The Dracove (The Prophecy series)

by N. L. Gervasio

  His thoughts returned to Kylie.

  The first time he saw her name on the window of her studio, he thought it might be a coincidence, though the spelling was different. Seeing the name was what pushed him to go inside. He hadn’t realized she owned the necklace, since it wasn’t there and she wasn’t wearing it.

  He’d first laid eyes on her two days before he found the studio. He was drawn to her beauty and he followed her there helplessly. He knew at the time the necklace wasn’t in town yet. His hunger struck him again, but each time he had a chance to take her, something stopped him from doing so, some invisible force. At first, he thought the reason for his hesitation was due to her resemblance to his love. But now he wondered about it, especially after the way their eyes locked the other night. She didn’t recall it, and it still baffled him—the way he felt when it happened—

  “Are you busy tonight?”

  Her words startled him, interrupting his thoughts of the past and present. “No.”

  “Would you like to go to a movie or something?”

  “Anything in particular you’d like to see?”

  “No, I’ll watch just about anything. What about you?”

  “I suppose we can decide when we get there,” he said.

  “That’s fine. How was your lunch? You didn’t eat much.”

  “I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” he said, and laughed. “And you?”

  “Fine . . . Ireland next week, huh?”

  “Yes.” He looked up from his salad again. “Are you thinking about it? I know it’s short notice, and you don’t know me all that well, but I promise I won’t bite.” He grinned. Well, I probably would bite, if you let me.

  “We could change that.”

  People did this all the time, right? Ventured off to unknown lands with someone they hardly knew. Hell, movies and books all depicted how romantic it could be, even with explosions in the background. And how well did one really know someone, anyone? He’d met people that’d been married fifty years or more, yet they truly didn’t know one another. The only way to learn of someone’s true self was to possess his power to read minds.

  But Kylie was different; he had trouble reading her mind. Daylight wasn’t helping much. He’d even been around her at night, but it still did no good. He’d watched her for a long time last night, but she didn’t know he was there.

  “Well.” He sat back in the wrought iron chair and ran his hand through his long black hair. “We can change that, and being an artist, you are your own boss, right?”

  “That’s part of the reason I do what I do. I have appointments, though.” She paused, and then sighed. “But I do need a vacation, and it would be nice to get out of the country for my . . . for a change.”

  He wondered what she was about to say before changing direction. “You don’t have to decide right now,” he said with a chuckle. “Think about it for a while. Sleep on it.”

  “What day are you leaving?”

  “Tuesday, maybe Wednesday. I hadn’t decided yet.”

  “I’ll let you know before then.”

  “Sounds good.” He sat forward again, rested his chin on the back of his hand, and studied her some more.

  This vivacious woman impressed him to no end. He needed to spend some more time with Kylie today, before the movie. All day, if possible. He examined their surroundings.

  “Would you like to go for a walk, maybe to do a bit of window shopping? Unless you have another appointment?”

  Her eyes lit up, lighting the fire in his heart.

  “No, I don’t. You were my only appointment today.” She stood. “Come on, I’ll show you this really great shop down the street.”

  He followed her with a smile. “You didn’t travel all this way for just one appointment with me, did you?”

  “And lunch.” She turned her head toward him, a grin spreading across her face. “A girl’s gotta eat.”

  “Should I be flattered?”

  She tilted her head to the side and laughed. “It’s this way.” She pointed down the street, ignoring his question.

  She took his hand and pulled him down the street. He enjoyed her flirtation. A lot of women flirted with him, but it was different with her.

  Everything was different with her. He almost felt human again.

  He hoped she decided to go to Ireland while he was there. He’d show her the places he frequented in his youth. Experiencing them with someone he had such strong feelings for would be like seeing them for the first time again—

  And maybe I’m jumping ahead, just a little. But he couldn’t help how fast his feelings developed for her.

  If Kylie decided to go to Ireland later, that’d be fine too. He could change his plans. Time was certainly on his side. He could always make sure he’d be there . . . if he could keep Cianán away from her. He had to find out why Cianán wanted her. The Master didn’t kill her last night, and could have very easily, but why . . . Why didn’t he take her? She was important to him for some reason. He’d have to find out what it was. He knew Cianán, and Cianán never let his prey live long after he approached them; at least, not through the night.

  He may have to postpone his trip home, regardless.

  “Here it is.” She turned to face him and held both of his hands.

  That sensational energy setting his flesh on fire was back. It ran through his body, warming every inch of his skin.

  “Let’s go in then.” He opened the door for her.

  “Isn’t this great?” She walked through the store. “I love this place.”

