Detrand

The funeral began at dusk. I approached the church, keeping a leery eye on the other strigoi lined across the walk. They made to appear as casual observers but they were waiting until the funeral was over; they couldn’t enter the building. One in particular watched me closely from the bench nearby. Her honey-brown hair floated down to her mid-back and had eyes as dark as the murky skies overhead. I trailed my eyes to her legs which stretched from the slit in her skirt. She hissed at me, while positioning her skirt so that I could see right up it. Her eyes roamed over my thick body, entwined with rippling muscles and olive skin that wrapped around my physique, and then up to my face where my dark hair masked my sharp eyes, and smirked. I showed her my teeth and she slunk back into the shadows, hiding behind the bulky male strigoi sitting beside her. I would find her later.

The door to the church creaked loudly as I opened it, and the sound reverberated off the high ceilings of the inner chamber. As I stepped inside, there was a collective gasp behind me. I entered, and turned to shut the door. Forgetting all pretenses, the group of strigoi, or vampires, huddled together at the entrance to the church. Their eyes were wide as they stared at me and as I stared them down, their expressions turned from shock to fear. The woman with the honey-brown hair fell to her knees and bowed her head, showing the milky whiteness of her cleavage. As I shut the door, I envisioned the satisfaction I would feel as my fangs latched onto her.

I walked down the middle aisle of the main sanctuary and studied the intricate details of the ceiling, ignoring the fact that all eyes were drawn to me. Traveling from Italy on a ship was perilous, especially for a strigoi such as I, and I had not arrived comfortably. I was the only one who was late. Even in death, the living did not disrespect the man in the wooden box at the front of the room: the ‘young,’ rich bachelor, and the most powerful man on the coast.

Or, the man that they thought was in the box.

There was no body, it had blown away with the winds of death. But we paid well for the illusion of death, and the church was happy to take our tokens. Women lined the pews, their handkerchiefs to their eyes, their thoughts on the fortune they would never have. As I passed, they peeked at me, wondering if I was just as profitable as the dead man. One of them waved her handkerchief, her grief exaggerated, hoping to catch my attention. I grunted and turned my head.

The priest, his hair silver with age, called for prayer and he closed his eyes. I continued up the aisle and stood before the box.

Suddenly, grief struck me. I lay my hand on the casket and stared woodenly at the priest.

His hand waved in the air, stirring the incense, and his empty words crowded out the cries of grief of the audience. He peeked at me and his face paled as I stared him down. He ended the prayer quickly and called for the casket to be taken to the graveyard. The living stood out of respect as I led the pallbearers, their faces stoic and somber, towards the yard.

The strigoi followed the end of the funeral procession and, as they lowered the empty box into the ground, I stood back, watching. Real tears were spent now, mostly from the strigoi, and I noted the ones who contained their grief. I recognized the pock-marked one, standing off to the side like an outsider, yet I knew that he knew my master the best. His eyes glistened, wet with tears but he held them in as he stared silently across the bay.

A handful of dirt was thrown onto the box and the wails grew louder. Then the priest stepped to my side and we watched as single red roses were thrown and finally the crowd began to drift off.

“I see my handiwork has stood the test of time,” I said to him.

“Yes, among other things.” The priest didn’t like to speak much, but when he did, there were always layers of meanings. “You were young when you carved that ceiling.”

“No I wasn’t. You were young back then.”

The priest laughed. “Yes, I guess that’s true.”

“I remember when you had that crude cross erected. It seemed to diminish my work.”

The priest eyed me. “Your handicraft was commissioned as a gift to God. And while beautiful, it only holds a candle to the Glory of the Savior.” He watched as the mourners began to drift away, pausing to let his harsh words settle. “Things were simple then. When my understanding of the world was only seen in terms of good and evil.”

I turned away from him and watched as a single woman stood silently at the grave. Her hair was tucked tightly under her hat, her black veil hiding her face. But I knew that under that hat, long tresses of black hair waited to be unfurled and curled under my willing hands. Her body, ready to be stroked under the caresses of my trembling fingers. I gripped my hand in a tight fist and brushed that image from mind. She was mine no longer. She had given herself willingly to him, and, because of that, I would never cross that line again.

