Aiden walked over to one of the corpses, which resembled a woman. He lifted her stiff, black arm and studied it. “Anyway, I returned to Holland and brought back several of their rats. I locked these humans in with them for just one day. This is what I produced after a week.”
Aiden beamed.
Lucien laughed. “So you’re going to make the rats attack people?”
“Of course not. My plan is much simpler. All they have to do is live among humans. Whatever is on them, fleas most likely, will spread to other rats and eventually people will die.”
Lucien thought through Aiden’s plan. “Any idea how many?”
“Hundreds at least. Humans will be so consumed with trying to save themselves that they won’t notice us vampires coming in to pick off the weak ones. And we won’t have to worry about anyone coming to help, either. They will all be too afraid of contracting the disease themselves.”
Despite the whole thing being disgusting, using the rats and all, it sounded like a good idea. Lucien was tired of sneaking around, trying to find a human that could disappear without anyone noticing. And when he couldn’t find one of those, which was often, he resorted to hunting animals in the mountains. Animal’s blood was to vampires what insects were to humans—you only ate them if you were starving.
Throughout the rest of the day, Aiden talked up his plan until Lucien could find no reason not to do it. After all, it was his father who had taught him that survival was all that mattered, even if it meant you had to sacrifice one of your own. After Lucien had been turned into vampire, his father’s advice had saved his life—he’d killed his father in order to survive.
In preparing for their planned slaughter, which was set to take place in London in three weeks’ time, Lucien began to have doubts. Aiden’s behavior with the rats and the humans had gone beyond strange, even for a vampire. He spent every spare second in the barn with some new victim. Lucien asked him once where he was finding these pitiful looking humans, and they were sad-looking—all skin and bones and barely clothed. Aiden had replied, “From his collection.” Lucien tried to inquire further, but Aiden’s eyes glazed over and his mouth pressed tight. Lucien was all too familiar with this look and knew Aiden would not give him any more information.
A few days before their departure, he spied on Aiden through a crack in the barn wall. Aiden was seated on the edge of a chair holding a fat brown rat that squirmed against his grip. His sandy blond hair, which normally was slicked into a ponytail, hung loosely to his chin. His chest was bare except for spatters of dark blood. One of the red stains was in the shape of a smeared handprint.
A naked, tied-up girl sitting across from Aiden was drenched in sweat. Dark blue and purple bruises plagued the girl’s skin; her legs were almost entirely black. Across her arms were small, open wounds that oozed blood and pus. Her short, uneven hair was matted to her scalp and around her feet were several long, golden locks. Lucien couldn’t figure out how her hair had been cut until he saw a pair of scissors on a nearby table—a lock of hair stuck within its blades.
Occasionally, the girl would shake, as if in excruciating pain, and her eyes bulged in terror. If it weren’t for the rag stuffed into the girl’s mouth, Lucien would’ve heard the painful sounds her eyes expressed.
Aiden stared at the girl with what looked like curious indifference. After a minute, he lifted the struggling rat and peered into its beady eyes. Then, without warning, he shoved it into the girls face. She threw her head back and tried to avoid the rat’s snapping teeth.
Lucien had to look away. He couldn’t understand why Aiden hadn’t killed the girl already! The torture he was inflicting was beyond cruel, even for a vampire, and the strong smell of blood was so overwhelming, Lucien had half a mind to charge in there and kill the girl himself.
The morning they were to leave for London, Aiden finally appeared after days of absence, looking clean and vibrant. He wore his nicest clothes and Lucien swore he was wearing new shoes. His dark eyes were practically vibrating, and his smile reached his ears.
“You look happy,” Lucien mumbled.
“And why shouldn’t I be? All that I’ve worked for will finally be visible to the world.”
Lucien narrowed his eyes. “What does the world matter? I thought this was about an all-you-can-eat blood buffet.” He paused. “What are you doing, Aiden?”
Aiden was quick to answer. “Nothing. You’re right. This is about their blood. We’ll take their lives for all the years of making us cower for being who we are.”