  He tried to hold his laughter at bay. She acted the way he did long ago when he was a young lad and his father would take him to the market. Eventually, he’d leave his father’s side and head to his favorite place—the blacksmith—where the smithy performed a kind of magic that held him in suspense every time. He’d stare in awe as Jonathan Kirkpatrick would pound the white-hot metal, turn it, pound it some more until he folded and forged it into a blade. Jonathan would see him and smile, and invite him over to help when he was nearly finished, but could use one or two more folds in the blade. They were, of course, too heavy for Grant to lift, so Jonathan stood behind him and supported his hands to help lift the blade. Together they turned it, hammered it, forging it into shape, and lifted it from the block to the water when it was finished. Making those swords with Jonathan was one of his fondest memories. He’d helped him make many swords back then. He inevitably worked for him later on, against his father’s wishes, but only for a short time. Obviously, Jonathan had known Grantlund’s fascination for the craft, and eventually made a sword for him. One of the best he’d ever made, and the last.

  Grant missed his friend . . . and that sword.

  Now, he looked upon Kylie with the same feeling Jonathan must have had.

  “It’s interesting.” He looked around. “You do know what they sell here, right?”

  “Yes, I know what they sell here.” She arched her right brow at him.

  “Yes, but do you know what it’s used for?”

  “No.” She crossed her arms over her chest and crooked an eyebrow up again.

  Grant laughed at how much sarcasm came with one little word. “Are you into this twaddle?”

  “Twaddle?”

  “Stuff,” he translated.

  “No, I just like some of the things.”

  She could very easily be a strong sorceress, if she only knew. So strong, in fact, she’d be quite a challenge for him, even with his centuries of experience.

  Grant loved a good challenge.

  She picked out some incense and candles, walked over to the counter to pay for them, and chatted with the shop owner for a bit. He skimmed through a few books trying to figure out how to test her.

  “What time did you want to go to the movie?” She picked up her bag of goodies and headed over to him. “What are you looking at?” She reached the book and took it out of his hands.

  “Something I was thinking about buying. What
do you think?”

  She studied its cover, flipped through a few pages, and turned it over to read the back.

  “I guess I should ask if you’re into this twaddle, huh?”

  He smiled. “Just a little. It intrigues me.”

  “Then buy it. It looks like a good book.”

  “If you say so.” That was all he needed to hear. Never mind that he already owned a copy. He walked over to pay for the book. He turned to Kylie after the woman handed him his change, barely registering the way the woman stared at him, although he felt her gaze and knew why she did so. She was a psychic, or at least as close to one as she’d allow herself to be. She likely picked up on the whole ‘undead’ vibe coming from him. And though he couldn’t read her thoughts at the moment, he had a pretty good idea what she was thinking. If she were any good, she’d pick up how old he truly was.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

  “I’ve been ready. You’re the one dawdling.” She smirked and walked toward the door. He patted her bottom gently when she passed him. She jumped a few steps forward and laughed.

  * * * * *

  After the movie, as the sun settled in for the night, creating the perfect mood lighting, he walked her slowly to her car, his hand in hers.

  “I uh . . . um . . . .” He thanked the gods she didn’t hear that. Why does she do this to me? You’d think after so many centuries, I wouldn’t be nervous around a woman. He cleared his throat. “I’ve had a wonderful time with you today. Thank you.” He brushed the hair away from her face.

  She smiled. “It’s still early—”

  “You’re not tired of me yet?”

  “No, should I be?”

  He shook his head. “I certainly hope not. I’ve tried my damnedest to be interesting.”

  She laughed.

  “May I kiss you?” He tilted his head and leaned forward a bit, awaiting her answer. When she nodded very slowly, he moved closer until he felt her breath upon his lips.

  Her soft lips brushed against his. Heavenly, he caught her thinking.

  “When can I see you again?” He pulled back and looked deeply into her eyes, cupping her face in his strong hands.

  “When would you like to?” Her voice was but a whisper.

  “Well, I’m sure you have things to do this evening.”

  She shook her head within his hands. “No, I don’t.”

  He caressed her face, his hand tracing the curves down her neck. Her pulse played its sweet music for him, inviting him to drink from her. The blood thrummed beneath his fingertips. Her eyes closed and he kissed her again. It would be so easy to take what he wanted if he didn’t like her so much. He was close enough now; he didn’t think that invisible force would stop him. He could take her and no one would notice. If anyone did, they’d just assume the two were lovers.

  Take her blood and the locket she wore. Leave her in her car. Walk away.

  So easy.

  The symphony of bloodsong increased four-fold and his hunger grew. His fangs jutted down, wanting their meal. He quickly pulled away. He had to leave before it was too late. Before he hurt her.

  “I can call you when I’ve finished taking care of something.” It took every last ounce of strength he had to hold back.

  “Business?” She opened her eyes, looking a little startled by his words.

  “Aye.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t have any plans.”

  “There’s a small thing I have to take care of I’d forgotten about. It won’t take long, I promise.” Control it.

  “I’ll be waiting then.” She slipped her business card with her mobile number on it into his hand.

  He smiled, gave a quick nod, and walked away. He sat in his car with his stereo turned up to distract his hunger, and watched her leave.

  ¯ “I’ve searched through time, just to find you…”¯ played on the radio. He smiled at the lyrics and turned it up some more. The painting in the back stared at him from the rear-view mirror. Damn, that could be me. He laughed, pulled out of the lot, and drove home.

