The blood. The need for it, the hunger, the passion, burned within him, haunting him, tormenting him. Like a beast gone mad, he hungered for the taste of it even as he abhorred the need, the desire.
He tried to ignore it. He avoided towns and people, living like some outcast on the edges of humanity, but the hunger was excruciating, and he lacked the strength to fight it, to endure it.
He hunted the back streets and byways, taking his sustenance from the sick and the dying. Some deep instinct warned him not to feed off the dead. His existence filled him with self-loathing, yet he continued to hunt, unable to resist the relentless hunger.
Six months passed. Miles passed. The moon was his sun, and he explored the world in her pale silver light. He saw mountains and valleys, herds of cattle and horses, flocks of sheep and goats, villages large and small.
He learned to shut his mind to the constant barrage of sounds that assaulted his ears. He learned the extent of his abilities, and for a while he was heady with power. He had the strength of ten men, the ability to transform himself into a dark mist, or into a wolf, to shield his presence from mortal eyes. He could, with a glance, bend another's will to his own.
In time, and with great effort, he learned to control the hunger that was ever present. He learned that he could feed off the blood of animals, though it was not so strengthening, or satisfying, as the blood of humans.
In the beginning, confused and uncertain, filled with power and anger, he had killed those he fed upon, feeding off their fear as he fed off their blood, until he had lost every shred of humanity, until he was truly a monster, a creature so vile he could stand it no longer. Filled with guilt and regret, he had vowed never again to kill for the sake of killing, never to take a life except to defend his own.
He slept in the bowels of the earth, wondering, on occasion, why she didn't vomit him up, for it was there, resting deep in the ground where the sun could not find him, that he was most aware of the vast gulf between himself and humanity. His was a life against nature. Unclean, he thought, he felt unclean, defiled by the life he led.
He had searched for Shaylyn in every village and town, hoping she could restore his humanity, but she seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth, and, day by day, his hope of finding his way back to mortality grew fainter.
And he was lonely. So lonely. He thought often of Katlaina, of the son she had born. Had she returned to her homeland? Did she ever think of him? His son would be crawling now. Soon he would be walking, talking. Would she tell the boy about his father when he was old enough to understand?
With a sigh,Navarre shook his melancholy thoughts from his mind. He had not fed in two days, and the hunger was growing stronger, more insistent.
He smelled the village long before he saw it, his nostrils filling with a miasma of odors that meant people. Smoke and sweat, the fragrance of perfume and hard-milled soap, the sickening scent of roasting meat, the pungent odor of human and animal waste.
As he drew nearer, he saw that it was a large village. Flocks of sheep and goats grazed on the hillsides. He heard the lowing of cattle, the rustle of feathers as chickens settled for the night, the warning bark of a dog, a child's laughter, a woman's tears.
Ordinary sounds, he mused. The sounds of life, the kind of life that was forever lost to him unless he found Shaylyn.
Lamplight glowed yellow in the windows of the cottages he paused as he made his way toward the center of the village. He paused outside one of the cottages, listening to the clatter of pots and pans as a fair-haired woman prepared the evening meal. He heard the high-pitched laughter of a little girl, the deeper, answering laughter of her father.
Pain twisted throughNavarre 's heart as he caught sight of the family gathering around the kitchen table. They bowed their heads, and he heard the father offer a prayer of thanksgiving for the food they were about to eat, for the roof over their heads, for the peace and plenty they enjoyed.
He stood on the outside, looking in, yearning for the life that had been denied him, for the carefree childhood he had never known, for the father he had never seen.
He had a sudden urge to smash his way into the house, to tear down the walls, to let them see the horror that he had seen in other eyes before he drained them of their lives.
For a moment, he imagined what it would be like. The father would rush forward to defend his family, but his puny mortal efforts would be wasted. The woman would cry and beg mercy for her child. And the girl... She would look at him through eyes filled with terror...
With a feral growl of self-hatred, he turned away from the cottage, despising himself for what he had become. He was every man's enemy, every child's nightmare, a soulless aberration who had no right to prey upon the lives of others - no right except the innate desire to survive.
It was on a dark winter night that he was set upon by thieves. Ordinarily, he would have heard their approach, but on this night, he was sunk in the depths of despair. He was weary of the life he led. He longed for Katlaina, longed to spend his days and nights at her side, and yet, for reasons he still did not fully understand, he knew such a thing could never be.
The thieves were upon him in a trice. Two of them bore him to the ground and before he could summon his wits, the third stabbed him through the heart with a very long, very sharp, knife.
With a gasp of pain, he tried to fight them off, but the blood flowing from his wound drained him of strength.
As from far away,Navarre heard them complaining because he had no money, and then darkness descended upon him. His last conscious thought was that death had found him at last...
He woke feeling groggy and disoriented. For a moment he lay where he'd fallen, wondering why he was still alive. Surely the thrust of the knife should have killed him.
Slowly, he sat up, his hands probing his chest for the wound. His fingers encountered torn cloth where the blade had pierced his shirt, but there was no wound in his flesh, no sign that he had been attacked save his torn and bloodstained shirt.
He stood up, feeling weak and light-headed. Blood, he thought, staring at the crimson stain that spread across his shirt front. He needed blood.
Staggering slightly, he made his way toward a large pasture located across the road. He knew somehow that he was far too weak to seek nourishment from a human source. For now, bovine blood would have to suffice.
He grimaced as he crossed the road and slipped between the rails of the fence. A placid cow provided the sustenance he needed, and then, feeling only a little better, he sought a place to pass the night, wondering, as the darkness settled over him, why he was still alive.
Another six months passed. He had given up all hope of locating Shaylyn, and then he found her. Or, to be more accurate, she found him.
