Adrian drove through Rome at breakneck speed. His Ferrari purred under his seat as he pushed her across alleys and squares, cutting reds and avoiding collision with cars and scooters at the very last moment. Unleashing his red beauty was Adrian’s guilty pleasure. To him, it was the highest of highs because he could exercise his control over the chaos of Roman traffic while testing his reflexes. Sometimes, he found likeminded drivers, and impromptu races happened.

Mark’s call arrived when Adrian passed a yellow Lamborghini. He took the call as passersby shot pictures of the two sports cars racing down the narrow street as if it were a Formula One racetrack.

“Hi, Mark,” Adrian said, changing gear.

“Sorry to disturb you, but there’s something you should know. I just discovered that the girl dumped behind Leone Rampante also worked at the pub. She was one of the waiters. I’m headed to the pub to talk to the manager.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” he said and hung up.

The news unsettled Adrian. He waved at the Lamborghini driver and veered right.

Usually, driving calmed him, but as he neared the Trastevere neighborhood, his nerves felt as taut as a violin string and he was ready for a fight, not a conversation about murdered girls.

As soon as he reached the pub, one of the valets walked to the curb to take his keys, while another held the door for him. His personnel stood inside, waiting for him in a row.

Sitting on a high leather stool by the bar, Mark greeted him, raising a tumbler. “I have already talked to the staff.”

“You can go home,” Adrian said to the room at large.

People marched out the pub, expelling several audible sighs. Adrian waited at the door, never comfortable in crowded places. He wasn’t the most sociable person to start with, and with his superior senses, an abundance of smells and sounds could drive him crazy in no time.

He left the double door open for a few seconds to change the air after everyone had left. With the large room finally deserted and the outside air cooling the stifling warmth, Adrian advanced toward the bar when a powerful scent hit his nostrils. He recoiled as if slapped squarely in the face.

“Adrian?” Mark jumped down the stool and walked toward him. “Are you okay?”

As Mark approached him, a thirst the likes of which Adrian had never experienced possessed him.

“Adrian?” Mark said again, worry etched in his voice. “What’s happening to you, mate?”

In the tight hold of the unbearable thirst, Adrian couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even think straight. He only knew that he needed to feed. His vision blurring, he ran to the kitchen and the industrial fridges where he knew he would find the bags of blood stocked for the pub’s undead patrons. He tore bag after bag, gulping down cold blood without stopping to warm it up. The substance was vile and foul, but he couldn’t stop himself from gorging on it until he depleted the entire pantry.

Only when the last bag lay empty on the white and black floor did Adrian look at his friend.

Mark stared at him in shocked silence. “What did just happen?” he finally asked, moving around the edge of the room and giving Adrian wide berth.

Even after drinking the amount of blood that would have kept him fed for several months, Adrian felt drained and still empty. “I don’t know,” he finally said, raking his hand through his hair.

“I thought I’d lost you for a moment,” Mark said, his eyes cutting toward the pile of emptied bags strewn across the floor. Blood splatters stained the tiles.

Adrian couldn’t help but salivate at the sight of the red sprays. Had he been alone, he would have crouched and licked the floor, such was the thirst still holding him captive. Full of shame, he stormed out of the kitchen through the back door that opened into the lateral alley.

Mark followed him outside. “You’re scaring me.”

Adrian inhaled a long gulp of air, cleaning his lungs from the pub’s scents, and almost immediately, he felt the madness lessen. He leaned against the wall and looked up at the night sky that was about to brighten with the pink light of dawn.

“I must take refuge,” Mark said with a pained voice. The sickening smell of charred flesh accompanied the sound of sizzling skin. His movements were already sluggish as he moved back inside the restaurant.

Adrian felt awful. Mark had remained awake long past his curfew because he’d been worried for Adrian, and now he was in mortal danger.

“Beneath the kitchen, there’s a saferoom.” Adrian closed the door behind him and grabbed Mark’s elbow.

The younger vampire was already lethargic, and by the time they reached the trapdoor by the fridges, his legs went numb, dragging behind him. Adrian threw his friend over his shoulder and descended the stairs leading several meters under the street, where the Roman catacombs started.

Every piece of property Adrian owned in the city was built directly over the ancient cemetery that extended for kilometers underground. His saferooms were well-known among the undead because of Adrian’s policy to offer a haven to anyone in need, no questions asked. Being one of the oldest vampires alive meant that he had seen too many vamplings die for no other reason than they didn’t have anywhere to go at sunup.

He entered the first of the empty rooms excavated into the tuff rock and limestone and deposited Mark on the bed that would cocoon his unresponsive body for the rest of the day. To Adrian’s great relief, Mark’s burns were already healing, so he sealed the room knowing that his friend would be fine when he woke.

Instead of going back to his house, he took care of the mess he had left behind in the pantry, then went back below. Adrian lingered in the catacombs, needing to straighten his thoughts. He hadn’t had time yet to analyze what had just happened to him. He wandered through the deserted corridors. Dimly-lit and humid, the place was riddled with empty niches that had once housed mortal remains. His steps disturbed the preternatural silence as he paced, looking for answers to explain his sudden thirst.

Not even when he became undead did he ever experience such overwhelming thirst, and vamplings died all the time because they couldn’t curb the burning sensation which commanded their every action when they first woke as vampires.

Adrian trembled at the mere thought of having to fight anything like that ever again. What could trigger such havoc in a vampire as old as he was, and a day-walker at that?

No ready answer came to him.