Lucien nodded, but still felt Aiden had more sinister motives.
Traveling with Aiden toward London was miserable thanks to Aiden who couldn’t hold still. He was like a four year old before a vacation. He kept twitching and tapping every part of his body. At one point, Aiden was literally bouncing on the seat. Aiden didn’t calm down until Lucien threatened to eat the caged rats sitting next to him.
As London drew closer, Lucien became uneasy. Something felt wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what. He knew many humans would die, but so what? He was indifferent toward them. The nagging reached its peak when the coach finally stopped just outside the poorest part of the city.
When Aiden moved to jump out, Lucien grabbed his arm. “How many humans are going to die?”
“A lot, oh, so very many!” Aiden giggled, barely containing his glee.
Lucien tightened his grip. “We only need enough to scare people away from here, no more, no little.”
Aiden ripped free, anger flashing in his black eyes. “Sure, little brother, whatever you say.”
Lucien remained in the coach while Aiden carried four cages full of rats toward the inner city. The sky overhead was deathly black. A slight rain trickled down. Deep, uneven puddles of dirty water spread over the cobblestone road—evidence of a large downpour earlier that day. Lucien wished he could’ve been here to see it.
Aiden’s sudden whistling in the background made Lucien sit up. Aiden never whistled.
“It’s done,” Aiden said when he climbed into the coach.
“How long will we have to wait?” Lucien asked.
“Not long. Within a few weeks, the word will be out. And in a month, only those who don’t matter will be left behind. We’ll make our move then.”
“A month?” Lucien moaned. “Let’s go rent a room.”
“You go on. I’m going to stay.” Aiden looked wistfully back toward the city and his rats.
“Stay here? What for?”
“There’s going to be a lot of deaths, and I don’t want to miss a single one.” Aiden darted away before Lucien could stop him.
31
London reported strange deaths within days. Because the poor of the city were affected first, no one paid any attention until the weather turned warm. Then the disease spread at an alarming rate, and just as Aiden had predicted, anyone able fled.
The smell of blood in the air had become a part of the city, giving it new life that only a vampire could appreciate. Lucien restrained himself for as long as possible before seeking out Aiden, but he could wait no longer.
Night had fallen on London like a shroud covering the dead. The air was unnaturally warm. Sticky, heavy moisture clung to Lucien, weighing him down. He followed the coppery smell of blood through the dirty streets. As he drew closer to the inner city, the smell changed to something more pungent. The reek was vile and foul. Death smelled like roses compared to the horror he now inhaled.
Unaware and without warning, Lucien found himself in hell. Human bodies lay in piles on the street. Open wounds littered their blackened corpses, many of which were still oozing. A man dressed in a long black cloak, face covered, loaded bodies into a wheelbarrow. He pushed them to the town square where he joined another man dressed in the same manner. Together they tossed the mangled corpses into a roaring fire.
“This area isn’t safe, Sir. Go back,” one of them said as Lucien passed by.
More than the vile smells and the hellish bodies, it wa
s the soul-wrenching cries of torment and misery that made his stomach turn. These were the songs of the dead, and the painful cries and tortured screams was the unrelenting chorus.
Lucien tracked Aiden to a small, simple home with one window where a candle burned low inside. After watching a particularly fat rat burrow its way into the thatched roof above the front door, he stepped inside.
“Hello, brother,” Aiden said without glancing over.
He was sitting on the edge of a bed in the corner of the darkened one-room house. Across from him, leaning against a plastered wall, were ten dead bodies with blood spilling from many of their open mouths. At least Lucien thought they were dead … until one of them, a girl, moved her finger. Lucien listened closer and realized they were just barely alive. Their hearts beat as slow as their shallow breaths.
“What are you doing?” Lucien cried, appalled.
“Watching death. It’s quite fascinating, really.” Aiden’s eyes remained focused on the humans across from him.
