Demon Vampire (The Redgold Series) (80 page)

On the third night. Damien awoke to the sound of his heart beating slowly. There was a moment of silence, then it pulsed again. Two seconds passed, a strong heart beat rang out again. The sound was different. There was no anxiety. He wasn't breathing. His mouth was still filled with dirt. It didn't matter. He was simply laying there, content. Six feet under, his body was bound in a burlap sack, Damien felt alive again. He could feel his legs. His arms shifted, ripping the bag encasing him with ease. There were thousands of pounds of earth pressing on every inch of his flesh, Damien felt nothing no weight at all. He pushed through the dirt as if it were water. It was wet on his skin as he dug. Damien sifted the earth around him as he made way to the surface. It was raining again. The droplets were fat and heavy. He spit out the dry soil from his mouth. The weather was baptismal as Damien stood. He was in the local cemetery.

The night was black. The clouds were just as they were when Damien had last gazed upon the sky. He reached for his back, the clothing was whole. The priests had changed his robes to bury him clean.

Damien smiled. “They always took great care of me, those two. They were always so energetic.” Damien heard his voice for the first time in three days. It was dark, lower than normal. It barely sounded familiar.

Damien pulled his robe back to reveal his left shoulder where Fear had cut into him. There was no injury, no scars, and no mark to show it had ever happened. It didn't hurt, it was fine. Damien felt great, strong. Considering he had died a few days ago, he was even content. The cold, soaking weather was comforting to him. He knew this was the beginning of a new life. The ideals he once stood for were now lost to him. As a monster, he was no longer the pillar of his church or the pious priest he was once known to be.

Damien remembered stories of men who drank blood to live unnatural lives. They were vampires. The unholy creation of sin embodied in flesh. An undead plague to haunt humanity for its transgressions. As kind and godly a priest as Damien was, he came to an understanding. He walked away from the grave and his former life as a respected man knowing that no matter what he did from that day forward, regardless of any goodwill he might emit out into the world – Damien believed he was going to hell.

* * * *

On the outskirts of the town where Damien grew up, a large open cave echoed sounds of horror from within. Screams, yelps pleading for life, all manner of cries littered the ears of anyone that dare come closer. The granite formation was jagged with plates that formed the upper lip of the entrance. The tongue was slippery and smooth from the rain. A welcoming that was silver to anyone that stepped inside.

Just beyond the darkness of the night, a thin girl with red hair stitched her torn clothes.

“That was sloppy Rebekkah.” Fear sat on a rock, counting the prisoners in the cell before him.

A tree trunk prison cell kept more than fifteen men and women captive. Fear had crafted the enclosure within a few hours. His tremendous strength allowed him to acquire building materials at pure whim. The trees were closely spaced and allowed for little to no movement for escape. Blood stained the bark of those who had already tried to anger Fear. They were his first meal of the night.

Rebekkah had nearly finished sewing. She only had the left shoulder to complete. Blood had saturated most of the garment, almost dyeing it entirely. Only a few tan speckles remained untarnished.

Rebekkah spoke up against Fear. “What? For letting him live? What's wrong with that?” Rebekkah asked Fear. She was upset at him for killing Damien in the first place.

“Usually when I kill people, it means I do not wish them to be alive. Knowing that you were the one who turned him is unsettling.” Fear had an idea, a thought to insult Rebekkah for the reasoning behind her actions. “Wait, you didn't sleep with him, did you?”

Rebekkah was appalled. She didn't even respond to Fear's accusations. She stood up, surveyed the women in the cell and licked her lips.

“Oh, that's right. You prefer the other gender.” Fear smiled.

“When you have centuries to get to know your own body, pleasing the same anatomy comes naturally.” Rebekkah pointed towards one of the more attractive women in the cell. “I want that one.”

“Okay.” Fear stood up. He leisurely walked over to one of the large trunks. With his left hand he squeezed the center of the tree. His fingers sank into the trunk as he lifted it out of place.

Rebekkah stepped inside the cell and dragged out the woman she had been eying.

