“At the Grand Avenue subway stop, of course. You listened to me play and sing for over an hour, and then you took me to the Black Velvet Lounge. And then afterwards, you took me to that place far, far down below the city.” Her voice faded to a husky whisper as she stepped closer to him. The aura of her vitessence throbbed with the escalating beat of her heart. She rolled a thick silver barbell along her lower lip and laughed seductively. “You loved the feel of that on your cock, didn’t you? Remember? How I took you so deep and hummed you a sweet tune, and you called me your little songbird…your sweet little pet? You’ve come for me early? Is it time?”
“No.”
She started out of her entrancement.
“There’s been a change of plans.”
“But, you said if I showed myself worthy… You saw, didn’t you? I didn’t lie to you, did I?” She held up her forearms. Pale gold tears flowed down her gray face. “You said that if I showed myself willing, we could possibly live together for a glorious eternity.”
Saint’s muscles clenched in rising fury.
It’d been five and a half centuries since Saint’s one and only night of unregulated bloodlust. His first memories of life were clear and hauntingly graphic, as much as he prayed to the gods to make them fade. Consciousness hadn’t come in fits and starts, but in an abrupt slam. He and his clone, Teslar, had just suddenly been there, inhaling the verdant earth and the brackish water in the distance. One sensation had preceded all others. It had awakened him to the gray, shadowed world.
Hunger.
They had come upon a village not far from the banks of a river. Teslar and he had fed like ravenous wolves turned loose in a field filled with helpless cattle.
Saint lived daily with the knowledge of what he’d done to the Native American tribe, the Iniskium. It hadn’t taken him long to learn the horror of his actions, to know the fires of remorse, but Teslar continued in his never-ending mission to drain his victims completely of their vitessence. Teslar craved the spice of fear in his food and enjoyed coming up with new ways to evoke it in his victims.
Teslar was a fear-eater.
Saint definitely sensed fear in the young woman who stood in Christina’s office, but the most overwhelming misplaced emotions he read at that moment were excitement, infatuation, and idolatry. It worried him. He was responsible for his clone, after all.
Teslar’s crimes were his own.
Ages ago, Saint had separated himself from Teslar, denied his bloodlust free access to rule his existence. Only then had the Magian named Kavya given him the primary mandate that ruled his existence.
Now Saint lived to keep Teslar in check, to control from the outside what could not be regulated from within.
Still, Saint knew the truth. He and Teslar were one and the same—parasites, creatures worthy of the look of disgust and fear Christina had given him the other night after she’d seen him feed off the women’s vitessence—the vital essence exuded by the soul, the energy that surrounded humans in varying amounts. Vitessence was found in concentrated forms in the blood, sweat, tears, and sexual secretions—fluids associated with strong emotion.
Saint and Teslar were both energy vampires, but vampires in the classical sense as well.
Teslar was harvesting his energies for some purpose, carefully cultivating his power. Saint had suspected he was the Youngblood Thief before, although the means of blood extraction had thrown him off the scent of his clone at first.
Why would a vicious and expert blood-drinker like Teslar bother to paralyze and then medically exsanguinate his victims? Teslar had the ability to exsanguinate utilizing his fangs and suction alone.
Why this change in method?
Saint thought he knew the answer. Teslar wanted to heighten his victim’s fear. The captive bolt that had been found inserted in the young people’s brain caused paralysis. Unfortunately, the victims were fully aware of what was happening to them while their blood was drained.
Despite Saint’s suspicions, leaders of the Iniskium—Fardusk, Isi and Strix—had been unable to come up with any solid proof that Teslar was the Youngblood Thief. Even the opportunity to obtain proof had been negligible, as Teslar had found a new hidey-hole in the underground of the city—a den, which, as of yet, had remained a secret to Saint and the Iniskium.
Until now.
He stepped closer to the girl, automatically setting up an energy barrier between them, protecting her from his poisonous, parasitic nature, leaving only a narrow channel open. He turned his ascendancy up to its fullest strength.
“Listen to me. If you give yourself to Teslar or any one of the Scourge revenants for the Final Embrace, there is a ninety percent chance you will die.”
“I know,” the girl replied fervently, her eyes glassy with manic excitement. “I’m prepared to make the sacrifice.”
Saint paused. She knew? Teslar had told her the truth?
Not all of it, Saint was willing to bet. He continued ruthlessly.
“Your blood, and most likely your flesh, will be consumed with all the mindlessness and disregard of a fast-food meal. If they don’t eat your flesh, there is a ten percent chance you will turn Scourge revenant, possessing no soul. You will be a monster, and the form of that monster will not even be something of your own choosing. There will be no point to your existence but to feed, to figure out how to feed next…to scheme how to feed well. And hear this. You will be one of many. Teslar has said you would be his special companion, his mate, but he lies. Teslar breeds and breathes lies.”
For the first time, her worshipful expression fractured. “But you are—”