The King's Vampire Read Free Page A

even though there’s less danger when winter approaches, drinking blood of unknown creatures is always dangerous.”
    “I’ll be careful.” She rushed out before her bloodlust overwhelmed her.
    A sliver of moonlight cut through the black, scudding clouds. Unwilling to call for the coach, Elizabeth hugged the shadows when she passed up Legate Hill. She traveled with the unnatural swiftness of a vampire, avoiding the humans whose shouts and laughter filled her ears. They created an intrusive noise against the still coolness of the night. While gnawing hunger crept upon her, she feared what might happen if she came into direct contact with a human in her vulnerable moment of bloodlust. Already the end of November, the damp, cold air caused her to draw her cloak tighter around her chin. She needed the velvety blackness and the misting rain to veil her dark desire.
    The stones of the sidewalk glistened with moisture, while the stench of rotting garbage, along with raw sewage, assaulted her senses. She threaded her way through narrow streets and alleyways, keeping close to the walls and doors for shelter. Her keen eyes spotted the lantern-like glow of yellow eyes gazing up at her. She swooped down on the poor creature before it had time to mewl. Lifting it to her lips, her eyeteeth elongated and she bit down, firmly and surely, sucking the blood from the poor cat, letting the warm blood trickle down her throat. A sense of shame washed over her at the thought of the monster she’d become.
    Once she finished feeding, she carried the cat into the middle of the road, knowing an unsuspecting carriage would run over the poor creature. At least then the cat’s death would seem a natural act, and not caused by an unnatural, pathetic, soulless creature such as herself.
    Strangely, her hunger remained unabated, and an even greater need filled her. She continued on through the mist-shrouded streets, until reaching the ruins of St. Paul’s Cathedral, still a massive pile of rubble since the Great Fire nine years earlier. Its devastation matched her mood, and she wandered through the charred debris without fear.
    Rumor had flown through London that King Charles II had appointed an architect, Christopher Wren, to design a new cathedral, but nothing much had happened. The Church authorities spent all their time disagreeing and dithering with any plans presented to them. So the towering pillars loomed large, ghostly in the shifting mist, while a scurrying sound led her into what had once been the nave of the church. The noise of the rodents sharpened her hunger because she was not yet fully satiated. The thought of feeding on rats repulsed her, but she’d do anything in order to leave humans alone.
    A sudden powerful wave of rage and malice permeated the ruins and surrounded her. Darkness deepened inside the remains of the church, and she sensed that corruption lurked within. She had no desire to go farther, but her hunger drew her closer to what had been the altar. Something brushed past her, causing her petticoat to rustle. Whatever ran by was much larger than a rat. Her heart pounded, but curiosity pulled her deeper inside the ruins.
    A shuffling came from the north transept. Her eyesight, keen as a cat’s at night, saw a human-like form clinging to the remains of an old tomb shoved against the wall. Perhaps a beggar or a thief lingered in the ruins?
    Moss sprung up between the stones, causing them to disintegrate while the growth increased. A figure emerged from the moss, giving a sharp, inhuman shriek. The stone crumbled faster and created a deep chasm across the floor.
    More figures appeared from the ramshackle tombs, and the rotting creatures surrounded her. An evil smell of corrupted flesh almost suffocated her. The creatures took several forms, but all were long and lean, either brown or gray, with mummified skin shredded from their bones, and skeletal fingers that grasped and reached toward her. Some of them possessed leathered