Feral Hearts

by Edward P. Cardillo

  He struggled to keep his eyes on her. His screams dropped in volume as his life sprayed across the room.

  She kissed her forefinger and then pressed it to Barry’s lips. "From my lips to yours. Goodbye, Barry. You won't be missed."

  Barry's body went limp, as the blood flow dropped to a weak trickle.

  "Such a waste." As she spoke, Kitten wasn't actually sure if she meant the blood or the body. She would have preferred to keep him as her slave, but when Viktoriya spoke, you did not question her. You simply acted.

  She leaned over and licked a long trail of thickening blood from Barry's cooling corpse with a demonic smile.

  * * *

  Angela was settling in for the night. She had just pulled her shoes off when she heard the commotion down the hall. The others had gone off to their rooms while Angela enjoyed her privacy.

  There were blood-curdling screams down the hallway.

  She ran to the door and looked through the peephole. She rubbed her eyes in disbelief at what she saw and looked again.

  There were scantily-clad vampires climbing the walls of the hallway, assaulting curious guests, blood dripping from their jowls.

  A consummate survivor, Angela quickly looked about the room for some method of defense. The first thing was to try to secure the door. She twisted the knob, sliding the deadbolt into its slot in the frame. Then, taking cues from films, she slid the wooden chair under the doorknob and kicked the legs, wedging them in place deep into the carpet.

  She didn't see any readily available weapons. Getting on her hands and knees, she looked under her bed and had an idea. She pulled the mattress off the bed, and then the box spring. Underneath, rather than the more common steel bed frame, she saw wooden slats supporting the foundation.

  She picked up a slat and realized that, while on the short side, it would work as a club in a pinch. Even better, she had another nine of them on this bed alone. She pulled all the slats from the frame and stacked them on the desk. With a few tugs on the other bed, she quickly disassembled her roommate's bed as well.

  Placing the last of the slats on the desk, she picked up the fifth of Limoncello she had picked up on their tour of the village. She cracked the bottle and took a deep swig of the pale yellow liquid. She had always heard about how wonderful it was. As the sweet liquor burned her throat, she realized how stupid those people were.

  Give me a good Caribbean rum any day.

  Another idea hit her. She picked up one of the sheets from the disassembled beds. It took a bit more work than they did in the movies, but she tore a long strip from the bedding and stuffed it down the neck of the clear bottle.

  These were the bitches from that club. She knew it. If they were Russian, like Stefania said, they should know what a Molotov was.

  She pulled a book of matches from the front pocket of her purse, a souvenir book from the café earlier, and set them on the desk by the firebomb. She smiled because she wasn't going to take them at first, but Stefania had insisted. She had said something about how you never know when you might need fire.

  As she settled back, waiting for trouble to come to her, she looked out her window. She was on the second floor. It wouldn’t have been much of a drop.

  The door knob twisted, then rattled as the person on the other side realized it was not opening. Still not getting the result they wanted, the door started shaking on its hinges as if the doorknob was being tugged by an angry troll. Still not opening, the door shook on its hinges as something large slammed against it, most likely a person.

  Angela took up her club and waited to the side of the door. One of the panels started separating from the frame. A flickering red light shone through the crack. Her adversary hit the door a few more times, enlarging the hole.

  A large hand with olive skin and covered in thick, coarse hair, reached through, feeling for the lock. Angela swung hard, as hard as she could, pinning the hand between the wooden board and the doorframe.

  The corner of the board struck the back of the hand, sinking into it with a sickening crunch. She was sure she had broken bones. Blood squirted out around the impact point, accompanied by a squeal from outside, not dissimilar to the sound of swine.

  Angela glanced through the hole as the bleeding paw of a hand yanked back. She witnessed the slavering face of a madman, his eye flickering with hellfire. She pulled back with a gasp, her club, if a bit splintered, at the ready.

  The yowling from hell stopped but the battering of the door increased. It shook on its hinges as the once human thing threw his body against the obstacle blocking its path. Angela backed up to the desk, preparing for the worst.

