Aleron: Book One of Strigoi Series (Stringoi Series) (13 page)

Like an animal I sprang and landed on the coffin edges. I looked down on Ammon, and then I lifted him up by both of his arms. Holding one wrist in one hand and the remains of the other in my other hand, I stretched them apart, pulling him nearer to me. I wanted him to see me up close. I pulled him a few feet to a spot under the skylight, which granted entrance to the magnificent moon.

“I am no rapist!” I snarled, face-to-face with Ammon.

He screamed ever more loudly, “My arms! My arms!” I wanted him to see my perversely perfect features. I wanted him to look upon my predator eyes. I wanted him to be utterly terrified in my presence! I wanted to be his harbinger. I wanted to be his god. I wanted to be his devil! He looked at me as if I had come out of the sea with ten horns and seven heads. Indeed he looked upon me as Satan. I wanted him to see in me what Cena had seen in him as he raped her. I wanted his heart to
burst with fright. I wanted him to feel how Cena must have felt when he covered her angelic mouth with his filthy, clammy paws. I wanted him to taste the stench of hopelessness while looking into certain doom. I wanted him to see … Aleron!

He squinted to study me more closely and thought the word
unnatural
. I grinned enough to display my most beastly attribute, my fangs. At first glance, vampire canines seem just a bit larger than those of an ordinary human’s. However, when inspected closely, as closely as I held Ammon, one soon realizes the animalistic proportion of the canines to the rest of the teeth. One would deduce that they are long for a purpose. It is the most frightening realization preceding death for those who become the victim of a vampire.

Suddenly, he was silent. His body became rigid in my grasp. His eyes opened wide, lips fell slightly ajar; I could feel his pulse racing. He was completely within my trance. My hypnotic stare terrified him to the point of near paralysis, yet he was too captivated to look away. He wore an expression of utter terror.

The wait had come to an end. I sank my teeth into his neck the way I imagined a Siberian tiger would bite into the neck of the antelope, crushing the throat completely to suffocate its meal. Crushing, yes. Suffocating, perhaps. I didn’t care. I only cared about the blood that flowed rapidly into my mouth. How delightful it was. His expressions conveyed his pain, for his throat was no longer capable of producing sound, only a choking hack.

Is it murder when you kill a murderer?
I asked myself. Nonetheless, I continued my torment. I tore his right arm from the socket, and with minimal effort, I removed it from his torso completely. I continued holding him in the air with one arm and bit into the severed arm’s artery. The blood was so warm. I could think of nothing else for the moment. I sucked. He struggled. I sucked.

Once I had drained the arm, leaving nothing but withered muscle and bone, I discarded it inside the open sarcophagus, which I stood atop of. I turned my attention back to my dear Ammon, who danced between the world of the conscious and unconscious. “Scream for me,” I whispered. “Scream for Cena!”

I licked the blood that had dripped onto his shirt and the rivulets under the fabric. Once there was nothing more to savor, I drank from the wound where I had ripped the arm off. His eyes rolled up. I mustn’t let him die too soon.

I turned Ammon upside down. I wanted him to see the corpse that lay beneath us, the mouth of the skull freckled with drops of Ammon’s blood. How fitting. I lifted him slightly and sank my fangs into the lower part of one of his thighs. My teeth ripped through his fleshy thigh, and I pulled at the bone until I tore off the leg. Ammon opened his mouth wide, and I imagined that, if he could, he might ask our dead host, “Is being dead as painful as death?”

In the time of my adolescence, healers would use the mandragora plant for amputations. The mandragora would cause the wounded to drift into a comatose state, thus feeling little pain, if any at all. Not for Ammon. How excruciating it must have been to have an arm and leg ripped off, leaving only a blood-dripping torso on one side and paralysis on the other. I drained this detached limb in the same manner as the previous one. He began to lose consciousness.

“Oh no, Ammon! You must remain coherent for the finale!” I said to him and turned him back so that he was facing me. His eyes rolled back into place; the look of terror was replaced by despair and hopelessness. “The dead have no answers for you, Ammon. However, I do.”

Even though Ammon had one arm in the sarcophagus and a leg stuck in another dark corner, his heart was still beating, so I wasn’t done. Though I knew he wanted desperately to die, I plunged my hand into his torso, tearing through the skin and cracking open his ribcage in my quest to secure his feverishly beating heart. The beat slowed, and I drank from his neck before his heart stopped beating entirely. I completely drained the blood from his body. Good and bad, I had to consume it all. His body began to wither. I withdrew from suckling and opened my mouth as wide as I could. Then I completely severed Ammon’s head with a flesh-tearing bite! It hit the edge of the coffin with a thud, finally settling on the ground. Right away, hundreds of insects swarmed over it.

