Dad pulls his eyes from the portal and looks around the huge area within the walls.“None of these machines look like they’ve worked in years,” he says. “I doubt they have anything to do with the portal now. It seems to be self-sustaining.” He looks at me and flashes a wry smile. “We could use your mom right about now. Maybe she could figure something out.”I return his smile. If anyone would know what to do here, it would be my brainiac mother. She’s five hundred miles away, though, so it’s up to us.We all move forward until we’re about twenty feet from the portal. From here, I can feel the thing’s immense energy. Nobody seems to want to get any closer, and I don’t blame them.“Maybe I can get inside it,” Lieutenant Gregerson offers. “I might see something from the other side that we can’t see from here.”Kai shakes his head. “You can&rsquo
STEFANI never wanted to be a vampire. By that, I mean I didn’t wake up one morning and think how cool it would be to be a vampire, nor did I ever daydream about becoming one of the undead. The thought never crossed my mind. In fact, when it occurred, I tried my best to prevent it, but that’s a tale I will get to presently.Make no mistake, I’m thrilled that it happened, and I would never undo it even if given the chance. I love my vampire existence. It’s not perfect—not yet, anyhow, but it’s better than anything else I can imagine. And it is especially preferable to being dead, buried and forgotten.My name is Stefan de Kula, second son of Count Ramon de Kula. I am now well over three hundred years old. I am the last of the de Kula line, and have been for more than two centuries. I do not miss my family at all. I have a new father now—Ricard, the vampire who turned me—and a new family, my coven, here in central Connecticut.How did the second son of an Italian count end up as a vampi
They scurried away into the barn to collect the other stable hands. I resumed brushing my horse, but I could feel Antonio’s eyes boring into the back of my skull. I wondered what he had in store for me, but I was not about to let him see my concern.The half dozen servants who tended to the horses and the stable gathered in front of my brother.“This is your lucky day,” he told them. “Stefan is going to be cleaning out the stables today. I want you all to watch him, to make sure he does a good job.” Antonio knew I was popular with the servants, so he added, “You are not to help him in any way, mind you, only to watch.”With that, he strode away.I never minded hard work, but shoveling horse manure—especially on such a hot, sticky day, which made the stench inside the barn all the more foul—was beneath even a second son. I had no choice, though, so I spent the better part of the afternoon mucking out th
For my companions, I chose Donatello and three other veteran hunters. We gathered our supplies and weapons and were riding from the castle within an hour of having received the mission from my father. We still had several hours before darkness would make tracking the beast more difficult, if not impossible.Our first destination was the home of the family of the unfortunate girl who had been killed. I wished to examine her wounds, to see for myself what kind of beast we might be hunting.The hut was the same as all the other peasant huts upon my father’s land. Crude and simple, fashioned of mud and rock, with a thatched roof. The door was open, but even so, I knocked upon the doorframe before stepping inside with Donatello.The young woman’s body w
Seemingly without effort, he leaped up over my head, doing a flip in midair and landing behind me. Instinctively, I had ducked, but I needn’t have. His leap cleared me easily. If I hadn’t seen it, I would not have believed such a feat was possible.“Demon!” Donatello shouted, letting loose his arrow.Ricard reached out and snatched the missile out of the air mere inches before it could pierce his breast. Seemingly without effort, he snapped the shaft with one hand and dropped the pieces to the ground. He did another flip and landed back in front of me. This time, I was less startled, though still impressed.“I am no demon,” he said, “though some may think so.”“What are you, then?” Donatello asked. “You are certainly not human.”“He is a killer of women,” I said, goading him.Ricard eyed me—impressed, I learned from him later, that I seemed to show no f
The next thing I knew, I was lying on my back with Ricard squatting beside me. I tried to turn my head, but found I could not. Nor could I lift my arms or move my legs. Despite my best effort to control myself, panic surged through me. I was paralyzed! Ricard laid his palm on my forehead. His hand was ice cold. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “In a few minutes, you’re going to begin to hurt like you have never hurt before, but you are strong—I believe you will survive it.” Something in his tone made me think he had reason to believe I might not survive the transformation, but I was not worried. The die was cast—whatever would be, would be. I wanted to answer him, to tell him I was ready for whatever happened, good or bad, but my tongue was as frozen as the rest of me. The only thing I could move was my eyes. I couldn’t even blink my reassurance. Ricard obviously knew I was unable to speak, because he continued talking. “When this is over, you are going to feel better than you have
Of all the years of my long vampire existence, those first few decades were among the most exhilarating. While none of my subsequent feedings quite matched the exquisite pleasure of that first taste of human blood—only the thrill of sucking down hot blue volkaane blood could match that—those early meals remained especially delicious.Ricard and I roamed the country, going where we wanted when we wanted, feeding whenever our appetites called to us. There was much for me to learn in those early days and Ricard was a patient and excellent teacher. He showed me how to control my vampire venom so as not to leave a trail of new vampires in our wake, how to make the best use of the mesmerizing power of my eyes and what dangers even we vampires must avoid.It turns out that most of the tales about how to ward off our kind are untrue, stories made up by frightened humans to comfort themselves from our deadly menace. Garlic has no effect on us, other than the smell being even more pungent and d
I HAD BEEN A VAMPIRE for nearly a century when I met Gabriela. I still remember that autumn night as clearly as any in my long existence. Ricard and I were hunting along a country road that twisted among the wooded foothills of the mountains of what is now Austria. Thin, wispy clouds drifted in front of a strikingly full moon, at times cloaking it in a gauzy film and at other moments floating aside to reveal the golden orb’s full luminosity. The wind blew out of the north, carrying the chill air of the mountains with it. As usual, we smelled our quarry before we saw them: two humans, one male and one female, approaching from the east. Pairs were always our preferred targets, since they provided one victim for each of us and required no needless killing of any witnesses. Their scent came with the smell of horses. From the sound of the hoof beats and the clackety-clack of wooden wheels on the hard-packed dirt, we knew the humans were traveling in a wagon or a carriage. Ricard an