  The panel in the door fell away in a crash, allowing the man-beast to climb through, and three more at its back. Angela drew the damaged slat back and swung for the thing’s hellish face, hoping to put its lights out, literally.

  The soft wood finished splintering as it struck the thing across its head. Ragged shards of wood gouged deep into the feral thing's left eye, pulping it. Red-tinged fluid erupted from the socket, gushing down its face. A howl of agony, much more intense than the one it had unleashed when she had crushed its hand, came from its maw. It fell to the floor clawing at its ravaged face.

  Seeing her window of opportunity, Angela took up the booklet of matches. Ripping two from the paper base, she struck them on the pad and held them for a moment, ensuring they had lit. She snatched the bottle from the desk and prepared to light her makeshift wick.

  Angela glanced at her target, the man-beasts in the doorway, which had stopped and parted, creating a passage. It was a passage for something that was not quite human.

  A statuesque blonde strutted up to the broken door. She was wearing tight leather pants and a matching leather bra. Her pale skin glowed in the light of the room. She shook her golden mane about her head and laughed.

  "Come on, child. You really don't want to do that."

  “You're going to burn, bitch."

  Angela touched the guttering matches to alcohol-soaked cloth, causing it to flare to life. The vampire's eyes widened at the flame. With a determination borne of desperation, Angela threw the bottle at the tall woman.

  The vampire attempted to swat it from the air. Her increased strength caused the result she desired least. Her hand struck the bottle at full force, shattering it. The liquid inside sprayed across her and her minions, the burning cloth ignited the fumes.

  The man-things started running down the hallway, trailing flames in their wake, desperately attempting to get away from the agony that followed. Their howls of pain echoed down the hallway as their leader, the powerful woman that fueled their desires, was engulfed in the fire.

  The creature's flesh ignited like paper. Her skin crisped quickly, her hair a torch, no longer blonde but now a flickering orange halo about her head. The shrieks that escaped her ever-widening maw were unearthly. No living being should be able to create such a horrific screech, somewhere between the ultrasonic squeals of a bat combined with the sound of tearing metal.

  She feebly batted at the flames, knowing full well that it was too late the moment the burning fuel touched her skin. The alcohol had burned off quickly, and it was her undead flesh that was being consumed by fire.

  The hallway carpet was spreading the fire to the walls, the flames licking at the wallpaper. Soon the old ceiling would catch the flames, spreading them to the other floors. Angela knew that if she had any chance of surviving, she needed to get out.

  She turned and bolted to the window, throwing it open. She looked in the night to verify it was safe and slid her feet over the edge of the sill. She quietly dropped down to the grass, her legs collapsing under her from the impact.

  She pushed herself to her feet, and she started to run across the lawn when she realized that she needed to go back. She wouldn't last long in Italy without her passport or money.

  Angela turned to find two vampires standing in front of the window, watching her. One was a brunette in an open white blouse with a
n odd red print and skimpy black shorts. Her companion was a tall, shapely redhead, fully nude except what looked to be blood.

  "You killed Ilsa!" The brunette snarled the words through teeth that looked to belong in a giant piranha. The razor teeth were offset by the full crimson lips.

  Suddenly, without any detection of their movement, the two vampires were outside, standing before Angela.

  "You realize that we can't let you go," said the redhead, putting all her weight on one hip, her breasts jiggling. "Barry killed Anya, and he had to pay the highest price. What a tasty price it was, too." She licked her lips lasciviously.

  "Barry's dead?"

  Kitien smiled at Angela's statement, as if his death was just a trivial thing and not the work of art and irony she had crafted.

  "Oh, yes. He is dead and gone. You have committed the same crime, the slaying of one of the strigoi, or ‘vampire’ as you call us. Therefore, you must pay the same price…” She traded evil grins with the other vampire. “…a similar price, since you do not have a lovely cock that I can take for my own."

