Cursed (7 page)

Warm, soft flesh gave easily to the sharp points of his fangs. Greyvian was not aware whether the man jerked with the pain, but the human did not move and that was all that concerned him as the first sweet burst of blood hit his tongue. Hot, metallically sweet, it slid down his throat, trailing fire as it went. He braced himself as the flow made it to his stomach, but there was no clenching refusal of the liquid, only a warm easing as years of starvation was finally appeased.

Mouthful after mouthful disappeared down his throat. The utter sense of peace he felt in those few minutes would stay with him for centuries. It was the first time he could remember that he felt not the gut-wrenching pain of starvation, the ever-present ache of a body that lacked sustenance. As the blood worked its way quickly from his stomach to his organs and on to his limbs, it created a chain reaction of healing and strengthening that had him sitting up without even being aware of the fact that he was moving.

When the flow finally slackened and would not continue, no matter how hard he sucked, he dropped the arm he had been holding in a death grip and realised with a distant surprise that the human was on the floor beside him, face twisted with the fear of death, sightless eyes imploring him to stop.

Sweaty and panting, lost in the memory, Greyvian came to an abrupt halt as he spied a dark figure not ten metres in front of him that exactly fit with his dietary requirements. Fangs already extended, he figured if he couldn’t outrun his memories, he might as well try to drown them out by succumbing to his thirst. But, as he fell on the man and sank his fangs into the soft flesh, the feeding only served to bring the more troubling of his memories from the depths of his mind.

After his first taste of human blood, nothing else seemed to exist in Greyvian’s mind. He no longer had a family, no longer slept, no longer ate regular food, nor cared that he was destroying countless lives as he worked his way through the village like the silent hand of death. Humans in those days clung to myth and legend as though they were a religion, and, since he was not the first vampire in history to go on a rampage, the idea of vampires in their midst was not beyond possibility in their minds—especially as he left his victims where they fell, shrunken and bloodless, twin puncture marks in their necks or wrists, the evidence plain for everyone to see.

They grew fearful within a day, for he had gone through a dozen in a matter of hours; the number of victims increasing as his body adjusted to the volume of blood it was now receiving. The acrid scent of fear permeating the air spoke to an evil part of him he hadn’t known existed. They began to lock their doors at night, venturing out only in the day as if they believed he was confined to the darkness. They soon realised their folly as he walked amongst them, taking whomever he desired, one after the other after the other until he was so gorged with blood that he couldn’t bring himself to swallow even one more mouthful.

It was only then, as he finally rested from his feast and took stock of himself that he realised that his clothing was at once too short and too tight, meaning that along with an increase in height he had also filled out with muscle. To a sixteen-year-old boy of any species, finally developing muscles after being stick thin was a hell of a thing! He couldn’t stop looking at his arms, at the biceps that seemed to have sprung up from nowhere.

At last, he was a man!

“Greyvian, is that you?”

His father’s horrified voice snapped him out of his self-admiration. Looking up, he saw that it was now nearing dusk, when before it had been mid-day. How long had he been admiring the changes in his body?

Focusing on his father’s face, he saw that the male’s expression perfectly matched his tone. After a moment of incomprehension, he realised that his father must be in shock from seeing his son so strong and healthy.

“Father! Isn’t it wonderful?” he asked, spreading his arms and smiling. “I have found my cure!”

His father slowly shook his head, as if unable to comprehend that the man standing before him was his son. “
You
have killed these humans?”

Were they dead? Greyvian looked around himself, taking in the twisted forms of a half dozen humans, their faces creased in fear, each reaching out in supplication. He felt a distant sense of revulsion, but the emotion didn’t touch him in his presently elated state of mind.

“I have fed, Father,” he replied simply, unable to understand why his father seemed so horrified at the death of a few humans. If anyone of his kind had little love for the human race, it was his father. Surely the male wasn’t upset by their deaths?

“On humans.” It was not so much a question as a statement of horror.

Ah, so that was the cause of his father’s torment, not the deaths in and of themselves.

“Yes, Father. It appears their blood is what I require.”

His father shook his head in denial. “How can it be so?”

“I know not,” he shrugged, taking a step towards the male. His father took a step back and all of his warriors bristled, their hands hovering over the hilts of their swords.

Greyvian frowned. “What is the matter, Father?”

“What has happened to you?”

Confused, he looked down at himself, at the torn and dirty clothing that was now a few sizes too small for his larger frame. “Oh, that.” Looking up at his father, he smiled. “It appears I have had a growth spurt.”

His father shook his head in denial. “Monster!”

Surprised at the name, he looked down at himself once more. Perhaps his father was talking about the blood? There was a great deal of it covering his shirt, after all, and his father had always been very careful with his clothing.

Irritated that his father would focus on a detail like that at a time like this, he took a few steps towards the male and came to an abrupt halt as he was struck by a realisation. Previously on the few occasions that he had been stood upright before his father, usually by his brother when it was time to bathe, he had been just below chin height on the male; now, he was eye to eye with his father, perhaps even a little taller.

The proof of growth was not lost on his father who took yet another step back, his own hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

Greyvian was astounded. His mouth dropped open in shock. His own father would raise a weapon against him? For simply growing taller and filling out?

“Father?” he questioned, his voice cracking, his eyes flicking back up to meet the male’s guarded grey stare.

“What has become of you?” his father asked once again, his eyes flicking briefly around the village before coming to rest on Greyvian’s once again. “Do you feel nothing for what you have done here?”

