|
Prologue
He felt the blood pounding through him, intoxicatingly sweet. The hot body struggled against him in vain, pounding hard fists against his chest trying to escape. In that moment he loved the spirited young man as he felt his victim’s burning blood flow through him. The heady making his mistake in taking the boy irrelevant. He had mistaken the brutal wildcat as a gang member and street punk after spotting the red head beating up a group of five in a darkened alleyway he had strolled by in his nightly walk on the noisy streets of the enormous city. The violent youth’s quick, fluid movements were graceful and dangerous as a wildcat’s as he tore into his prey. His face twisted in pure delight as he battered his helpless victims, picking them off the ground where they lay only to knock them down again. He savagely kicked them as he exuded a fierce passion tainted only by hunger and violence. He had been drawn to the overwhelming aura surrounding the crimson haired youth, hunger making him quick to capture the young wildcat. He couldn’t resist, for his favorite food had always been the brutal, uncaring human blood. The scum of the earth who preyed on the weaker of society, the ones that deserved death by his sharp fangs. Although it was far too risky to kill now, in this modern era with their tests and forensics that poked and prodded into the deep recesses of death and murder. The days when he could kill, draining his victim dry and leaving them, were long gone. Now he had to settle with slipping into their minds as he drank, leaving a trail of death and horror that would take over their weak minds when their darker nature surfaced. Visions that would drop them to their knees in horror and pain, leaving them as helpless as their would be victims. Still, he missed the pleasure of draining the last drip of life out the men who deserved far worse for their crimes against others. Yet the wildcat that had captured his interest was something entirely different. He was far from scum, oh no, this fiery young man was far different from his usual meal. In his haste to drink he had missed the young woman, bloody and half naked in the shadows, staring at him in horror, transfixed by his cruel beauty as he drained her young savior, who had stopped the brutal gang rape of her slim body. It wasn’t until the dark crimson blood flowed into him carrying the memories of his victim in wild surges of violence, kindness, pride, and a strange nobility that mirrored his own almost perfectly that it shocked him. There was a recklessness that was characteristic of the young to prove himself and protect what was precious to him. Memories of a frail old woman with graying hair and a limp and with four young children filled his mind’s eye, along with flashes of the dead in the boy’s life and countless faces with greedy, brutal hands and thoughts. He continued to drink despite the young man growing still in his arms, riveted by the memories and sensations that assaulted him through the crimson flow of blood. He fought himself desperately, knowing he didn’t want the boy to die, yet the pulsing in his body demanded more and more, to consume everything the wildcat had. He let go with a growl, ripping skin with his fangs, something he hadn’t done since his was newly made. He panted, staring down at the athletic boy with hard sculpted muscles despite his lithe form. He looked down at the cheap black t-shirt that clung to the boy’s body like a second skin, stained with a few drops of the intoxicating scarlet blood. The young man was deathly pale, which only enhanced his beautiful, almost androgynous face even more. He felt his newly awakened body stir at the lithe form cradled almost tenderly in his arms, as the boy’s blood pumped through his body, causing a carnal ache in his groin. He growled in frustration, grinding his fangs for a moment, knowing the boy was close to death and if he left him to slake his newly awakened lust the wildcat would surely die. He had never felt such an overwhelming drive to copulate so soon after feeding before. It usually took half an hour for the blood to circulate through his body and take hold of his sex in its firm grip. Yet this boy’s blood had awakened him far sooner than any others’ in centuries. Closing his eyes, trying to calm himself and his inflamed sex, he breathed deeply, inhaling the boy’s unscented body free of cologne and fragrances other than his own musky aroma. Opening dark grey eyes tainted red he leaned down to the newly torn skin where an ink tiger crouched and began to lick the open wound like an animal. His long tongue swiping at the delicate skin as his saliva dripped into the open wound. Slowly it closed as he dragged his tongue across the soft skin until no traces of the attack remained. He looked up at the petrified girl, gazing deeply into her scared blue eyes until she fainted. He knew when she awoke she would remember nothing, not even the brutal rape she had endured by the punks his little wildcat had beaten so brutally. Picking up the limp body of the boy, he could feel the beating heart against his own. Reaching out his mind he looked around, finding a cab close to him and calling the driver to the entrance of the alleyway. He felt the car approach and walked swiftly from the darkened stench of the enclosed narrow alley into the brightly lit street and quickly entered the cab, ignoring the couple of people that stared at him. Keeping a firm hold on the cab driver’s mind he directed him to the hospital some distance from the attack, not wanting the boy to be placed at the scene in the slight chance it would provoke questions. Less than twenty minutes later he slid out of the cab on an empty street near a hospital. Laying the boy out on a bench he pulled at the mind of a nurse out on a smoke break to come for him. He turned to walk away when he found his hand in a cold clammy, grip. He looked down in shock to see bright blue eyes gazing up at him. "Aziral," came a ragged voice before the hand slipped out of his, falling to the ground as the boy lost consciousness again. Cursing he saw a figure approach in the distance, the nurse he had called with his mind. How had the boy known? The blood knowledge only flowed one way. How? Powered by Rating-System.com Reviews for Vampire Wings
|
