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She was perfect. Her soft flesh gleaming a pallid gold under the rays of artificial light
pouring from the street lamps along the city's sidewalks. Her long dark hair was pushed away
from her slender face, exposing hazel eyes that glittered with anticipation and wonder as
she wove her way carelessly through the late night strollers. She was different. A
jewel among the glass gems. And she would be his tonight. To lose one such as she was
a pity but the hunger was far too strong to deny.
Chandler watched the young woman from the shadows of an alley. He waited until she was a good
distance away before he emerged and gave chase. Taking great care in not allowing her slender
form to leave his sight, he drew in a deep breath of air, consuming all she experienced.
She was intoxicating. He tasted her excitement, relished it, wanted it to be his own.
Perhaps he would introduce her to his society; make her one of his . Such beauty only
came once in a lifetime as far as he was concerned.
He had been watching this woman for the past three nights. She was new Chaucer yet seemed well acquainted with the city itself, money wise that was. Her manner of dress was simple. She chose black leggings and a long , mid thigh, red sweater with a high collar and thick black belt that accented her delicate waist. The knee high riding boots she wore make a soft clicking rhythm as she made her way along the crowded streets looking here and there. She liked her new environment and seemed to take it all in with a single glance. Yes, he adored her. He could nearly feel the warmth flowing from her sun kissed skin and taste the sweetness of her full lips. He had guesssed her to be in her early twenties, one hundred and twenty pounds at most, and five feet, eight inches. Model quality.
As she continued her path towards one of chaucer's most traveled streets, Chandler lost her. Stopping for a second and taking a quick glance around, he caught her ebony head ducking into an alley a few feet away. Smiling darkly, he followed and his fangs easily doubling their size. The sharp sting and discomfort only provided more excitement for him. He stepped into the darkness, allowing his immortal sight to sketch the general layout of the alley. Various sleeping bodies of the city's homeless greeted his sensitive vision, save hers. Confused and believing he had lost her, Chandler started to turn away when a hand gently touched his shoulder.
"Looking for someone?" a sweet, melodic voice inquired from behind.
Chandler stiffened against his will as fear coursed through his body. It felt as if he had been contained in a block of ice. His muscles had been frozen by a force he was unfamiliar with. Equally frozen fingers grabbed the nape of his neck and squeezed, hitting the pressure points perfectly. The paralysis he had first encountered left him for a second, granting him a chance to escape, yet the agony that radiated through him now brought him to his knees with a hushed cry of pain. The young woman released him and stepped in front of his cowering form. As she knelt before him, her long hair cascaded over her shoulder to conceal her face. One eye glittered dangerously and a half calculating smile graced her smooth face. It was a smile that Chandler feared.
"Who are you?" she asked. "Why are you following me?"
The young vampire choked for air as she gripped his throat. She was strong, too strong for a ordinary mortal. A kind of pulse radiated from her, rippling through him like an earthquake. It broke his concentration and ate at his will to resist her influence. Helpless, he began to frantically dig at her wrists. His claws bit deeply into her flesh, exposing veins and releasing a stream of warm blood. She hissed and tightened her grip, lifting him off the ground.
"Answer. . . " she demanded, temporarily ignoring the stinging pain from his endless clawing. She focused her eyes with his and held them. No sooner had their gaze met, they locked and the door to his feebly guarded mind opened producing his name,". . . Chandler Staples."
The squirming vampire ceased his resistance and stilled, entranced after his name had been spoken. His will became her own personal marionette.
"Hunger," he whispered as he held her gaze.
"Who are you?"
"I am my master's descendant."
"And who is your master?" she continued, eyes squinting to probe deeper, compelling him to tell the truth.
"Dom. . ." He began but faltered, he could not say the name. She held him tighter as she met the wall his subconscious had built. She probed harder and further, weakening the wall until it eventually collapsed. She released his will and smiled slyly, the name was hers now.
"Dominitrix DeCarte."
"No!" he screamed out as he attempted to strike her.
His clawed hand grazed across her right cheek opening four new wounds. The crimson liquid again came forth causing the wounds to burn like a scorpion's sting. She thrust him away from her and covered the cuts with her hand. Chandler tried to scramble to his feet but the mental damage she had inflected upon him during her probing was too great and fell again. When he looked back to her looming form he saw that the wounds he had opened in her wrist were no longer present, nor was the blood on the cuff of her sleeve. Confused, he watched as she lowered her hand from her cheek. The flesh was flawless and clean of blood as well.
Garbage and slime surrounded him, caking his neat clothing and deheveled blond hair. Black grime smudged his perfect, pallid face as he attemped to stand once more. Tumbling to the damp cement, he began to weep and beg for forgiveness. His mental connection to his sire had been destroyed after she pulled his name from the recesses of his mind. Truth was, he no longer remembered the name. As she knelt down next to him and gently caressed his face, as a mother does to her own child, she dug deeper into his mind but came up empty handed. She had stolen everything. Despair filled him and he shed bloodly tears. Her soft, pleasant smile returned to her lips as she bent low to his ear.
"It is better that you do not remember his name. For, in a way, you protect him still. Yet, sadly, in this state you cannot exist. Madness will set into the cracks you have created as you struggled against my probing. As cruel or hateful as you may percieve me to be, I am not like your master. I know the meaning of mercy and I shall bestow it upon you, if you wish. However, your release will not go unnoticed. You will become a martyr for those you have come to care for. Your death will have two purposes. One, a warning to your sire to leave me be and two, to mark the folly of your generation and those before and after you. Leave me to my peace and silence and none shall be hurt. Hunt me and they will all fall."
Pulling back from his ear slowly, she cupped her hand along the side of his neck. He shuddered as he felt the strange tingling sensation. His own blood began to rise to the skin's surface. Pain enveloped him as it was pulled through the pores of his own flesh. He opened his fanged mouth to scream yet his assailant's other hand quickly covered it to suppress any noise. There was no need to bring unnecessary attention.
After she had taken what was needed from him, she released his trembling lips and calmly stared at him. He was near death and beyond healing. Chandler rolled his head from side to side in an attempt to fight the impending chill that consumed him and the darkness that was slowly embracing him. His vision was failing and the words that formed in his mind and throat died before they ever met his quivering lips. Cocking her head to the right, the woman steadied his head with her hands and placed her thumbs on his temples.
You have a question to ask of me? she said in a mental whisper.
Something inside Chandler whispered weakly in return. Yes.
"Very well then, " she said softly, "ask."
His brow furrowed, the last bit of emotion his body would produce from that point on as he surrendered to the darkness and cold. His hushed, mental whisper died as he grew limp and his life faded away.
What are you?
She frowned, gathered him in her arms, and set him in a pile of newspapers and cardboard boxes. His kindred would find him there. This she was sure of. The stench of the undead emanated from the walls around her and concrete below her feet. His question echoed in her mind as she melted with the shadows and whispered her answer.
"That I have yet to discover, young one." . . . Go To
Chapter 1
ForeFathers of the Damned
by Staci Cole
PROLOGUE