Aleron: Book One of Strigoi Series (Stringoi Series) (12 page)

I knelt and picked up the wounded man by his shoulders, as one would inspect a shirt. He let out a gurgle-filled gasp. Blood bubbles escaped his mouth and nose, filling the last few breaths he possessed. His eyes, once rolling in the back of their sockets, now struggled to focus on me. I propped him against the tree and raised the hand he held over the wound in his stomach. It was drizzled with blood. He began to slump over as I licked the dripping red nectar from the fingertips to the wrist of his hand. How sweet and easy this meal was. I straightened him and examined his face. His thoughts revealed his name to be Canaan.

He looked over my shoulder, and suddenly I heard the rustle of leaves. In my lust I had failed to notice the sounds of footsteps. The steps grew louder and more frequent, and I realized that a man was running in our direction. I peered into Canaan’s eyes and could see the reflection of the man wielding a large knife closing in on us. In an instant I turned around and caught the man by his throat. Desperately trying to free himself, he plunged his knife into my torso, which was completely exposed since I had not worn a shirt beneath my black jacket. He pulled the blade out and attempted to stab me again, but I tightened my grip around his neck, causing him to drop his weapon and frantically try to free himself.

“Let me go!” he wheezed, and so I did. He fell to the ground and scrambled to get to his feet. However, he was too terrified to gather himself. Still on the ground, he shuffled backward on his buttocks. Keeping my eyes on him, I lifted Canaan up from the base of the tree and dangled him before the man. I flashed my elongated canines, which gleamed in the moonlight. I bit into Canaan’s artery, crushing his clavicle as the blood began to flow into my mouth. The man on the ground stared, frozen in terror. The meal was short, for Canaan had already lost too much blood and, within a few deep gulps, he was dead.

While I fed, the other man found the strength and focus to reach for his knife. During his effort, he noticed the wound on my torso had completely healed and only a smear of blood remained. In a clumsy frenzy he found his footing and ran off into the night, screaming.

I raised my head and nose toward the sky and deeply breathed in the fresh night air until my lungs were cool. My hunger wasn’t yet satisfied. Then I affixed my eyes on the fleeing man. Up into the trees I went.

Fascinated by the speed of this human, I decided to follow him. Keeping my distance, I glided across the treetops, never letting him escape my sight. He ran toward the city gates. If he had made it, he would’ve surely caused a stir, and of course I couldn’t let that happen. I drew closer. His adrenaline propelled him more frantically the closer to the gigantic wooden gates he got. Gasping for air, he threw himself into the entrance and attempted to cry out for help. But before he was able to gather air into his lungs to give voice, I had him.

In a flash he was gone to anyone who may have been watching. The only evidence of my presence was the wisps of smoke floating up from the torches that my swift movement had extinguished. Only moonlit shadows remained. Darkness fell over the front gates of Alexandria’s marketplace.

To Pharos Island we went. During our flight, I held him by both wrists within the grip of one of my powerful hands. Had I squeezed a hair more, his bones would have been reduced to fragments and dust. He strove to free himself every moment of the way, kicking his legs and screaming frantically, hoping to somehow shake his body free, wishing I would take pity on his pitiful soul. I approached the district of Gumrock, near the eastern shores of the Mediterranean. As a mortal, Old Alexandria was one of my favorite places, and Gumrock was desolate that time of night. There would be no disturbances.

The ancient tombs of Anfushi were our destination, south of the palace of Ras el-Tin in central Gumrock. We approached the stone stairway that led to a square courtyard below. A stream ran down the center of the courtyard. Miniature trees lined a stone walkway, which gave way to tombs.

My captive had passed out, most likely from the speed of our travels. I had forgotten the fragility of man. I dropped him seven feet onto the cold stone floor between the tombs, and his body landed with a hard thump. The fall didn’t wake him.

It was no coincidence that I chose this destination. The ancient society of Caracalla was notorious for locating and capturing the most elusive of criminals, blasphemers, rapists, and murderers of twelfth-century northern Egypt. The Caracalla didn’t believe in the laws governed by man, only the laws set forth by God and those implied in the Bible. This belief led them on a vigilant quest that often ended in a grotesque obscene ritual perpetrated to release the “evil spirit” that had consumed the minds and hearts of many.

A dark, reddish hue covered the marble and alabaster walls and Greek- and Egyptian-influenced statues. The color was believed to be the result of blood splattered during numerous beastly slayings. The Caracalla wanted people to fear the laws set forth by God, which I found
a fascinating paradox. It seemed the Caracalla didn’t truly understand who the ruler of this world was; however, they served him well.

The blood recollection from Canaan revealed a truly disgusting past for my dear Ammon. I saw visions of Ammon beating and raping Canaan’s daughter, Cena, a young girl no more than fifteen years of age. Ammon entered Canaan’s home as night fell and let himself into the young girl’s quarters. The floors of the home were made of marble. Two oil paintings by Peter Paul Rubens hung across from each other in the hallway: “Fall of the Rebel Angels” and “Le coup de lance 1618.” Canaan was obviously of influence.

Ammon crudely managed to knock “Fall of the Rebel Angels” off the wall as he forced himself onto the girl. Hearing her screaming, Canaan burst through the door, only to see his daughter on her back and the behemoth on top of her, his filthy trousers pulled down to midthigh. The silk red bow Cena usually wore at the waist of her dress lay untied and torn on the floor. Her dress was pushed upward and undergarments ripped, exposing her young flesh for Ammon and the cold hard marble floor.

