An Unattractive Vampire Read Free

life?”
    The Master considered this for a moment before shrugging. “The others were driven by lust. You yearned for power. That pleases me.”
    “I wanted freedom,” she corrected.
    He gave a dismissive wave. “As I said.”
    She was about to argue the point when a cheer went up outside.
    “Go now,” he commanded, “before they set fire to the house.”
    Anne curtsied and left to fetch the mob.
    Yulric lay down in his grave, resting his head at such an angle, with the back against the wall and his chin on his chest, so as to make it appear disconnected. It would have been a strain were any of the muscles in his neck intact. As it was, only the still-connected spinal cord could give the game away, and that was easily hidden with a flimsy piece of skin. Done arranging himself, he folded his hands, affected a dead stare, and waited.
    In his mind, Yulric smiled. Everything was going according to plan.

Chapter 3
    Thunder. Fire. Pain. And then . . .
    Yulric Bile, the thousand-year-old vampire, lay on his back surrounded by pink carpet. He was not entirely certain how he had found his way to the floor, only that it had hurt and he was not eager to repeat the experience. For now, he was content to remain where he was and stare up at the ceiling while he tried to remember the past few seconds. He’d misted his way through the window, glided across the floor, gone in for the kill, and then . . .
    Somewhere beyond his feet, there was stirring. Despite a collapsed lung, Yulric sighed. He had to move. Lying in one convenient place was an invitation to his own demise. Without the use of muscle or gravity, Yulric floated up, turned toward the bed, and then . . .
    A soft shag broke a surprising amount of his fall. Carpeting certainly had come quite a ways.
    He lifted his head ever so slightly and received a glimpse of a scantily clad young woman, kneeling on her bed, holding silver in her hands. And then . . .
    At least this time, the pain came at an angle. The force of whatever struck him managed to knock him onto his stomach. It also caused his jaw to fly off and bounce away beneath the bureau. No longer fettered by the confines of a traditional mouth, Yulric’s tongue detected a dusty tang in the air; one he associated with sieges and sea battles.
    “Is that a pistol?” The question came out as an incoherent garble of vowels. He had forgotten he currently did not have a jaw.
    “Why won’t you die?” came the reply as another shot rang out. This time Yulric was prepared, dissolving into a black mist. The bullet passed through him, shattering the window and lodging itself in the railing. Triumphant laughter erupted from the disembodied fog in the middle of the room, though a lack of pain wasn’t really something worth celebrating.
    Now what?
thought the fog as it coalesced just this side of human form. On the one hand, Yulric did not want to be shot again. It wouldn’t kill him, but it still hurt like hell. On the other, he was loath to pass up his first meal in ages.
    A little prudence, perhaps?
he concluded, disappointed. He had hoped to enjoy some primal gluttony before rational forethought took hold.
    In an instant, the girl on the bed was engulfed in tendrils of smoke. They wrapped around her, not quite solid but more than air. She let out a gasp of desperation as she tried to bring her gun to bear. Darkness filled her vision. She prepared for the worst. And then . . .
    • •
    Amanda opened her eyes. The fog had once more taken form, a form that was absentmindedly clicking its reattached jaw into place and examining something smooth and silver. She looked down at her now-empty hands and gulped. Carefully, she moved from the edge of the bed, back toward the pillows. Without taking her eyes off the creature, she felt beneath them and came back rearmed with a spritzer bottle and butter knife.
    “Get out of my room!” she demanded, her voice filled with a confidence she didn’t much feel. The figure