Embracing a new life
folder
Vampire › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
22
Views:
7,047
Reviews:
58
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Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Vampire › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
22
Views:
7,047
Reviews:
58
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Alaric
Chapter 4: Alaric
Approximately 1630.
He awoke to the sound of drunken laughter. The light, rich laughter of women that enjoyed the rare occasion of a feast, that sought to forget all the hardship of daily life for one night. Appetite rose in him, anticipation. A hungry glint flashed up in his eyes.
He listened for any sounds in his close proximity. There were none. Neither were there any peculiar odours. Lifting the lid of the barrel he had spent the day in, he saw that the cellar of the inn was indeed void of any unwelcome spectators. Well, ‘unwelcome’ depended on the point of view. For him, toys were always welcome.
However, now, what he was most interested in was finding a nice maiden, drunken or naïve enough to make an easy prey, yet not too drunken not to be fed on. Something simple tonight, no prolonged toying for once. In fact, it grew tiring over the years. Most things lost their appeal over time. What he did, he did more out of habit, to keep his mind busy while he waited for something new. Something that would thrill him again.
He slipped out of the cellar unnoticed. The door of the inn stood open and most of the villagers were sitting outside in the light of torches and lampions, drinking beer and grabbing after the women. A flute played and a few people were still sure footed enough to engage in merry dancing. The scent of a strong soup engulfed him, mingled with the spicy, slightly overwhelming flavour of pitch torches.
Suddenly, the voice of an outraged woman disrupted the general murmur and attracted many curious stares. A woman, not young anymore but still good-looking and healthy, made a huge racket to drive off an importunate suitor. After some protest and swearing, the man gave up, to the amusement of the on-lookers.
“That woman’s always held her nose a bit too high. Should better be a bit nicer; she still owes me the payment for two weeks’ worth of wheat. Has had money problems ever since old Karl turned her into a widow. Most women would have been re-married by now,” someone murmured to his neighbour nearby.
He found himself estranged by the local habits once more. Where he came from, the family – the widow’s father or brother – would have seen to her well-being. Then again, it was harder to find female prey when women were under such tight surveillance. He smirked as memories of how his inventiveness had been challenged, how much more interesting hunting had been back then. Back there. At home.
Home… -better not to reminisce about that. It tended to make him a little sentimental. He chuckled. Sentimental, him!
And yet, there had been times…
A low growl escaped his throat. The barmaid that just passed by scrutinised him. He leered and disappeared into one of the scarcely lit, narrow side alleys. No, thinking of the past was far from a good idea. One small glimpse of it and his mood had cooled down by several degrees. He ground his teeth and sucked in the fresh evening air to reign in his temper.
He opted for the quiet and solitude of a night’s walk in the fields.
As he slipped back over the city wall, unnoticed by the guards, the church clock had long struck midnight, and the night watchman was the only living soul that still roamed the streets (not counting in rats and cats).
A sigh. Duty would have him turn north-westwards, to his clan. It was only that everything in him revolted against the idea. They had nothing to offer. His fledgling was a failure, a weakling. No matter what he had tried in order to draw him out, to perhaps find and develop hidden talents in him, it had resulted in nothing. For ages he had been waiting to take his first fledgling, always on the lookout for the one in a million that would live up to his demands, his expectations. And this was what he had got. A shame, a disgrace. Had it not been for the healing properties of the firstborn’s blood, he would have done away with Murtagh.
How he had looked forward to pass on his knowledge! How he craved for company worth of his esteem! For ages he had kept his mind distracted toying with humans, even toying with ‘fellow’ vampires. With scum. He had spilled enough blood, had tasted enough tears, had heard enough pleads to last for a hundred lifetimes. Boredom had taken possession of him.
An owl took flight from the steeple, the air moving over its flapping wings and giving off a mellow sound. It was the only one since the night watchman was far away and his own steps were noiseless.
