with her.

She grabbed him and pulled him close to her, "we can't go in there."

"Is there a problem?" Marin shouted politely from the distance.

"We can and will," he held her body tight. She was warm again. It felt nice as she pressed her flesh to his.

She eased back and turned in fear of the moment, "sorry, we're coming," she shouted back to Marin. She walked with Zack and spoke softly to him, "just remember what these people do. They read the dream worlds of others and paint them as seen. They are the mirrors that reflect the soul inside." She peered into his eyes and stared. "Aren't you afraid of what she might find?"

Something inside of him responded. A strong sensation urged him say it. It forced him to speak out and ask the question, "are you?"

She continued to stare at him as they walked, "are you feeling okay? You seem a little different." She liked it. She loved it in fact.

He caressed the back of her neck. The motion felt good to her. It was sensual, gentle, and welcome. It was cool, powerful. She reveled in it.

"Zack-" she tried to argue.

"It's the only way," he said to her as his demeanor returned.

She took a hold of his hand and stopped him, "the only way?" She thought about running away with him to a secluded room and spending a better time together than this through the rest of the night.

"To have a painting showing how beautiful your mind is," he was thoughtful in his intentions. "And to get through this alive."

She lowered his hand, "they paint everything Zack. You, me, the sky, the river, the forest, the flowing channel of blood, everything." She gripped his arm.

Marin appeared to Zack's right. "I was polite. I invited you in a second time. The third is not a request. It is an ultimatum," his voice was stern. He took a hold of each of their arms and walked them to the door. "Now knock."

He raised his hand next to the silver peephole in the black door. He wondered if his hand would sizzle like Marin's.

"Knock softly, but with intent," Marin was forceful in his words.

He knocked three times with no answer, then knocked again with no reply.

"Try the handle," Marin suggested.

The door handle was strangely warm in his hand. He attempted to open it. His effort was met with a locked cylinder and a firm deadbolt above. The door was solid. "What now? It's locked."

"She is home, only unconscious," Marin stepped in front of Zack and let go of both of them. He put the back of his hand against the door just above the handle and below the lock. He gently pushed. It opened. The wood in the frame cracked and broke under the pressure. The metal deadbolt easily and smoothly bent out of its bracket. He hadn't exerted any force. He smiled through the entire action. With a gentle voice, he spoke, "after you, Mr. Giver."

Chapter Sixty Seven

What Lies Within

Zack surveyed the deadbolt as he passed it. The metal was bent smoothly. It wasn't broken in the least. He glanced at Kyli, who hadn't taken a pause at Marin's superhuman gesture. It was unreal. If steel was butter in his hand, bone was simply an action to be taken without any resistance. The concept didn't sit well.

The inside of the home was dark, but the moon shined through the windows to provide ample light to distinguish the staple furniture throughout the house. The room was dirty. He could see several paintings that hung on the walls but it was too dark to see what they were of. However red was definitely a predominant theme.

"These must be the vampire portraits," he proposed.

She scoffed, "that's right, your eyes haven't fully adjusted have they? It'll only take time. You'll see them soon enough." "This will help." Marin flipped the light switch.

The room opened up to all the colors as the florescent hue flooded the dark. The faint red that he had thought was merely a toned theme in the paintings was far more. Scenes of bleeding corpses walking next to torrents of blood replaced the dim paintings on the walls. The carpet was beige by contrast. Everything in the room appeared to be from the seventies, in good condition, but well-worn and filthy.

"These are the dreams of the damned while they slumber," Marin smiled and turned to Zack. "Blood is the commonality that ties us, that links and bleeds the memories these artists paint to make these masterpieces."

"I know that voice," a shrill woman stood up from behind the couch in the center of the room. She was dressed in bright tattered robes that were all mismatched. Her face was thin and tall with sunken jowls. The woman was hard to keep eye contact with. Her pupils were a dark purple that covered the entire eye socket. It was hard to actually tell where her iris began. She was another full vampire. "Marin, what brings you here with such young company this night?"

He blinked. The woman appeared next to him. She took Kyli's hand in her palm and stared into her eyes.

