Chapter 39 - The Charnel Pit part 5

Night returned and the Foul One with it, swooping down from the entrance of the pit like a great carrion bird. He landed across the cavern from me, barely bending at the knees though the drop was at least thirty meters. When he alighted, the bones that adorned his massive body clattered like the charms my wives hung from the roof of our wetus. Two furry creatures wriggled in his hands, squealing and clawing at the icy fingers that encircled their necks.

I had spent the daylight hours in a stupor of pain, moving only to cover my eyes with my arm to protect them from the needling light. I might have said that it was painful, the sun glaring in my eyes, but any discomfort the sun might have caused me was overshadowed by the stupendous agony of all my other injuries. I looked little better than a squashed bug when the Foul One took his leave of me. The Strix had worked steadily at putting me back together, but I was starved of blood and newly made and the healing was slow and torturous.

But I had recovered enough to crawl, and so I crawled toward him, seething with hatred. I dragged myself across the cold, stiff bodies of my Neanderthal kin, pulling myself along by their limbs like they were the rungs of some gruesome ladder. I intended to throw myself at him with what little strength I had recovered during the day. I wanted to wrap my fingers around his neck and choke the life from him, not knowing that such an attack would have little effect on my captor. I had no illusions that I might vanquish the powerful being. I merely hoped that he would lose patience with me and put me out of my misery. At least then I would die as a warrior.

He stepped on my back with one foot, pinning me to the ground. "I've not come to fight, little one," he purred. "Not tonight. Tonight I bring you sustenance. You see? I can be a generous master. We do not have to be enemies."

He rolled me over with his toe and squatted down. I tried to strike him but he brushed my fist aside and pressed something warm and furry to my mouth.

"Stop it, worm. I have no time for that right now. Here, eat. You are starved and weak. If you do not feed, the Blood will devour you from within and then you will die."

The squirming creature he had pushed to my lips was an ape. It was one of the tan and gold monkeys that capered in the treetops near Far Away Camp. We called them "little cousins", as they had human-looking hands and faces. We didn't hunt them because we assumed they had souls, and it was taboo for my people to devour thinking creatures. We were afraid their spirits would be vengeful if we killed them, and the little cousins were mischievous enough when they were alive.

"Use your fangs to cut its neck," my maker said. "Its blood will nourish you."

"No!" I protested. "I will not do it!"

I tried to push his hand away. His arm was like cold stone. The monkey thrashed and squealed, its cheek lying warm against mine, its tiny fingers scrabbling at my face.

"Bite it and drink its blood," my maker commanded, a little more gruffly this time.

I turned my head from side to side, pressing my lips together. I would rather starve and die.

Yes, of course!

My maker's tongue had betrayed him! Without realizing it, my captor had revealed the avenue of my escape. I could starve myself. I could starve myself and die. I could be free of this torment!

The monkey squirmed and howled, its intelligent brown eyes bulging from their sockets. The smell of its flesh was in my nostrils. I could smell its wet fur and the fruit it had recently devoured. I could smell its fear and the enticing scent of its blood. The blood! My maker had handled it roughly in capturing it and there was blood caked in its nostrils, blood trickling down from one ear. Saliva gushed into my mouth at the rich, coppery scent. My hunger snarled and snapped in my belly. It was the blood I wanted! That was what I craved!

But I refused to bite the little animal.

"Drink!" my maker shouted.

"No!"

Growling in frustration, my captor jerked the animal to his mouth. He gashed the creature's throat with his own fangs and then pressed the spurting wound back to my lips. "Now!" he snarled. "Now refuse, you stubborn worm!"

The animal's blood sprayed into my face. It pulsated across my lips and cheeks in hot little rivulets. The poor thing had soiled itself. It quivered against my face. The smell of its blood finally broke my self-control. Cursing myself, I opened my jaws and allowed the briny red fluid to trickle into my mouth.

Orgasmic pleasure exploded through my body at the taste of the creature's blood. I had never felt such bliss. It was like lightning bolts flashing inside my brain. Every cell in my body seemed to let out a collective squeal of delight.

Yes, finally! That is what I wanted!

Every vampire's first taste of blood is like that—overwhelming pleasure, ecstasy to put all previous acts of sex to shame. The hot liquid slid down my throat and it was like I had never known satisfaction, like I had been thirsty all of my life and had just then, after dusty decades of dry cravings, been given to drink.

I seized the little beast in my hands. My maker released it to me, grinning shrewdly, and I pressed it to my lips, sucking greedily at the wound in its neck. The monkey shuddered, eyes growing dull as I drained the blood from its body. Its human-like hand fell limply to my forehead. Its entire body went lax as though it were embracing me as its small heart pumped once, then twice more, then went still in its furry chest. Its head lolled forward, eyes fixed. Still hungry, I squeezed out the last few drops of its lifeblood, crushing some of its bones. My maker laughed at the muffled crunching sounds. I looked up at him, forgetting my hatred for a moment, wanting more.

"Ah-ha! Such a greedy little piglet!" he cooed. "And still you hunger!"

He offered me the other monkey he'd brought. I threw the lifeless carcass of the first aside and killed the second one myself, panting in my eagerness. I did what I saw my maker do. I brought the side of its neck to my mouth and gashed its flesh with my fangs, opening the arteries there. I gulped the blood that came spurting out, enjoying the moist heat of it on my lips and tongue. I lost my mind in the pleasure of feeding, sucking and gulping, sucking and gulping.

"Now you understand," my maker said as he rose from my side and walked away. "From this night forth, blood is the only thing that will satisfy your hunger." He watched me feed over his shoulder, his eyes bright and avid, hot with his own need. "Tonight you have surrendered to your desire for living blood," he purred. "Soon you will surrender to me as well."

I opened my mouth to deny him again. Instead, I found myself begging. "More, please!" I gasped for breath, licking the monkey's blood from my lips. "I'm still hungry!"

He laughed, a contemptuous cackle, then leapt straight up to the opening of the charnel pit.

As he flew upwards, his cloak spread out like the wings of a great raptor. He vanished through the mouth of the cavern. Then, as he had the night before, he turned to look back down at me.

"Rest now, little one. I must go and hunt for myself, but I will bring you more of what you desire."