Vampires Romance to Rippers an Anthology of Tasty Stories

by D'Noire, Scarlette

  Slowly he began to back away, growling what he knew was a futile warning. Releasing a few barks, he turned tail and ran toward the others, indicating beyond question that the feast was over. His mate, understanding, rounded up those nearest her, herding them toward the forest. A few of the wolves were reluctant to leave, but the alpha male backed up his insistence with some well-placed nips. Wolves began to follow, ripping a last morsel or grabbing an arm or leg to bring back with them to the den. Once the field was cleared of wolves, the alpha male halted, taking one last look at the scene, torn between the meat that would feed his pack and the danger he knew was there. He would lead the pack far away and never return to this field. Let the rodents and carrion birds feast on the meat and whatever danger resided within.

  ~ ~ * ~ ~

  The three bodies piled atop each other began to shift slightly. The sweet coolness of night beckoned and Narain at last felt safe enough to emerge from his grave, hastily dug in desperation the day after the raid by the creatures. As time passed in his near death stupor and morning turned into afternoon, the change occurring within him made the growing sunlight increasingly unbearable. The guns had silenced, but war was waging inside him, worse than any fever he’d ever known. It burned through his veins, the thirst torturous, but the water he lapped from a muddy puddle nearby did nothing to quench it. Eventually, he began to dig into the cool earth, fueled by a sheer instinct for survival.

  Why hadn’t he died when the creature fell upon him? It leapt upon his back and nothing he did could dislodge it. The pain was astonishingly brief as teeth pierced the flesh of his neck and his life’s blood was drained from him. The loss of blood and exposure should have killed him, but Narain remained tenaciously alive, in a strange fugue, listening as those soldiers still alive begged for water or death.

  That was the true cruelty of war. Soldiers would linger in pain and misery for days before it was safe for stretcher-bearers to cross safely into “No Man’s Land” or death at last released them.

  Digging ferociously, Narain had hollowed out a rut deep enough for him to conceal himself. Then he grabbed three of his fellow soldiers and managed to maneuver the corpses over a top him, hoping to block out the full effect of the sun. Already, the battlefield was heavy with the stench of rotting flesh, but there was also the tang of blood in the air and, for some strange reason, he took comfort in that.

  He was certain he was going mad. He blacked out occasionally and when he awoke, he could never fully clear his mind. Nothing made sense. If he had the strength to dig, he had the strength to run, so he should be running to find help. But something deep inside screamed to him to stay put. And the fever continued, sending a fire through him that made his skin crawl. A few time, he awoke, noticing that he clutched in his hand a mouse, sometimes a rat, always mangled, blood caking his hands. The last time he noticed it, a queer smile lit his face. Locked beneath a canopy of corpses in the grave he dug for himself, he was subsisting on rodents. Then he heard the wolves and caught the scent of fresh blood as they bit into still living soldiers. The wolves’ own hearts beating over the excitement of their plunder resonated within him.

  One came sniffing around his den. The wolf was young and healthy, and Narain could feel the animal’s warmth calling to him. “Closer,” he whispered, as he carefully moved a soldier’s arm to get a better look.

  The back of his head began to tingle and soon he could feel a swelling heat in his brain as the wolf came ever closer to the odd pile of bodies. Then, Narain struck, reaching out from under the corpses and grabbing the wolf so fast that all it had time to do was yelp before he snapped its neck. He sensed another on the way and froze. This wolf, however, larger and older, knew better, leaving quickly after a few moments of puzzling out the situation. The pack followed his orders and left the battlefield to the dead and dying.

  Narain ripped at the animal’s neck with teeth not yet suited for such endeavors until he remembered the army-issued knife he wore and slashed into the thick coat. The wolf blood filled his empty stomach and the energy coursed through him, yet he was still in need. Crawling from his hole, he wandered the battlefield. The sentient part of him retreated to allow the feral part to take over and do what was necessary to keep him alive.

