MOONSPAWN
by
BRUCE McLACHLAN
CHIMERA
Moonspawn first published in 2000 by Chimera Publishing Ltd
PO Box 152
Waterlooville
Hants
PO8 9FS
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Caledonian International Book Manufacturing Ltd Glasgow
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Bruce McLachlan
The right of Bruce McLachlan to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988
MOONSPAWN
Bruce McLachlan
This novel is fiction – in real life practice safe sex By the same author:
SHADOWS OF TORMENT
p[fc rule
Prologue
Closing her eyes, she tasted the wind. The smells of the city were a palate of every description. The scent of exhaust, of food, of restaurants, of sweaty bodies dancing to the tunes of self-gratification. The hot lusts and appetites of the prey were rampant, concentrated into their brief span. But beneath these aromas were the darker traces, the hidden belly of the city released through this olfactory encyclopaedia – rot, decay, fear, hate, the true face beneath the shallow neon mask.
The night breeze pawed at her cold flesh, tugging at the vinyl veil of her trench-coat. The chase was underway, she could feel it. Feel the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of pursuit, the terror of the hounded fugitive.
Opening her eyes, she regarded the sprawling city below her. Amber radiance trickled up through the cracked valleys that were its streets and roads, the rooftops black, bathed solely in the glorious smile of the moon and the stars. This was her domain, her dominion; every brick, every pipe, every breath of tainted air was hers.
Beneath, the small park was a realm of shadows, barricading itself from the outside with a wall of spiked iron railings. A body lay slumped against this wall, lines of red running across the stone and into the gutter. Other than this stolid occupant, the street was empty.
Smiling, she casually stepped off the edge of the building. The air rushed around her, rippling her coat, 5
the six stories plunging past as a blur until she struck the pavement, shattering the stone, the skyscraper heels and pointed toes of her thigh boots now surrounding themselves with a halo of zigzagging cracks.
Stepping from the craters, she walked casually across the thin road to the body. Putting her fingers to the puncture wounds that had ripped open its throat, she tasted the spilt life and gave a shudder of pleasure.
Spatters of crimson wound off to the right, dropped by the reckless diners as they fled. Straightening back up she turned and started to follow the path, the two distinct scents so pronounced that they might as well have painted arrows to mark their route.
It was time.
6
Chapter One
The streets were choked with travellers, with people negotiating a route home after a club, a bar, an evening of food and merriment. Preened and dressed to impress, the denizens of the city failed to give her more than a second glance as she dashed past them. It was as though her grimy and bedraggled appearance was some manner of urban camouflage, a concealing layer of filth that pushed her out of the human spectrums of sight and awareness.
Weaving through their ranks as an undetected breeze, Kira continued her mad bolt through the centre of the city. Her eyes flicked to every direction, her paranoia rampant, every shadow and every face a possible threat.
The neon signs and amber streetlights painted the scene of stone metal and glass with wild hues and numerous spectral shadows – places where her enemies might be lurking in wait. The scents of the city were strong in her nose, filling her senses with smells that no longer had purpose for her.
With her attention diverted to a suspicious figure at the entrance to a store, she slammed into a group of businessmen and their dates. Kira sent the startled travellers to the pavement and she dropped to her knees, before stumbling recklessly aside and into a foul smelling alleyway.
Their curses were lost to her. She had other far more pressing matters at hand than those of apologising to 7
incensed office workers.
The alley reeked of rank food, of stale urine and long accumulated rot and grime. Cardboard boxes were piled in mouldering heaps, dank and sagging, leaning precariously upon one another for feeble support.
The passage led back to another main street, the streams of cars streaking past ahead, the flow of people like vessels through a vein. A soft silence existed in the thin corridor, the darkness smothering the sounds from without, absorbing them.
Limping forward, she cradled her arm, the limb aching from her fall. Shaking with fright and anxiety she looked about her surroundings as she walked. The windows were sealed, either bricked up or covered with bars and mesh to stop intrusion. Five stories arose straight up around her, and then parted to offer a slim view of the dark night sky. The stars sparkled and winked at her, the moon offering a crescent apparition and glowing with silvery wrath, seeking to emulate the sun it had replaced for an all too short period of time.
A flurry of motion snapped her gaze back to the world more immediately about her. A figure had entered the other end of the alley and was rushing towards her, his feet splashing in the shallow pools of fetid water. His clothes slapped against the air, a briefcase clutched grimly at his side.
With a squeak of shock Kira looked around for a way out, a way to continue her escape. Every second carried the man closer to her, and she knew his intentions well.
In the sombre light she saw him reaching into the case as he charged her. There was a wink of bright metal in the moonlight and Kira flung herself upward with a distressed squeak, the blade whistling with a sanguinary 8
hack. The crates behind her were shredded, the contents splashed across the floor as Kira slapped her hands to the bars of the second floor window, vacating the area he had attacked.
