Tale of a Vampire

Prologue

Winchester, 1845

The nights were his freedom. The poor light illuminating the streets made his job quite easy. He usually wanders for hours until he finds the one but that doesn't bother him. It was thrilling the chosen of a victim. The act of seduction made him feel powerful. His veins engorged as he anticipated his next move and he felt the blood inside them fevering as he ached for that final kiss. He used to prolong that moment as much as he could, the more he extended it the more powerful he'd feel. He shows who he is just before the moment. He likes to scare them first, for fear made the veins pulse with the adrenaline and their hearts would beat faster sounding as music to him and the smell of fear drove him insane. The seconds before the killing... their eyes usually wide open in horror acknowledging what he really is and this is when he sinks his canines on the vein of their neck, his favorite place.

He doesn't rush. No... he drains them slowly, tasting and savoring their blood, feeding him life. That moment is cathartic. He owns the world. They usually fight but he holds them tight enough. It is impossible to escape his arms after he's bitten them. After a few seconds they give up and he loves that surrender. His hand usually caresses their hair as if telling it is going to be alright but he drains them to death. He's always attentive at their heart beat and loves how bit by bit, slow suck by slow suck; it beats slower until there isn't a beat at all. He stops there. His work is done. With all disdain he puts his victim down and turns his back on them as if nothing happened.

He was an assassin. A cold predator who felt no sorry or pity and yet...