Perpetual Creatures, Volumes 1-3: A Vampire and Ghost Thriller Series

by Gabriel Beyers

  “And what are you?” Ralgar shot back. “Nothing but an outcast. A worthless parasite, feeding and never contributing to the survival of our species. We are the ones putting our lives on the line, hunting the savages you create, while you live in luxury. You may have age and beauty on your side, but when the veil is pulled back, you are as powerless as a human. Mock me or any of my fellow Hunters again and I will turn you to ash.” Ralgar’s eyes bulged as he spoke, making his face even more troll-like than before. He stood squared up with Shufah, so fixed on his venomous threats that he didn’t see Taos come at him, until it was too late.

  Taos shot forward in a soundless blur, catching Ralgar in the side of the head with an immense left-handed punch that sent him cartwheeling over the back of the couch. The blow sounded like a hammer cracking stone, yet it wasn’t enough to keep Ralgar down. He rolled to his feet without missing a step, turned and vaulted over the couch, catching Taos in the chest with a powerful kick.

  Taos stumbled backward several feet, but managed to stay standing. His ice-blue eyes burned with anger. He let out a roar, then rushed to meet his foe. Taos stood a good two feet over Ralgar and outweighed him by more than a hundred pounds. Had this been a fight between humans, the odds would have been with Taos. But in a battle of vampires, size and muscles don’t give the advantage.

  Taos and Ralgar came together in the center of the room and the rest of them scattered backward, out of their path. They attacked each other with a speed that would have been too fast for human eyes. Taos sent a barrage of fists flying, like blasts from a canon, but he was unable to connect with Ralgar.

  Ralgar danced around the strikes like a matador with a clumsy bull. Jerusa watched in awe as he parried or blocked each of Taos’s punches and kicks with the grace of a master martial artist. She had only ever seen such movements in the movies. Witnessing it live sent a blast of cold chills down her back.

  A great smile spread across Ralgar’s face. He seemed more to be playing than fighting, relishing the frustration seeping from Taos. Ralgar hit Taos with three strong blows‌—‌two to the gut and one to the face‌—‌that sent him crashing backward into the kitchen.

  Taos regained his feet and leaned against the counter, a bit stunned. He shook his head and the anger came back upon him, like a suffocating fire taking in a deep draught of air. He reached over and snatched up a meat cleaver from a set of knives that Shufah had purchased to give the home a more “human” quality. He started out from the kitchen fully intending to hack Ralgar into cubes.

  Before Taos could advance, Ralgar reached behind his back, beneath his leather duster and pulled out what looked to be an ornate staff, four foot long. It was hard to tell if it was made of wood or metal, but it looked both beautiful and deadly. But then Ralgar gripped the staff in both hands, gave a twist and from both ends sprang a long thin blade, each with a four-pronged claw fixed near the ends of the staff.

  Ralgar spun the double bladed staff over his head and before his chest as though warning Taos to stand down. Taos didn’t seem to get that message and rushed in with the cleaver drawn up over his head.

  Ralgar blocked Taos’s downward swing, smashing the staff upward into his wrist. Then, in what looked to be a simple spin, he disarmed Taos with the tip of one blade, while slashing his thighs with the other blade. The wounds were not deep, mere warnings, and spilled only a few trickles of blood before the cuts zippered shut again.

  Taos growled with rage, faked to the left, then rushed in from the right, catching Ralgar by the throat. He landed one strong punch to the side of Ralgar’s head, but as he drew back for another, Ralgar twisted Taos’s hand away from his neck. Ralgar spun around, flipping Taos through the air, as if he were a pillow on a string. Taos crashed into the wall, jumped to his feet and made another rush for Ralgar.

  Ralgar spun his dangerous double bladed weapon before him like a fan and in one quick movement thrust it forward like a spear. The thin blade caught Taos just under his right collar bone and exited his back. Taos’s momentum carried him down to the four-pronged claw. Ralgar twisted the handle and another claw opened near the tip of the blade.

  Taos thrashed like a caged tiger, but he couldn’t get free from the blade. Ralgar held tight to his staff, staying just out of Taos’s reach.

  “Fight all you want,” Ralgar mocked. “I’ve skewered a legion of savages with this blade. None have escaped. Neither will you.”