Fear reset the wall and sat back down. “I see your point of view, but I do have one objection.”

Rebekkah was too busy with the haughty women before her. Her long curly brown hair, green eyes. She was dripping with tears. The woman's thin body and ample breasts were holding Rebekkah's attention. “Yeah, make it quick.”

“I've lived far longer than you and I haven't been with one man, ever.” Fear kicked his legs up onto a rock. “Either way, enjoy her while she can still scream.”

Rebekkah stared at the woman with a devilish intent. “Take it off.” Rebekkah grinned. “Carefully, slowly.”

The woman followed Rebekkah's directions. She took off her entire outfit, corset, blouse, and knickers. She sat, covering her breasts with her left arm and laying her right over her lap.

“Don't be shy, miss. We'll be too close soon enough for you to think about blushing.” Rebekkah instructed the woman.

“Just don't get any blood on the dress, you'll need to wear it in the next town we go to.” Fear reminded Rebekkah.

“Why do you think I had her remove it?” Rebekkah explained.

“Because you're strange like that.” Fear chuckled and laid his head back. He closed his eyes and began to fall asleep. It was reaching morning, dawn was peering over the horizon and onto the tongue of the cave.

“I am.” Rebekkah dashed the attractive young woman. Landing on her, gently pushing her over and pinning her to the ground. All of the other men and women in the cell were able to watch as Rebekkah ravaged the young woman's body physically and sexually.

Fear and Rebekkah's relationship was purely tacit.

* * * *

Ten miles east of the town, Damien continued to walk through the day and night. The sun light had partially charred his skin, giving a warning that he wasn't able to stay in the daylight for long. The night offered a pleasant break to regenerate the damage that was done. By the second midnight after he crawled out of his own grave, Damien was getting hungry, he was getting thirsty.

Damien came to a small pool of water. As the moon cast stark shadows contrasting on the ground, he knelt beside it. For the first time he witnessed his reflection as the monster he now was. His eyes had changed. They were transparent, completely clear to the back of his iris.

Damien splashed some liquid on his face. “So that's what it comes to? Now it disfigures me as well.”

A rustling came from the bushes a few yards from Damien. His eyes saw nothing, but his ears heard the sound of a heart pumping fresh blood. It was small, no bigger than a dog. The rhythm was heavy, fast paced. It was a wild pig searching for grubs. Damien approached it silently. It seemed all too easy to sneak up on the animal. His own heart was still. He was ready to strike. Damien threw his right hand down towards the head, it crushed upon impact. The pig immediately hit the ground with a sharp puff to the ground. He had killed it with his bare hand in one strike.

Damien picked the pig up, instinctively biting into its neck. Blood flowed into his mouth with pleasure. It was warm, filling his stomach perfectly. After it was drained, Damien was full. He knew he didn't have to consume human blood to satisfy his needs. His worry was gone. Damien had found a way to sustain himself that the stories didn't mention.

Thirty years came and went as Damien found his new place in the world. He wandered from town to town as a nomadic preacher of the night, telling of the consequences of sin. He was first and foremost a priest, even if he was a monster. He viewed his curse as a tool to spread the word of god indefinitely. He vowed not to kill another human being for food. He was perfectly happy with wild animals and street vermin.

During his searching, Damien found many references to vampires in several monasteries across the regions he explored. To acquire this information, he learned French, Spanish, Italian, and Russian in addition to his native German. He had become quite the linguist in his travels. Damien found that vampires were supposed to have a gift that set them apart from others. A unique weapon that only they were able to wield. There was only one problem, in his thirty years as a vampire, he had obtained no such gift. There was nothing special about him other than the fact he had become a vampire. Never-the-less, he was intrigued by the idea. He figured that if he was able to gather other vampires that held the same disposition as he did, he could form an organization to spread religion and good will through the world. He liked the concept, but needed to encounter another vampire to prove that it could work. Unfortunately, Damien had discovered a paucity of vampires in the flesh.

Damien found himself on the outer edge of Russia. The bitter cold wasn't painful to him, it felt warm, tingling. Somehow the sting of the dry snow building on his body gave a certain sense of pain that resembled heat.

