A Vampire's Thirst_Ivan

by Marissa Farrar

  He joined her laughter. “Anyway, it’s not the dead sheep that bothers me. It’s more whatever did it.”

  A shudder worked its way across his shoulders. She’d worked with him for a couple of years now, and Stephen wasn’t the type who scared easily.

  “You don’t actually think it’s black magic, or something occult, do you?” she asked in surprise.

  “I don’t know, but if it isn’t, what’s the alternative? That there actually is something large enough to cause those wounds roaming around out here? We’ve both seen dog attacks on sheep, and they don’t look anything like this.”

  He had a point.

  Charlie dug her teeth into her lower lip as she thought. “So, what are we going to say in the report?”

  “Nothing else we can say.” He shrugged. “Large animal attack. Same as the others.”

  Charlie sighed and bent to finish taking samples. She couldn’t explain why, but this didn’t feel like it was only the result of a wild animal hunting for a meal. Her instincts told her it was something else, but she had no idea what.

  Chapter 3

  The following night, the moment the sun went down and released its hold on him, Ivan got on the road. It would take him three to four hours to reach his destination, and he wanted to get there at a reasonable time in order to be able to check in without raising too many eyebrows at turning up in the middle of the night. He had no idea if Michaela would even still be there when he arrived. He could have called and asked reception, but he didn’t want her to get any clue that he might know where she was.

  Though over three hundred years old, Ivan still wasn’t old enough to walk in the sun. He didn’t know exactly when he’d get old enough for that to happen—he imagined he still needed another few hundred years under his belt. He did find himself visualising how it would be, however, to suddenly be able to walk in the light again, to be able to feel the warmth against his skin and gaze out across a sunlit vista. Or maybe it wouldn’t be suddenly. Maybe the power of the sun to send him to sleep would gradually wane the older he got. His maker, Sergei, was no longer walking this earth for him to ask, and even if he had still been alive, he’d never exactly been the nurturing kind. In fact, the last thing Sergei had ever said to him was about what a disappointment Ivan had been to him. He’d done his best not to let those words echo in his mind, but he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t hurt. Just like with any parent, it didn’t matter how much they were a sick son of a bitch, deep down the child always ended up craving their approval.

  The drive out of London was the slowest part of the trip. Even after rush hour, the traffic was still back-to-back, but once he’d made it onto the motorway, he was able to put his foot down. He could have done the journey on foot, using his vampire’s speed to cover hundreds of miles in a matter of a few hours, but he liked to drive. He knew plenty of older vampires rejected anything technological, having lived through simpler times and preferring to rely on brute speed and strength to get things done, but Ivan enjoyed leaning back in the leather seat of the Mercedes coupe, with the sound of the engine purring around him.

  Besides, arriving in a car went some way to making him appear more human. Sure, he knew the human race was aware of the existence of vampires, but that didn’t mean he had to shove it in their faces. Certain populations were easier to blend into, but he had the feeling the British countryside most likely wasn’t going to be one of them. But if Michaela had managed to integrate without causing any problems, he couldn’t see why he wouldn’t be able to do the same.

  One benefit of being a vampire was he didn’t need to worry about taking any comfort breaks. With a full tank of petrol, he was able to drive straight through, his foot heavy enough to stay just a little above the speed limit, while making sure he wasn’t pulled over by the police.

  Within a few hours, the motorway gave way to smaller roads, and he found himself leaving the traffic behind to crawl along country lanes. He drove through a tiny town, barely big enough to be called a town, and then the number of houses he passed became scarcer. He tried not to cringe as he was practically forced into a bush when he met another vehicle passing in the opposite direction and heard the screech of branches down the Mercedes’ paintwork. The headlights caused the lane, with its high hedgerows on both sides, to look like he was travelling through a tunnel. Being out here made him realise just how dark it was, however. Even with his excellent sight, he noticed the difference here compared to London where there was constant light pollution.

  A blanket of clouds covered the sky, hiding the light of the moon, and the countryside was in total darkness. London was never dark, even in the middle of the night. Building lights were left on all night, there were always cars on the road, and the streetlights were numerous. Out here, there was nothing.

  Ivan continued to follow the directions of the car’s inbuilt Sat Nav. A sign up ahead read ‘Take Moor Care’, and then the car rumbled over a large cattle grid, sending vibrations through him.

  The tall hedgerows vanished, and the headlights swept across an expanse of empty moorland. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he’d not thought it would be quite so remote. A couple of dark shapes appeared on the side of the road, and he swerved to avoid dozing ponies.

  The clouds cleared for a few minutes, and the huge rocky outcroppings of one of the tors towered in the distance. He hadn’t studied the area well enough to be able to name it. From what he’d read about the place, there were over four hundred tors on Dartmoor, though locals often didn’t seem to be able to agree on whether certain rock outcroppings qualified as a tor or not.

  Ivan was driving uphill for some time before the road veered back down again. The route took him over a tiny, narrow bridge built from rock, which crossed an impressive-looking river, and then headed upward again. He was beginning to wonder if he’d ever reach the place where Michaela was staying.