  Home . . . it was such a strange word to him now, something he hadn’t really given much thought to since he left Ireland. He missed her greatly. Missed her lush lands and rivers, and the sweet smell of the crisp air after the rain. Now he lived in a state where it rained two weeks out of the year. During the summer months, the sun beat down onto the desert until almost nine o’clock in the evening. Good thing the sun can’t kill me. As the year neared winter, the sun would set around seven, which was about what time it was.

  He instinctually searched the shadows, always expecting an attack at any moment—a hard habit to break—but slayers would never think to look for him here. They still had trouble with the idea that vampyres could daywalk . . . those slayers who knew, anyway.

  Fledglings, on the other hand, were difficult to convince of the fallacies regarding the sun. It was nothing like movies and books portrayed. He was fine with their beliefs because then only he and a few others could enjoy themselves in the world of light. Quite a few non-believers refused to step outside for fear they would burst into flames, and he laughed at them and their ignorance. After all, who was he to convince them to walk to their death?

  Grant couldn’t imagine living an eternity in darkness. For one thing, he loved the Arizona sunset with all its brilliant colors. Each day was a blank canvas. When evening came around, he watched the colors appear—brushstrokes of yellow, orange, red, magenta and purple streaked the sky, usually in that very order. There were so many colors, and they changed constantly. By the time he found them all, the sun would settle into the horizon and the sky cloaked in blue/black velvet, which had already begun to happen.

  He pulled onto the circular driveway and stopped in front of the entry. It was a nice sized home in Paradise Valley. A small part of the reason he rented the place was the quietness of the neighborhood.

  He pulled the portrait from the backseat of the car and carried the painting inside. He stopped and looked around in the large living room. There wasn’t much furniture yet. He needed to find a good spot for his recent purchase—one where he’d see it every day to remind him.

  “Hmm . . . maybe.” He set it down next to the fireplace, where he thought about placing candles inside the structure, since he’d likely never actually burn wood in it. He arched his brow and smiled, agreeing with his decision. He strolled down the hall to the bedroom, softly singing the song he’d heard in the car . . . .

  ¯“I’ve searched through time, just to find you…”¯

  Grant abruptly dropped to his knees and gripped the sides of his head, clutching the hair. The feeling so intense, he couldn’t control the change. He thought he’d had it under control. It wasn’t usually so painful when his hunger struck. Not this soon after feeding, and he didn’t need to feed every day. He didn’t understand. His yells bounced off the blank walls and traveled through the empty house. Pain struck him again. He screamed and doubled over. It was time to do something he didn’t want to do, but he had no damn choice.

  It was time for the hunt to begin.

  Grant didn’t hunt the way he used to anymore. The ritual tradition just didn’t mean anything to him since he was alone. Cianán would call it going rogue. Grant really didn’t give a shit what the Master thought.

  Generally, he’d hunt for sustenance and that was all he needed. It wasn’t something to be done every night, which was why he had trouble recalling the hunt before Rob. Sometimes he’d blackout during a hunt. He hated it and didn’t understand why, but he had no control over it. He did learn, however, killing his prey was an option, not a necessity. Unfortunately, he didn’t realize that option until after the innocent girl whose life he took many years past.

  Taking only what one needed was difficult when one experienced the fretta di morte. Once one tasted the sweet nectar of life the moment the victim died, it was difficult to relinquish. The taste had quite a unique essence to it.

  Not feeding often
could become painful for him if he waited too long. He didn’t understand why he dropped to his knees screaming earlier. He’d had such a long run without a spell and he’d fed the night before. Sometimes he could go at least two weeks without feeding and nothing happened, other than the bloodsong growing in his ears until it was unbearable.

  To appease the bloodsong, he only searched out those he felt didn’t deserve to live in the world the gods had given to them. A world the gods abandoned long ago. He took those who had abandoned the gods and took up arms with the likes of Crom or the devil. The planet may have become a living hell, such as his life had become over the last six hundred years, but he saw the beauty the gods created, and sometimes beyond it.

  He saw that beauty in Kylie earlier. In the way she walked. The way she smelled. In the way she looked at everything around her with those beautiful green eyes. He could tell she held a similar view of the world and saw its hidden beauties. But why wouldn’t she? She was an artist like him. He sighed and wondered if Kylie was the reason for his sudden craving.

  As much as he disliked his way of life, he enjoyed the hunt on few occasions. It was something difficult to get used to at first. He disliked getting blood-drunk, although it felt incredible. But sometimes the fretta di morte could be overpowering. When he was drunk, so to speak, he wasn’t alert, and he should be at all times. It was the reason the hunt was done in a flock. He’d made a mistake the other night and it almost blew his cover. Even if Robert hadn’t bumped into him, he still would’ve followed him out to his car after seeing the man’s interaction with Kylie. It surprised him he didn’t find Cianán stalking the bastard as well. However, he couldn’t allow his emotions to get to him again. He couldn’t be sure the slayers wouldn’t search for him, even in the desert. One never knew where they’d turn up. He’d never hear them approach during the fretta di morte. They could easily overtake him in that state.