Demon Vampire (The Redgold Series) (33 page)

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. Much stronger as well with a touch of smooth grace and 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 Bethany's head from her shoulders with his bare hand. The force was enough to sink the departed flesh into the adjacent room, passing through the connecting wall. Marin did not so much as show a hint of effort. He had just committed a brutal murder and was as composed as ever.

Kyli fell down, distressed and crying.

Zack couldn't take his eyes off of Marin. The same hand that held his own neck less than an hour ago had torn a full vampire's head clean off. There was a new sense of fear brewing in Zack's heart. The speed in which Marin 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. Marin was a monster, in mind, in body, there was no doubt to Zack. It was an overpowering sensation, it gripped him. Zack stood, breathing uneasily. If these were the actions of a full vampire that chose to kill, Zack knew the rest of his life would be shortened by the knowledge of this very creature in front of him.

“Do not worry Zack.” Marin said calmly. His right hand covered in fresh blood, dripping to the floor. “I will not kill you tonight.”

Bethany's decapitated body lay, oozing blood on the tan shag carpet.

Zack 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 were falling away, Zack heard someone call him.

The voice was low and growling. It was familiar, yet now 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.”

Zack's mind was giving in. The lure it presented was too enticing not to consider.

The voice continued. “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.”

The Chance Meeting and The Initial Test

It was early 1970, Del had crossed into Russia. The years he spent abroad in other countries had given him nothing in the way of learning new foreign languages. He was smart for what he knew, but stubborn. Regardless, something as little as words wouldn't stop him. Del was determined to start a new life. He was still pleasantly groomed from his night with Maria. Looking at him, Del seemed human again, even his eyes weren't as bad to peer into on a dark night as they were before. It was Del's goal to remain clean and orderly until he reached Moscow. A capital that he could slip into and remain hidden.

The cold weather didn't bother Del. He seemed to move without much need of anything besides blood. He frequented bars, waiting for someone, female or male to hit on him. He would take them to their homes to end their lives. He didn't care if the people were good or bad, it didn't matter to him. They were simply asking the wrong person out when they approached him. Every other night he would tear a new stranger's throat out in an attempt to cover the facts of their actual death. As a way to hide the blood loss, he always left them in the shower with the water running. Soon Moscow had a new serial killer in town. Del didn't mind, he was merely hungry.

Sightseeing was not one of Del's hobbies. He did notice the architecture was differing. Though, Del paid no greater attention to it as he slowly made his way into the heart of the city. Most of the buildings were entrenched in snow and all looked the same to him.

Three weeks had passed. Del was enjoying himself with up to four able bodies a night. He found himself in a high end night club at the capital. Considering the average body weight for woman in the city, he preferred gentleman callers for their increased supply of blood. Each night, he hung out by the bar, making himself available to any on-comers.

On a typical evening, Del was waiting for a large meal at a busy club. Del's tattered suit served him well as an attention getter. The club itself was slightly dilapidated. Its bar counters dull and chipped in places. The brown walls clearly hiding any lack of neglect. The dim lighting allowing everyone in the room to get face to face to see each other. Del remained at his perch, at the bar, standing by himself. The smell of cigarettes and alcohol smothered the air, something Del still wasn't used to. An hour had passed. No one approached Del or so much as checked him out. It was unusual for him. Most of the last few weeks there was always a European free-spirited young girl that was attracted to him from the moment he entered the room. It was the easy part for Del, a new skill he was easily mastering to keep a steady flow of blood. Tonight he was encountering unexpected resistance. Del was lonely and fed up.

Del began to leave, he wasn't going to waste time in a losing hunting ground. He took a single step away from the bar when he bumped into the shoulder of a very tall thin man. He was six foot five, with short dirty blond hair, a broad jaw line, and strong features. Del noticed the man's eyes were purple. He was wearing a red and white fox pelt around his neck and shoulders with the head towards his left side. The odd man's skin was lightly tanned and he had several deep scars covering his face. He wore a leather vest, and no shirt. It was mid-winter, but he didn't appear cold. His pants were made of the same tight leather. Among the very shorter crowd, he stood out completely. The man scuffed at Del as he checked his clothing.

“Fancy suit for a dive.” The tall man spoke fairly good English.

Del wasn't expecting to hear words he'd understand. It had been three weeks of gibberish to his ears. All he had to do was smile and flirt. The action stunned him. He said nothing at first.

“Are you attending a funeral?” The blond Russian continued.

Del was slightly bewildered. This man was starting a genuine conversation with him. He wasn't hitting on him and he wasn't acting aggressive towards him. This was a social situation and Del felt intrigued and obligated to proceed.

“Did you lose your shirt?” Del replied.

“So you have some wit. That will do good.” The tall man said to Del as he leaned back against the bar.

“For what? I don't attend my own work.” Del's feelings got the better of him. This man's light comment enticed a bold answer. Del's playful side was emerging. “I enjoy conducting the symphony with a personal touch.”

The tall man's expression changed from lighthearted to alarmed. He stepped forward, positioning his lips adjacent to Del's left ear. “What do you love most about them?”

Del's thoughts swam in the possibilities of the moment. Del smiled and spoke into the man's ear. “The sound of the blood.”