"What are y-" he turned to her. He inhaled as a scent of musk filled his sinuses. It was overwhelming.

The woman shifted to him. She caressed his cheek. "A vampeal?" she asked with a squeak in her voice.

His skin crawled against her haggard tough. Any hope of the charade was up. But he wasn't scared. His reply was proof of that, "I'm Zack. You must be the psychic vampire, Cherry?" a confidence spoke from within him. It was a needed feeling of reassurance that welled up in him. It felt good.

The woman was far faster than Marin. He wondered why. Was it age that made her so different, or perhaps speed was her gift? He wanted to know, but he also wanted to live through the encounter.

"I'm not Cherry. This is one of her psychic dens. I have lived here with three others until last month," the woman studied his skin. She intensely examined it. "My name is Bethany Tulsan. I'm one of Cherry's staff psychics."

"What happened to the rest of the staff that was living with you?" he dared to ask.

Bethany stared at him, "they're all dead. For one reason or another, someone killed them off. I have no need to worry though. My death may be shrouded, but I won't die by poisoning like they did. I'll see it coming, whatever it is." She was very sure of herself. She was very peculiar in her actions. She was very exacting and creepy in all her quick and twitchy motions. "Which one, Marin? The heiress or the child?" she spoke with disdain as she mentioned Zack. She knew he had no right being there.

"The older one. She will be the baseline for tonight," Marin took a single folding chair that was leaned up against the wall and opened it. The metal cracked and flaked off in places as he set it down.

"Now miss, sit down and let us have a peek," Bethany requested of Kyli.

She followed the instructions promptly. She didn't speak. She only nodded her head and remained courteous in front of Marin. Bethany removed a large white crystal necklace from around her neck and began to swing it like a pendulum as she watched. He thought it was some type of hypnosis. A quick way to have her subjects enter the dream state.

With each undulation of the crystal, her eyes and posture slumped. She tired, but not from any suggestive words uttered from Bethany herself.

The tenth swing concluded and Bethany spoke, "sleep vampeal." Kyli lay limp. Her body supported only by the chair. He flinched towards her as he instinctively sought to protect her from some unknown harm. Marin held him back and grasped his arm. The grip was iron as it always was.

"Tell me the land from which you birth, the river from which you derive your half vampire blood. Open your dream to me," Bethany walked closer to her.

There was silence. Bethany placed her hand on Kyli's shoulder.

She spoke softly and without provocation under her breath. Her words were a shadow of their normal volume, "I will."

A sudden flash of images dashed through his mind. The flowing river within the dark bloody forest. The dim creatures on the ground. Everything came back to him in a flash of light and darkness.

With a sudden energy Bethany stood up straight, "come with me, and wake her up. She'll want to see this."

He looked at Marin for an answer, "what was that? Wasn't she supposed to hold her hand or channel her thoughts somehow?"

Marin followed Bethany into the back room.

He turned to Kyli. She was still asleep.

"Now wake her up," Bethany instructed from the far room on the other side of the couch.

He roused her with a light shake and helped her up and to the far room. The room was full of painting supplies. Brushes, canvases, oil paints in small tubes, everything was in disarray. By the time they walked in, Bethany had already started. Her painting was surreal. It reminded him of a Van Gogh with its vibrant use of colors and blends.

"Watch carefully," Marin whispered to him.

Eight minutes passed as the painting came to its completion. There was the lush forest he had traveled to. The ample scenery he remembered was all there. Every element was represented. Including the flowing river of blood and the tiny creatures crawling in the leaves that slowly ate the forest itself.

"This is the sign of a true vampeal. One that has not yet lost themselves in the biologic craving attributed to us all. Yet they are still consumed by it in their dreams," Marin pointed to the painted river. "This decadent forest is proof of the bountiful humanity in her soul. It will change, but it will never vanish as long as she lives," his words were suggestive and cryptic. He stared at Zack. It was a message.

"What do you mean? You're beginning to sound as if being a vampeal is akin to being enlightened," his tongue was far too sharp for the company they kept.

"Or damned," Bethany said as she put the final brush strokes on the painting.