I tried not to hear the words she mumbled at his grave, her hands clasped tightly at her chest and her body so rigid and tight. If only I could—

“I am glad that you have come to pay your respects.” The priest put his hand on his chest and bowed slightly. “And I wish you safe passage home.”

“I will not be returning home.”

He stood back up, his eyes fixed on mine. “I would that your interests at home not become neglected. You know that I pray for your success always.”

I grabbed him by the neck and leaned in. “If you have something to say to me Father, I recommend you speak plainly.”

“I only wish,” he choked on his words, but I did not let up. “To keep you safe.”

“What do you mean?” I growled, my voice menacing.

“This land is cursed. Agosto’s power waned, and every man was at his neck. They mean to crucify any who dare interfere. There is no one you can trust.”

I raised my eyebrow. “Not even you, Father?”

“You would be crazed to take on his businesses.”

I released my hold and he gasped in a breath. “I have no intention of taking on his businesses.”

He put his hand to his neck, rubbing it, his breath still raspy. “You are wise then.”

I shot him a dirty look. “No one who knows me would consider me wise. I do intend to find his killer.”

The priest was silent for a moment, considering my words. “I’ve heard the rumors that have drifted across the ocean. The things you’ve done, the way you’ve done them.” He looked up at me. “You have changed.”

He eyed me silently, his eyes fearful and cautious. I turned my back to him and walked towards the grave as the darkness settled in my bones, comforting me. I recognized the sound of the priest as he stumbled away and I blocked out the noise. With a quick glance at the gravediggers who scrambled away, I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath.

Biting my wrist, I held it over the grave, letting my blood drip onto the casket. “With the blood of my fathers, I swear to you Agosto Romano that I will discover your killer and avenge your death.” Letting go of the grief that I’d been holding back, I allowed it to flow through my body and into my words, sealing the promise.

My grief poured through the graveyard in waves and the sound of a flock of flustered crows in flight caught my attention. I turned. It was Sophie, the woman at the grave. I quickly turned my face, hiding my surprise that she’d been watching me. Silent as the grave itself. Then I strode away, motioning for the gravediggers to begin.

* * *

The night was beginning to turn, and many of the weaker strigoi had returned to their graves. The living long having left the gothic mansion as the night developed, instinct warning them for survival, and only the older strigoi delayed leaving the wake. Glasses with the liquid of the damned cluttered every counter, filled by the living whose instincts were feeble. Or by those already in the service of the strigoi.

I lounged in the chaise, watching the woman across the room from me. The same woman from the church. My intoxicated eyes, filled with need, took in the curves of her body and the way she caressed the shoulder of the gentleman next to her. She glanced towards me and lowered her eyes, looking up through her long lashes. I raised my eyebrow but did not invite her to me; it wasn’t time yet.

The pock-marked man stumbled towards me, drunken with too much blood. The idiot. I stood and grabbed him, pulling him into a hug. Rowan pushed back, eyeing me carefully. A grin spread across his face and his dull eyes lit up. Throwing his glass over his shoulder, he fell into my arms.

“Master, you’ve come home.”

“You saw me at the grave.”

He laughed. “That I did. But so torn up with grief, I couldn’t approach ya.” His slurred speech was barely understandable. “Besides, I hardly recognize ya.”

I shook my finger at him. “I don’t look a day older.” I grinned and threw my arm around his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I, you.”

I stood back, holding him at arms length to study him. “Did you serve our Agosto faithfully?” I’d left Rowan in the care of Agosto, my maker and friend, now dead.

He bowed his head, his grief weighing him down and now I understood. He drank too much because of his grief. “I did, sir. And the others will witness for me.”

“I know you did. And you shall be rewarded for it.”

He looked up, his eyes sparking with hope. “You are too kind.”

“I am a man of my word.” I gripped his arm and nodded towards the woman from the church. “Tell me. Who is that?”

He turned towards her. “Lily is her name. Stefano is her sire.”

“And is he attached to her?”

Rowan shook his head. “She has been forgotten.”

“Send her to me, then.”

“Master?”

“I will be in my old room.”

He bowed. “As you wish.”

I moved to stop his approach. “And Rowan, I have a present for you also.” His fangs extended; he was never good at holding back. “She is in the master’s room, waiting for you. I’ve held her there for a while, so she will be ready and willing. Go to her after you have spoken to Lily.”