  He took his knife and slashed at the neck of a nearby corpse, falling upon it and dragging out whatever he could get. Switching tactics on the next corpse, he slashed at the section where the blood had pooled, finding the feeding much easier.

  Still, his changing body craved nourishment that could not be found in the blood of animals or the cold blood of the dead. Slowly, he ran a steely gaze through the field in the hopes of detecting the heat of the living. The sentient mind, buried deeply, rationalized his next move. These soldiers were dying in agony. He would help make the inevitable quick and painless.

  The feral mind needed no rationalization and urged him forward. One soldier breathed, but was barely conscious. One soldier’s eyes were wide and glazed with the shock that made him barely senseless. Another had been writhing in pain since shrapnel shredded his legs and they were now swollen and infected, the tattered fabric of his uniform glued to them by the blood and pus of his wounds. He called Narain an angel of mercy, smiling as Narain slit his throat. This struck sharply at Narain’s sentient mind until his feral mind overruled him and he drank desperately.

  He spent the night doing what needed to be done until he had satiated his need and was able to climb back into his hole. By the third night, however, as the fever that had gripped him abated, and the pain of his own wounds were long gone, the true horror of it all struck him. While in his blood lust, he had been able to render faceless his fellow soldiers. His victims. Now, he was haunted by the blood that coursed through him, keeping him alive. Their essence taunted him with their agony and fear. He writhed in his grave as the full realization of what he’d become assaulted him.

  The creature that had attacked him with its ghostly sunken features had lifeless eyes, its mouth grizzly with serrated, bloodstained teeth that dripped with the gore of its previous victims. It was a mindless thing and fed mindlessly. The thought of himself, running with those ghouls, ripped at Narain’s mind. Climbing out of his trench, he fell to his knees and cursed at the sky. Why had he not fallen completely into the madness that would lead him to feed upon his fellow beings? Did these ghouls remember their crimes? Did they carry their victims with them, as he now feared he would?

  Rising to his feet, Narain walked slowly toward the forest. He would head east. Instinctively, he knew that when the sun was high enough, it would finish him and the nightmare that threatened his world would end. He left the battlefield and its charnel house smell behind him and prepared for the death that should have occurred two days before.

  ~ ~ * ~ ~

  Miles away, the rising sun shone softly through the trees and Narain sought out a clearing where it would not be hindered by them. In the distance, he heard the muffled sounds of mortars being fired; more food for the ghouls. When he found the right spot, he raised his hands to the sun’s fatal rays, but the will to survive, heightened now by what he had become, was too strong and it drove him to shun the light. It would not yet destroy him, but it would sicken him beyond all comprehension if he remained within its rays. He slunk back into the shade of the forest and furiously burrowed deep within the protective earth. Huddled there, panting, he felt the war tearing at his mind. The sentient mind wanted an end to this unnatural existence. Yet, it was the unnatural existence keeping him alive.

  Narain awoke to face of a bearded old man gazing down upon him. A candle blazed on the table next to his bed, and two candelabras were placed on the mantle of a currently unused fireplace off to the left. Turning his head slightly, he saw a candelabrum on a long dresser. The man stood over him, wiping at his forehead with a damp cloth, then smiled when he noticed that his patient was now conscious.

  “Are you awake?” he said in a deeply, dry voice.

  Narain blinked his head,
still fuzzy, and nodded. The bed was soft and warm, a comfort he hadn’t experienced in quite some time, and sleep threatened to retake him.

  “I am assuming then, that English would be easiest for you.” Narain nodded again, noting the French accent that shaded the man’s words. “No other languages?”

  “Bengali, Hindi, if you are able,” Narain croaked.

  The old man chuckled and placed the cloth in a pot of water. “Let us count our blessings that we both share English.” After a pause, the old man studied his face, saying, “Answer this next question very carefully. What is your name?”