Marin scuffed and sat down in a nearby wooden chair, "I'll be next." He clearly wanted to prove something to him. He wanted to show him some hidden truth, a message Yugo had failed to fully represent in their last encounter.

Bethany set a new canvas on the easel and turned to Marin, "then sleep vampire." The motion was quicker with him. She didn't need to even get near him like she did with Kyli.

He had a feeling he had done this before with Bethany. Marin lay with his head rolled slightly to his shoulder.

Bethany spoke, "show me the lake of your life, the blood of your tales."

There was no flash this time. His mind was blank.

There was no answer from Marin as there was with Kyli. Bethany fell limp as she stood in place. Then she suddenly jerked upright and began to paint.

He stepped towards Marin and attempted to ascertain his condition. Her hand held tight on his arm and urged him to stay put and silent during the fragile moment. She didn't want him to tempt fate.

"I am fine, Zack," Marin's head righted itself with his words. He stood and watched the painting come to life as he did with Kyli's.

The paint was dull. The artist mostly used grays instead of the vivid palate of greens, reds, and blacks in the last painting. Another eight minutes passed and the nearly void, lifeless painting was complete. There was no forest, no river of blood. There was no color to speak of. It was muted, absent. The image was of a room with a single blank window. It was constructed of old, aged wood. The splintered floors and walls filled the edges of the canvas. Only a sturdy oak chair was in the middle of the room. Propped next to it was a small empty crystal drinking goblet, the same type used in the concert. There was no blood and no lake to mention or comment on. This didn't seem like the mind of any vampire or vampeal.

He wondered why Marin wanted to show this to him. Possibly that unique individuals existed even among vampires? Whatever it was it was a strange way to display it. He pondered as his heart picked up pace. He knew what was to come. The succession was leading to his likeness, his painting. He was next.

Chapter Sixty Eight

The Ocean Rendered

"And now the child," Bethany said as she placed Marin's painting on the floor and replaced it with the final blank medium.

"I'm not a child," Zack defended himself.

"Sorry, baby then," Bethany quickly batted.

Zack bit his lip. A small trickle of blood welled up on his lip. He knew better than to make the situation any worse.

Marin smiled.

Kyli was impressed instantly by his restraint. She squeezed his hand to let him know she was there for him. It was as strong as it was cool to her touch.

He enjoyed the sharp, clear responses his actions evoked. He smiled.

A cold shriveled hand appeared and clasped his throat. Bethany held him tight. It was firm, but it wasn't the complete grip that he was used to from Marin. "Don't snicker at me boy. You are minuscule compared to him or I. Don't strut to strut where doing so is utter self-destruction," she released him and gestured to the wooden chair.

He was nervous. There was a fear of just what this psychic artist would reveal about him. Part of him didn't want to sit at all and wanted to run away. He knew there was no forest in his dream world. There would be no painting of any river or lake. He remembered the vision he had in the amphitheater. There would be a vast ocean. A schism of blood unparalleled to any vampire she had ever touched with a brush. If he let it happen it would be difficult and risky. He couldn't run, not with Marin there. The other part of him wanted to take the seat confidently. It reassured him. It boasted that everything would be fine as long as he sat in the chair.

Bethany swung the pendulum. He felt his eyes draw heavy, then shut entirely.

"Sleep vampeal. Tell me the land from which you birth, the river from which you derive your half vampire blood. Open your dream to me, child."

He lost consciousness. He slumped into the chair. Suddenly, under his breath, he spoke, "do your worst," the words were not his own, they were inhuman, grumbled, demonic.

Kyli noticed a distinct smile as he finished the taunt. She was worried.

Bethany slowly touched his hand. She jolted and violently threw herself backwards into a pile of old canvases behind her. Without warning she thrashed about on the ground.

Kyli turned to him. He hadn't woken up yet. She knew how this was supposed to work. He should wake up the moment after the psychic was done witnessing his dream. She saw the smile persist on his lips. The brief window into his world was held open. Bethany experienced more than what was necessary. She was being held in his realm against her will.

"Stop it! Zack! You're hurting her!" she shouted and grabbed him by the shoulders.