His nostrils flared, anticipating his reward. Hopefully he had not drunken too much, or he would be sick when he awoke.

* * *

I waited in the corner of the room, invisible to the eye. I could feel Lily’s presence as she glided towards my room but I made myself wait. She drew closer and I vibrated with need as I anticipated her taste on my lips. The smell of her hair, bathed in honey, covered up the stench of her rot and I breathed it in deeply. It reminded me of days long ago when I worked in the field and could allow the pleasure of the sun on my back.

I sensed her outside the door now and she hesitated. She would not deny me. Her hand trembled as she raised it, and she knocked softly.

“Come in.”

The door opened slowly and she stepped into the room. Her chest rose and fell, a habit from her old life that had yet to subside, and I could feel her fear, and her lust.

“Sir?”

I did not answer, and so she deliberately circled the room, studying the faded paintings on the wall. I studied the way her long legs swayed as she moved, and my eyes slid up the slit, giving me just a glimpse of what I desired.

She moved closer, and her scent pulled me towards her. I gripped the wall and held myself still, forcing my will over the vampire part of me that lived off its baser instincts, my strigoi. Her lips turned up in a half smile, as if she could sense me. She stopped at the drawing of a woman, who lay half-naked on a bed, and Lily studied the strokes of pencil closely. She was so close I could almost touch her. Instead, I reached out with my senses, stroking her neck.

She took in a sharp breath, and I smiled. I had her exactly where I wanted her. Feeling her desire, I flooded her senses with warmth, the kind that was no longer a blessing of the strigoi, and a reminder that she was alive once. The young don’t generally appreciate this gift, but she had been happy as a human, and I could feel her satisfaction at my gift.

I moved my senses so that they surrounded her, feeling every part of her body as they drew her in. Her breathing hitched and a hint of red touched her porcelain white cheeks, unknowingly, she opened herself to me. I could see her every longing, exploit her every need. She gasped as I released the fullest of my senses, touching her in her most intimate places and giving her every pleasure that she could only imagine in her favorite dream. After a time, she grabbed the wall, breathless and unable to stand the onslaught any longer. “Arrêtez.” Her voice was a moan and I drew my senses back in slowly, until only a tendril of them stroked at her lips. When I was done, she leaned back, her face turned towards me, open.

Then her eyes opened and they fell on me. I masked my surprise, but only barely. So she had the gift then.

“Is that why Stefano turned you?”

She nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was soft. “But I have been no use to him.”

Then I was at her side, my breath on her neck, and she took a step closer. “I have a use for you.” I traced my finger down her throat.

She pressed against me, her eyes an invitation. “I am at your service, Monsieur.”

The front of her black dress dipped low, showing her pushed cleavage and I ran my finger down it. “You are young.”

She didn’t answer, and I yanked the dress down. Her breasts pushed against her corset, begging me to release them. I teased her, playing with the clip that would open her to me. “I don’t usually partake in someone so childish, but for you, I will make an exception.” I gripped her hips and pushed her back against the wall, determined to fulfill her every need. She put her arms over her head, showing me what she was willing to offer, as her breasts pushed against each other. My eyes traveled higher as she moved her fingers down her neck, baring it open to me.

Growling, I leaned in, and she stilled while I smelled her sweat and desire. I stood back up and yanked her towards the bed. I ripped open her corset and, extending my fangs, tasted her as she howled in pleasure.

* * *

Rowan lurched, and the blood leaked from his mouth. I could hear it stream into the bucket and I grinned. “Was she good?”

Breathing heavily for a moment he called back to me from the other room. “Shut up.”

I laughed now, and sat at the ornately carved desk. “As long as she went home unaware.”

“I’m not a child, Detrand.”

My fingers nimbly thumbed through the neatly stacked paperwork and sighed. It was only the next evening, but there was work to do.

Agosto made me a strigoi, mostly because he wanted a loyal servant. I served him faithfully, which was easy because he was good to me and taught me how to use my powers conscientiously, so that they grew to be as powerful as his. Back then, many of the strigoi were in hiding, our covens were few. After we were able to come out of hiding, we multiplied, and once there were enough for me to branch out, I traveled back to my Italian roots. I hadn’t been gone long, before someone ended him.

