I watch the boy from the shadows. He tosses, crying out in his sleep, muttering, whispering, restless with his memories. I know what he remembers, what haunts him. His words paint the images for me so that I see them as clearly as I see his cheap apartment with its shabby furnishings, the images drawing me closer. I lap up his pain and fear, drink the wine for the darkly intoxicating mix it is.
Give me your past—all of it. Give me your secrets, your sins and your guilt. Give me your soul. Not really a boy, are you? You're what, twenty-five? Thirty—at the most? What is that to me? I've watched centuries drift into nothingness. Who the hell are you, Mortal, to draw me from my seclusion? As a mortal man, I led others in battle. What are you that your pain, its ambient heat, penetrates my defenses? Oh, I will punish you for this: you can't imagine how. For awakening my need. My desire. To have you. To break you. I don't thrive on emotion, not like others I've heard of, more myth than reality, and once I would have been satisfied with your blood—no longer. I want more. I will have your pain, your sorrow. Nothing less will recompense me for this damned weakness you elicit in me. You will suffer for what you've done to me. How dare you? I thought I'd buried this need ages ago. But I saw you once in my ramblings.
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KAMU SEDANG MEMBACA
Carpe Victim
VampirIn a dark street, a vampire stalks his prey. But when his prey turns out to be a far more sinister creature, has he met his match?