He was sitting in the far corner of a small inn, staring out into the rain-swept night, when a faint movement caught his eye. Startled, he swung his head around to find her sitting across from him.
"So, my handsome one," she purred, "we meet again."
"Shaylyn." He breathed her name, wondering, as he did so, if she was real or merely an illusion.
"You have survived your first year," she remarked. "So many do not."
Leaning forward, he grabbed her by the hand. "Tell me," he demanded. "Tell me what I am."
"Don't you know?"
"No. Tell me. I was stabbed in the chest. It was a mortal wound. Why didn't I die?"
She laughed softly. "Ah, my handsomeNavarre , still so much to learn. You are already dead."
"No." He shook his head, refusing to believe.
"Yes. I told you as much the night I brought you over. Didn't you believe me?"
He shook his head again. "No."
With a speed that defied even his vision, she pulled a thin-bladed knife from a fold of her skirt and stabbed him in the arm.
He tried to jerk his hand from hers, but she held on to him without effort. "Watch," she said.
And watch he did. Watched with stunned horror and amazement as the blood stopped flowing and skin and muscle knit themselves back together in a matter of minutes.
"You arevumpir . One of the undead. You cannot die by being stabbed, myNavarre , because you are already dead. But, be warned, even the strongest vampires can be killed. A wooden stake through the heart will kill most of us. Young ones, like you, must avoid the sun."
"Vampire." He spoke the word slowly. In all the scrolls and manuscripts he had read, he had never come across the word.
"There have been vampires since the beginning of time," Shaylyn said. "I have made and destroyed hundreds of our kind."
Navarreswallowed the knot of fear that had lodged in his throat. "And have you come to destroy me?"
"No. I only came to see how my youngest fledgling is doing."
"I'm lonely," he confessed, not meeting her gaze. "I long for..."
"Katlaina." The word hissed past Shaylyn's lips. "If you want the woman,Navarre , why not take her? Use her as you will, then destroy her."
"Destroy her! Are you mad?"
"You cannot live like other men. You cannot father a child. If you desire the woman, take her and be done with it. But you must not tell her what you are. She will hate you for it. If people suspect what you are, they will hunt you down."
"Why didn't you just kill me?"Navarre asked bitterly. Surely that would have been better than the life she described, better than the life he had been living. He stared at his arm, still stunned by the miraculous healing. Vampire. One of the undead. What did it really mean?
"If you don't want to take the woman, then leave this place. Go to the city,Navarre . Find yourself a place to live. Don't shut yourself away from mortals.Laugh,Navarre . Dance. Find a woman to love, and then, when she begins to age while you remain the same, move on and love again."
"Is that what you do?"
"Yes. I've hunted the world over,Navarre . I have known many mortal men. The world is a very big place. There is much to see. Much to do." She shrugged. "If living in the city doesn't appeal, then go find yourself a small village in the mountains and be a god. The peasants will revere you. They will build you a place to live and sacrifice virgins to appease your hunger."
"No!" He shuddered as he imagined Katlaina being brought to him as a sacrifice.
"Do what you will, then," she said irritably. "Forever is a long time. You must find a way to fill it."
"And if I don't wish to be part of the world?"
"Then bury yourself in the earth, myNavarre ."
"I don't understand."
"Dig yourself a hole and go to sleep. But beware - when you wake, you will be too weak to feed off any but the smallest, most disgusting of creatures."
"Have you done this?"
"Once, shortly after I was made." She stared past him, her thoughts turned inward. "It was like sleeping. I dreamed things, heard things. Strange things. And when I woke, I realized that what I had heard was the voice of the earth, changing."
She looked at him then, the light of desire glowing in her eyes. "Come, hunt with me,Navarre ."
"No."
"Still determined to travel alone, I see." She stood up, a vision of dark beauty. "Mayhap we will meet again, my young friend."
"Wait." He rose to his feet, a feeling of emptiness coursing through him. He hated her for what she had done to him, but she was all he had now.
"What is it?" she asked, suddenly impatient.
He didn't know how to tell her what he wanted, but she knew. With a sigh, she drew him into her arms and held him tight.
"It will get easier,Navarre ," she murmured, stroking his hair. "Don't shut yourself off from the world. That way lies madness."
Shaylyn sighed as she felt his arms steal around her waist. Shudders wracked his body. She should have hated him for being so stubborn, for refusing to hunt with her, live with her, as she had intended. But she couldn't hate him. In spite of all he had been through, there was an air of innocence aboutNavarre , a deep inner goodness that she feared would be his undoing.
"Navarre." Murmuring his name, she pressed her lips to his.
For a moment, he clung to her, his arms drawing her up against him. He felt her heated response, knew, in that moment, that she was his for the taking. Almost, he surrendered to the temptation of the warm body pressed intimately to his. But it wasn't just physical relief he wanted. No, he wanted the love and caring that went with it.
He wanted Katlaina. Gently, he released his hold on Shaylyn.
"Come," she said, holding out her hand. "Walk the night with me."
"No." The thought of watching her hunt, of seeing her prey upon some helpless mortal, draining the helpless creature of blood, filled him with revulsion.
"Just a walk,Navarre ," she promised.
It was still raining. Thunder rolled across the heavens; lightning crackled; a chill wind rode the rain.
Shaylyn lifted her face to the sky, laughing softly as the rain washed her cheeks.
"I've always loved winter," she mused. "The darkness. The violence of a storm. The power of lightning."
She was like the storm, he thought. There was lightning in her eyes, violence in her soul. And yet she was beautiful, even now, with her hair falling in damp strands down her back. Her gown clung to her, molding itself to her body, revealing ample curves.
The sight teased at his desire, but it was Katlaina he longed for, Katlaina whose lips he yearned to kiss. Katlaina... He shook her from his mind, and yet, deep inside, he knew he would not rest until he had seen her again.