Page 1 of From Russia With Blood

Chapter 1

Luka

Blood. It’s all around me. The scent invades my nostrils, filling me with an intense longing, but there’s so much more here. There it is. Just underneath the delicious undertone of copper is an acrid stench of decay. It’s like the sweetest of perfumes cut with the reek of rotted plants.

For a lesser being, this cacophony of scent would be too much. It would be a temptation far too sweet to pass up. The delicious tang as it peppers the air would call them to a blood lust so insatiable, they would rend any human limb from limb just to guzzle down their nectar. Glancing down, I stare at the lithe form before me, blood seeping out of her wounds.

Hair, limp and dirty, hang around her face like a decrepit curtain, just waiting for the slightest breeze to tear it down. She’s too far gone and lost copious amounts of blood. The only way to save her would be to turn her, and that is something that will never happen. There’s no spark of genius in her. Nothing that calls me to make her my own.

And why would I? Whore that she is? She was bought for just one purpose. Even though it’s not her fault she finds herself in such a state, it’s not mine either - not directly. Even if it were, why should a god take pity on a nothing like her? Tilting my head, I examine the body as it sways before me, trying to find something redeemable about her, something that would make me pause and take notice.

Her tits are exquisite. Though they’re now covered in gouges and puncture wounds, I can still see them for what they were. Natural too. I reach out, grabbing a handful of flesh, letting her stuttered moan float over my skin like a lover’s caress. Natural, just as I thought. But my club is full of great tits, and you don’t see me looking to turn any of them.

Leaning over, I slide my tongue up her neck. The flavor of her blood as it coats my tongue is electric. All her terror, all her pain spices her lifeforce, setting my brain buzzing. Nothing else matters at this moment. Though as delicious as she is, that’s still not worth saving her. Once she’s a vampire like me, she won’t feel the same fear, won’t ever taste like this again. Closing my eyes, I savor the flavor as it explodes in my mouth. Exquisite.

Soft whimpers ease from her throat, harsh and pained - the perfect backdrop for my dinner. Smiling, I pull back and grip her chin, forcing her gaze to mine. Her eyes, what used to be a brilliant blue, are now hazy, dull. It won’t be long now. There’s not enough blood in her to make a full meal anyway. What a waste. I’ll have to find someone else for dinner and hope they taste nearly as delicious.

Cool air eddies about my ankles as I study this human, watching her die. It stirs up the fetid smells from centuries of death and destruction, masking her scent for just a moment. Narrowing my eyes, I force myself to cut through the damp air to find her again. Ah. There it is. I drag the scent deep into my lungs as if taking a puff from the world’s most expensive cigar, holding it for as long as I desire before letting it back out to flutter the few strands not plastered to her head.

Given the circumstances, everything is as flawless as it can be - a fine vintage of blood, a silent, helpless dinner companion. Only one thing mars the perfection of this moment. The clank of chains pricks my ears, alerting me to the cause of all this destruction. Jerry. He struggles next to me, swaying in his bonds, his movements frantic, breaking the blessed silence with wailing and groaning. Such dramatics.

Where our guest is nearly empty, he, on the other hand, is full, almost bursting. The throb of his pulse skitters across my skin, driving an itch into my fangs as they descend even further. His moans and sobs continue to punctuate the silence, pulling my attention from the woman in front of me. “Wait your turn, blood bag.”

Skimming my fingers over her wan, cool face, I slide my index finger over the wound on her head, the blood sluggish there, barely moving. It wells up with each slow heartbeat, but even that becomes so minute that only with my enhanced senses can I still tell it’s pumping out of her.

Such a pity. With her body, she could have made us a fortune in our club. But no. Jerry had to do things his way. Acid slides down my body as I turn to spit on him, the saliva clinging to his hair for a brief moment before plummeting to the floor.

He stays silent, but of course he does. A rat always knows when a ship is sinking. He thinks by playing at being pliant and unobtrusive that it will somehow translate into mercy from me. Laughable. The pathetic thoughts that make humans feel safe. A smirk crosses my lips as I note the deep inhale before he holds his breath - as if playing dead will keep him alive.