  What the hell was she doing all the way out here, anyway? She’d struck him as a city girl who liked finer things. Not someone who’d want to get back to nature. Okay, losing her father might have had a profound effect on her, and perhaps she thought this would be a way of connecting with her wolf side, and that would bring her closer to her father’s memory. Or maybe she’d wanted to put the whole sorry mess behind her, and running off to this godforsaken place was the best way of doing it.

  The hillside descended again, and there, in the dip of the valley, he spotted lights. Finally, he’d reached his destination.

  The hotel was a cross between a quaint country pub and a hotel. A thatched roof adorned the top of the building, and a small car park was out front. A number of picnic tables were positioned outside, the umbrellas speared through the middle of the tables currently folded down.

  It was late now, but lights were still on inside, and a number of vehicles were parked outside. He scoured them quickly, trying to spot Michaela’s four-by-four. He didn’t see it, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t here. She could easily be driving a hire car. It occurred to him that she might also recognise the vehicle he was driving but figured it didn’t matter if she did. It wasn’t as though he was stalking her. He wanted her to know he was there. He just wanted to see her first.

  Ivan pulled the car into an empty space and switched off the engine. He leaned over to pick his bag from where he’d left it on the passenger seat. Though he didn’t expect to be here for long, he’d prepared for the unexpected and had packed some changes of clothes and even a couple of blood bags. He could go without feeding for days, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. Besides, since going to the club, he’d found he’d been hungrier than usual. Every time he thought of blood, his fangs descended, and he had to force them back into his gums. His hunger sat in the back of his throat like strep, impossible to ignore and making it harder for him to swallow.

  Climbing out of his car, he thrust the thought of blood to the back of his mind. He had other things to focus on, and being distracted wasn’t going to help. As he walked towards the en
trance of the hotel, he kept an eye out for any sign of Michaela. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for but figured he’d know if he saw it.

  He pushed the old, heavy door open and stepped into a cosy, warm foyer. A young woman stood behind a reception desk, and she smiled prettily at him as he walked in. Ivan knew he made a striking figure with his dark good-looks and expensive suit. For a moment, he cursed his outfit. He should have worn something more casual. He stood out too much among all these tourists and hikers.

  A staircase was towards the back of the foyer, a red, patterned stair carpet finished with stair rods guiding the way up to the rooms. To his right was a doorway which led onto a bar, and to the left was a restaurant where a few people were still dining, and a couple of bored-looking staff stood around, waiting impatiently for them to finish.

  “Good evening. How may I help you?”

  Ivan turned his attention to the receptionist. She was in her early twenties and wore her dark hair twisted into a knot at the back of her head. The style exposed her throat, and he found himself staring at the faint trace of blue veins which ran beneath her olive skin. His head suddenly filled with the thu-thump of her heart beating, and that strange inability to swallow took over him again.

  “Sir? Can I help you? Do you have a reservation?”

  Her voice broke through to him, and he shook his head to try to rid himself of his reverie. “Um, no, sorry. I don’t. I wondered if you had a room for tonight?”

  She bent her head to check her books. “Just for the one night?”

  “Possibly two,” he replied. “And can you make a note to say I’m not to be disturbed at any point? I don’t need any maid service to come to the room. I’m working strange hours at the moment and often need to catch up on sleep during the day. I’d be most displeased about someone interrupting my rest.”

  She smiled, but a wariness in her eyes made him think she knew there was something not quite right about him. “Of course. Just make sure you put out your ‘Don’t Disturb’ sign. Then no one will enter the room.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I will need to take some ID and a credit card.”

  “Of course.”

  He handed over what she needed and kept his eyes fixed on the reception desk, so as not to be distracted by her throat again. Damn it. It wasn’t like him to be so fixated on his next feed.

  The receptionist handed him the key. “It’s room two hundred and four. Second floor.”

  “Thanks.”

  He snatched up the key and lifted his bag from beside him on the floor. He’d been planning to ask around after Michaela, but the bags of blood he’d brought with him were calling to him. Maybe after he’d sated his thirst, he could make some enquires.

  Ivan took the stairs, navigated the hallway, and found his room. He used the key to open the door and pushed into the room. He slammed the door shut behind him, blocking himself off from the people staying there, and from the lure of the receptionist’s delectable neck.

  What the hell was going on with him?

  Chapter 4

  Charlie woke to the sound of her phone ringing.

  Peeling herself from sleep, she scrabbled for the phone on her nightstand. She managed to coordinate her fingers enough to swipe to answer. “Ramsden speaking.”

  “There’s been another one.”

  It was Stephen, and she rubbed her hand over her face before pushing herself to sitting. From the lack of light beyond her curtains, it was still night time outside, and she glanced at the LED clock. 4:45 a.m. Far too early to be awake. Especially for a dead sheep.

  “Another sheep attack?” she confirmed.

  “Another attack, but not a sheep this time. Looks like whatever is doing this has progressed to human prey.”

  Instantly, she was wide awake, and she reached out to flick on her nightstand lamp. “Human? You mean someone’s been murdered?”

