Lost in the Shadows

Chapter 12

            

'Peace, my boy,' Franco chuckled in his native tongue, watching his son pace the room frantically. 'Why are you letting this upset you so?'

                'Because his pet bitch stuck me, Papa! With silver!' Niko ripped his top up to expose his toned abs, a long silver scar running from hip to hip beneath the dried blood and a new two inch scar marred his perfect ribs.

                'Why didn't you snap her neck?' Franco asked, his small, wicked eyes glittering with fury.

                'What about the agreement you had with Max? You said we weren't to cause trouble so we could stay here until the others come.' Niko folded his long limbs into the old plush armchair with a heavy huff of frustration, drumming his long fingers on the arm of the couch that his father sat on. 'Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to rip that girl's throat out while he watches, but I thought we had to wait until the rest arrive so we can crush this other colony?' 

                'A boy after my own heart,' Franco murmured almost lovingly, as he caressed the blonde head that lay on his lap. The thin, emaciated frame of the girl sprawled across the length of the sofa didn't even twitch as the conversation bandied above her. 'Santa Carla is the place we have been looking for, since we were run out of Greece... Yes, I had thought the best course of action was to get Max onside. Perhaps even pursued some of his boys to join us. I have heard many great things of this David of his.' Niko turned his head and spat at the mention of his name, earning a glare from his father in the darkness. 'But it seems we are raising heckles already. Maybe we cannot afford to wait any longer.'

                'He smashed the store-front window to cause a distraction, so his pet bitch could escape!' Niko flared. Franco reached out to lay a cool hand on his son's arm, the other hand raised to his lips to gesture quiet.

                'I did wonder about that sound. And Dino?' Franco asked, enquiring about the third member of their colony, the man in chef whites cooking up great vats of soup to feed the hungry of Santa Carla.

                'He boarded everything up, he's still touting out the front so people know we're open. We need to feed you, Papa.' Niko patted his father's hand gently, causing the older, plumper man to laugh.

                'I feed on their fear and their dread. Their tears of terror nourish me and I relish their flailing. That moment when they realise all hope is lost tastes the sweetest. I have no need for the amount of blood you bring me. You must make sure you take care of yourself, also, child. If it comes to war with Max and his boys, you must be in peak condition.' He ran a hand along the head of the silent girl in his lap as though she were a cat curled up for affection and then reached out for her arm, offering the wrist to Niko. 'When they reach this point, I have little interest in them. Her pulse is weak and her mind is fled – where is the fun in that? I want to know when you will let me hunt for myself.'

                Niko took the offered wrist roughly and bit without hesitation. His soft suckling was the only sound for a while – the girl was beyond making any noise now, though her eyelids fluttered briefly. If the room had any windows, or even some electric source of illumination, it would have thrown all of the bite marks on her body into stark relief. She was naked, covered from neck to ankle in deep, wide bite marks and thin, shallow cuts. At first she had screamed, which delighted the older man, then her screams had faltered into sobs and pleas each time he fed. At one point, she had acted as though she enjoyed the sharp rip of his fangs as they tore into her flesh, his razor-like nails scoring her skin, in the hope that he might turn her, or even keep her long enough for her to work a way out of the forever locked room - but all that soon turned to begging for an end to her life. They never did last longer than three days, Franco's hunger was insatiable.