“Done, Father?”

“This!” his father shouted, sweeping his arm in a circle at the village.

Confused, Greyvian looked around at the squat buildings, taking in the silent forms of the villagers sprawled haphazardly along the street, in doorways, slumped against barrels. They had all helped him become what he should have been all along and he felt a gentle fondness for the gift they had given him. High on blood, gorged to a pleasant state of mind, he felt no remorse, no disgust and could see nothing horrific in the sight of the prone bodies, the dark blood that splattered the walls here and there, or the fact that there were no animals in sight, all of them having fled long ago.

“I have fed, Father,” he said, unable to think of what else to say to convince his father that this was a good thing.

The ring of steel being drawn caused him to flinch and he stared in horror as his father stood before him, weapon at the ready.

“Monster!” his father cried again, taking a step towards him.

Horrified now, Greyvian took a step back, unable to comprehend what was happening.

“Father?”

“Do not call me that.” His father’s expression set into hard lines as he committed himself. “You are no son of mine.”

Without conscious thought, Greyvian spun around and bolted. Heavy footsteps rang out as he was pursued, causing tears of terror and grief to stream down his face as he fully realised that his own father meant to kill him.

“The blood has driven you mad, Greyvian!” his father called after him, his voice farther away than he would have expected. “It’s better this way!”

Unable to put words to what he was feeling, he put his head down and ran faster. He had no idea how long he ran, or how far he travelled, but suddenly he couldn’t run anymore. Collapsing, he put his arms over his head and waited for the killing blow.

Panting and sobbing, he waited. And waited. The sobbing and panting subsided, and still, no blow came to him. Slowly, he removed his arms and lifted his head.

He was alone in the middle of a forest. There was no sign of his pursuers, no sound besides that of a lone bird tweeting somewhere in the distance. He was safe.

He was free.

Coming back to himself, Greyvian realised that he was sucking at a dried corpse. Disgusted, he dropped the man and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, noting absently that the blood had tasted odd. A little weak, a little stale, nothing close to the usual dark sweetness he was used to. The human must have been ill and receiving treatment. Greyvian had come across a few of them in the past few decades and was always affected in some way by the drugs in their system. He hoped that this cocktail would make him feel exhausted, as had happened in the past. He had a feeling exhausted would be a good way to feel around Sienna; less chance of leaping on her and treating her to the same fate he had given those villagers so long ago.

Images flashed in his mind’s eye. Village after village of shrunken corpses, each reaching out for someone to save them, none of them wanting the fate he had thrust upon them. It had taken him a long time to get his fill. A long time to finish the growing his body had put on hold for his adolescence. A long time to finally come down from his blood high and realise the horror he had visited upon the human race. And, an agonisingly long time to realise just what his father had seen that day so long ago: a monster, covered in blood, fangs elongated, previously grey eyes pitch black and soulless. 

It was no wonder his father had tried to kill him.

Pushing the memories to the back of his mind, where they had been for the past century and should have stayed put for a few more, he disposed of the body. It was easy to make the male’s death look like a run of the mill stabbing instead of a vampire draining—just one more murder in the big city, just one more statistic; another case that the over-worked police didn’t have time to look into. Not that it really mattered. Even if the humans wanted to think it was a vampire, it wasn’t like they would ever catch one. You couldn’t catch what you couldn’t see; what your brain wouldn’t acknowledge even if it were standing right in front of you.

Which brought his thoughts back to Sienna. What made her different? Why could she see them? Was she the first step in an evolving population of humans that would be unaffected by their Awareness tampering? The mere thought would horrify his father: a male who hated humans for reasons that had finally become clear to Greyvian only a century ago. Those reasons even made him seriously consider whether they could allow the female to remain alive.

Not wanting to think about that right now, he headed back to the apartment. His hunger wasn’t sated, not by half, but he didn’t think his chances of coming across another suitable candidate were very high right now and he didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts. Not with the direction they kept heading in. At least he was feeling more level-headed now, less likely to jump Sienna and either fuck her brains out or drain her dry.

It had to be her scent that had caused him to react that way to her. That, and the fact that he needed to feed. There was no other explanation for it.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that Greyvian. One day you might actually believe it.

He resisted the urge to verbally tell himself to shut up and simply shook his head.

The female was bad news. The sooner this transition was over with, the better.

Arriving back at the apartment, he pushed the door open and braced himself for a fresh onslaught of Sienna’s scent. He found that it wasn’t as bad as he remembered.

It was worse.

Like a physical force, it pushed at him as he slowly eased into the living room, softly closing the door behind himself. So sweet. So tempting. And there she sat on the lounge opposite Knox, looking calm and comfortable, smiling at something the blonde was saying. She hadn’t noticed him yet and neither had Knox, so he took a moment to study her profile.

What was it about someone that made them attractive? Was it the arrangement of their features? The size and shape of their eyes, their mouth, their nose? Or was it something more? The depth of their personality, or, in Sienna’s case, the light of life that seemed to shine from her like some kind of ethereal presence?

Too soon her head twitched in his direction, the smile fading from her lips as she took in his silent dark form as he stared at her. When their eyes met, he felt the connection and it irked him. He didn’t want to feel connected to anybody, most of all a human. He’d been happy in his catatonic state. As happy as anybody could be feeling little to no emotion, caring for no one. He didn’t even know the woman for Christ’s sake.