“We need to talk,” Adrian said, leaning against the edge of the marble table.

“And I have questions for you,” Mark said, confirming Adrian’s feeling. “But maybe it’s better if we go to your house.” Mark waved his hand, encompassing the Spartan room excavated inside one of the catacombs’ alleys. “Anywhere else that isn’t a cemetery.” He gave Adrian a rueful shrug.

“It can’t wait.” Adrian shivered. His body temperature kept fluctuating from one extreme to the other.

He had once talked to a heroin addict who’d gone through withdrawal pains. His symptoms were painfully similar to the ones that man had painted in vivid detail. Even his teeth rattled in his mouth. Only, Adrian had fangs that cut through his gums and made the experience one hundred times worse.

“What’s happening to you?” Mark asked, worry etched in his eyes.

“I’m not sure.” Adrian shook his head, which set a wave of fresh pain in motion. “But I need to find out before it kills me.”

“I could ask around—”

“I don’t want anyone to know what’s happening to me. Give me a few days, and I’ll discover what’s triggering this thirst. I promise that I’ll seek help if it gets any worse.”

“Okay.” Mark’s cell phone rang, but he let it go to voicemail. “I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“I’ll do it alone. You don’t need to be involved in this.”

“I disagree. You need my help, and I’ll do right by you.”

“Mark, please—”

“You saved me once. It’s my time to reciprocate the favor.”

Adrian couldn’t help but smile at Mark’s loyalty. If things went wrong and his friend was caught hiding Adrian’s secret, the Directive wouldn’t hesitate to execute Mark alongside him. And that scenario scared Adrian more than true death itself.

“Where can we look for answers?” Mark asked, pacing back and forth in the chamber. “I’ve never heard of something like your thirst before, but I’m a young vampire—”

“I’m old and still haven’t heard of it myself,” Adrian said.

Mark shrugged. “Be as it may, you can’t be the first one who’s ever suffered through it. I’m sure that’s rare, but not unique to you. We must talk to someone else as old as you.”

Adrian made an encompassing gesture, pointing at the entire chamber. “Most friends of my age are gone. Not many have survived the modern times.”

“Then we have to look for clues somewhere else,” Mark said. “If something like your thirst happened before, it stands to reason that someone left records behind. Somewhere, there must be a book or a scroll with the answer to your question.”

A sudden thought formed in Adrian’s mind. “The Satan Archives,” he said. “Of course!”

If there ever was a chance that records about his affliction existed, they could only be contained in the ancient book called the Satan Archives. The work of a Cistercian monk from the fourteenth century, the tome contained the largest collection of vampiric lore in Europe. At the time when the Satan Archives were written, vampires were associated with demons, hence the name.

The book had changed several owners throughout the centuries until it landed in the hands of Count Lando Carenzi, Adrian’s blood brother and rival.

“Do you think the count will let you rummage through his book collection?” Mark sounded sceptic.

The rivalry between Adrian and Lando was legendary. Sharing the same maker and turned at the same time during the Roman Empire, they had been rivals even before dying and took their fight to the next life. As they had competed for women and glory when they were alive, so they continued as vampires.

“Of course he’ll open the archives for me. I’ll owe him one.” Adrian shuddered at the mere thought of being indebted to Lando, but this was one of those cases when a vampire should swallow his pride. He reached for his cell phone.

“I’ll give you some privacy.” Mark exited the room, grabbing his phone as well.

Once alone, Adrian made the one call he had never thought he would ever make.

“Adrian,” Lando answered right away. “This is unexpected.” His voice didn’t betray any emotion, but Adrian knew the man as well as he knew himself, and Lando was dying of curiosity.

“I need your help,” Adrian said, cutting to the chase.

The stunned silence from the other side spoke volumes.

“This is even more unexpected,” Lando finally said. “The proud Adrian calling me, of all people.”

“As you can imagine, my situation is dire.”

Lando’s long, unmerciful laughter echoed in the chamber. “What do you want, Adrian?” he asked, his voice cracking, unable to keep a serious tone.

“I need access to the Satan Archives.”

“You must be kidding!” Lando roared.

“Dead serious,” Adrian said.

“It must be killing you that you have to ask me for a favor.”

“You can only imagine.” Adrian forced himself to keep his temper under control lest he pay the consequences.

Out of nowhere, the thirst hit him. His hand dropped to the side and let go of the cell phone. He needed blood, straight from the vein. The strength of this new episode put to shame all the previous ones, encompassing all his senses, and leaving him in a red haze made of unbearable pain and unquenchable thirst. It hurt beyond endurance, like needles driven deep into his heart. The pain multiplied until he couldn’t see what was in front of him.

The imperative to find fresh blood wouldn’t be ignored. Only a few meters above Adrian’s head, the pub was filled with mortals.

The pain blinded him but also expanded his other senses. He could feel the arterial pulses as if he could see in a different spectrum. His blood donors looked like laser dots on the ceiling, moving around, mingling in clusters, only to separate a moment later. One dot gleamed more luminous than the others, driving Adrian’s senses wild with need.

He wanted to reach out and drain the person, gorging on the fresh blood that would taste like ambrosia. The imperative consumed him. His feet moved of their own volition. His hand reached for the door latch. A primal hunger spurred him into action. Only one thought remained in his tortured mind: once he drank from the source, it would be heaven.

It would be murder.

The realization hit him as he lowered the latch and the fresh air from the catacombs entered the room. From somewhere close, Mark was talking to someone. Adrian was still too far gone to understand what his friend was saying, but he anchored his senses to his friend’s voice, inhaling the cold air.

It will be murder, his inner voice told him.

The thirst didn’t care for morals, though. The pain doubled, sending Adrian to the floor as he clutched his throat. It felt like sand was being forcefully poured into his mouth, filling his throat and choking him as he asphyxiated.

Only he was already dead and knew that no relief would come, but the agony would go on and on. Blood, fresh and warm from the living—only that would do. His body craved a mortal’s sacrifice.

On his knees, Adrian prayed the Goddess for deliverance. He reached up for the latch once again. It was only a few steps; the stairs were around the corner, and then he would grab the first person he met—

It will be murder, his inner voice repeated.

An image flashed before his eyes. A woman begging him not to kill her as he tore her throat and savagely drained her. Lucidity came back for a moment, long enough for Adrian to shudder out of the bloodlust and lower his hand to his knees.

He’d rather meet true death than become a monster.

Gathering whatever strength of will he had left, Adrian finally opened the door and rushed out of the pub.

Mark came running from around the corner. “Adrian!” he yelled, but Adrian was faster and was soon out of his friend’s reach.