Feral Hearts

by Edward P. Cardillo

  His eyes flared like unearthly yellow fire. With the corpse-like pallor of his face, they appeared to be popping right out of their sockets.

  His lips peeled back in an expression equal parts grimace and grin, and his canines were impossibly long and curved, wicked, sharp, and wolfish.

  With demented laughter, Barry crossed the distance between the front door and Lucy in the blink of an eye.

  * * *

  Paul didn’t care that he was losing the others, putting more and more distance between those falling behind him. All he cared about was getting as far away as he could, and his long lanky strides were ensuring that happened. His tour companions trailed behind, and further behind the vicious vampiric bitches of Feral Hearts were gliding after them.

  Paul was getting gassed quick, running out of puff. This fleeing shit was for the birds. He was way out of practice, and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had to run so hard. If only he’d had an opportunity to snort a quick couple of lines of speed, he would’ve been showing everyone a clean pair of heels, running like the wind. The come-down would’ve been a bitch, just like every amphetamine jag, but hell, he’d have been way the fuck away from this calamity.

  Escaping was his priority. Worrying about what happened to chicks from the tour was not. Better they were back there than him. If they got their butts nabbed by the fanged sluts, all the better for him. It would slow the bloodsucking whores down enough to give the ol’ Paul Clarkson some breathing space.

  Paul ran until he came up against doors. Any he found unlocked, he went through, certain the more doors he managed to get through and put between himself and the pursuing freak bitches, the more it held him in good stead to locate a suitable hiding place.

  On his mad dash he discovered he’d entered what he assumed was some kind of ballroom. It was dark, though some light shone through a couple of long windows, enough for him to see the place was set up for some grand dinner party. There were scores of long tables covered in ornate tablecloths and centrepieces and surrounded by chairs.

  Slipping inside the room, Paul observed that he wasn’t alone. Some of the tables seated people. His appearance caused not a single ripple, as though not one soul even noticed it. Why they were all dining in the dark was a little beyond Paul, but as he neared the closest table where a slice of light from the window fell upon the table cloth and provided some illumination, he saw why none of them stirred.

  The spreading dark stain saturating what should have been a pristine white table adornment was not because somebody had been over exuberant with their Bolognese sauce.

  Paul gasped in shock as he realised that none of these folks were alive. They were mere husks of people, punctured of neck and drained of blood, each one of them.

  “Paul…” A feminine voice floated throughout the room, magical and seductive, yet fraught with menace. “Oh, Paul…”

  Instinctively, Paul hit the floor, sprawling headlong on it. He crawled along the carpet, breath punching out of him raggedly after the marathon he’d run to escape. He knew that mocking voice wasn’t one of his tour companions, not with that thick Russian accent.

  “Come out, come out, Scarecrow. Come out and play. Don’t you want me to fuck you to death?”

  Shit! Viktoriya, the Queen Bitch herself! Scarecrow? How does she know that? Paul couldn’t recall making any mention of that old nickname at any stage. He knew he wasn’t anywhere near that drunk. Heart pounding in his throat, he dragged himself under the nearest length of table, thankful for the virtually floor-length coverings.

  “Come on, Scarecrow.” Her words penetrated his brain, as if she were, in fact, inside his head. “I know you want me. Come out and play. This is consensual, you know. Not like that time back in your homeland.”

  Jesus sodding Christ! She WAS in his head!

  Paul hugged the floor, the side of his face flat against it, trying not to think about the fact that all the patrons of the table he was underneath were dead and dripping blood into their uneaten meals. He vaguely wondered if he was lying in pools of coagulating blood and hoped that if he was, it would mask the scent of his own.

  Then the tablecloth whisked away…no, the entire table, complete with deceased diners. A rush of air tore through his scarecrow hair as his hiding place vanished, and he heard a distant crash from elsewhere in the ballroom as the piece of furniture landed unceremoniously. The circle of dead customers toppled from upended chairs and for a brief moment, he was face to face with the gore splattered visage of a moustached man that landed next to him.

