suitable meal.
He needed to find the boy. But first, he rose from the bed and sent out a few feelers, checking for the threat of the vampires who’d attacked him yesterday.
Yesterday had been a low point. He’d set out to get drunk because he’d finally realized he couldn’t keep running away, and yet the thought of his planned return to the world appalled him. Although he hadn’t deliberately left himself an open target, he hadn’t much cared when the vampires had taken the chance.
Until the tremor which shouldn’t have happened. And the hunter who paid her debt. Intriguing creature. Strong blood. Prickly. And the memory of her hot little body crushed under his, writhing with arousal as he drank her blood, was enough to make him uncomfortably hard all over again. It was a long time—a very long time—since he’d experienced such powerful lust. It might even be good, when he had time, to track her down and act on it again. After all, he had promised to find her Gavril, and he saw no reason not to keep that promise. He was, he realized with some surprise, interested .
Gavril and the other vampires were not hard to locate. He found their presences together, some distance across the city, far enough away not to concern him until he chose to act. But another consciousness touched him, from far closer.
Maximilian walked to the window and pressed his face into the curtain. In the street below, among the few scurrying pedestrians, a much smaller figure stood perfectly still, gazing up at his window. An innocent, open mind, revealing all to whoever cared to look.
Slowly, Maximilian drew back. It seemed the mountain had come to Mohammed. Come up , he invited telepathically, and felt the boy’s rush of excited pleasure.
While he waited, he picked up the hotel’s cheap notepad and pen, sprawled back on the bed, and began to draw.
The boy didn’t take long. He didn’t even knock, just pushed at the door, displaying no surprise when Maximilian manipulated the lock for him with his mind. It was an old trick of Saloman’s that Maximilian was glad to discover still worked for him.
Maximilian regarded the child. He wore the same green anorak as yesterday, and he hadn’t washed his face.
“The lady said I shouldn’t come. She said you’re dangerous.”
“I am.”
“How?”
“I drink blood to exist.”
“Will you drink mine?” the boy asked uncertainly.
Maximilian shook his head, turned the page on his pad over, and began another drawing. Robbie drew nearer to see what was taking shape. “That’s me!” he exclaimed.
Maximilian tore a couple of pages from the pad and pushed them toward the boy with another pen.
Robbie took off his coat and sat down on the bed. Picking up the pen, he began to draw too. Oddly enough, he drew a wall, made up of varying-shaped stones that fitted together. As they worked, Maximilian began to ask questions, and Robbie to answer.
After a bit, Maximilian took him downstairs in search of breakfast. Maximilian found a table well away from any direct light drifting in through the blinds, and watched while the boy ate with ravenous efficiency. When his left sleeve rode up, it revealed a dark patch on his skin.
They walked back to the room, and once inside, Maximilian caught Robbie’s arm and pushed up the sleeve.
The bruising ran all the way up his arm from the wrist, where Maximilian had already glimpsed the purple edge, to his elbow.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Chinese burn,” Robbie said at once. “It’s a game.” For the first time, he looked frightened, but Maximilian didn’t let him go. “I can’t tell you,” the boy blurted. “I’m not allowed. I promised.”
The cruelties of modern human life, as compared with the more open abuses of his own day, had passed Maximilian by to a large extent. But he’d picked up enough.
“Keep your promise,” Maximilian said steadily. “Don’t use words.”
The child hesitated. Then, slowly, he showed Maximilian
He needed to find the boy. But first, he rose from the bed and sent out a few feelers, checking for the threat of the vampires who’d attacked him yesterday.
Yesterday had been a low point. He’d set out to get drunk because he’d finally realized he couldn’t keep running away, and yet the thought of his planned return to the world appalled him. Although he hadn’t deliberately left himself an open target, he hadn’t much cared when the vampires had taken the chance.
Until the tremor which shouldn’t have happened. And the hunter who paid her debt. Intriguing creature. Strong blood. Prickly. And the memory of her hot little body crushed under his, writhing with arousal as he drank her blood, was enough to make him uncomfortably hard all over again. It was a long time—a very long time—since he’d experienced such powerful lust. It might even be good, when he had time, to track her down and act on it again. After all, he had promised to find her Gavril, and he saw no reason not to keep that promise. He was, he realized with some surprise, interested .
Gavril and the other vampires were not hard to locate. He found their presences together, some distance across the city, far enough away not to concern him until he chose to act. But another consciousness touched him, from far closer.
Maximilian walked to the window and pressed his face into the curtain. In the street below, among the few scurrying pedestrians, a much smaller figure stood perfectly still, gazing up at his window. An innocent, open mind, revealing all to whoever cared to look.
Slowly, Maximilian drew back. It seemed the mountain had come to Mohammed. Come up , he invited telepathically, and felt the boy’s rush of excited pleasure.
While he waited, he picked up the hotel’s cheap notepad and pen, sprawled back on the bed, and began to draw.
The boy didn’t take long. He didn’t even knock, just pushed at the door, displaying no surprise when Maximilian manipulated the lock for him with his mind. It was an old trick of Saloman’s that Maximilian was glad to discover still worked for him.
Maximilian regarded the child. He wore the same green anorak as yesterday, and he hadn’t washed his face.
“The lady said I shouldn’t come. She said you’re dangerous.”
“I am.”
“How?”
“I drink blood to exist.”
“Will you drink mine?” the boy asked uncertainly.
Maximilian shook his head, turned the page on his pad over, and began another drawing. Robbie drew nearer to see what was taking shape. “That’s me!” he exclaimed.
Maximilian tore a couple of pages from the pad and pushed them toward the boy with another pen.
Robbie took off his coat and sat down on the bed. Picking up the pen, he began to draw too. Oddly enough, he drew a wall, made up of varying-shaped stones that fitted together. As they worked, Maximilian began to ask questions, and Robbie to answer.
After a bit, Maximilian took him downstairs in search of breakfast. Maximilian found a table well away from any direct light drifting in through the blinds, and watched while the boy ate with ravenous efficiency. When his left sleeve rode up, it revealed a dark patch on his skin.
They walked back to the room, and once inside, Maximilian caught Robbie’s arm and pushed up the sleeve.
The bruising ran all the way up his arm from the wrist, where Maximilian had already glimpsed the purple edge, to his elbow.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Chinese burn,” Robbie said at once. “It’s a game.” For the first time, he looked frightened, but Maximilian didn’t let him go. “I can’t tell you,” the boy blurted. “I’m not allowed. I promised.”
The cruelties of modern human life, as compared with the more open abuses of his own day, had passed Maximilian by to a large extent. But he’d picked up enough.
“Keep your promise,” Maximilian said steadily. “Don’t use words.”
The child hesitated. Then, slowly, he showed Maximilian
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