  The man asked this with such import, that Narain actually felt nervous about his response. He had never met the man before, he was certain of it, but the man seemed to stare at him with a familiarity that was confusing. Blinking and looking around the room, Narain licked dry lips saying, “Khan. Narain Khan. Private in the Indian Army.” He felt it almost necessary to continue elaborate. “My father is Mohan Khan, my mother is Preity. They live in Bengal.” The man placed a hand on Narain’s shoulder. “Well done, son. There will be time for all that.”

  The man went to a pitcher and poured some water in a metal mug. “You were quite feral when I found you. I had hoped you would come to your senses, but you can never be too sure.”

  He offered the mug to Narain, who took it gratefully and drained it, the liquid quenching the raspiness of his mouth and throat. His whole body felt brittle. Even his eyelids were sticky as he raised a hand to rub them. The water, while it helped, left him strangely unsatisfied. The old man refilled the mug, offering it to Narain, who refused it politely. Setting it on the table, he stared at his patient, scratching at his grey beard, and commented, “You were involved in quite a battle.”

  Brows furrowing, Narain acknowledged slowly, “Yes. Yes, I was.” He had almost, happily, forgotten the battlefield. Even now, it seemed like a different life. Rubbing his face, he asked, “How long have I been here?”

  “Close to two weeks.” Nahrian’s face registered shock and the old man explained, “I found you wandering the forest. I knew the war had crept into area so, I suppose I was not so surprised to see a soldier wandering in shock. I took you to my estate. My name, by the way, is Alphonse Reno.”

  “I am Narain Khan.”

  Alphonse chuckled. “Yes, so you have told me.” Narain returned his smile. “Well, young man, if you are able, I will leave you to freshen up.” He pointed to a small room. “There are facilities in there.” He moved over to a chifferobe. “And a change of clothes in here.”

  Rising carefully to lean on his elbow, Narain said, “I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness.”

  The gentle smile seemed slightly melancholy. “Gratitude is not necessary. When you are ready, come downstairs. We will talk.”

  After a pause, the man exited, leaving Narain to stare after, confused. The man’s demeanor was pleasant enough, and yet there was a touch of dread. Like a doctor telling a soldier that the leg must be amputated.

  Running his hands through his hair, Narain raised his knees and rested his arms on them. He was only a short time away from the battlefield, but it seemed a whole lifetime ago. He remembered so little of it all. The fighting itself, the explosions, the cries of help. The blood and dirt spraying everywhere. He knew it had occurred, but it was little more than a nightmare to him now.

  Wandering the woods, though, he had no memory of this. Of course, if he had been in shock, he might have blocked it all out. Perhaps talking to the old man would jog his memory.

  The room was curious. There were large windows, but they had been boarded up from the outside so that opening the inside shutters would produce no light at all. He had no idea what time it was, whether it was day or night. Night seemed most likely and for some strange reason, the most desirable.

  Still a bit stiff, he made his way into the washroom. It was obvious he had already been bathed and he could only imagine how grimy he must have been when he arrived. The dirt and gore of the battlefield had been cleansed from him and even his thick black hair felt cleaner than it had in a long time. It had been so long since he felt warm and clean. From the boat to the trenches to the battlefield, he seemed always to feel chilled and filthy. The sun of India had seemed so far away.

  Narain found Alphonse in a large library/study downstairs, tending to a fire in the sizable fireplace. It seemed to be a large house, several guest rooms upstairs, and downstairs an impressive dining room, living room, and kitchen; like the rest of what he’d seen, the heavy velvet drapes of the study were closed, the room well illuminated by candles haphazardly placed around it. Was the man’s skin sensitive to light? Narain had heard of rare cases of this. Taking the chance, Narain had lifted one of the drapes he’d seen in the dining room, but his earlier conclusion had been correct. It was deep into the night and the surrounding acreage was practically invisible in the dark. Still, oddly, he thought for certain that he had seen something. Small woodland creatures, eyes glowing, were scuttling about in the dark.

  Looking up, the old man smiled in greeting from his chair and motioned Narain to sit in a straight backed but comfortable chair near the fire. “I must say you look a far sight better than when I found you,” he said as Narain took the seat.