Her body wrenched at the holds as gravity grabbed her and tried to bring her back to the ground. With jeopardy goading her on she scrambled upward, her body moving with the celerity of utter fear. Sparks lit the area below with a strobe pulse as her legs jolted up and away from another truculent slash, the metal edge screeching along the bricks.
A hissed imprecation of hate spilled from her pursuer’s lips as she continued her assent, hauling herself up, grabbing the grilles, her arms aching from such exertion.
The lip of the roof beckoned and throwing a hand up, her fingers caught the ledge. With a scowl of labour she drew herself up and flopped over the perimeter and onto a crunching carpet of gravel.
A necessary moment of recovery gave way to a roll as she restored herself to her feet, every muscle and ligament raw within her.
Stumbling away, she wove amongst the pipes and ventilation ducts, the fans spilling warm dry air into the night about her. The other buildings of the area were an uneven landscape, rising and falling all about her, offering a possible route out, but one that would be difficult and exhausting to negotiate. No lights were on in any of the windows; the offices and businesses deserted at this extreme hour, testifying that she could move undetected.
Looking one way and then another she tried to figure where she was, which route to follow. But her meditations were
cut short as there was a soft thud from behind her.
With a start she whirled to see the man slip over the 9
ledge, dragging with him the rope of a grappling iron that had sunk barbed fangs into the stone.
‘The hunt is over,’ he stated grimly, and arose from his low crouch, revealing himself and his true purpose.
He was a middle-aged man, his hair receding slightly at the front to reveal a few short scars. He appeared no different to any other mundane commuter, his loose suit clean and pressed, its edges like razors, his shoes polished to a mirror sheen but now spattered with mud and scuffed from his ascent.
The jacket lay open, revealing a harness over his white shirt and paisley tie, the hidden weapons now brazen in the rays of the moon – stakes, a pistol, a knife marked with eldritch runes.
In one hand he clutched a curved short blade, the small sword flickering with internal light, possessed of some eerie internal power. The other hand dropped the briefcase, leaving him holding what had been within.
Stepping forward and leaving the case behind, he levelled the modified Uzi in her direction, the barrel rendered overlong and fat with a silencer and a laser scope. A red beam arced through the night and touched her chest, giving Kira a split second warning of his attack.
With a spasm she threw herself aside and behind a cluster of stout pipes. Hissing coughs rocked the air, mumbled from the assault weapon. Scintillating bursts erupted above her, bullets springing from the metal amidst dazzling plumes of radiance. Clutching her arms about her head she scurried onward, the deluge continuing to eat at her vicinity.
A pipe cracked before her and sent out a geyser of scorching steam, blocking her passage, herding her back, the sporadic bursts of her pursuer driving her, steering 10
her one way and then another as he continued his hounding attentions.
Dropping onto her side she found herself in the corner of the building, open space on either side, places devoid of cover. She looked again and again, hoping she was wrong, praying that she not be trapped as she knew she was.
‘Nowhere left to run,’ stated a hateful voice, the tones harsh.
‘Leave me alone,’ she wailed, burying her face in her hands.
‘Can’t do that I’m afraid. You have to be cleansed.’
‘Please, I haven’t done anything,’ she implored, looking over the edge at the drop into the street. A fall would cripple her, leave her defenceless against him. She had a better chance by choosing to fight him directly.
‘No, but you will, you won’t be able to resist your thirst,’ he testified, the sound of his steady footfalls continuing to close in on her.
‘Thirst? What do you mean? You’re insane.’
‘Maybe. But killing vampires is what I do, and killing you serves that vaulted purpose.’
‘Vampires? You’re mad, there’s no such thing,’ she cried, trying to convince herself he was in error. ‘And even if there was, I’m not one. I work in a department store for Christ’s sake. I have a mini, I have two pet tube mice called Mook and Chook!’
The footfalls started to draw close and Kira huddled into the corner. She didn’t have the strength to flee any more, and her will to fight was flagging rapidly. She couldn’t go on. Her life was shattered, broken and lost to her, and hounded for days, she just wanted it to end.
There was a crunch and the hunter stepped out from 11
behind a stack of exhaust vents. Kira looked up with tears in her eyes, shaking with terror as he looked blankly upon her.
‘Come on then, you fuck!’ she growled, the salty trails from her eyes dark with dirt. ‘End it! Get it over with!’
Kira caught the faint trace of blood and then her eyes snapped to his shirt, a pool of darkness creeping across the collar, spreading like a staining cancer. The weapons drooped in his grasp and then fell to the gravel with a crunch. He dropped to his knees, put fingers to his neck as his face drained of expression, and with a faint smile he keeled over and landed with an indolent thud. His legs twitched for a moment as the crimson pool continued to grow around him, and then he went still.