I would discover his killer, and in order to do that I needed to establish my presence here. “Where’s Agosto’s papers?”

Rowan leaned on the doorway, wiping his lips. “Everything is there.”

I turned in my seat. “I cannot find what I need.”

He shrugged and turned from the room.

I opened the top compartment to the desk and rummaged through it. “Bring me some gin.”

After a moment, I sensed his presence behind me and I stilled. His grief leaked into my senses and I blocked them out. Melancholy would do me no good.

“He hid things from me.”

“He always hid things from you.”

He clicked his tongue. “No. This was different.”

I turned towards him, and his eyes searched mine.

“If there’s something that he was hiding from you, something important, then he had good reason.” I stood up, taking the glass of gin from his hands and went to the window. The night was still and heavy and my strigoi called out to me. It was a ravenous and insatiable god, always yearning for blood and the hunt, but tonight, I thrust it down. It could wait.

I sensed the wickedness that stretched through the streets, and even as I watched, blood was spilt, seeping through the grounds and calling for revenge. I took a sip of the gin, and let the warmth travel to my chest, where it settled.

“Where are his accounts?”

“I told ya. I don’t know.”

“I need to settle his debts. And collect mine.”

Rowan was silent, then turned towards the door. “Come.”

We traveled to the basement and, as Rowan opened the door, the stench of mold and filth hit my nose. I coughed. “Holy hell.”

Rowan smirked as he waded through the water. He led me to the far wall and, after opening a crate, he pulled out empty glass bottles. He threw them into the water until he found the one he wanted. He held it to me and I took it.

“Why did he store these here?” I looked at the water that seeped into the basement from the rising tide. Only death and excrement filled those waters and I stared at the bottle, amazed. “Why risk losing them to the filth?”

“Because he knew that no one would come looking for them here.”

“And were there many?”

“Many what?”

I twisted the lid impatiently, breaking the seal. “Looking. Were there many looking for them?” The smell of old paper hit my nose and I tipped the jar carefully, flipping through them. This was what I was looking for. I needed to remind the living and the dead who their new master was. If they were determined to stake me, I would not go down without taking them with me, and I would avenge the death of my sire.

Rowan choked again, his blood sickness threatening to burst from him, and he fled the room, holding his hand over his mouth.

I called after him. “Tomorrow we will make our visits, and you will go with me.”

And then the room was empty, save for the dead and the lost. I shoved the papers back in the bottle and pushed the lid tight, tucking it in my jacket. I moved deeper into the room, inspecting the rest of the crates stacked against the back wall. They mostly contained old documents, no longer necessary, and I stuffed them back in their crates. As I moved through the water, the smell of the filth grew stronger, and fingertips caressed my neck.

I pivoted and studied the darkness. “Go away.”

Then there was a breath on my ear. “Detrand. Come for me.” I waved my hand, trying to shoo the ghost of my past away, but her hand slid across my chest.

I slogged to the back wall, using my strigoi sight to study the shelves. A bottle of very old rum and dried flowers were all that was left. I put the rum in my other pocket and made for the door, but her hand was on my chest again and she pushed me into the water.

I fell with a splash, and then she was on me, her mouth on mine. I coughed, trying to dispel the taste of her dry lips. I moved to rise, but her body was wrapped around my hips and she held me tightly to the floor. And then she revealed herself to me, her dark hair wet and dripping onto my chest. Her green eyes stared into my soul. “Reach for me, Detrand. I’ve been waiting a long time. Pull me out of the darkness.”

“I cannot,” I sputtered.

Her head tilted. “Why not?” Her voice was a hiss, and I tried to console her by stroking her arm. An angry ghost was never a good thing, especially a lingering ghost of the undead with unfinished business.

My hand lowered towards her fingers, and they gently caressed hers. She watched them with interest, and when she looked up at me, her voice was a whisper as she began to fade. “I’m waiting.”

And then Sophie appeared behind me, wading through the water with her hands clasped in front of her. Her hair was still pinned up tightly, her clothes still the darkest of black.

She stood over me, and I looked up at her.

“Sophie.” I breathed in deeply, pressing my hands into the floor to keep them from touching her. “Your soul haunts mine.”

She shrugged. “I cannot control what she does.”