  At last, Narain said softly, “Sir, I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness.”

  “Never mind that,” Alphonse assured him. Studying him, he commented, “You are a very long way from home, are you not?” Narain conceded this with a wistful nod and the old man went back to tending his fire, sighing sadly. “My God, what you boys have given up to counter this awful aggression.”

  The man seemed to be carrying a burden that weighed upon what would normally be a very jovial disposition.

  Shrugging, Narain chuckled softly. “Well, I myself have never liked a bully. If I can help in any way to put Germany in its place, I suppose it is worth the sacrifice.” The man said nothing, only stared at him as if he had news to impart, but couldn’t find the words. Blinking, after several moments of silence, Narain cleared his throat saying, “I think I will have to find a way to contact my regiment tomorrow.”

  This declaration forced the issue and Alphonse took a seat across from Narain, gently saying, “Narain, my boy, I need to explain something to you. It will seem strange and very difficult to hear, but you must listen carefully for your life, as you knew it, no longer exists.”

  Narain stared at him, frowning slightly. What a curiously ominous thing to say. Perhaps the old man was a bit senile. Yet his stomach began to churn a little as flashes began to batter the back of his mind. Strange visions of darkness and pain and a hunger he’d never experienced before. Tensing, Narain’s brows furrowed. He would hear the man out. The old man had, after all, saved his life. And after his time in the trenches, it was true, his life would never be the same. “What is it you mean?”

  Alphonse looked down at his hands, which were clasped together almost as if in prayer. “Bear with me, dear boy. It is a difficult story. It will be difficult for both of us. I only wish I had another to tell you.” Narain’s brows remained furrowed at the pain the man was obviously experiencing in his memories as he turned his gaze to the fire. Narain had known him only a short time, but he could tell instinctively that he was a good person. A disquieting thought hit him that Alphonse’s words were not those of a senile old man, but rather the words of experience.

  “I had a son, you see,” Alphonse began slowly, smiling slightly at the memory of a child long gone. “He would be near your age. Everything a father would hope for. I have a daughter too; she is married and far from here. My wife is long passed. What a woman she was!

  “Beautiful. Full of courage and passion. What a proud man I was. Yet, with my wife gone, my daughter off on her new life, I had only my son left to keep me company. How strong is the bond between fathers and sons?”

  “Very strong,” Narain said, thinking of his own father so far away.

  Alphonse smile
d. “His name was Laurent, my son. I had sent him with a friend to town to conduct some simple business. It should have lasted a few days at best, but he did not return.” Alphonse’s features drooped. “His friend came back, leading Laurent’s horse, Laurent’s body draped across it.” The old man’s eyes bleared a bit as he looked at Narain. “I ask you now, son, please keep your mind open. It is imperative to understand this story.” Pausing, he sighed deeply and began, “I had heard of the folk tales; they abound in this country especially among the uneducated, but they were just that: Tales to frighten the weak of heart. Until my son was brought back to me. His friend needed to stay in town a bit longer, but assured him he would join him on the trail. His friend found Laurent a day later, his body cold and mangled.” Alphonse shook his head. “I don’t know, perhaps the creatures sensed the war that was on its way. They had been dormant for so long. They follow brutality and bloodshed, you see, dining on fallen soldiers and anyone else that happens to be in their path. Like my son.”

  Narain leaned forward, curious despite incredulity. “Creatures? What creatures do you refer to, sir? Wolves?”

  Alphonse admitted, “I hesitate to use the word, for you will think me mad and will shut your mind to all that I have to tell you.” Narain indicated his willingness to listen and Alphonse said, “I refer to vampires.” To Narain’s blinking surprise, he insisted, “Yes, they exist. I was as doubtful as you are, but my eyes have been opened.

  “Still, despite the signs, I could not accept what had killed my son. How could I? Obviously, some maniac had fallen upon him and had committed some sort of twisted cannibalism. I buried him in our family cemetery, never noticing the shallow breaths or the faintest of pulses.