Though Ammon’s body was now limp, the heart still pulsed. I saved
this delicacy for last. I licked the blood streaming down my arm before I bit into the heart. I couldn’t let any of Ammon’s blood escape my hunger. There could be nothing left of his treachery—nothing! I reveled in the living dessert.

Ammon’s eyes were frozen open, staring up at me as something like a millipede bore into his ear. Ammon was gone, but I wasn’t quite done. I unceremoniously tossed the rest of his body into the coffin. Then, with one final blow, I lifted my foot and crushed the partially flesh-stripped, severed head. Ammon’s right eye popped out and rolled along the ground. I picked it up and looked at it. I brought it close to my face. Even in death, Ammon could see me. I tossed it over my shoulder and turned toward the entrance. Upon my exit, I could hear the scorpions’ thanks for the last bit of the feast I provided. It was truly music to my ears.

CHAPTER 11

left Anfushi invigorated by my latest encounter. I felt alive. For the first time in months, I felt purpose! I was, once again, Aleron—the Aleron my queen gave birth to, immortal Aleron, powerful Aleron. Though the thoughts of Mynea never left my mind, my desire to hunt was revitalized. This night my longing for her company was finally eradicated by my inherent bloodlust. Even though vampires are not restricted by time in the way mortals are, time still heals wounds of the heart.

Almost intoxicated, I traveled more slowly to safety before the impeding sunrise. About a hundred miles from the castle, I strode the backstreets of Old Alexandria. In those wee hours, they were empty. Suddenly, an unease came over me, deflating my high. I sensed an unnatural presence. I looked around. Though I could see no one, I could hear the faint steadiness of a heartbeat. It was bizarre, long, and slow—too slow for a mortal. Steady. I became on high alert.

“Show yourself! I know you’re there!” I yelled in the deserted alley that smelled of rotten garbage and urine.

Watching me
, I thought.
Watching me without fear!
The heartbeat didn’t quicken. It was the slow drum of a cautious yet curious being. The rhythm was calming to me. I continued to look around, and with my vampire speed I covered the entire area, every crevice where someone or something could hide. Then I took to the rooftops.

“I know you’re here,” I repeated in a voice softer and more inviting than before. “Reveal yourself to me, and I will spare you death.”

To my surprise, I heard a quiet giggle. And then all at once the heartbeat was gone. The only thing left was an unfamiliar scent. I took it into my lungs and into my memory, never to forget it. Even unto this night, I never have.

I began moving faster than I normally would. I wasn’t nervous, only cautious. The presence was unknown and obviously gifted, for my search ended unfruitfully. Naturally I was curious and guarded. Moreover, the approaching sunrise caused me to propel myself harder; thus I covered the hundred miles in mere minutes.

Once in the castle, I climbed to the third level and strode into the long corridor that led to Eliza’s quarters. I knew she was asleep, but I simply wanted to see her. I quietly opened her door, glancing upon her much like a loving father would his sleeping daughter. She was safe, unharmed. I closed it softly and proceeded down the stairs to the lower level. Being surrounded by the familiar sounds and smells of the castle settled my uneasiness temporarily.

I entered my dungeon and lay on the cold stone floor. My hands found and gripped the only window my queen had left to peer through, a window that possessed foggy panes that didn’t allow me to see what lay beyond. I tried to read the journal, but again, it was indecipherable. I stared up at the ceiling and thought about the latter part of the evening.

How long had it watched me? The laugh suggested it wasn’t afraid and knew I was something more than ordinary at the very least. Soon I began to feel the effects of dawn as my eyes began to close. I couldn’t deny the lingering thought in my mind. Had Mynea returned to me? Darkness fell over me.

CHAPTER 12

concentrated on my prowess and on sharpening my skills and became more deft with each kill. My speed increased to near teleportation. I took flight with less effort and more effectiveness. I punished my body as I explored my limits in an effort to distract me from the pain of missing Mynea.

Dutifully I provided the necessary sustenance to sustain Eliza’s frozen countenance whenever it began to thaw. However, after several moons and feverish hunting and sharing, a strange feeling began to creep into my soul.

Desire called upon me. Not the desire one would assume, but a longing to be free of this castle. I felt captive by a force stronger than anything I’d ever encountered. I felt as though a weight had been placed on my chest, relentlessly pressing on my heart, suffocating me. I needed to be free from pain, free from love, free from sadness, free from Mynea—free from this place.