And yet… -there was a stifled giggle emerging from a nearby house. This was still close to the city wall, where the less fortunate dwelled. The houses were small and kept simple. The window of the one he was moving towards, now, had a crack. The rustling of clothes could be heard. The noise of wood scraping over stone – a moving chair or table – pierced the silence.
“Shhh! The children…!” a woman’s voice whispered anxiously. He could see her now as he peered through the window, the darkness of the night hiding him. It did not matter that the room inside was not illuminated either; his eyes rendered him perfect vision.
It was the woman who had so vehemently refused her favour to the drunkard hours previously. Yet she did not seem as averse to the idea of turning to a new man as the gossip had insinuated. On the contrary, there was a man about her age of muscular build and unusual height currently kissing her neck and moving his hands under her skirt, a fact that seemed to please her.
He relished in the scene that was displayed in front of him: the small round breasts that were slowly freed out of their ‘wrapping’, the way she bent her back to present herself to her lover, and the time said man took to not only get what he wanted but also provide the woman under him with some amount of satisfaction – a rare skill, and a rare mindfulness.
It was not until the woman had sagged contented on the table on which the act had taken place that he noticed something unusual in the male’s behaviour. The light blond’s head disappeared behind one of her thighs and remained there motionless. The scent of blood carried through the air.
It dawned on him – he was watching one of his own kind! He barely suppressed an ironic chuckle. So someone had been more successful at the hunt tonight than he had. Not that he had tried.
Not having anything better to do with his time, he pondered if he had seen the tall blond before. Surely such a man would have caught his eye! Yet he could not recall any previous encounter.
Tucking his privates back into his trousers and righting his clothes, the watched one rose. He bandaged the wounded leg with an old rag – the man outside was amazed once more by this consideration - and left the room. His observer expected him to appear in the front door sooner or later, but after a quarter of an hour’s wait, he realised that he had been given the slip.
Not certain if he should be amused or affronted, he circled the house and found a window on the backside standing open. Apparently the young man had not been as oblivious to his presence as he had seemed to be. Yet, that only heightened his allure in his observer’s eyes. A meaningful smile graced his lips. He had found himself a new distraction…
Approximately 1630.
He awoke to the sound of drunken laughter. The light, rich laughter of women that enjoyed the rare occasion of a feast, that sought to forget all the hardship of daily life for one night. Appetite rose in him, anticipation. A hungry glint flashed up in his eyes.
He listened for any sounds in his close proximity. There were none. Neither were there any peculiar odours. Lifting the lid of the barrel he had spent the day in, he saw that the cellar of the inn was indeed void of any unwelcome spectators. Well, ‘unwelcome’ depended on the point of view. For him, toys were always welcome.
However, now, what he was most interested in was finding a nice maiden, drunken or naïve enough to make an easy prey, yet not too drunken not to be fed on. Something simple tonight, no prolonged toying for once. In fact, it grew tiring over the years. Most things lost their appeal over time. What he did, he did more out of habit, to keep his mind busy while he waited for something new. Something that would thrill him again.
He slipped out of the cellar unnoticed. The door of the inn stood open and most of the villagers were sitting outside in the light of torches and lampions, drinking beer and grabbing after the women. A flute played and a few people were still sure footed enough to engage in merry dancing. The scent of a strong soup engulfed him, mingled with the spicy, slightly overwhelming flavour of pitch torches.
Suddenly, the voice of an outraged woman disrupted the general murmur and attracted many curious stares. A woman, not young anymore but still good-looking and healthy, made a huge racket to drive off an importunate suitor. After some protest and swearing, the man gave up, to the amusement of the on-lookers.
“That woman’s always held her nose a bit too high. Should better be a bit nicer; she still owes me the payment for two weeks’ worth of wheat. Has had money problems ever since old Karl turned her into a widow. Most women would have been re-married by now,” someone murmured to his neighbour nearby.