  Angela's eyes whipped back and forth, as she quickly decided to take her chances in the night. She turned to run and ran face first into another dark-haired woman. She was just as attractive as the others, exuding an even stronger power. Her hand whipped out, fingernails like talons, and clutched Angela by the throat.

  "Not so fast, little one." The grip tightened and Angela felt the nails sink into her skin as blood dripped down the sides of her neck. She knew this was it. No more running.

  "As Cristina and Kitien just explained, the punishment must be repaid in kind."

  Angela struggled against the ever-tightening grip, her vision growing dim at the edges. She flailed her arms wildly, striking Viktoriya a few times, but it was no more effective than a cat batting at a toy.

  Viktoriya chuckled in response.

  "This is a good one. She still has fight in her until the end. It is a shame we can't turn her. But, the Laws are very strict. Those who destroy strigoi must be put to a quick and horrible death.” Viktoriya paused for a moment, and then her eyes brightened. “I have an idea. Cristina, go retrieve the one from where you left it."

  The brunette in the red-spattered blouse turned and darted off into the night. Viktoriya returned her gaze to the prey in her grasp. Noticing that the human was beginning to go limp, she loosened her grip a bit. However, the nail tips were still sunken in, ensuring she wouldn't fight too much.

  Cristina returned carrying a human form wrapped in a sheet soaked in blood. She laid it in the space between Kitien and Viktoriya. Once the shape touched the earth, she returned to her place by the redhead's side.

  "This should be good," said Cristina, smiling as she took Kitien's hand in her own and awaited the show to come.

  Viktoriya glanced at her follower with a smirk, knowing full well what was to come, having witnessed it many times over the centuries since she was made.

  The shape on the grass began to move, shifting under the cloth. A pale hand fell from the cloth and planted itself on the ground.

  "I had looked forward to tasting your blood, but this is going to be so much more enjoyable." Viktoriya released Angela.

  Angela clutched her throat as she coughed. She wanted to run, but her feet wouldn’t budge. It was as if they were planted in cement.

  Viktoriya lifted the body as if it were made of paper. The sheet fell to the side revealing the wan face of a young woman, her eyes hungry and tinted red.

  "Lucy!” Angela gasped.

  Viktoriya smiled. "I had hoped to take you both, but it was not to be.” She then said to Lucy, “Feed, my child. She is yours."

  Angela scuttled backward, trying to put some distance between them. Lucy gathered herself and pounced, clearing that newly formed distance with ease. She landed astride Angela's waist. Looking deep into her eyes, Angela saw there was a bit of Lucy left in there, fighting with the beast she had become.

  "Please, don't do this!" Angela didn't care that she had given into begging. She saw the flicker of Lucy in those red eyes fade, and she knew her hopes we gone.

  "Sorry, Angela, but Lucy's gone now." The vampire thrust her face into Angela's neck, nuzzling it like a lover while she ground her hips against her waist. The blood, mingled with her juices, soaked through Angela's top, the fabric sticking to them both. Angela struck Lucy repeatedly to no avail, each blow weaker than the one preceding it.

  With a bite, Lucy’s teeth tore a hole in the skin of Angela's neck, freeing that exquisite red fluid, the elixir of eternal life. Lucy lapped it up like a hound, feeling the transformation completing.

  The power was changing her physical form, an act that was incredibly painful, yet it triggered her pleasure centers as well. For the rest of her undead life, pleasure and pain would be equals in her mind, two sides of the same coin.

  As the change finished, her newly enhanced teeth slid from their recesses, allowing her to open the wound further. She closed them on Angela's throat like a bear trap, rending flesh and sinew. She sealed her mouth over the wound, gulping to take every pulse that sprayed into the back of her throat, swallowing the life of her former acquaintance.

  A strong hand pulled on Lucy's shoulder, prying her away from that delicious morsel sprawled on the grass, so much greener than before.