“Then what do you want?”

She looked towards the back wall, and began to walk towards it. She touched the dried flowers, stroking them softly. “What do you intend to do with me?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t considered it.”

“Will you let me go?”

I studied her, the way her thin arms gracefully hung from her sides, the flowers now gripped in her fingers. “I do not know.”

She made an irritated noise. “You must tell me my fate. I cannot wait long.”

I watched her move towards the door, and I couldn’t help but call to her, my voice desperate. She turned slightly back, but then continued towards the stairs. “Let me know by tomorrow.”

I called after her, louder now even though it wasn’t necessary. “I have business tomorrow.” But she was gone.

* * *

My strigoi called to me, demanding attention and needing the comfort and nourishment of the sweetest claret. It purred, deep in my chest and I got up, soaking and drenched with the filth of the city, answering the call. I moved to the garden and my canines descended, thirsty for the blood that called from the streets. I could hear the living as they moved through the city, as if they wanted me to come to them. To feel the euphoria of my bite as I pulled their life giving blood into me.

I stopped as Lily entered the garden. Her steps were unnatural as they marched along the path. She was furious. My lips twisted up, and I waited for her to come to me.

“You killed him.” Her hands grasped her skirt tightly and her hair was pinned up in a messy bun, with some escaped strands that floated around her head. The dark dress she wore was pinned up to her neck, but I could still see the paleness of her neck along her jawline as the light from the moon shined down on her.

I picked at my teeth lazily, even though my fangs were still drawn out, my strigoi pulsing through my body, and then raised my eyebrow at her.

“He was my mate.”

I laughed. “He was not your mate.”

“He was my mate for forty years.”

I turned my top lip up. “Such a short time. You have plenty of time to find another.”

“I loved him.”

I bent over her, showing her my teeth and she took a step back, but stared me boldly in the eyes.

“If he was your true mate, you would not have approached me so easily.”

Her face grew flustered. “I had no choice. You would have killed us both.”

I stepped forward and trailed my finger down her cheek. “It’s a good thing you came so quickly then.”

She hissed at me and I pulled back. “Did I not satisfy you? Was not your every desire fulfilled?”

She swallowed and looked away. “Now I have no one. I am alone.”

I went back to my teeth, bored now and ready to move on to the city and the voices that called me. “That is not my concern.”

She reached for me but I took a step back. “Please, monsieur.” Her eyes begged me to take her in. “I must have you, I cannot take another. Only you can satisfy me now. You know me more than I know myself.”

My face was as hard as stone. “Leave now. And never return.”

And then she was on me, fumbling at my pants. “You must take me. You must.”

I backhanded her and she flew across the garden, landing in one of the bushes before she fell to the ground. And then I was on her, dragging her towards the wall of the garden and pulling my clothes off, throwing them to the ground. She stared at my chest openly and I yanked her head back by her hair, studying the lines of her face, and tore her skirt to the side. She cried out, her body was ready for me, as she involuntarily arched her back, inviting me in. I pulled out the pins holding her hair up and it fell around her face, framing it perfectly. The barest scent of honey filled my nose and I breathed it in deeply.

“You shall have your every wish, your every desire fulfilled, one last time, and then I will never see you again.” I tore the front of her chaste dress so that I could see her breasts and she cried out. They were perfectly sized and pebbled at the tip. I studied them greedily. I bent to taste them, retracting my incisors so that I did not draw blood. That would be reserved for later. She moaned as I bit and suckled her, opening herself to me. I pushed my senses out, filling her with her innermost longings and then I moved them around her nearly naked body, making her feel everything she should ever want. My senses completely surrounded her, giving her the memories she so easily forgot as a strigoi, and then touched all her places until she howled, satisfied.

She wept softly, her tears running down her face as I gripped her backside, pulling her up higher and onto me. She was face-to-face with me now, and my eyes bore into hers as I moved inside her. Her cries echoed through the garden as I gave in to my passion. She gripped my back, her nails tearing into my skin as she took all that I gave her. And then I released myself into her. Her body trembled against mine until our euphoria came down. I leaned against her, appreciating the way her breasts felt, still hard against my chest.

My strigoi still hummed in my body; only blood would satisfy it. I stood back and when she saw my hardened face, she burst into tears.

