The Blood Born Tales (Book 2): Blood Dream
Page 30
The doctor sits up in his little leather chair and it creaks and rubs the way leather does when you move on it. He leans forward and gives Tim an encouraging and sympathetic look.
“You built up a world around her. The myth of her. Don’t you see that? The heart wants what it wants. Believe it or not, the mind really has nothing to do with it. Now, you think she really only loved you for a short time? I’m sorry, but I just don’t see that.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Everything you have told me—and everything that she did for you—demonstrates how deeply she really did care for you, Anderson.”
Tim lifts his eyes back to the doctor for a moment.
“She saved you from the vampire last winter. Saved your life when you were dying. And most of all, she raced across the state to save you from the mob of ex-vampires. And then she gave her life. Not necessarily to save Kenny, but as one last demonstration of her feelings for you. And you still don’t see the power of her love? Because, Anderson, I can see her devotion to you just from what you have told me.”
“So what do I do now then, Doc?”
“Go forward. And do what you have always done.”
“And what is that?”
“There is real evil out there, Tim.”
This is the first time the doctor has called him ‘Tim’ and it has worked. He is listening.
“You have seen this evil. We need men such as yourself and Kenny. The truth is out there, waiting for you. And so is your peace. You just have to go and find it.”
Yakutsk in Russia
In the frozen wastelands of Russia a gathering of vampires walks the streets. When they had first come to the frozen land, they had hoped to sleep to pass the winters, but the winters seem to last forever in Russia. Now the thirst for blood has woken the vampires of Russia. Here the blood born vampires of Yevdokiya bleed into the streets of Yakutsk.
This is the mother country at sunset, just south of the Arctic Circle. In the luxurious cold, summerless summer, everything is clean and white and drenched in powder. It is so cold that most would be frostbitten in an instant. The harsh breeze moving in from the south across the dark margin of bleached snow chases most inhabitants indoors, but the few immortals that have lived here for centuries are on the hunt for blood.
Sweaty-smelling men covered in massive furs and hides walk the icy roads hoping to make just one more sale before they pack up their fish and crabs for the next day. The vampires that are out on this night lust after such food.
What luck for them that such a gift of flesh and blood has not yet left the cold in search of shelter. What luck that even though the vampires have struck eight times on this very street they can still find a ready supply of warm blood. They are the slayers of the old and the infirm. They have come in such numbers to feed on the people of this city of ice. No one would think that those dead bodies died of anything else but the cold. The blood hunt always brings out the blood born vampires of Russia. It brings them out to track and to wait for their catch. They attack just at the moment that the man thinks he is almost safely home.
There is no time left now.
With a little burst of speed, one of the vampires appears on one of the narrow back streets. The breeze is calmer, softer on the immortals’ hard flesh. The gentle roar of a nearby television plays music, the dull trappings of The Beatles, then the sound of a beating heart.
A vampire walks just behind the man, so swiftly perhaps it seems he was never there. But nobody is looking, nobody will miss this one. It is the cold, of course. That will be what they will say that did him in. The fishmonger shouldn’t have waited so long to go home.
In moments the vampire is sauntering along, mere steps behind his oblivious victim. He has his prey in his sights. This is the provocative, penultimate moment. In a trance, the vampire falls in behind him, so close that the man feels the immortal’s breath on his neck. Or he would if the wind wasn’t so bloody strong. Dull-eyed and thirsty, the vampire watches and draws closer and closer to his prey.
The predator wants to press his lips to the man’s memories so that his blood will lock in every aspect of his prey to the vampire’s mind. That is blood worth having, the vampire thinks, and he is starving now. Starving as he has been over the decades and the centuries of hiding.
The vampire so wants to kill him. Then he makes his move. The ageless parasite drifts towards the human, too fast for any human eye to see. The vampire is nothing but a blur to mortals who couldn’t be bothered to notice such things.
The vampire freezes next to the humble fish merchant and lets him see what is coming. This is his game. The vampire has him in his powerful arms. The stench of his salty hair fills the vampire’s senses. This human is filled with vitality and warm in the vampire’s arms, his chest heaving against his killer’s. The smell of the man’s blood fills the tissue of the vampire and warms his cold skin. The man’s heart is laboring now, so close to death. The vampire releases the man and he is quickly descended upon by a massive vampire hoard. It is now a blood feast.
They are the Blood Born Vampires of Yevdokiya and they are coming to claim a new home, to carve an existence out of the cold of Russia. The vampires of Inferi will battle once again, and this time Yevdokiya and her vampires will destroy all who oppose them. The Blood War has begun.
The blood born tales will go on.