“The others? The ones who drink blood and shun the sun? Or the ones who bay at the moon, you’re considering perhaps. Or what of the ones who live in the trees, or the oceans?” Disbelief and disdain had bloomed within his blood. A droplet of fire fell from his mouth, thick and caustic. Even his words had felt bitter. “Breed with those...aberrations? Never.”
So he’d gone to the humans. He’d been betrayed. The flags of war raised.
Now, as he watched one of them run screaming from an enclosure burning in a brilliant orange, he regretted having spoken too soon about an alliance he refused to forge. In the end, it had been done.
The fire’s scent caressed him, enfolding him in its embrace like a lover. He took it within him, agitated senses settling into a calm, helping to loosen the memories of before from his mind. Aurak rode the scent’s current to the little domicile he’d set up for the female thing—the vampire—aiding his quest now.
It was no aggravation for him to shift. To make himself look like one of them. She would not have accepted him into her body otherwise. A small concession.
He discarded his current task of gliding through the night and instilling general mayhem among the populace to check on her progress. To see the culmination of centuries of brawn and power of his kind deteriorate into something resembling her and her clan.
It didn’t take long to get to her location for he kept her close to him, trusting neither her nor the others like her from interrupting his loose plans.
When he walked into the hut, the bitter pungency of blood flooded him. From the doorway, he studied her thin frame dispassionately. Sweat flowed from her skin and dampened her dark hair such that he no longer saw the curls and twists, which had captivated him from the first. Instead, her hair clung to her already pale face...even more appallingly white now as she strained.
Interesting that men were not permitted to be a part of this process. He, of course, would not be denied to witness the birth of evolution.
The woman grunted again, a long, low groan as she worked hard to push the new life form from her body. More of the coppery scent of blood swirled past him, making his lip snarl in derision. He tried to view the process without inserting his head or his heart, but really, this way of bringing about new life disgusted and fascinated him. So unlike his kind. He longed for the beauty of an egg, the patterns soothing to the eye and designed for easy visibility from the sky.
This...this way. Carrying a fetus in the body...
He shuddered.
His gaze went to the guardians stationed around the room. Four of them for one woman and the infant she carried. If news had breached the humans, other vampires or even the werewolves of this union , he might have stationed more guardians. A hundred if necessary. But no. She’d come to him willingly. After three miscarriages and certainty the future of his race was at an end, she managed to hold on to this one.
He paced the room. Hating this. Hating her. The child.
A plume of smoke followed him as he covered the ground with long strides meant to jar loose the agitation settling in his old bones. He would have sought the comfort of the sky once again, but in these times of war, when his kind was hunted for sport, he recognized the wisdom in blending in. They could not retreat to caves, sleeping and waiting for the time of man to pass.
He’d done this thing. This horrible thing.
Each time he’d filled her with his seed, he did it while looking like them. Fragile skin. Hair on his arms, legs, chest and pubis. Jaw short and stubbled. This form made him feel weak and insignificant, yet he would do it a hundred more times if necessary.
The more he thought on it, the hotter the flames simmering his blood grew. Smoke plumed out of his nostrils, singing the crisp air. Something caustic bubbled in his stomach, pushing up and out, turning his insides into molten rage. Why did he ever think this would work?
A sharp scream rent the air.
Twisting toward her, grimacing at the new scent of fresh blood, he moved next to the bed and watched the child slither from between her legs. It landed on the cot in a heap of limbs and skin and fluid. It didn’t move, but the woman continued to moan and writhe. He glanced into her tortured face, still uncertain as to whether he should dispose of her now or later, but decided to wait on that decision. First he wanted to see what would happen with the child.