  Then, that too was gone and clawed hands dug into his flesh, yanking him bodily to his feet. Up off his feet. Into the air.

  He looked down at the countenance of the Queen Bitch, her eyes blazing with that unnatural golden hue, her mouth agape and baring fangs that dripped with dark crimson droplets.

  “Oh, and Scarecrow,” she laughed, the contemptuous vibe resonating around his head, “I lied about the fucking bit. Let’s just skip to the death part.”

  She didn’t bite him with a simple two canine stab to the neck. She ripped his entire throat out in a sanguinary shower of blood and meat fragments.

  * * *

  “We can’t leave Lucy!” Jenna pleaded as Jamie hastened her along. “She’s back in the hotel room! With Barry!”

  “Barry’s been bitten,” Jamie replied shortly. “If he isn’t already dead, then he is going to morph. Or already has. In any case, forget Lucy. She’ll be dead too.”

  “But…what? Morph?”

  “Change into one of them. Contrary to popular belief, not everybody bitten by a vampire turns into one. They either die immediately, they morph immediately, they get sick and die later, or they get sick and morph later. Either way, they’re both gone, Jenna. I only came back for you, and that’s all that matters.”

  “How do you know these things? And how do you know these…creatures?”

  “I owe them a debt,” Jamie said brusquely. “Owed.”

  “Which you paid in blood! Everybody’s blood!”

  “They’re vampires. There is no other way to pay a debt to them,” Jamie replied, almost apologetically.

  Jenna slapped him, the open-palm blow stinging and leaving a red mark vivid on his cheek. He merely nodded once, his face solemn and sorrowful.

  “I do deserve that. But, I’m not giving you to them, Jenna.”

  “How thoughtful.”

  “Berate me later. Hell, beat me later. For now, let’s concentrate on getting somewhere safe.”

  “Where is it going to be safe? Angela, Stefania, and Paul have the master key! We’re just running around aimlessly until they catch us!”

  “Which would be right about now…” The sneering female voice, thick with a Russian accent, sliced through her desperate lament.

  Behind them fanned a five-strong army of women in various states of undress, so scant was their clothing. They would have been exquisite if not for the red streaks that marred them, bloody trails swathing the lower portions and dripping from chins. Vindictive eyes shot yellow daggers.

  Five, Jenna thought numbly. How can I justify this as a good number?

  “In here!” Jamie suddenly grabbed her, propelling her through a doorway and stumbling in after her.

  They were in the hotel kitchen, Jenna duly observed. Then, impossibly fast, the quintet of bloody faced women was also in there, materialising right in front of them.

  “Now, now, not so fast,” smirked the vampire in the middle of the arrowhead formation, her hair so brightly platinum that it looked to be shining in the gloom of the darkened kitchen. “Jamie, what are you playing at, you silly little boy? Reneging is not looked upon favourably.”

  “I gave Viktoriya the others, Natalia,” Jamie said. “I gave the rest to all of you. But, I’m not letting you take Jenna.”

  “You don’t decide,” Natalia snarled. In that moment, any hint of beauty vanished from her features as they shifted and became bestial, ruled by teeth and slavering ja
ws. “You cannot take one back for yourself.”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Jamie said. “Forget the other stuff. Tell Viktoriya I’ll keep my memories of Nico, of everything. But Jenna comes with me.”

  “You can keep your memories…for the next few seconds you have left with them.”

  Jenna looked around and around, desperation and terror clawing at her more insistently than Cattabulous berating her for not feeding him on time. A block of knives was almost within her grasp, over atop a stainless steel bench.

  Oh jeez. Six knives. Really? Six?

  All five of the fanged fiends no longer even resembled humans. Their faces were aberrations, the sounds of bloodhunger issuing from their warped mouths, ugly and terrifying.

  They closed in.

  “Take me, then, but let her go!” Jamie abruptly flung himself at Natalia. Jenna lunged, grabbing at a knife handle, beating down the crippling fear inside her.

  For his moderate build, Jamie was deceptively powerful, or at least fought with a strength borne of desperation. He managed to hurl Natalia to the kitchen floor and went for her eyes with his thumbs, gouging in with furious pressure.

