This is the prologue and first chapter.
PROLOGUE
Blood splattered across a wall is a waste. It should flow from someone’s neck in a heated rush down the back of my throat instead.
I love the way blood satisfies like nothing else and leaves the most delectable after taste. Most humans say it reminds them of something metallic, but that is because they have such under-developed taste buds. My taste buds-my vampire taste buds-enjoy every nuance of meat-like flavor.
Blood can do some wonderful things. When someone is drunk, or high, a vampire can get a little flash of the same feelings. The healing process quickens when a vampire feeds (not that we heal that slow). A meal’s blood links you up to their mind if you let it. Blood pushes color into a vampire’s skin and air into their lungs.
Yes, vampires can breathe and their hearts can beat.
I am sucking the life out of a belligerent drunk who beats his son into submission and murdered his wife “for cheating”. I kill only those that are the underbelly of society. Have done that since my making.
I drink inside an old tavern, not minding who witnesses. I can cast a mind-erasing pulse. No other vampire I’ve met can do it without looking into the specific person’s eyes or touching them.
Someone in the tavern screams, others head for the doorway. When they exit they will not remember what made them flee.
My victim’s gray eyes are wide with terror as they stare at me from under blonde curly hair. He cries out the best he can muster, screaming relentlessly as fast as he can draw in breath.
A vampire’s bite can be ecstasy or pain.
By then, the tavern neared emptiness, the only ones that remained either watched with amusement, or carried on with their business as if nothing were going on.
Finished, I let him drop to the floor like the discarded waste he was. I wiped my mouth, licking the excess blood off my fangs, and turned to the door.
After reaching it, I looked over my shoulder to see him huddled on the floor in the fetal position making small mewling noises as his life continued to pool around him.
He would die.
I laughed again and swirled back towards the door, vanishing in a puff of black mist just before exiting.
CHAPTER ONE
There was a full moon in the starless, inky black sky. Dark, yet peaceful, clouds rolled lazily on. A cool breeze ruffled the silhouetted trees and brushed past my pale cheek, bringing with it the scent of flowers and the night. Shadows were abundant, but I wasn't afraid of them; I could always be one of them if I wished.
Night insects made a harmony with frogs in a distant pond, and the soft chatter of the few people in the park filled the air.
I sat on a bench, my ebony locks--loose tonight-- fell straight to my thin waist. My fiery pale blues watched the passersby. People stared as they went by, some with fear, some with lust, and others with hatred. My wild eyes showed no emotion, nor did the paleness of my face. I had stilled myself in a way only my kind could, perfectly calm, perfectly at ease, and perfectly still. Only the fire in my eyes remained full of life.
Dressed as was customary to me, I wore a floor length black trench coat. A silky black halter top, with lace on the top edge that lay very darkly against the paleness of my revealed cleavage, held tightly to my curves, stopping just enough above my bellybutton to see the silver ring there. Black leather pants skimmed over my full hips and slid down my skin like another skin layer. Black knee-high, combat boots and a silver choker completed the outfit.
My name is Seraphim Dios. I was born in Venice, Italy on October 27th, 1778. That makes me a Scorpio in modern terms. Which I’m told makes my life’s ambition to survive against all opposition and always have intense relationships. Sounds like all fun to me.
I am half vampire, hailing from the Agron clan. Agrons descend from a female leader named Agrona-named after the Brythonic goddess of war and death-and are known for our exceptional abilities in seduction and slaughter.
My only sister, Desdemona, and I are twins-identical only in looks.
Dezzy takes after our father and is much more aggressive. Dezzy is also fond of red more than black.
We are half Nymph. My mother was Syrinx-the beautiful wood nymph of Arcadia and daughter of Zeus.
My father was Zale-a mortal with a love of beauty and power.
Mother was a rare woman. Her natural grace and beauty rivaled the goddesses. She had curly brown hair that fell to her hips and bright blue almond-shaped eyes.
Mother’s smile could warm even the darkest of hearts and her touch soothed more than a favorite fuzzy blanket or hot bowl of soup. Her generosity and kindness seemed to come from an endless well.
Her life ended too short.
Pan, that amorous god with his panpipes, wanted mother to himself and when she turned him down, he promised father gold and power if father killed her.
Father couldn’t resist the deal.
Mother ran to the river nymphs and they made her reeds to save her.
Pan, angered, cut her down and made her new form into the first panpipes.
Desdemona and I damned father to hell because of it-- although we were only ten.
Hades had a soft spot for Mother, and thus had one for us so he obliged with happiness.
Soon after, Desdemona and I ran away from home and Grandfather came to us, to help.
He sent me to live in America, where I would be safer, and kept Desdemona to train with a master of martial arts in Italy.
Grandfather taught me all I know: how to fight with swords, daggers, Katanas, and knives, how to kill someone in seconds and how to protect myself. I became so good that for grandfather’s--and some of the other gods’ and goddesses’ amusement-- I went into taverns and killed all the people who had done something illegal or immoral. Grandfather got me started on killing those that lead criminal lives.
Turning 18 only made me legal to do the things I had been doing for years. I killed, I seduced, and I drank-- though never to excess.
.
Grandfather came to visit me again when I turned 21 and thought it time I go back to Italy and see Dezzy.
So off I went back to my home, a new woman, full of wicked cunning and a bag of new tricks.
Desdemona had been trained as well as I had, only she learned some different tricks, ones with quicksilver guns that I never cared for.
So two sisters had joined again: a light-hearted one with slashing claws and dangerous curves and a dark-hearted one with quick bullets and deadly sarcasm. The combo was sure to bring anyone to an early grave.
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