“Go now.”

She nodded, moving away from me. She did not bother to cover herself, but I pitied any living that dared try to touch her.

* * *

I glided through the shadows of the streets, smelling the scent of bodies as I moved among them. The carriages deposited the living at the table of my feast as they gathered to eat and drink, to laugh and to unknowingly invite me into their souls. My strigoi thrummed, eagerly anticipating a satisfied evening and I allowed it to consume my mind. My eyes turned black with need and my senses sharpened, ready for the hunt.

I followed a group of men up the muddy street. They held glasses from the local watering hole, half-filled with sloshing beer as they danced up the street, their other arm draped around each other. Their voices filled my ears as I stalked them, picking off the most desirable. The one in the middle, his smile brimming to the edges of his face as he sang loudly, caught my eye and I stepped in behind him. The happy ones usually tasted the best, and my feeding would transform their joy into an erupting euphoria.

My strigoi made my steps silent, my scent stifled and my movements agile. My hunger was all consuming; it flowed through me and I thought of nothing else. I licked the drops of saliva that slid from my fangs as I stalked him unseen. A woman slipped from the shadows and approached the chosen man before I’d decided to make my move, and my craving intensified. Her dress was short, her neckline low and her pulse pounded in my ears. If I could manipulate their movements, then I could partake of both of them.

My hunter eyes took in her slow movements and her wide eyes as she grinned, showing a missing tooth. A moment before I moved in, I breathed in deeply to satisfy my anticipation and before I knew it, my back was against the wall and I disappeared into the shadows. I turned my lips up choking on my revulsion, as I recognized the disease that spread through her body. The woman took the man by the hand, his compadres whistling their approval, as the couple paired off into the back alley.

Women of the night did not bother me, they were usually quite pliant and flavorful, but some of them carried diseases that affected strigoi, making us sick and weak.

I turned from the men and stalked down the street, cursing the woman. My mood was now depressed, but my strigoi still called for blood, and I would satisfy it tonight. I watched the crowds now with a sense of dulled urgency. They passed by me, uninteresting and boring, but I watched them eagerly, waiting for the right one to perk my interest.

The night deepened, and the crowd on the streets thinned. I stood by the doorway to the tavern, my need making me desperate. A woman carrying a set of empty glasses walked into the streets and I fell in behind her. My long legs moved quicker, until I was walking next to her. She quickened her pace but I released my senses over her, making her relax and slow her pace. I steered her to the back alley, and she looked up at me, her eyes wide.

I smiled at her, lust shining through my eyes as hers traveled up my body appreciatively. I pressed her to move against the back wall and she went willingly. No woman could ever turn away from me. Often I didn’t even need my strigoi senses to ensnare the woman. And sometimes, even the men.

“‘Allo.” She grinned. “Wat we got ‘ere?”

I stepped closer, my hand trailed up her ample stomach towards her breast. Her dress was simple, and it moved easily as my finger pulled the top down slowly. The glasses she held in her hands crashed to the ground. I preferred to feed from the breast of women. It was usually more tender than the neck and even more satisfying to them. We both derived such pleasure from it, that it was a uniting experience. I liked to enjoy my food.

I also enjoyed breasts, pure and simple.

She moaned as my nail circled her, and I bent to my knees, holding her against the wall. My fangs were fully drawn out now and I didn’t hesitate to bite, pulling her warm blood into my mouth. The blood of fuller women usually had a more satisfying taste, as they enjoyed the pleasures from their life. It filled my mouth and my strigoi purred. The woman panted as her emotions tumbled all over the place feeling the euphoria that my venom made her feel.

My fingers fondled her other breast, and as I prepared to move to it, her blood lit my senses, igniting my body on fire. I pulled down the other side of her dress and, suddenly overcome with need, I gripped her other breast tight and bit her hard.

She yelped, screaming now because my urgency to satisfy my strigoi caused me to become rougher, forgetting to be gentle. She slapped at my face but my grip was tight as I sucked intently, the blood giving me a euphoric feeling. This feeding usually went both ways. I had enough sense to be careful not to drink too much, and, after a while, I tried to be gentle again. But she was scared now and screaming into the darkness.

Suddenly a wooden plank slammed against my head. I ripped my teeth from the woman’s breast and she howled in pain.