  Jenna almost vomited, watching this frantic act of violence, especially when blood began to well out around his thumbs. However, his momentary advantage was eclipsed. Largely ignoring Jenna, the remainder of the feral women surrounded Jamie. In the next couple of brutal bloody moments, Jenna discovered exactly what type of the four people bitten by vampires Jamie was.

  He was one of those who died immediately, and in a drenching shower of red mist.

  Jenna’s hand closed around the red handle of a handmade chef’s knife. One weapon in her hand, five in the block. That made better odds of the numbers in her head. She stabbed the nearest vamp, her body thrashing in the frenzy of gorging upon Jamie’s blood and draining his corpse. The keen blade punched in under the ribs.

  This would-be victim merely turned around, plucking the weapon from her back with black claws, her face so blood-soaked that she looked as though she’d bathed in it.

  “First thing you should know, stupid girl, is a lot of vampire lore is just that. Stories, misconceptions, folk tales that have been warped and carried down the line, like…how you say it? China whispers?”

  Something whistled through the air, there was a violent meaty thump, and then the mocking vampire’s head tipped sideways and toppled off her neck, leaving a spout of blood jetting upwards.

  “But decapitation works just fine, bitch,” said Angela, emerging behind the beheaded vamp wielding a giant cleaver. Beside her was Stefania, a barbecue fork in one hand and a spiked broken chair leg in the other.

  Before Jenna could gather her thoughts, the newcomers attacked the other vamps still mutilating Jamie’s ravaged body, severing heads, stabbing and staking in an orgy of blood that bathed the kitchen in a hideous hue of red.

  Overcoming her intense nausea and the need not to be swamped by the millions of germs she knew were rife in this grotesque dance, Jenna took a carving knife.

  Wincing at the prospect, she joined the massacre.

  * * *

  As she stumbled away from the kitchen slaughter, Angela was a little disappointed to see that the deceased vampires didn’t burn away into ash, or explode, or anything like that. They merely lay cold and draining of blood like any other corpse. That was a bit of an anticlimax, but it lent credence to what the decapitated vamp said to Jenna about vamp lore.

  “Is…is that it?” Jenna moaned, wanting desperately to find some body of water to plunge into and be rid of the blood saturating her. “Are they all dead?”

  “Hardly,” Angela replied, “though some of the hotel staff are fighting back. As best they can.”

  “This is hopeless! What chance have we got?”

  “As good as any, if we can find Viktoriya and separate that bitch’s head from her body.”

  “Why don’t we just find that place to hide and wait until sun up?”

  “Tried that. Failed. They’re in our heads. Wherever we go, they know where to come. They only needed to have access granted to the hotel by somebody, and that was Jamie. Now they are free to get into our heads, manipulate, and play on our fears. However, I’ve had enough manipulation over my life to do me for good. I’m going to kill this bitch,” Angela swore resolutely. And if I get out of this, I’m killing Elena too. She’s the one who got me into this damn mess, convincing me to come on this fucking tour…

  “This is the worst holiday ever,” Jenna moaned.

  “Well, I’m not exactly having the time of my life yet, but in comparison with the rest of my life…” Angela let that statement just fade into a sea of uncomfortable silence.

  A big muscular figure abruptly dropped from above, vaulting into their path.

  “Surprise, bitches!” Barry grinned, his eyes flaring with amusement and malevolence. “You didn’t think I was going to let this tour go to hell without me sticking something in any one of you? Preferably all of you?”

  He was amongst them in a flash, seizing Jenna in an iron grip, dancing back and away from the two weapon-wielding girls. His grinning mouth morphed into a gaping yawn ringed with prominent canine fangs and smaller sharp teeth.

  “It’s a pity that it’s only teeth, but hey, that’s my favourite thing to stick into gals since this funny little change came over me.”

  Then he clamped that hideous mouth over Jenna’s neck and punched his fangs in, dragging her backwards with him.