Perhaps he finally realizes that he’s in the presence of a predator. Isn’t that what they teach their children? Play dead, and it will go away? That might work with a stupid animal, and though I’ve been called many things over the decades, that’s not one of them. His pitiful displays at becoming invisible are more annoying than they are amusing.

Humans are such stupid, fragile creatures. So easily broken. I look over again at the nameless girl, her body riddled with bites and scratches. At least the hunters didn’t follow Jerry here. That’s one point in his favor. Shaking my head, I cradle her face in my hands, bending low to kiss her forehead before tightening my grip.

I feel nothing for the human beneath me, but I can still mourn the loss of her blood and income. Bones grind over bones as I turn her head at an odd angle, and still, she stays motionless beneath me. Her eyes flutter for just a moment, opening wide to take me in. Lips, pale and cracked open, moving as if to say something, plead her case. But it’s far too late for that now.

Jerry saw to it that she never got the chance to live out her life in service to me and my kind. In a way, this is probably a mercy for her, but she still deserved better than this. She deserved pleasure as we drained her dry, not dying like a nobody in a frigid hell. With an efficient twist of my hands, her neck snaps like a twig beneath my fingers. In that instant, her life is snuffed out.

“Jerry, Jerry, Jerry. You did a very bad thing, didn’t you?”

His whimpers start up again, low whines drawing up from the pit of his stomach. Normally, I’d be delighted with the mournful cadence, but not tonight. “Please. Please. I didn’t know. I didn’t think -.”

“That’s right,” I snarl, snapping my fangs in front of his face. “You didn’t think.” The strong smell of ammonia reaches my nose, and I look down at the wet spot forming on his pants. “I’m not into watersports, but thank you for thinking of me.” His whimpers turn into mindless babbling, pleading, begging, all of it falling on deaf ears.

I circle him, pushing Jerry’s hanging form every so often to knock him off the balls of his feet. The joints in his shoulders are pulled tight as his grotesque form dangles, the skin taught and pallid, but the rest of him is bloated, engorged on lusts and narcissism. He wore his self-importance like a cape, flitting about my club as if he owned it, as if he could ever be just as important or better.

Part of him must have thought we would let him into our fold, make him one of us, but that just shows his delusion. He couldn’t control himself as a human; how the hell could he even hope to do so as a vampire? My lips turn up into a sneer, rubbing against the tip of my fang. I need to feed, but he won’t do.

I want a pleasant meal, not one bitter by the years of misuse. He’s like a pig strung up for the slaughter and just as bad for my health. Besides, I can’t be sure he hasn’t tainted himself, hoping to take me down with him. He was stupid enough to bring my enemies to my lair; no doubt he wanted to ensure success even in death.

Anger simmers under the surface as I turn my ears to the door. There’s no guarantee there aren’t more vampires lurking, waiting to take up my mantle. I should be in the club up above, mingling with the guests and playing with the merchandise. But no. I’m down here in this dank, underground room dealing with upstarts that want to depose me, all of them led here by the jerkoff that is Jerry.

“Why?” The word erupts into the silence, startling him. Jerry jerks at the sound of my voice, body bobbing about as his feet try to find a purchase that isn’t agonizing. He pauses in his shuffling, eyes frantically darting about. I close my eyes, taking in all the sounds. Nothing. It’s like a mausoleum. Any help he thinks is coming either isn’t coming or hasn’t made it yet.

Opening my eyes back up, I watch him for a few moments as he considers his life choices. His gaze is glassy as defeat starts to set in. His brain is catching up to what his heart already knows. It’s over. Lips trembling, he bows his head, his frame quivering in his grief. “Please. Please have mercy,” he whimpers.

Ahhh. So, we’re at the bargaining phase. I wonder if I can get him through all stages of grief before he meets his end. Looking down, I glance at my watch. No time to indulge in such foolish fantasies. This little litchnoya vstretcha has already gone on for far too long.

The longer I stay silent, the more sweat beads up on his forehead, trickling down until it slides over his chins. I don’t need to fill the silence with inane babbling. He’s sure to do that all on his own. A look of resignation crosses his face before he slumps forward.