“You’re a vampire, Aiden. Why not kill them and move on? There’s enough dying in London to feed for months!”
Aiden didn’t answer. Instead, he sprang to his feet and rushed one of the dying men whose head had slumped over. Aiden grabbed him by the hair and lifted his head. “Look at me!”
The man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He was dead.
“They’re useless!” Aiden said. “Every last one of them.”
Effortlessly, he tossed the body to the other side of the room and on top of the bed, which collapsed. Several of the others, who still had a little life left, cowered in fear.
“Aiden,” Lucien said, his voice calm, “Do you remember that greyhound we had when we were little? The only dog dad didn’t deliberately kill?”
Aiden wasn’t listening.
“Great, the dead guy broke my bed,” he grumbled.
Lucien continued, “You remember the dog, don’t you? It could find a fox from miles away?”
“Yeah, gray dog. I remember.” Aiden drug a straw mattress away from the wall.
“Remember how he used to chase all the cats and mice? And when he’d finally catch them, he’d shake them to death?”
Aiden grinned, finally listening. “That was marvelous!”
“Do you remember what happened to him after father trampled him with his horse?”
Aiden didn’t have an answer.
“He didn’t do anything. He just laid under that big tree in front of our house for days. A cat could be right in front of his nose, and he wouldn’t budge. Something went screwy with his head.”
“What’s your point, Lucien?”
“Have you been trampled by any horses lately?”
Aiden snorted. “You think I’ve gone mad?”
“The thought did cross my mind,” Lucien mused, looking over at the wretched humans.
“So this is how you repay me for the grandest feast I could ever give you? Call me crazy?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate what you’ve done here, but don’t you think your fascination with death has gone too far? Look at them! Just kill them and be done with it.”
Aiden stepped in front of Lucien. “You’re just like father, impatient and brainless.”
Lucien’s eyes bulged, and his hand shot to Aiden’s neck. “Don’t ever compare me to father.”
Adrian’s hands clawed at Lucien’s.
“You’re right, it would be an insult to compare father to you,” he choked.
Lucien dropped his hand from Aiden’s neck, and walked over to one of the almost dead humans.
“What are you doing?” Aiden asked.
Lucien grabbed the head of an old man, who didn’t resist, and twisted hard—a loud crack filled the small room. He turned to a fragile looking woman. She looked up at him hopefully.
“Don’t do it, brother,” Aiden warned.
Lucien snapped her neck. The woman’s head lobbed forward.
Aiden screamed a high-pitched wail and fell to his knees.
Before his cry ended, Lucien snapped the necks of three others. Aiden rushed him, but Lucien shoved him back. Two more necks cracked. Lucien didn’t bother with the remaining two. They were already dead.
“What have you done?” Aiden wailed. He grabbed two of the nearest bodies and cradled them to his chest.
Without another word, Lucien left his brother alone to grieve the loss of his precious pets.
32
Lucien wandered the plague-infested streets for weeks, killing and drinking the blood of whoever crossed his path. He hadn’t once thought about Aiden, but the confrontation had filled him with an uncontrollable rage. He fed sometimes three times a day, eager to take his anger out on the weak. Those he killed welcomed him with open arms. It was as if they recognized him as the bearer of death, and he served them willingly.
Lucien knew the consequences of drinking too much blood, but he didn’t stop. He wanted to feel the rumored euphoric feeling that was similar to being drunk. He thought it was a myth until this very moment.
He released his grip on the neck of a particularly young girl and gasped for air. He stumbled back and, unable to keep his balance, fell to the ground. The girl he was holding collapsed on top of his legs, and blood poured from the open wound in her neck. It spread across the dirt floor, forming a crimson lake.
Lucien’s vision blurred, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the blood, which began to change shape. Instead of having smooth edges, the puddle became jagged and bubbled. The bubbles popped, but when they popped, they kept their open, broken shape.
The blood continued to boil until it had raised itself off of the ground. Two long appendages burst from the thickening mass, forming sharp claws at the end. It crawled toward Lucien who shrieked in horror.
