Birth of a Killer by Darren Shan

down it in the hope of making a detour when something better came along.
    Larten wrestled with the problem some more before ultimately deciding that he should go with what his heart was telling him. When he was satisfied with his choice, Larten shrugged off his clothes and sat in the darkness. His teeth chattered and he shivered wildly, but after a few minutes he figured that wasn’t the way a vampire’s assistant should behave. Straightening his back, he fought off the shakes and goose bumps and sat to attention, steady and calm, patiently waiting for Seba–his master–to return.

Part Two

    “Ladies and gentlemen—observe!”

Chapter Eight
    The wildcat sensed danger, looked around suspiciously, and hissed. When there was no response, it lowered its head and tore into the remains of the rat on which it had been feasting. The wildcat was a loner. Unlike ordinary cats, its kind had nothing to do with humans, preferring the open hunt of the countryside to the wretched scavenge of a town or village.
    As the animal feasted, a shadowy figure moved up behind it. The predator slid along quietly, creeping ever closer.
    The wildcat’s sense of danger kicked in again, and it whirled. But it had reacted too late. The figureleapt and tackled the cat, grabbing it by the neck and twisting its head. As the doomed creature yelped and thrashed, its attacker pinned its neck with a knee, then jammed two hands into the beast’s mouth. The wildcat tried to chew the fingers, but it was in a hopeless situation. It resisted for a few seconds. Then its jaw and snout were torn apart, and it was all over.
    Larten Crepsley knelt beside his kill and wiped his hands clean on the grass. He regarded the wildcat with grim satisfaction. Vampires could not drink the blood of cats, but once fully bled and cooked, the carcass would provide a fine meal. Larten might struggle with the tough meat, but Seba’s sharp teeth would tear through it easily.
    Knocking the rat away, Larten hoisted the wildcat onto his shoulder. It was heavy, but he walked without a stagger, whistling as he made his way back to the ruined castle where his master was sleeping.
    It had been nearly five years since Larten first spotted Seba on the wall of the crypt. Larten had grown by several inches, and although he hadn’t filled out much, he was muscular beneath his dull brown shirt. Most youths his age would have struggled with the wildcat, but Larten had carried heavier loads in his time, always without complaint.
    It was a cloudy but mild evening. It would be dusk soon, and Seba would rise an hour or so later. The elderly vampire enjoyed sleeping in. He often remarked to Larten that when you’d lived for five hundred years, there was little in the world that seemed worth getting up early for.
    They had made base in the ruins of an old castle three nights ago. Seba had not said why they were stopping here, many miles from the nearest village, and Larten hadn’t asked. He’d learned never to casually question the ways of his master. Seba had no time for lazy inquiries. He expected Larten to observe and learn, querying him only when an answer was worth seeking. Needless questions more often than not earned Larten a cuff around the ears.
    Larten smiled as he scrambled over the rocky remains of one of the castle walls. Seba’s occasional blows were nowhere near as rough or unjust as Traz’s had been. The vampire could have knocked Larten’s head off with a single punch, so he was always wary of doing damage. He had never truly hurt the boy, merely stung him. Even Larten’s mother had hit harder than Seba Nile.
    Seba was resting in what was once the main fireplace. The chimney had fallen in many years ago and created a sheltered niche. Larten had made his bednearby, in the open, so that if anyone came, he could prevent the intruder from stumbling across the sleeping vampire.
    Larten hung the corpse of the wildcat from a hook in a wall. He slit its throat and left it to bleed,