Birth of a Killer by Darren Shan Page A

then used bits of flint to start a fire. He and Seba often ate their meat raw, but a cat needed to be cooked or its blood would poison the vampire.
    Larten had relished the last five years, even the cold, wet nights when he’d had to bite into the horrible flesh of a live rat. He’d never once regretted his decision to become Seba’s assistant. This was a hard life, but it was all he craved. He was still human, and many of the vampire ways were a mystery to him, but there was no question in his mind that this was his fate.
    Though Seba was a thoughtful master, Larten’s education was by no means easy. Vampires’ assistants had a much harder time than their masters. Though Seba made allowances for his human aide, he was a superior creature of the night. He was stronger, faster, and more enduring than any human, and his assistant had to keep pace. If Seba marched all night, Larten wasn’t allowed to fall behind. If Seba wrestled a bear, Larten had to pitch in and help.
    Many assistants perished horribly before theycould be blooded. That was the vampire way—they only accepted the most resilient. If you failed, the clan was better off without you. Larten knew he could expect no sympathy if he came up short of his master’s expectations. Nor would he ask for any.
    As the sun dropped, Larten slit the wildcat down the middle, then speared it on two spits and hung the meat over the fire. The smell was delicious, but he tried not to take pleasure from the scent. If Seba caught the young man’s mouth watering, he’d probably toss the carcass aside and insist they hunt for raw meat.
    As Larten tended the roasting cat, he hummed a song that Seba had taught him. It was an ancient melody, not of the vampires but from the human world of three hundred years ago. Larten would have liked to learn a few vampire tunes, but Seba said they were best kept for the Halls of Vampire Mountain.
    Larten grew wistful as he thought about the legendary home of the clan. Seba hadn’t told him much about the mountain, but Larten had heard enough to fire his dreams. In his imagination it was a majestic place full of noble vampires. Great deeds were recounted there, lavish feasts were laid on for the Princes and Generals, and vampires had the opportunity to test themselves against their fellow nightstalkers. There was little in the human world to really challenge a vampire, but in the caverns and tunnels of Vampire Mountain, you could truly find out what you were made of.
    Larten stopped humming and kept his gaze on the roasting cat. He appeared to be listening to the crackle of the flames, but he was actually concentrating on very soft steps behind him.
    “Will you be dining with us tonight, sir?” he called, without looking up from the fire or turning around.
    Someone clapped. “Very good,” the stranger said, stepping forward out of the shadows. “You have a sharp ear.”
    “For a human,” Larten murmured, and turned to greet the visitor. He’d known by the sounds that their guest was a vampire—he moved in the same quiet way Seba did when he was testing Larten’s senses. If a vampire wished to sneak up on a human, they could move so silently that detection was impossible. But this one had wanted to give Larten a chance.
    The vampire was about Seba’s height but a little broader. He looked even older than Seba and had long white hair and a tight gray beard. He was missing his right ear. The flesh around the hole was a pale pink color.
    “Your name?” the vampire asked, approaching the fire and warming his hands.
    “Larten Crepsley. I serve Seba Nile.”
    “Aye,” the vampire said. “I gathered that much. I’m Paris Skyle. Seba has told you about me?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Good. I don’t like being discussed behind my back.” The vampire winked, then ran a curious eye over the young man’s face. “Have you been with Seba long?”
    “Close to five years,” Larten answered.
    “Still a ways from being blooded,