With
Halloween around the corner, I wanted to frighten readers. Here is the prologue
to Ancient Awakening. I hope it draws you into my world.
Eastern Europe, 1000 AD
The terrified servant fumbled her armload of logs as
she eased the laboratory’s paneled door open. The pounding of her pulse
shredded his concentration. Hunger stabbed through his gut. His fingers
flattened the quill’s nib against the parchment and ink smeared the last entry
like blood. Saliva pooled in his mouth while she built up the fire, then
scuttled to safety.
His low growl muffled the soft snick of the latch. Once
again, he had resisted the impulse to rend, to carelessly feed. A frustrated
sigh heaved his chest. The only way to keep good servants was to reward them
richly and let them live. That lesson had
been difficult to learn.
He held the parchment to the fading light streaking
through a slit in the thick stone. The pale glow outlined his almost fleshless
fingers before a freshly penned phrase caught his attention. He threw the
broken quill into the fire and selected another. The correction had to be made,
and he bent over his desk to take care of it.
Satisfied with the change, he straightened and stared
into the dancing red and orange flames until his stiff muscles eased. He had to
eat, but he resented interruptions. His latest research into a cure had been so
promising; the details so fascinating, only the relentless blood hunger forced
him to stop.
Although he had searched the world, he had never found
a remedy for the curse he had inflicted
upon himself. He eased erect and rubbed at his blurred eyes, before
slowly stacking the parchment sheets, aligning the unused quills, and corking
the ink well with shaky hands. He was weak, but the priests would have his
nourishment ready. They always did.
A snapping log showered glowing embers onto the slate
hearth. He pondered the coals for a moment before he swept them aside with his
bare hand. His changed flesh didn’t burn. Along with his soul, his body had
surrendered its ability to feel pain, to age, or scar.
Legend gave him many names, but the wide halls of his
mountain retreat no longer echoed with countless worshipers. He could have
ruled the world had his ambition not died with the passage of time. The endless
whispers were from the cold winds and the few praying priests. He didn’t care
that he couldn’t remember his real name or birthplace.
For an eon, he’d regretted the loss of softer emotions.
Love had been the first feeling to die, along with the woman who had insisted
he would never harm her. He couldn’t recall her features, just the merry tinkle
of her laughter and the bright smile she had greeted him with every morning. He
licked his lips. She’d tasted sweet.
Fierce need flared in his gut and he sniffed the air.
Outside his chamber, a single acolyte in long, brown robes waited to escort
him. His mouth curved with a mirthless smile. The silent servants had ignited
the flickering wall torches. Shadows jumped and shivered in the drafty halls
like nervous virgins.
A succession of priests had made him content with his
self-imposed exile and search for knowledge. They kept his legend alive.
Curious worshipers trickled into the fortress. The isolation hid their final
lose. Many people died of natural causes in the treacherous mountain passes,
and a few more deaths went unnoticed.
He
hummed with anticipation when the scent of pulsing blood drifted to his
nostrils. The acolyte trembled as he led the way deeper into the fortress’
deserted lower levels. Public displays of his power tended to empty the halls.
The priests had objected to sacrificing their own members, so they had carved a
location deep within the heart of the mountain, where the terrified screams of
his doomed victims went unheard.
He trailed his hand over the rough walls hewn from
living rock. It glistened with dampness. Recent chisel marks caught at his
fingers. The memory of feeling cold tugged at him.
Low chanting grew louder, along with the sacrifice’s
fearful prayers. They turned another corner, and his escort drew back. He
stepped through a narrow doorway into a square room. The priests had created a
new dining chamber for him.
His breath quickened. Clad in elaborate regalia, the
high priest, Armid, waved him closer. Armid’s shoulders were stooped, although
he was still in his middle-years. He bowed low and swept his embroidered robes
aside with one shaking hand. The stink of fear flowed from him in an
exhilarating river.
Torches flared in every corner. They reflected red off
the sweating male body lashed to a center post. A heavy block of gray-green
malachite was placed before the naked prisoner. Tiny carved figures danced and
postured on the sides of the block in a grotesque celebration of death.
“My Lord,” Armid intoned. His eyelids nervously
twitched before he lowered his gaze to the floor. “The servant reported you had
finished your studies. We prepared the feast that awaits you.”
The youth held his stare for a second then strained
wildly against his bonds. The thunder of his victim’s racing pulse echoed in
his ears.
“He seems a suitable prize. His strong heart surges
lifeblood like the rising tide.” He licked his lips. The feeding was so
exquisite when the blood wildly pumped with dread. It was a taste he had
developed after the other pleasures had faded.
“Yes, my Lord.”
Armid took a wet sponge from a nearby wooden bucket. He
lovingly laved the victim’s face until the young man stilled. Armid held the
youth’s head upright and gently murmured, “It is time. The path you have chosen
has its price. Our thanks go with you.”
“Strange. Do you seek volunteers to come to me,
priest?”
Not waiting for a reply from the elder, he hunkered
over the sacrifice. The scream from his victim abruptly cut off. He drank with
delight. So enthralled with his feeding, he was barely conscious of a loud
clang reverberating through the small chamber or the wavering of the torch
flames.
When he lifted his crimson-stained mouth from the
drained remains, Armid’s white features were stretched over his skull in a
death mask.
He spread his arms wide and chanted, “We have served
you, Lord. We have filled your needs. We have provided the sacrifice.”
“And I thank you, Armid,” he managed before a sleepy
yawn cracked his jaw. “Take me to my chamber.”
He wiped the fresh blood from his mouth and licked the
last drops from his hand. The torch flames dipped lower. His body needed sleep
to fully rejuvenate.
Armid collapsed onto the intricately carved block
before he gathered his flowing robes about his legs as though chilled. His
fingers trembled when he stroked the
sacrifice's dangling leg.
“This is your final chamber, my Lord.” Armid’s
voice was powerful, but strangely calm. “While you fed, my followers sealed the
door and closed the hall.”
It was an instant before he understood. Rage poured
through him at the effrontery in this mere human’s resolute stare.
“I am indestructible. You cannot harm me!”
“It matters not. You will never escape. The entry hall
is already blocked.” Armid shook his head before a deep sigh racked his chest.
“Then you will die here with me.”
“It is time to pay for my sins. I am the last to serve
you.”
Tears flowed down Armid’s sunken cheeks. His arms hung
limply at his sides. His hands lifted slowly toward the limp figure. “My only
son volunteered to serve as a
sacrifice. My death will end our
line of human betrayers.”
His hands crunched bones as he lifted Armid, until his
feet dangled inches above the floor. He drained the priest before flinging the
corpse aside. Then he turned his rage on the sealed door. The air reverberated
with his savage hammering. By the time the last torch burned out, he knew he
was trapped.
“I cannot die,” he screamed into the darkness. “I am
immortal!”
Blurb:
In Ancient Awakening, Police
Officer ‘Mel’ Petersen investigates a death only she believes is murder. By
disobeying direct orders from the Rhodes End Chief, she risks her career to
follow clues that twist in circles to her backyard and lead the killer to her.
Her neighbor
Stephen Zoriak is a prime suspect. Steve worked for a major pharmaceutical
company where he discovered a weapon so dangerous he destroys the research. He
is exposed to the dangerous organism. He suspects he is the killer and agrees
to help her find the truth.
In the course of
their investigation Mel and Steve find the real killer and a love that defies
death.
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Kindle
http://www.amazon.com/Ancient-Blood-Finding-Rhodes-ebook/dp/B0052NUR12/