He continued to smile. He was out, completely unaware of the situation. But something was still there. The smile was wrong. It felt cruel, unlike him. She focused on his lips, perched taught, thin, and actively smiling while this woman lay convulsing on the floor.

"No, he's not," he abruptly went limp and his head fell to the other side.

Bethany stopped twitching.

"Zack what did you do? Snap out of it!" she tapped the side of his face with the palm of her hand and tried to wake him. His eyes opened. The smile vanished.

Bethany shot up to her feet with incredible speed. She was ephemeral and feverishly painted with many tones of red and black with hints of smeared white.

Marin watched silently as he ushered them to patiently do the same. Zack's eyes slowly re-tuned themselves to see what Bethany had painted. There was no majestic river, no crimson lake. There was color, endless hues of red and black. This was no dream in the sense of the word, no image of humanity. It was different. This was visceral, raw, evil. A young man's silhouette stood before an endless horizon of blood. The shore receded to the literal smile embedded in the sea. It utterly dwarfed the child before it. The painting fiendishly grinned at the viewer. The ocean of blood knew it was being scrutinized. There was a personality that was aware of the intrusion. The content of the painting was a message.

"Study it carefully, Zack. This is the demon imprisoned in your mind, in your body," Marin stepped next to him forced him to stare at the face in the rendered canvas. At the face in the blood ocean. He held the back of his skull and kept the pressure.

She rushed to him. She tried to pry Marin off.

Bethany flashed before Kyli and prevented her, "no! You can't do anything! He's an abomination! He must be killed! Hung during the next solar eclipse and burned in its wake! He must not be allowed to live!"

Bethany went to strike at him only to be met by Marin's left arm. It was an action quickly followed by his other hand as it let go of Zack and buried itself into her throat. His hand pushed deep into her flesh. Blood oozed down her dress. Her hands were the only thing that prevented him from an actual decapitation. But she would soon lose the battle.

"What the hell are you doing Marin!?" Kyli screamed. "My father will have you extricated for this! Let her go! She has nothing to do with this. Please, don't kill her!" she pleaded with him for Bethany's life. Her eyes welled up with tears as the moment escalated.

Marin's blank expression held. It was unrelenting. He continued to choke her.

Bethany attempted to speak but her words were garbled by the blood filled her lungs. All she could do was stare desperately at Marin and Kyli for some chance of repentance. Zack saw the fleeting hope disappear from her body as her steady resistance depleted. Blood splattered on the floor and collected between their feet.

"Your fate was decided before tonight. Of the dead to be counted tomorrow morning, his name will not be mentioned." Marin pushed. There was no exception in his stance, just a noticeable change in the depth in his fingers. Most of his hand slid past the skin. "He will not be burned, cut, or bled this night. His fate is under contract," he pushed again.

Bethany's eyes uncontrollably shut. It was almost over.

"You were meant to merely confirm a suspicion of mine and die," Marin stopped. It seemed as if he had changed his mind. His grip relaxed.

It was enough for Bethany to take a single breath and say one muffled word, "demon-" then she was silent.

Marin was fast, far faster than Zack had given him credit. He was much stronger as well with a touch of smooth grace rolled into an insurmountable wall of power. Bethany had not been muted by a repulse, not out of fear, or from any sense of mutual understanding to preserve Zack. Marin had, with one definite action, cleaved her head from her shoulders with his bare hand. The force was enough to sink the departed flesh into the adjacent room. It passed through the connecting wall. He didn't so much as show a hint of effort. It was simply done. He had just committed a brutal murder and was as composed as ever.

Kyli fell down and crying.

He couldn't take his eyes off of Marin. The same hand that held his neck less than an hour ago had torn a full vampire's head clean off. There was a new sense of fear that brewed in his heart. The speed which he was capable of was unreal. The fact that he moved slow enough to even be seen was a curiosity to the world and those around him. He was a monster, in mind, in body. There was no doubt. It was an overpowered being.

The fear gripped him. He stood and breathed uneasily. If these were the actions of a full vampire that chose to kill, he knew the rest of his life would be shortened by the knowledge of this very creature in front of him. There are always things stronger out there in the shadows.