A young woman stood before me, preparing to hit me again with the plank. Her dark wavy hair flew through the air as she came at me, and the sweetest bouquet I’d ever smelled filled my nose. I grabbed the plank, throwing it to the ground. “Look what you made me do.”

She searched the ground, looking for something else to grab. She bent over, retrieving a rusty bit of nail from the filth in the ground and she swirled towards me, the nail held out in front of her.

“Let her go.” She looked at the woman under my hands. “Or I’ll cut you with this.”

The woman screamed again and tried to bolt. My hand was a steel trap around her arm and she yelped as I pulled her back, and she fell on her rear.

“I swear, I’ll shove this into your neck if you hurt her again.” The dark-haired woman stepped closer.

“If it hadn’t been for your intervention, she would be happily on her way by now.” I licked the woman’s skin, in a hurry now to heal my bite marks, and then looked into her eyes, using compulsion to make her forget this incident.

“What are you doing to her?”

The woman shook her head and tried to get up. I let her. The dark-haired girl stepped in her path.

“Ay, watta wanna do, eh? Get outta my way.”

“Are you okay? What did he do to you? Do you need any medical attention?”

The woman turned towards me and smiled. “Well, ‘ello there stranger.”

I straightened up and wiped the blood from my lips. “Hello, Madam.” I held my hand out, motioning for her to pass, at the same time moving the dark-haired girl to the side.

The woman giggled and curtseyed. “Why thank you, kind sir.” She sashayed her hips as she walked down the street, and the dark-haired woman swiveled towards me.

“I wasn’t done with her yet.” I stepped closer to the dark-haired woman and breathed in deeply. Holy hell, she smelled incredible, and I gripped her tight, pulling her to me. “But I’ll happily allow you to replace her.”

She gripped the nail holding it up to me. “Don’t you dare hurt me.”

My strigoi demanded her blood, its need growing stronger until it roared in my ears. I was desperate to taste her. I tried to hold it in, but it vibrated through my body, making me shake.

Her blue eyes grew wide. “What’s going on?” Her eyebrows rose. “Are you okay?” Her hold on the nail loosened, confused whether she should be attacking me or helping me.

I moved suddenly so that I was holding her against the wall, her wrists clasped in my hand over her head. The nail was forgotten on the ground. I leaned in, need driving me closer. I had to have her, her blood called to me like no other. I leaned to her neck and breathed in her scent deeply. She wiggled her hips as my senses stroked her, trying to calm her, and then she was docile in my arms.

This. This woman was the kind of woman that I would break my own rules for, for her scent was so intoxicating that I could live for years off of her blood. I never kept the living, I preferred the hunt, and they were always so pliant in my hands anyway, there was no need to keep them. But I had kept a woman once, a couple hundred years ago, when the world was much simpler. She maintained me for a year, until one day my blood lust was too strong.

But this woman… Her blood call was much stronger than the other and my hands trembled as they held her wrists. She stared at me with eyes so wide and innocent. I leaned in, my nose on her neck, and I fought the urge to drink her dry, although the intensity of my need tempted me to clamp on to her intoxicating skin and never let her go.

The bay here provided an easy way to dispose of any bodies; she would be an easy kill. But - If I only took a taste, just a little, I could discover where she lived and take from her at my pleasure. If only I could control my lust which was threatening to burst from me.

If I took her home, I could control myself easier there. And, even though her scent would slowly drive me mad every day, for a woman with blood like hers, she would be worth it.

My eyes glazed over and my incisors extended. I buried my face in her neck, my unnatural breath coming out in puffs as I tried to control the lust. She rubbed her chin against my face, welcoming my touch and then she sighed. Suddenly, my will over my strigoi won out, and I flew to the other side of the street. She stumbled forward, falling to the ground and cutting her hands on the glass. She reached for me, begging me to return to her.

The smell of her blood overcame me and I fled, ignoring her cries. I flew to the wharf and fell on a man violating a woman. I tore at his throat, not bothering to be gentle. I fed until I knew I would be sick, and then threw him into the bay, while the woman stared at me wide-eyed. I didn’t worry about her; she was too afraid to tell anyone anything. She didn’t move as I stood and, not bothering to use my powers of compulsion, I departed to the house.