“A young vampire, your blood wreaks of adolescent perception. I request a display.” The man's voice softened as he turned his back to the bar again. “Tread swiftly for you have merely hours to kill the bartender behind me.”

Del's pulse quickened. He was disturbed by the man's desire. At the same time there was a part of him that wanted to respond to the challenge. Del would have to feed soon. The bartender was a likely enough candidate. The murder of a total stranger was no more unusual to him if they were a target to someone for another reason. Del had decided to go through with it. He wanted a friend. Someone that knew the language and show him around. This was Del's opportunity to show off.

The bartender did not appear to be a friendly looking fellow. He had a partially bald head and a single large facial scar on the right side of his face. It hinted towards a hard life. His muscles hinted that he had the tools to survive it. A full black mustache told the last remaining tale of a once thick scalp. His eyes were a dark blue and squinted, as if constantly scanning for trouble throughout the bar. He cleaned and prepared glasses at the counter and always surveyed the patrons. He was the man in the know in his place of business. Unfortunately, Del would be murdering him in the next three minutes.

The bar was still very crowded. A local band was playing very loud early rock covers from the Beatles. Del hadn't given the tall man an answer yet. Though Del had already begun to act on the path before him. With no thought about why he should do it, Del found himself taking action.

The bartender noticed Del staring at him with intention. He had realized that something was about to happen. The bartender had no idea that he was the incident about to happen.

The tall man shifted to the other side of Del and found a good vantage point to watch from.

“Hey! You!” The bartender shouted out.

Del met his shouts with a smile.

“What problem?” The bald man had a very thick Russian accent to his English words.

Del leaned forward over the bar with ease, farther than a normal person in a full suit should have been able to. “A market.” Del grinned fiendishly at the bald man.

The tall man next to Del chuckled. He knew that Del was attempting to provoke the bartender into doing something physical to throw him out of the bar. Something that would incite the owner to do the honors himself.

The bartender was irritated. “Go the hell away! This not market you fuck.” He shouted something in Russian that Del didn't understand.

The tall man did. He burst out laughing.

Del took the cue and moved on it. He was becoming intuitive about such matters. “You say something funny 'ya bastard?” Del remembered a few words from the old fisherman and threw them together best he could in the moment.

A north eastern American accent in a Russian bar was completely out of place, but it obviously did the job. The bartender reached over and took a hold of Del's collar, looked him in the eye, and punched Del square in the face.

“Bastard? You call
me
bastard!? You're dead!” The bartender shoved Del onto his back. He climbed over the bar and walked to Del as he lay on the ground.

Two bouncers immediately picked Del up and lead him to the back alley behind the club. They were big, burly men. Both over six feet. And both wider than the average man. Del thought that they would provide more of a meal than the actual target of the fiasco. All Del had to do was kill the bartender, not drink his blood. The bouncers wouldn't be found for a few days, and the bite marks on their necks wouldn't matter if the bodies were burned in a building fire. Del's mind was flushed with all the instant outcomes of the fight before him. Either way, all three men had to die.

The bouncers propped Del up against a wet, dirty alleyway wall. The cold air was pleasant to Del's lungs. It added an excitement to the enjoyment about to ensue. It was snowing, heavy, as large flakes were falling, and melting on contact with the three men. The bartender stood in front of Del. He watched Del's face as the snow accumulated on his hair and shoulders. It wasn't melting at all.

“Now you pay for your words.” The bartender swung his right arm in an attempt to slug Del in the stomach.

He failed.

The snow shifted off of Del as the two bouncers fell to their knees. He had broken the arms of both the bouncers by the time the bartender even reached him. There was no contact. Del blocked the bald man's arm at the elbow with his left hand. From Del's eyes, they were standing still, a frozen scene to be manipulated at will. His speed was absolute against them. Del slide his hand up the bartender's arm and watched his eyes as the shoulder separated from the joint. Blood flowed, as the nerves inside fired. The man had no chance to scream, and no chance to defend himself. Del took hold of the severed arm with his right hand. Swinging it at the once proud bartender with his own appendage. Del ended the man's life with the very arm he tore off. Breaking the bartender's neck with the impact and lacerating the area from the strike of the shattered arm bone. Del whipped the limb around to deliver the final blow to each bouncer in the back of the head. In an instant, all three men were dead. Blood was everywhere, violently spilled in mass. There was no one in the alleyway and no one to see the horror of what had transpired.

This event was over, the kill had been taken, and Del was hungry. He looked around to see an abandoned construction site nearby. He picked up the bouncers' bodies, careful to watch for anyone that might come along accidentally in the street. Once there, he drank the remaining blood in them. Del purposely left the bartender in the alley for someone to find. A message to the tall man at the bar.

Thirty minutes later, Del returned to the club as sirens rang down the streets in the opposite direction. There was a fire somewhere close. A few dozen people ran out of the club to see where. Del walked back in and spotted the English speaking Russian at a table in the corner of the room. He nonchalantly walked over and sat down. Knowing his deeds were well chronicled by the tall Russian in front of him.

The tall man was saturnine. He almost didn't believe he had done it that quickly. “Did you feast well?”