"Do not worry Zack," Marin said calmly, his right hand covered in fresh blood that dripped to the floor. "I will not kill you tonight."

Bethany's decapitated body laid and oozed blood on the tan shag carpet.

He didn't want to die. Any feeling of power he had recently obtained was moot before the spectacle that had transpired. As his aspirations of a happy high school life with Kyli fell away, he heard someone call him.

The voice was low and growling. It was familiar, yet not welcome, "the terror of mind this scene distills in you is trivial to the incontestable dominance I offer. If Marin is a monster before your eyes, causing you to shiver under his shoe. Then I will grant you the position of a god exalted in the heavens. As you are now, he is unstoppable, an impassable force that will soon end your life. To me, he is a drop of water in the rain, easy enough to see, but unremarkable in the least with no sway over the cloud that cast him out from above. I am the storm. The tempest in the nightmares of all who oppose us, that oppose you," the dark voice echoed in his head. The headache pounded.

His mind was about to give in. The lure it presented was too enticing not to consider.

The voice beckoned, "I ask only the blood of your enemies, and I will set aloft a bridge to your dreams pieced from their tattered corpses. Zack, I offer a stairway to heaven if you will only give me what I wish."

# Epilogue

"There are few things that I remember in my life such as that moment. The blood dripping off his hand was unreal to me then. All I could think was to act, not to run, to do something. It was then that I first truly felt the temptation to what I was offered. To a life that would become a curse," the creature recalled as he stood on a grated steel bridge in a nearly empty train yard.

The sun in the distance horizon shifted. The evening crowned as the bright hues fled the day and game way to the darkness that lay underneath the world. He stared at the sun as it died away. He could feel the change come. He could feel it press under his skin and overtake his flesh.

As the last colors of day escaped the world, it began again. The black blood pieced his skin. It flooded his body as the plates dove out from under the dark liquid. They interlinked and quickly covered his entire body. The darkness slid over his eyes and coated his face. The last of the plates shifted into place and finally he opened his pure white eyes.

The night was as it always was, brilliant and intense. He could see everything for miles. Each detail was a simple piece of knowledge to him. He absorbed everything at once. He could even see through to the minds of the people miles away. He was able to see from their eyes, their perspectives. He witnessed the world from their minds as we as his. The night offered little mystery to him.

In the distance a train rumbled on the track that led below the bridge. As it came closer it shook the track and rattled the steel where he stood.

He knew what would happen. He knew it meant nothing in the end. But he had to do it. He had to see her.

The train roared closer as he smiled. He plunged his hand deep into his left abdomen. Blood poured out onto the metal grates. He reached up and tore at his right jaw and removed another chunk of flesh. He slid the mask over his face as he began to smirk.

As the train rushed toward the creature he leaned over the rail. He landed with a light impact on the rusted steel. He knew it his attempt meant nothing. He knew that he would wake up later that night in another morgue somewhere. He knew it would all happened again and again. He knew full well there was no end to it all. But that didn't matter.

He smirked as he saw the train's light flash over him, "all I wish is to see her beautiful face again. To feel her warm skin against mine. To feel the way she used to hold me in her embrace. I would give anything to know that again. I would die a thousand deaths to experience her once more."

He watched the eyes of the conductor as he pulled the horn and slammed on the brake far too late.

"I may hate when I wake up, but I cherish every moment that I spend when I dream of her."

Read the next book in The Redgold Series:

 Bloodlines

Afterword

Remember that dreams create reality. Think and make the world grow better.

\- Virgil Allen Moore

A decade ago I read a book that irritated me. It had all the elements that I thought it would have and it was completely predictable. From that day on, I wanted to write a story with a plot line that no one would expect. I wanted to create characters that would be remembered in the minds of all those who might read of them.

The Redgold Series is the culmination of that initial irritation. Characters that own the badassedness they are rumored to have. Stories that question all of our own moral limits. These are the ideals that I have aimed for in my writing. If you enjoy vampires, true vampires that are powerful, graceful, and nearly immortal – you will love my Demon Vampire.