Eyes wide with confusion, Kira stared at the area he had emerged from, wondering who had performed this deed.
A heeled boot stepped out into the hesitant moonlight, the polished stiletto turning slightly as Kira’s eyes flowed up the burnished thigh boot, following the shapely limb to find the rest of the owner.
The woman emerged with a graceful turn, one hand holding the pipes to steady her. She was an apparition of desire, the most gorgeous expression of feminine beauty Kira could have predicted, and what was even more startling, was that Kira had seen her before.
The milk-white skin of the woman shone like ivory against the night, her elegant face wreathed with long albino hair that shimmered in the soft breeze. Her dark eyes winked with ferocity and power, her lips were stained red, her bared incisors wet with the blood of the hunter.
Her tall and glorious physique bore a thin studded 12
choker, a gloss trench-coat open and hanging behind her as a dark backdrop to her body. A strapless latex bra cupped her breasts together, offering a deep and inviting cleavage. Fishnet covered her thighs and reached into the tall boots. Fingerless leather gloves allowed her digits to emerge, each digit tipped with a wicked, ebony talon.
‘Not bad, not bad at all,’ she purred, wiping the excess from her lips onto the back of her hand.
Stepping over the body she sauntered forward, flowing like liquid towards the huddled and quaking form of Kira.
‘You, but how, I—’ she began, her mind muddled.
‘Shhhh, my little one. Explanations are for later. First we have to get you somewhere safe. Dawn is on the way.’
She extended a hand to Kira, her face soft and inviting, her tone seductive and irresistible.
With trembling fingers Kira gradually reached up and put her own hand in that of the woman’s. With a soft pull she was brought to her feet and into the embrace of the female, the soothing familiarity making Kira melt.
She closed her eyes, the stress visited upon her by the chase, the fight, and the last few days dragging her from consciousness. Riven with exhaustion and tribulation and now given solace, Kira drifted into a faint, falling as a slack mannequin into the awaiting arms of the woman of her dreams, the memory of her reviving and returning in full.
The equations and problems on the page before her were starting to merge and shift, writhing like serpents, unintelligible. Her eyes were heavy, her thoughts furious at having been preoccupied for so long with the extensive homework.
It was her last year of school, it was almost over. Just a 13
little longer and she would be free. It wasn’t even her homework, because once again she had been bullied into it.
Just the mere thought of the incident had her rubbing her injured arm and scowling with rancour. Why did they keep picking on her? Her life was hard enough, she didn’t need others making it even more complex.
She wished she had the strength to stand up to them, but she was afraid, she just wasn’t aggressive. Sure, she would spend hours afterwards brooding on all the things she could have done, all the vicious retaliation she could have undertaken, but when it came around to another encounter, she folded immediately, compliant and weak.
She hated herself for that, hated being such a victim, yet here she was toiling into the middle of the night to do their homework for them.
There was a soft click behind her and she turned to see who it was, thinking that perhaps her parents had come home early. Looking to the side, she panned her gaze through the room. The second floor bedroom was large but filled with only two kinds of adornment, each in direct opposition to the other. Everything was either fuzzy animals, posters of boy bands and frivolous toys, or books and charts of pure science and learning, academic accessories complemented by exercise books filled with her own projections and work.
There was no one there, so she dismissed it as a product of sleep depr
ivation. As she regarded her room she caught herself in the mirror, the frame decorated with fluffy toys and simpering saccharine concessions to the image her parents held of what a wholesome young girl should find appealing.
Her ice-blue eyes were rimmed with red, a shade to 14
match her curling ginger locks, the strands hanging in tight spirals but dishevelled from lack of trained attention.
She was still in her school uniform, having lacked the time and effort to change because of the workload she faced this night. Her parents were out again, socialising with their clique, bragging about how important they were, how much they earned, and all those who were subordinate to their every whim.
Kira would readily trade all their prolific and grandiose gifts and purchases for some actual genuine attention from them. They bought her such things just to make her more valuable, like adding a pool to a house to increase its intrinsic value. It was because she, like everything they had, was just another bauble to impress and add to their standing – the daughter in the most prestigious school, whose grades stood out over all others.
They didn’t care about her.
‘You’re a total fuck up,’ she accused at her reflection.
‘You’re going to be a doormat all your life. No one will love you, and death will end up being the only thing you’ll look forward to,’ she continued, and then closed her eyes tightly, tears welling in the corners.
‘I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,’ she chanted, and then sniffled back her distress.
It felt good to drop her eyelids, the orbs beneath them requiring a break. Kira decided to lay her head down, just for a while, just a few minutes so she could rest and then revitalise herself a little before finishing up.
A gust of wind rushed over her face, cooling her skin and making her jolt up from her slouch. Her eyes focused and she saw that the window was now open before her, the night breeze wafting through and making the curtains 15
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