As previously mentioned, my main trilogy currently has books 1 and 2 out for proofreading, and book 3 on standby until I know for sure how certain things in the prior books play out. But I haven't been sitting around writing nothing - I've been giving life to some of the build-up of characters that have been romping around in my head, waiting for their own stories. This is a character sketch intro to a completely unrelated story - one about werewolves, vampires, and the vampires' more dangerous cousins, the Vampyra. The main character is a Vampyra girl named Alec (Alexandora). I will never be like the vampire, whose instincts are like guides. They do not feel the pull of the wild, hidden moon.
The Vampyra is the true predator of the world. It is true what has been said of us:
Woe to them that cross our paths
Woe the ear that hears our laughs
Fear us for our deadly crafts
For we know not what we do
When night is black and moon is new
But we bring certain death to you
And then comes dawn with fiery eye
And we remember who has died
And hear the screams of all who cried
But when the wild moon is new
Flee from us, though we pursue
For we bring certain death to you.
The smell is intoxicating. Not just delicious, not just mouth-watering. All I can sense is her: the beating of her heart, the flutter of her breath, the overpowering scent of her blood as the breeze twirls it across my face. It makes me crazy. Nothing else matters beyond that I sink my fangs into her throat and drink, let the hot, tangy blood course over my tongue and light a fire in my mouth. That I clench her thin shoulders and press her neck up as close to my mouth as possible, so I can taste every drop of her blood. I hunger for it, I ache for it. Twice now, I have caught myself running my tongue across my teeth, clenching and unclenching my fists in mounting anticipation. I can feel the heat of the hunt in my eyes, and I know they are ruby-red. My muscles tense as I crouch, ready to give chase as soon as she moves from her car.
I still know of the others in the area, but they hardly matter. There are only three people in this little parking lot, and none of them are close to this girl. Also, none of them, including the one I just pronounced death upon, know of my existence.
A snarl rises in my throat, low and eager.
The girl does not even have the time to scream. The little green purse she is holding drops to the ground as I launch myself out of the shadows into her path. My speed is incredible, covering the forty yards in half a second. To her it is as though I have appeared out of thin air. The surprise makes her heart beat even faster, the blood rush even quicker through her veins. I do not even try to stop myself. I want her blood and nothing on this earth can stop me.
I inhale deeply, my face inches from her throat, to pull in the sweet smell, then sink my teeth deep into her flesh. My hands, tight around her shoulders, feel her stiffen in shock and fear, then wilt as the strength flees her body. My nails dig deeply into her skin as I press her close, drawing out every last red drop I can.
It is incredible, the sensation, the taste, of human blood. The heat of it rushing through my own veins, spreading its fire to my entire body. The Bloodlust holds us tight within its grasp, but the reward it gives is… exhilarating.
More! I demand silently, crushing her against me, and her terror complies, her frenzied heart beating all her blood into my waiting mouth. My gaze finds hers for an instant, and I watch the spark die behind her deep brown eyes. What I feel is not sadness. It is disappointment. So fragile, humans!
But the hunger, the terrible ache, is sated. I free myself from the girl and let her body slide down the ground like a ragdoll. I smile, baring my fangs. Blood drips from them to hit the ground beside her.
I can hear footsteps headed in my direction. Time to leave. No one will ever find me. And if someone does, no one will ever find them. I race off, down a black, unlit street that led to nowhere except an old, dead-end road with an old, worn-down house that had been condemned by the city years ago. It was not my home. But this place had been a haven to me before. The wind steals my laughter as it flashes past my face.
The sliver of moon glints at me as I run. Come morning, I will be trapped, barricaded in by the sun. But come nightfall, I will be free once more… and the moon will be completely hidden. A Vampyra moon. The moon that pulls us out to the streets, like its opposite does for the Werewolves.
Vampyra are not condemned to sleep. There is no natural law that dictates when we must rest. We can go for weeks without it, but we will certainly feel the strain, the weakness in our bones. Tonight I will sleep. I want my time to recharge, to rest up for tomorrow... when the moon hides its face from the evil that lurks in the streets.