the block and walking slowly together toward the D’Capillas. The man held the girl around the waist, his hand frequently dropping to her hip and around to her rear, which caused her to giggle and say, “Bill, don’t,” obviously not meaning it.
The D’Capillas continued in a leisurely stroll, stopping to study a display of tattoo art in a shop window, and allowing the couple to overtake them and walk past. The man glanced once sideways at them, noting a well-dressed couple and teenage boy. Although the thought occurred to his alcohol-befuddled brain that it was an unusual group for this particular neighborhood, he did not perceive them as a danger of discovery of his clandestine affair, or a physical threat to his person. He and his girlfriend sauntered on their way.
The strong scent of blood wafted back to Marcus as the couple passed, an enhanced aroma from the man’s erection and the girl’s greedy lust for all she perceived she could get from this affair. Without thinking, he fell into step behind them, salivating, and his fangs already protruding. ‘Excuse me,” he called to them.
Elizabeth watched in anxious horror, but Orion sprang to action. In seconds, he reached Marcus and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
The man did not stop, for a prickling of fear coursed up his spine. But he and the girl both looked back warily over their shoulders.
“Pardon me,” Orion cut in, thinking fast. “We are looking for a particular tattoo parlor, the Black and Ice Ink, but we seem to be lost. Do you know the establishment?”
“No, sorry, no,” the man answered, somewhat relieved, but nevertheless he turned away and quickened his steps. The couple soon disappeared around the next corner.
Elizabeth let out her breath on a long sigh of relief. “That was close.”
“Marcus, what were you thinking?” Orion asked in an over-sharp tone, a reaction to his own fear.
“I’m sorry,” Marcus uttered, wide-eyed and staring in the direction of the couple. “My mind went black. I totally lost control!” He was appalled at what he had started to do; acting like an animal reacting to instinct, rather than an intelligent being. Shame washed over him and his shoulders slumped.
“It’s okay, that’s why we are here to teach you.” His mother hugged him tightly to her breast, soothing him with her voice and protective hold.
“We understand, Marcus. Don’t worry, you will learn to control these urges with practice,” Orion added.
“I hope so,” Marcus replied, his voice muffled into the comfort of his mother’s breast.
“Of course you will,” Elizabeth soothed. “Okay then.” She moved Marcus by his shoulders to face her. “Take three deep cleansing breaths…that’s right…in…out…again…good,” she coached him. “Better?”
“Yes…I’m sorry.”
“Of course; loners are best for the first time, especially the homeless,” Elizabeth said. “Maybe I should have left that drunk for you.”
“They’re also not very hard to find in this neighborhood,” Orion added. “In fact…”
“I smell it,” Marcus said and peered down the block to the next street where his father now looked. They moved on in the direction of the scent. “It’s across the street, but not in the alley,” Marcus said.
“Good, but where?” Orion asked.
They crossed over and passed the alley. Marcus lifted his head to sniff and listen. “That doorway.” He pointed to a dilapidated apartment building half a block away.
“I believe you are correct,” his father agreed. “We’ll wait here, but we’ll be there immediately if you encounter a problem.”
Nodding, Marcus swallowed down his accumulating anticoagulant-rich saliva, and rubbed his palms down the thighs of his jeans. He did not possess sweat glands, but it was a gesture he had picked up watching his teammates before a game. He strolled down the sidewalk.
Stringy gray hair fell in thin, lank strands around the wrinkled, sallow face of a woman who appeared old; but Marcus evaluated from the scent of her marrow, was probably not over fifty – my age. She sat on the stoop of the building, resting a wine bottle in the valley of her skirt between her spread knees. The skirt was torn at the hem and mud-stained. She wore a man’s bulky knit sweater, her elbows poking through frayed holes. She looked up at him with rheumy eyes as he approached.
“Grandmother,” he said softly, and sat beside her.
“I’m not your grand…” she said in a hoarse voice as she slowly turned her head to peer into this stranger’s face invading her peace. But his beautiful countenance filled her soul with sudden longing. She felt the need to love and care for this precious child, and she reached a hand toward his face.
Marcus took the hand and cradled it against his cheek. He kissed her palm, utilizing the skills his parents had drilled into him in countless home lessons on how to mesmerize a victim. He kept his large, dark eyes gazing into her weak ones. We want them happy and not fearful. Fear taints the flavor of the blood. He recalled his parents’ instructions.
The woman smiled at him. She had no idea his heart thumped in anticipation (however, not near as fast as her own). When he moved his face closer, his warm, sweet-scented breath wisped over her, and she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. “You are loved, be at peace,” were the last soft-whispered words she heard.
Marcus drank, his fangs hooked into the woman’s carotid artery, amazed at how fast the hot blood pumped into his mouth, almost faster than he could swallow, but oh, so satisfying as it filled his empty stomach and eased the tight cramps of hunger. It tasted like nothing he had ever fed on before! The blood his parents had brought to nourish him thus far in his life, had always been lukewarm and starting to clot (he hated the gelatinous lumps). He had never drunk hot food and he relished the heat of it flowing down his throat…and the incredible taste! None of the metallic flavor of hours-old blood. There was a hint of alcohol, a slight fruit with oaky tannins, and he understood now why his parents preferred to feed on alcoholics. Why had he ever resisted hunting?
He felt his father’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him away.
“Enough, son, if you drink her dry, you leave the corpse too desiccated; too much of a mystery for the authorities.”
Reluctantly, Marcus pulled out of the artery and watched greedily as a thin trickle of blood pulsed forth.
“Marcus, quickly!”
He leaned back over her neck and licked his tongue over the two punctures from his fangs, and the bleeding stopped.
“Good, now what?”
“Oh, yeah.” Marcus pressed his first two fingers over the bite mark and counted to ten. When he removed his fingers he observed the new flesh that had filled in the two puncture wounds.
“Well done.”
The woman listed to her side, her head at an awkward angle. Marcus bent over and compassionately arranged her body so that she appeared to sit naturally, hunched over herself. He kissed the top of her gray head and whispered, “Thank you for the gift of life,” as his parents had taught him to say after every meal.
“This is good,” Orion complimented. It pleased him that his son demonstrated proper respect and gratitude for his food.
“Yes, I’m very proud of you,” Elizabeth added, standing at her husband’s side.
Marcus walked over and hugged both his parents, grateful for the education they were giving him, and their loving support.
“How do you feel now?” Orion asked.
“Good,” Marcus answered truthfully, and his face split into a wide grin, exposing his blood-coated fangs which he had not yet retracted. “Great, actually!” I’ve made my first kill! His chest swelled with pride and he felt quite mature.
His parents laughed heartily, each one remembering their own first kill and recognizing the proud look on their son’s beautiful face.
Orion clapped his son on the shoulder and Elizabeth linked her arm with his as they turned to retrace their steps back to their waiting vehicle.
“After a kill and each of us consuming almost all the blood supply, none of us
will need to feed for a month,” Orion declared.
“But all of our meals tonight consisted of anemic and malnourished blood, so we could use some vitamin and mineral supplements,” Elizabeth interjected. “So, let’s go have some fun!”
∞∞∞∞∞
The Fledgling Page 3