The dark night sped past, the only light being that of the silvery ethereal luminescence of the moon. Konrad carried only a small pack, containing only a single change of clothes, a few vials of his own poison, and some books that he kept with him, no matter what. He’d left London a week ago and hadn’t stopped during the nights, forcing his way on, but even his inhuman power and strength had started ebbing from him in waves during the freezing days. With no money, he often ended up sleeping in secluded copses and forests, often awaking to find a layer of snow on the ground. He had determined to remedy that situation. Slowly, he had been making his way, cross country, to a coven of vampires that he intermittently had contact with. Living in the Lake District, they inhabited a once-dilapidated castle. From what they had said, it was lavishly decorated, and it was a brilliant place to find the blood they needed, beyond the strictures of the law, due to the lack of those who would go against the rich, secluded family that scare them awfully.

He had followed the scent of blood to a small village; he hadn’t bothered with finding out the place’s name. It was small, a backwater, and he doubted he’d ever be back. It was just a stop on his way. All he wanted was a night; a night of blood, of exhilaration. He walked, in the middle of the road, to the centre of the village. He stopped, inhaling his surroundings, trying to discern the differences in blood. There was an underlying scent; female beauty, strength and yet innocence... A disconcerting purity surrounded the strange odour. Smiling smugly, a scintillating thought crossed Konrad’s mind, and knew he planned to remove that before the night was out.

Stalking slowly through the deserted streets of the village, he wound his way past a pond, the unearthly light reflecting off it delicately, the ripples caused by the movement of ducks giving the scene a reality it would have otherwise lacked. A light drizzle started, and a crackle of lightning pierced the sky, seemingly tearing a hole in the world. Konrad reached his destination, a large white house atop a hill, framed by a pair of huge oaks, the ancient boughs whipping in the increasing wind. As another bolt of lightning illuminated the scene, Konrad changed. His nails elongated into wickedly sharp blades, as strong as steel, his teeth became fangs, and a feral snarl appeared on his face. He advanced to the door, a huge, perfectly constructed slab of pine, with wrought iron hinges and handle, with an ornate lions-head knocker nailed to it. Leaning against the door, looking casual and suave as usual, he was actually pushing against it, and slowly, painfully slowly for anyone who hadn’t lived for 950 years, the hinges started giving, a low, grating squeal and then buckled. The wood splintered, slivers of it piercing the vampire’s skin, no more than a half-irritating itch compared to the pain of having a silver stake pushed through your chest, leaving him alive due only to a single slight movement that had thrown the of his assailant aim off. 

Inside. The walls were wood paneled, and the smell of varnish hung heavily in the air, nearly overpowering the blood. Gas lamps cast a deep golden glow on the thick, deep red carpet. Konrad’s booted feet permanently disfigured the shag pile, leaving dents in it, discolouring it with the mud that clung to his feet. Artwork, mainly landscapes that depicted fields with flocks in them, mountains looming over the painter, or rich lords of the manor on proud steeds, adorned the walls. Konrad was stopped by one in particular; the image of a young woman. Her blonde hair, which reached halfway down her back, tumbled over her shoulders, much akin to water falling over the side of oblivion at a waterfall. Sharp, ice-blue eyes pierced Konrad’s, and he felt distinctly uncomfortable, until he scoffed at such thoughts. This was merely a painting. He looked at the dress the woman wore, a deep midnight blue with silver details on it. He looked up from her dress, and drank in the fullness of her chest. One thing that his eyes failed to see was the silver cross that hung around her neck on a thin, almost inhumanly delicate chain. 

The stairs. At the top of them, the blood wafted down like a delicate bouquet that eclipsed all else. He stalked up them, one step at a time, each time inhaling the beauty that would soon be his. He could almost smell the ecstasy he would elicit from her. The stairs stopped abruptly, and he almost walked into the wall on the other side of the landing. Now he was closer, he could smell three other people in the house. Another in the room with his prize. He wasn’t surprised when he caught it again and found it to be male, and run through with piss-poor alcohol. The other two were children. One male, one female. Deciding to have some fun prior to the main event, he got the children first, covering their mouths with his hands and marching them into their parent’s bedroom. They were asleep, so he pushed the threw the children to the floor and slammed the door, which reverberated with enough force to rattle the windows. The man and woman in the bed, instantly awake, looked at him with unrestrained fear, and the children wept openly. Feeling sadistic, he prowled to the bed and stood the woman up, her silver satin night dress tearing with just the slightest brush of his claws. He grabbed her head and forced it towards his, until he could feel the light feather touch of her breath on his neck. 

“Are you scared, girl?” he whispered. She whimpered slightly, but kept her composure. Antagonized by the lack of admitted fear, he dragged her to the children, who lay on the floor, prostate. He knelt her down in front of him, and dragged the child to him. She stared at him with quiet defiance, a fire of hate smoldering in her eyes. 

“Don’t hate me yet, girl. This has yet to begin.” Turning the child away from him, to face his mother, he grinned, his fangs showing, glistening evilly in the gas-lamp light. He moved his head behind the child’s neck, and tilted his head forwards. Suddenly, his fangs were embedded in the neck of the boy, and he drained the young boy of his vitality, reducing his body to little more than a lifeless husk. Grinning as he dropped the body, he grabbed the girl and had her adopt the same position her brother had. But this time, he spent longer smelling her neck, inhaling her scent. Young blood. He wouldn’t waste this. What he would do to this child would torment her mother for the rest of her short life. Turning the girl away from her mother, he latched his mouth onto the young girls, and his elongated teeth pierced his victim’s. He had performed the Death Kiss. She would be his forever now, bound by the Undeath he was giving her. 

The young girl’s body was jerking uncontrollably where he left her, placing her delicately on the floor in the corner. And then he regarded the man with cold fury in his eyes. This man had defiled this goddess’s body, and he’d make him pay. Slowly, he approached him, claws raised, and the human stood there stoically, in all his naked... Glory, Konrad supposed was what people would call in, though there was nothing glorious there. Reaching him, the vampire reached up slowly, and plucked his eyeballs out, dropping them to the floor where they fell and looked blankly upon their owners wife, who was screaming for all she was worth. Konrad turned and backhanded her.

“Be quiet, whore, or I’ll not endow upon you the greatest pleasure of your life!” to which the women, stunned, began to whimper instead. “Better,” the vampire whispered pleasantly, before turning to her husband. Grabbing the man’s testicles, he let his claws extend, slowly, excruciatingly, castrating him. He cried in pain and Konrad could restrain no longer, he latched his fangs to the neck and ingested all the blood, not letting even a trickle escape. 

Now, there was but one human to deal with. The one who had called him there originally. He breathed deeply, and her scent overwhelmed him; her naked body aroused him. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, where he flung her down and looked her over. He removed his trousers, and then straddled her. He bent over to lock his mouth with hers, and slowly, carefully, moved his tongue to her mouth, tasting her. He then forced himself on her, violating her until she screamed in a mixture of terror, pain and ecstasy. He continued into the early hours of the morning, when her daughter, well, his daughter, now, awoke and he moved aside to let his new child of the night delight in her new-found powers, in the most fitting way possible - by feeding off the blood of the bitch she had called Mother for 15 years.

The End

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