Enraged, Canaan grabbed Ammon’s muddied black shoes and pulled him off his daughter. Cena feverishly sat up and pushed herself back into the corner of the room where she continued to scream and cry out, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her lips were bloodied and misshapen from the assault.

Canaan lost his grip on Ammon’s legs and fell backward onto his rear. Ammon quickly pulled his pants up and leapt to his feet, one hand still holding his trousers. With his other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. Canaan swiftly recovered from his tumble and lunged at Ammon, landing several punches. Though outmatched by Canaan’s size and speed, Ammon managed to plunge the knife into his stomach several times before receiving Canaan’s massively incapacitating blows to his head and throat. Ammon narrowly broke free of the barrage. The ringing in his inner ear disoriented him, but he instinctively fled toward the outer reaches of the city, followed by the heavy, hasty footsteps and ranting of the wounded father.

Ammon pushed his way past several men, women, and children, knocking them around like rag dolls. It made no difference to him whom he injured. The escape was all that mattered.

The knife wounds took their toll, and the blood loss weakened Canaan to a point where he could no longer pursue Ammon. He fell to his knees beneath the tree where I had found him. Then I saw a familiar face in his memories. It seems another predator, albeit of an immortal nature, was also lurking about.

Ammon obviously wanted to take full advantage of his new opportunity to exact death from another. His mistake was the assumption that I was human. Realizing his knife had no effect on me, he made another miscalculation: He hoped I was forgiving. His hope would be eradicated momentarily. I wanted him to be awake to witness the conclusion of his fate.

I left the most recent blood splatter on the walls and ceiling of Anfushi. The Caracalla would’ve been excited and satisfied by my offering of justice. They would also have come to realize their methods for punishment and disposal paled in comparison to what I had in store for my dear Ammon!

CHAPTER 10

tanding in the opening of the catacombs, I sensed movement coming from between the tombs. Ammon was awakening and whimpering, no doubt at finding himself in the unfamiliar surroundings. I imagined him turning in horror to recognize the tombs, with their menacing dark shadows and stench of decay. His hands searched for steadiness, only to find thousands of tiny bone shards, roaches, scorpions, and other creatures that would make any human’s skin crawl. I listened as his breathing became the panting of despair. And then his eyes found me, standing under the arched stone doorway, silhouetted against the moonlight. Although I wasn’t looking directly at him, I could hear his thoughts.

“Please don’t kill me,” Ammon stammered, the words barely audible through his blubbering. I slowly turned to see him, to see the helplessness, to see what he saw in the eyes of the fifteen-year-old whose innocence he had stolen.

“Thieves, are we not?” I said. Not to him, but aloud to myself. He began to crawl slowly toward me.
How brave
, I thought. This one was indeed impressive. He clearly witnessed my delight in completing the job he didn’t finish, and he no doubt realized his fate would be similar, yet he continued in my direction.

“I’ll repent my sins!” He continued to plead his case, and though I was amused, it was futile. Ammon must’ve thought me to be the hand of God, to have a forgiving spirit for one as vile and cruel as he.

“Tell me, Ammon,” I replied with a tinge of agitation, “why should I spare your life? Was it not you who stalked Cena? Was it some other man who made his way into her quarters and forced himself on her?” I stared directly into his eyes. “Was it a random vagabond who stabbed her father after he witnessed the atrocity you brought into their lives?” I looked away and began to walk toward him. “Did Canaan not engage you and force you into the trees where you returned to not only finish what you started but to include me as a bonus?” I stopped and stood directly in front of him.

Towering over Ammon, I pierced his soul with my eyes. The fear in him began to boil as the feeling of total anguish crept into the deepest corners of his eyelids. His pupils fully dilated, searching for any resident ambient light. I could feel the tension building in his soul. Again he crawled toward me, though he was ultimately sabotaged by his injured wrist, which I had carelessly crushed during our journey from Alexandria’s front gates. His clothing was full of dirt from dragging himself in my direction. He didn’t seem to notice the roaches and scorpions crawling on him. I believe Ammon realized he was in the presence of something far more terrifying than the bugs that now riddled his shirtsleeves and trousers.

He began to plead again. “Oh, God, please have mercy.” Was he speaking to me, or was he speaking to God? I didn’t know. In the sense that only God can decide the fate of humans, then to Ammon, I was a god by implication, for his fate was my choice, and my decision had already been made.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I could feel his heart beating. I could smell the blood coursing throughout his veins and arteries, that succulent
dark-red delicacy that served as a witness to all of his misdeeds. The very thought of showing him mercy infuriated me!

He rose to his knees and began repenting in a combination of Slavic and English dialects. He then planted one foot for a lunge toward me, which of course I knew about as soon as he planned it. Quickly he leapt forward while punching wildly at my head. I simply moved slightly to the side, causing him to miss me and lose his balance. And with his momentum, his footing caused him to stumble, and he fell backward against the stone wall. He struggled to see me in the darkness. Again he dashed toward me, this time gritting his teeth in an effort to draw upon some forgotten strength.

Expeditiously, I ripped open the top of one of the coffins, sending it across the air until it crashed into the wall and then fell into a heap of stones. I raised my knee and with much force pushed the topless stone coffin into his path, knocking his legs out from under him. He landed awkwardly in the sarcophagus and began waving his hands frantically, trying to hoist himself out. The remains of the dead that he now desecrated belched a cloud of dust that invaded his lungs, compelling him to cough uncontrollably. He choked as he cried out, “Let me go! You’re no better than me! I saw what you did to Canaan, and you’re no better than me!”