Damien walked into a bar that was covered with snow. With ice in his hair, Damien stepped in. “I'll have some wine.” He said in Russian as he sat on a stool at the front counter.

The men in the room stared at Damien, scrutinizing his every action. The ice began to melt, leaving water cascading down his worn black robes. They continued to stare. These were shady men, the type that anyone would want to avoid in a dark alley. Damien chuckled to himself as he noticed the men sizing him up. He was now the subject of terror in the dark. He smiled after turning away from them. He prayed to himself that they followed him out of the bar so that he could teach them a lesson in abusing others. A way of teaching that Damien had come to enjoy.

The rest of the bar had mixed company. Most of the men were average height of more thicker builds than Damien was used to seeing. There were a few women drinking in the corner, a group of men playing drinking games in the middle of the room, and everyone seemed put off by Damien.

The barkeep looked at Damien with a questioning face. “Your voice, your accent, it's different. You are not from here.” The man's scruffy brown beard matched his disarrayed medium hair. His face was short, he was a strong, stout man.

“No, I'm sorry. I'm not.” Damien answered. “Now how about that wine?”

“No friend, I'm sorry. You misunderstand. We serve vodka here, not wine.” The barkeep informed Damien as he cleaned a glass with a seemly dirty rag.

“Fine. Vodka then.” Damien did a once over around the room. Everyone was now looking at him.

Damien was the only one not in thick winter clothing. He had the same priest's robes he was buried in thirty years ago. He was sentimental and didn't want to lose his personal connection to what made him a man.

“What?” Damien asked the barkeep.

“They're staring at your clothing. This is one of our coldest winters. You don't seem to have a coat. They all wonder why. You came in here with nothing more than your robes and shoes. You don't appear cold. Where did you say you were from?” The barkeep asked.

“Sorry, I was just mugged for my coat outside.” Damien had learned to be quick at explaining things.

The barkeep began to pour a glass for Damien. He stopped mid glass. “You still have your money?”

“Sure, all he got was my coat. He'll probably find out when he gets it home. He'll find the pockets were already empty.” Damien laughed.

The barkeep tried to chuckle. Damien's laugh was not natural. It sounded gruff, too deep to come from him. It disturbed the entire bar.

“Fine, I will pour you vodka.” The barkeep filled a shot glass. “Drink.” The barkeep set another glass for himself. “To thieves!”

“To thieves!” Damien cheered.

A man stepped through the wooden entrance. He was tall, about six foot three inches. He was thin, in his mid to late thirties, with short blond hair and blue eyes. He wore thick fur boots, tan hide pants, a woolen shirt with a red and white fox pelt around his shoulders.

“Bartender! A round of vodka for everyone!” The new young Russian man announced to everyone. He was very insouciant.

“Yugo! You're back! How was the journey? And what the hell do you have to celebrate?” The barkeep was very familiar with this young man.

“Life, old man! I've come back alive.” Yugo spilled open a coin purse of money onto the bar top. “And I made a handsome profit too! Now I think that is plenty of grounds to celebrate.” Yugo leaned in to hug the barkeep. “Besides it's my thirty sixth birthday today.”

The barkeep patted Yugo on the back. “Then yours is on me, Yugo! Happy birthday!”

A waitress brought around shots of vodka to everyone in the bar. Damien welcomed his second glass. It was warming on his naturally cold throat. He understood the principal of fitting in when introducing himself to a new community. Damien didn't want to attract suspicion, especially in this harsh environment. There were few wild animals here, and few vermin that could stand the frigid winter. Outside of directly attacking a bear, Damien didn't have much of an option but to make friends with some local hunters. Learning from them would give him a suitable cover image and let him pass on through without anyone asking too many questions about why he would be covered in animal blood most nights to come. Damien's eyes had not changed much since becoming a vampire. They were still brown, but had lightened, turning partially translucent. It was such a small alteration that Damien didn't notice it himself for years. It was yet another trait he had to hide when meeting new people.