He found himself estranged by the local habits once more. Where he came from, the family – the widow’s father or brother – would have seen to her well-being. Then again, it was harder to find female prey when women were under such tight surveillance. He smirked as memories of how his inventiveness had been challenged, how much more interesting hunting had been back then. Back there. At home.
Home… -better not to reminisce about that. It tended to make him a little sentimental. He chuckled. Sentimental, him!
And yet, there had been times…
A low growl escaped his throat. The barmaid that just passed by scrutinised him. He leered and disappeared into one of the scarcely lit, narrow side alleys. No, thinking of the past was far from a good idea. One small glimpse of it and his mood had cooled down by several degrees. He ground his teeth and sucked in the fresh evening air to reign in his temper.
He opted for the quiet and solitude of a night’s walk in the fields.
As he slipped back over the city wall, unnoticed by the guards, the church clock had long struck midnight, and the night watchman was the only living soul that still roamed the streets (not counting in rats and cats).
A sigh. Duty would have him turn north-westwards, to his clan. It was only that everything in him revolted against the idea. They had nothing to offer. His fledgling was a failure, a weakling. No matter what he had tried in order to draw him out, to perhaps find and develop hidden talents in him, it had resulted in nothing. For ages he had been waiting to take his first fledgling, always on the lookout for the one in a million that would live up to his demands, his expectations. And this was what he had got. A shame, a disgrace. Had it not been for the healing properties of the firstborn’s blood, he would have done away with Murtagh.
How he had looked forward to pass on his knowledge! How he craved for company worth of his esteem! For ages he had kept his mind distracted toying with humans, even toying with ‘fellow’ vampires. With scum. He had spilled enough blood, had tasted enough tears, had heard enough pleads to last for a hundred lifetimes. Boredom had taken possession of him.
An owl took flight from the steeple, the air moving over its flapping wings and giving off a mellow sound. It was the only one since the night watchman was far away and his own steps were noiseless.
And yet… -there was a stifled giggle emerging from a nearby house. This was still close to the city wall, where the less fortunate dwelled. The houses were small and kept simple. The window of the one he was moving towards, now, had a crack. The rustling of clothes could be heard. The noise of wood scraping over stone – a moving chair or table – pierced the silence.
“Shhh! The children…!” a woman’s voice whispered anxiously. He could see her now as he peered through the window, the darkness of the night hiding him. It did not matter that the room inside was not illuminated either; his eyes rendered him perfect vision.
It was the woman who had so vehemently refused her favour to the drunkard hours previously. Yet she did not seem as averse to the idea of turning to a new man as the gossip had insinuated. On the contrary, there was a man about her age of muscular build and unusual height currently kissing her neck and moving his hands under her skirt, a fact that seemed to please her.
He relished in the scene that was displayed in front of him: the small round breasts that were slowly freed out of their ‘wrapping’, the way she bent her back to present herself to her lover, and the time said man took to not only get what he wanted but also provide the woman under him with some amount of satisfaction – a rare skill, and a rare mindfulness.
It was not until the woman had sagged contented on the table on which the act had taken place that he noticed something unusual in the male’s behaviour. The light blond’s head disappeared behind one of her thighs and remained there motionless. The scent of blood carried through the air.
It dawned on him – he was watching one of his own kind! He barely suppressed an ironic chuckle. So someone had been more successful at the hunt tonight than he had. Not that he had tried.
Not having anything better to do with his time, he pondered if he had seen the tall blond before. Surely such a man would have caught his eye! Yet he could not recall any previous encounter.
Tucking his privates back into his trousers and righting his clothes, the watched one rose. He bandaged the wounded leg with an old rag – the man outside was amazed once more by this consideration - and left the room. His observer expected him to appear in the front door sooner or later, but after a quarter of an hour’s wait, he realised that he had been given the slip.
Not certain if he should be amused or affronted, he circled the house and found a window on the backside standing open. Apparently the young man had not been as oblivious to his presence as he had seemed to be. Yet, that only heightened his allure in his observer’s eyes. A meaningful smile graced his lips. He had found himself a new distraction…