  Angela and Stefania launched at him, and he released the hapless girl, flinging her towards them before retreating in a trail of eerie laughter. The limp body of Jenna landed against Angela, and they both fell. Stefania danced in a panic from foot to foot.

  “Go after him!” Angela commanded. “I’ll catch up.”

  As Angela cradled Jenna’s sagging figure, Stefania dashed off into the darkness. Jenna’s eyes flickered open, glinting yellow and then her mouth cracked open.

  She sank her newly sprouting fangs into Angela’s arm.

  * * *

  “It doesn’t matter that you think you’re one of us, Barry. You will never be one of us. All you have done is morphed, but that doesn’t make you one of us. That just makes you a little more of a challenge for me, but ultimately you are still destined to die and I will feed upon your manhood.

  “It’s a falsehood that morphed blood will kill us. It’s a little less nutritious than pure human blood, but it will do in a pinch. And, of course, all vamps are not one big happy family. We have enemies within our own race, and you, Barry, are one of mine.”

  Okay. So it’s going to play out like that, is it? Queen Bitch Bite isn’t about to embrace me with open arms into the fold. Well, I’m down with a little vamp-on-vamp violence. I’m bigger and stronger, and I’m going to penetrate above and below simultaneously. Why should Paul be the only one to get a bit of this delicious Ruski?’

  On the rooftop of the Derosso Grande, Barry and Viktoriya stared one another down, circling, metres apart, but gradually closing the distance, both of them lancing each other with fearsome, baleful eyes.

  Both were completely undressed, shucking off their tattered remnants of clothing, exhibiting perfectly shaped bodies. Barry’s was a colourful muscular skin canvas, and Viktoriya’s alabaster to the point of glowing in the moonlight. For now, their visages remained in human form, albeit stained with blood.

  “That would be a big mistake,” Barry ‘The Fang’ Nero sneered. “You don’t want to tangle with me. I may have only been a nightstalker for five minutes compared to your whatever hundred years, Sweet Cheeks, but I’ve got a nice grasp on it already. If anyone is going to die here, it won’t be me. I like this shit too much already to give it up just yet.”

  “Dear naive Barry, there’s more to it than simple brute power and a new found desire to be the best. Quite simply, I am the best here, and I rule this town. Tonight, you die before you get any more opportunity to let this all go to your swollen head.”


  “Sorry to break up your little party, but I have a correction to make,” rang out a voice from further down the rooftop, behind Barry. “Barry is mine.”

  Out of the shadows of deckchairs alongside the pool stepped a figure, moonlight streaking across her face. Lucy stood resolutely, her shirt open and billowing behind her like an ethereal cape. Her hair streamed and gusted around her face, and her eyes glowed with unearthly menace. She smiled with her lips parted, and fangs glinted in the slight aperture.

  “Barry gave me a little gift I never wanted, a non-refundable one. I came here with high hopes, and between you and him, you’ve cursed me. So, the honour of giving Barry a little payback belongs entirely to me.”

  “As for you, bitch, I’m all about putting an end to your rule.” This came from Angela, approaching from behind Viktoriya. “You fucked up my holiday. Because of you, I had to chop Jenna’s head off with a cleaver. Things were really starting up here on this tour, and I can’t believe I was actually starting to enjoy myself. Then, because the boys can’t help being boys, we have to contend with your pack of neck-biting whores.”

  Both Barry and Viktoriya reacted simultaneously, faces exploding into their feral animalistic forms, hissing threats erupting from them. They were quick, but they weren’t just dealing with simple human cattle any longer.

  As Viktoriya lunged in a fluid motion that looked like a jet of water bursting from a high pressure hose, Stefania abruptly appeared, overturning the deck chair she’d been lurking under, and thrust her barbecue fork deep into Viktoriya’s gleaming naked left breast.

  It wasn’t fatal, and it didn’t penetrate the vampire queen’s heart, but it wasn’t intended to. The purpose was a momentary distracting tactic, and as Viktoriya shrieked in annoyance and swatted Stefania away like a fly, sending her reeling down the length of the roof, Angela stepped in.