Dead Perfect

Ronan wondered if it had been the article that had brought the hunter to town. Propping his feet on the corner of his desk, he began to read:

Vampires. The very word makes your flesh crawl…with terror or titillation, depending on your point of view.

Vampires have been a subject of fascination and horror for countless centuries. Every culture and civilization throughout the known world, both past and present, have their own myths and legends about vampires, be they skeletal creatures who feast on human blood or psychic vampires who prey on the energy of their victims, leaving them exhausted in both body and spirit.

Thanks to the creative imagination of Bram Stoker, Count Dracula is probably the most famous bloodsucker of all time. Unlike the skeletal creature depicted in the silent movie,Nosferatu,the Count has been played as being suave and sensual by Frank Langella, witty and winsome by George Hamilton, sympathetic by Gary Oldman, downright scary by Christopher Lee in a series of Hammer films, as well as for laughs in Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein,and by Leslie Nielsen in Dracula: Dead and Loving It.

So, what do we really know about these creatures of the night? Popular fiction says they sleep by day and hunt by night. They can’t be seen in mirrors, they are repelled by crosses, holy water and garlic. Some believe they must sleep in their coffins; others believe they must rest on the earth of their homeland. Some believe vampires are capable of flight, of transforming into bats or wolves and of changing their size and dimension. It is commonly believed that they are able to control animals and the weather, and hypnotize mortals to do their will.

But did vampires ever truly exist? Do they exist now? Do vampires walk among us, unseen and unknown? Every year, hundreds of people disappear without a trace, never to be heard from or seen again. Are vampires responsible? During the next few months I’ll be traveling the country, digging deeper into the legend and mystique of vampires and other so-called creatures of the night.

Until next month, dear reader, watch your neck!

Muttering, “You’d better watch your own neck, you damn fool,” Ronan tossed the magazine into the wastebasket beside his desk.

Shannah glanced over her shoulder. She hadn’t heard him enter the room but she knew he was there, standing just inside the doorway like some huge bird of prey ready to swoop down and carry her away. She grinned inwardly. Since her illness, her imagination had gone into overdrive.

“Did you change your mind about dinner?” she asked.

“No.” His gaze focused on the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat. He could hear the blood flowing through her veins, its music like a Siren’s call to his ears. Though he had fed earlier, the hunger, ever-present, clawed at his vitals. His fangs pricked his tongue.

“Are you all right?” she asked, frowning.

Nodding, he looked away. By sheer force of will, he subdued the craving that burned through him, demanding to be satisfied.

“I’m going out for a while,” he said. “I won’t be gone long.”

“Oh, well, I should probably be going home after I eat. If I don’t see you again, I want to thank you now for your hospitality and everything…”

“I’d rather you stayed. Besides,” he said, “you can’t very well go out dressed like that.”

He was right, of course. She had forgotten that she didn’t have anything to wear, and she couldn’t very well go home wearing nothing but his robe, no matter how nice it was. Maybe, when he returned, she could borrow one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants, though his clothes were certain to be far too large. Still, it was better than what she had on now.

“All right,” she said reluctantly. “I guess I can stay until tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I meant. I want you to stay here, with me, indefinitely.”

She didn’t like the sound of that one bit and she stared at him in sudden alarm, wondering if she had made a fatal mistake in coming here.

Sensing her inner turmoil, he said, “Shannah, I mean you no harm.”

She didn’t know why, but she believed him. Still, she couldn’t stay. “I can’t, really…”

“Of course you can.”

“No. I have to go home. My apartment…” That was hardly a convincing argument. Her whole apartment would fit inside his living room. Of course, he didn’t know that. She thought of her small place, and compared it to his house. There was nothing at home that she would miss. And whether it was the man or his mansion, she felt much better here than she had in months. That made no sense, of course, but then, these days, very little made sense. Still, she couldn’t move in with this man. This stranger. She had been raised better than that.

She shook her head. “No,” she said again, “I couldn’t, but thanks again for your hospitality.”

He smiled faintly. “When I get back, I’d like a chance to convince you to stay. I won’t be gone long.”

She watched him turn and walk away, heard the front door open and close as he left the house.

What a strange man he was. Why would he want her to stay here, with him? Perhaps because hewas a strange man? The thought sent fear flooding through her. Maybe he really was some kind of homicidal maniac. Maybe the reason she suddenly felt so good was because he was a drug dealer and he had slipped her something last night. Maybe he planned to sell her on the white slave market.

Maybe she had better get the hell out of here while she still could!

She turned off the stove and ran out of the kitchen. She wasn’t going to hang around to find out what kind of man he was, or just what plans he had in store for her. She was leaving this place right now, clothes or no clothes.

Chapter Five

Ronan stalked the ever-changing shadows of the night, a predator in search of prey, a hunter on the prowl. He loved the night, the taste of the wind on his tongue, the anticipation of the hunt.

There had been times, in the beginning, when he had despised what he was, loathed what he had to do to survive, but those feelings hadn’t lasted long. He had once been human, prey to what he had become. Now he was the predator; preying on mortals was natural to his kind. The memory of mortality and its inherent weaknesses were dim, overshadowed by the passing of time. The revulsion he had expected to feel the first time he satisfied his unnatural thirst had never materialized. One taste of the rich red elixir of life had driven all thought of repugnance from his mind. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter. Nothing had ever satisfied him more.

Now, he moved through the darkness with ease, his preternatural senses testing the evening breeze. Sounds and smells assailed him on every side as he sought for the one who would satisfy his hunger.