He kicked the girl off him and scrambled back toward the open door. The red claws followed, taking each step slowly, as if it recognized his inebriated condition. When Lucien had scooted past the doorjamb, and just as the claw was about to seize him, he slammed the door tight.
It took several minutes before he could finally stand. The world around him spun, and he could barely keep his eyes open. He staggered through the streets, knocking over anything that stood in his way. A thick mist lay before him in every direction; it was cold and full of moisture. He wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the mind or reality.
Footsteps echoed behind him. He turned his head in all directions but saw no one. He moved faster, using his hands, one over another, against the buildings for support.
Something growled deep and low. The snarl grew louder, but Lucien was blind to the monster. The roaring and gnashing of teeth became so tumultuous that he covered his ears. He slumped down in a corner and stared out in horror at the imaginary beasts that played with his mind. Every once in a while, his body jerked.
His life, up until that point, flashed before his eyes, but instead of people, demons played the roles of those he once knew and loved. He ran away from them all down a narrow hall of dark stone, water dripping from the cold rock. Behind him, the black demons pursued.
He stopped only when he came face to face with the devil—tall and dark, evil literally dripping from his eyes and mouth in black, oozing rivers. The demons behind Lucien screamed wildly. They were almost upon him.
Seeing no other way out, he rushed the devil. On impact, glass sprayed everywhere as he crashed into a mirror. The demons weren’t pursuing him. They were rushing to greet him as their master.
For days, Lucien lay in the dirty street as one of the dead, rats picking at his skin. He tried to swat them away, but his mind was muddled and out of focus. He stared at the clouds above and could tell by their dark edges that a storm was approaching. This comforted him, and his mind settled into a peaceful bliss. His body rocked as if he was on a boat, riding the tranquil sea.
All of a sudden, someone jerked him into an upright position, ruining his serene moment.
“Are you one of them?” someone shout
ed in his face.
Lucien tried to focus. In front of him, a vampire with shoulder length brown hair gripped his shoulders tightly. Even though Lucien was inebriated, he could sense the ancient power of the vampire. He mumbled something incoherent.
“Are you one of the brothers who created this mess?” the vampire demanded.
Lucien tried to speak, but all that came out was, “For you.”
The vampire dropped him, disgusted. “You did this for us? For vampires? You’ve killed thousands of humans so we could devour hundreds? You idiot! Don’t you know you owe your life to humans? Without them we are nothing!”
Lucien struggled to get up, but slumped back over.
The older vampire hissed, “You are evil—pure, untainted evil. I’d kill you now if I thought hell would take you.” He shook his head. “I expected more from you. You’re a disgrace to your family. What you’ve done here will haunt you forever. You are nothing, Lucien. Nothing!”
The vampire’s words were forever engrained on Lucien’s soul—if he had one.
33
“Lucien.”
Lucien’s eyes fluttered open. A foggy image of a woman stood over him.
“Lucien?”
He couldn’t respond. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and closed again. He couldn’t remember where he was and didn’t know why he couldn’t move. The woman’s voice sounded as if she were a million miles away. She was speaking urgently to someone, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. Something had happened, something bad, but he couldn’t grasp it. A storm raged in his mind, and he searched desperately for something to ground him.
“Lucien,” a soft voice whispered again.
A gentle touch caressed his cheek. The motion slowed the violent, flashing images until he was able to make more sense of them. The pain they brought were excruciating. Blistered, bloody humans with empty eye sockets reached for him, pleading for death. At their feet, ravenous rats scurried about, eating the rotten flesh that fell from their weak frames. More than the grotesque scenes were tortured wails of pain and agony, echoing in his mind. Adding to the macabre music of death was the voice of the powerful vampire, repeating the words, “You are nothing.” Like a constant beating drum, the words pounded, slithering and twisting around him, until it was all he knew.
The Devil's Angel (Devil Series Book 2) Page 19