  He seemed confused by her choice of words. “It’s not exactly murder if it’s an animal attack, is it?”

  She frowned at herself. Why had she jumped to that conclusion?

  “Yes, of course. Sorry.”

  She swung her legs out of bed and got to her feet, stretching out her shoulders and arms. “Where’s the scene of the crime?”

  “Near Hameldown Tor.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Charlie didn’t waste any more time. She quickly dressed in uniform and used the bathroom to freshen up. She pulled her long blonde hair into a ponytail and then twisted it around to create a bun. One thing she’d learnt over her years in the force was that people tended to pay more attention to her and take her more seriously if she was able to hide her hair. For some reason, long blonde hair immediately meant she was an airhead, when in fact she was anything but.

  In less than ten minutes from receiving the phone call, she was in her car and heading down the A38 towards the moors. She didn’t use her siren. The roads were practically clear at this time in the morning, and it wasn’t as though the body would be going anywhere.

  Twenty minutes later, she was navigating the narrow roads of moorland, slowing her speed, careful to avoid any wild ponies or sheep that were grazing. Last night’s clouds had cleared, and the moon was close to full, sending an eerie white glow across the moorland. In the distance, the stacked rocks of the tors towered into the sky. The moors were beautiful during the daytime, but they definitely had a creepy atmosphere at night. Of course, that she was about to visit the scene of a death wasn’t helping to ease her creeped-out feeling. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen a dead body before—she’d seen plenty in her six years on the force—but that didn’t make it any easier. It always reminded her of her own mortality and how fragile life was. Most people walked around thinking ‘it couldn’t happen to me’, but then they ended up being one of the bodies pulled from a car wreck or out of a river.

  The swirling blue light of Stephen’s car caught her eye before anything else. He didn’t have any sirens on, but she guessed he’d left the blue light on to pinpoint the location for her. It was a little way off the road, but the four-by-four he drove had allowed him to drive across the moorland without fears of getting stuck in the boggy peat, which could suck people under.

  She wasn’t driving a four-by-four, however, and so pulled the car over. She’d been expecting to see a makeshift campsite, with other campers around, frightened and worried, or even grieving if the dead man was someone they knew well, but instead there was only Stephen cordoning off the area. A sheet covered a lump in the middle of the cordoned-off space, which she assumed hid the body from prying eyes.

  He’d seen her approach, but only now stopped what he was doing to straighten and look in her direction, his lips a thin line of concern. Stephen was in his forties, with a wife and two children at home. She knew he hadn’t been best pleased about getting a twenty-six-year-old woman as a partner, but they’d bumped along together initially and quickly found they worked well as a team. She didn’t need to worry about any juvenility from him, and she’d met his wife a number of times now and they’d got on great, so there was no tension on that front either. Stephen was dedicated to his job and his family. He didn’t have time for messing around.

  “The victim is twenty-six-year-old Richard Hutton from Plymouth. He was out here on a hiking break with two others. His friends have already identified him and have been taken down to the station to be interviewed. They’ll need to do a formal identification back at the station, too.”

  “How’s it looking?” she asked, removing her torch from her belt and shining the beam in the direction of the covered body.

  “Hate to say it, but it’s the same M.O. as in the deaths of the sheep we’ve been seeing.”

  “I thought you said this guy was a camper? There’s no sign of a campsite here?”

  “No. Seems whatever took the man dragged him out here. The campsite is almost half a mile away.”

  Charlie frowned. What kind of thing
were they dealing with that could drag a fully grown man half a mile?

  “Did the people he was camping with hear anything?”

  “No,” Stephen said, “but we need to interview them further. I’m struggling to believe a grown man can be snatched like that without anyone hearing so much as a yell.”

  Unease threaded its way through her veins, and the hairs on her arms stood to attention. Subconsciously, she found herself rubbing at her forearms. “They didn’t hear a thing?”

  “They’re all in the single-man tents—you know, the pop-up kind. The two others he was with say they heard the front of the tent unzip but assumed he was just stepping out to take a piss. One of them got worried when they didn’t hear him coming back in, so they set out in search of him. They thought he might have got disorientated and not been able to find his way back to the tent. Then they stumbled across his body.”

  “Jesus.” She pushed her hand over the top of her head. “Any defensive wounds?”

  He gestured to the body. “See for yourself.”

  Charlie crouched beside the covered body and took a deep breath, then pulled the sheet back. At the sight of the body, she closed her eyes briefly, composing herself, and then looked back. The man appeared to have been killed in exactly the same way as the sheep they’d seen over the last couple of weeks. His throat was missing, blood smeared across the lower half of his face and drenching the front of his t-shirt. The ground beneath was also sodden in blood, which made her think the man had been dragged here and then killed, rather than killed at the campsite.

  She snapped on a pair of gloves and got to work. She checked the man’s hands and under his nails. There were no scratch marks on his hands or arms, and she couldn’t see any sign of skin or blood under his nails. In short, nothing to show the man fought back. Had he been knocked unconscious back at the campsite? She couldn’t see any other explanation as to why he’d not fought back while he’d been dragged all this distance before being killed.