  She looked back and saw Viktoriya looking down upon her. The moon shone as bright as the noonday sun.

  "She is gone. You must stop now. It is time for you to rest."

  Viktoriya stood tall, pulling Lucy up with her. She turned to look at Cristina and Kitien. "Let the hounds continue their rampage. Those men are of no more use to us. Tomorrow night, we leave this pitiful excuse for a home.

  “I know of a new one, not more than a few hours away. We will begin again. Kitien, you know what you are to do with the body of Nero. Let him be found in Rome, just as his namesake was. This chapter is closed.

  “Let us begin anew."

  THE END

  Chapter 15

  Alternate Ending #5

  Reign In Blood

  Jim Goforth

  For once, Angela wasn’t interred in a nightmare procession, chased relentlessly by faceless monsters of her past, tormented by a despairing Dallas calling to her from some tomb, or reliving some of the worst experiences of her life in lurid detail.

  This time, she slept soundly, peacefully, strangely happy in a cocoon of bliss she hadn’t felt since, well, forever, but more specifically, since the last time she’d fallen asleep in the strong arms of Dallas. More importantly, she hadn’t thought of him or any of the other recurrent nightmares from her past, as she often did when asleep. She was often acutely aware of what she was dreaming and unable to do a thing about it, a helpless passenger aboard her mind’s terrible journey.

  How typical to have the first good night’s sleep broken by some as yet unidentified commotion. Probably something to do with that musclebound, tattooed, cocky drunk Barry. He must have caused some kind of ruckus at Feral Hearts.

  Damn Needledick. Wasn’t that what Paul called him? No, that wasn’t right. She inferred that herself. Barry ‘Needles’ Nero? The Needle? Something along those lines.

  Angela hadn’t minded the look of Barry from the start. She sure dug his impressive ink and his superb physique, but then he’d opened his mouth and that was the end of any such attraction. Too many jerks cut from a similar cloth in her history to go blundering down that path again.

  Anyway, she’d discovered something far better.

  In the dark of her minuscule room, she lifted her head from the pillow, her black tresses falling in messy waves about her face as she propped herself up on an elbow. She could still hear a collective of noise issuing from outside her room, maybe somewhere down the hall a distance. It was not quite as furiously loud and calamitous as it had been before, but there were voices—some humming with panic, some hissing terse commands, and others more raucous and slightly unhinged.

  Angela rolled over
slightly, enough to be propped up on both elbows, and the bed sheets slipped down from her abundant breasts. From this position she could gaze down at the blissfully slumbering figure of her current bedmate.

  With her brunette hair slightly ruffled and in disarray, Stefania lay curled on her side, a slight smile on her face, even in sleep.

  Letting a smile traverse her own countenance, Angela stared for a short while at the peacefully reclining tour guide, recalling how this came to be. She remembered those tingling anticipatory moments when they undressed each other, Stefania’s expression one of mingling anxiety and excitement.

  Angela hadn’t planned it, but she’d come to the conclusion along the way that there was nothing in the life rules she set for herself ruling out a relationship with another female. After all, she’d done plenty of experimentation with women back before Dallas.

  Even after, but never anything serious. Nothing was serious after that. Shit, nothing was a relationship after that.

  There was that other guy with an affinity for alcohol, the sandy haired guy, Paul, Mister Moneybags, gallivanting around with cash from Daddy. He’d momentarily piqued Angela’s interest. She wondered if there was any likelihood of anything developing there, but he’d elected to swan off with Needles to the strip club Stefania spoke of in such disapproving tones.

  Strip club, my ass, Angela snorted. She knew a brothel when she saw one. It may well have been a strip club, but without a doubt, those exotic dancers there were turning tricks as well.

  Too bad, Paul. If you’d been able to play your cards right, maybe you would have been entertaining some time with me, instead of spending Daddy’s dollars on foreign hookers.

  As for you Needles, at the rate you throw booze down your neck, I’d be surprised if you could keep that needle up long enough to penetrate.