  An eerie calm fell over Taos’s face. He brought his hands up to his chest. A small orb of fire appeared between his palms.

  “Well, well, the giant is a pyromancer. I am touched with fire, too.” Ralgar let loose of the staff with one hand and held it up before him. A large fire ignited from nowhere and stood licking the air above his palm. He glanced over at the inferno blazing between his fingers. He handled it carefully, as though it might drop and turn its fiery rage against its master. Ralgar smiled at Taos. “Looks like mine is bigger.”

  Jerusa stood transfixed, unable to flee or even speak.

  Alicia appeared next to her and took her arm. Jerusa flinched at the touch. Alicia tugged at her arm, her eyes wide with panic, as she silently pled for Jerusa to escape. There were only a few injuries deadly to a vampire. Massive damage to the heart or brain would cause the vampire to go savage, but fire was the only means to a true death. If Taos and Ralgar weren’t bluffing and decided to duel with fire, the resulting conflagration might very well consume them all before any had a chance to flee the house.

  Without warning both Taos and Ralgar went ridged as though hit with a great electrical current and the fire in their hands vanished, without even a puff of smoke. Jerusa gasped as both men rose into the air and hovered near the ceiling.

  “We can’t have this, now can we?” Ming asked. She stood with her eyes closed, her hands out before her, cupped as though she held something in each. She pulled her hands apart and Taos and Ralgar drifted apart. Ralgar released his grip on his skewer, leaving it in Taos’s chest as they floated to opposite ends of the room. Ming lowered her hand just a bit and the two men drifted down to the floor.

  “This can’t continue.” Ming’s eyes were still closed, but Jerusa got the impression that she could still see. “You two are acting like petulant children and you’re going to bring the wrath of the Stewards down upon us all.”

  Ming squeezed her hands a small bit, bringing a groan of pain from both Taos and Ralgar, then opened her fingers, releasing the men from her mental hold. Ming opened her eyes and regarded both men with a pleasant smile.

  “You’re a telekinetic,” Jerusa said without meaning to. It was an obvious statement and she felt instantly embarrassed, but she couldn’t help it. The words just fell out. Shufah had told her much about the gifts of the vampire spirit. She had witnessed the pyro-kinesis first with Taos and later with Silvanus, but this was her first sight of true telekinesis.

  Ming smiled at Jerusa as though she were simple. “Every Hunter tribe is armed with two telekinetics, two pyrokinetics and an augur‌—‌that’s a seer‌—‌but you won’t find a stronger telekinetic in the entire world than me.”

  Jerusa knew what an augur was. Shufah seemed especially bitter toward these telepathic vampires that the Stewards used to keep tabs on the rest of them. The most powerful augurs were housed together in a secret location, known only to the High Council. Jerusa thought about saying as much, if only to knock the smug look from Ming’s face, but a warning glance from Shufah held back the words.

  Ming might be the most powerful telekinetic in the world, but Jerusa wondered how well she would fair against Silvanus. A small smile touched the corners of her mouth. Ming raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask.

  Ming turned to Shufah. “My apologies. Barbarians and their fire. We will return tomorrow night to escort you and your coven to the airport. Please make sure the human is with you.”

  “Thad will be with us,” Shufah assured her.

  Ming nodded. “Come, Ralgar, let us leave.”

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nbsp; Ralgar walked over to Taos and grabbed the staff. He twisted the handle and the two blades, along with the claws, retracted with hardly a sound. Ralgar retuned the staff to its place beneath his duster, held Taos’s eyes for a moment and then rejoined Ming. Shufah walked them to the door, made a pleasant good-bye, as though they had just finished a fine dinner together and watched as the pair vanished into the predawn darkness.

  Jerusa picked up her cell phone and was half way through dialing Thad’s number when Shufah placed her hand over the screen.

  “Do not call Thad about what has happened.”

  “Why not?”

  “If you tell him now, Thad will run. We will go get him together tomorrow night.” Shufah sighed then returned to her seat.

  “What’s the matter?” Taos asked, looking at the already-healing wound in his chest.

  “I don’t know,” Shufah said. “But something is amiss. Why have the Stewards waited six months to seek us out? Why now? And why send their most deadly tribe of Hunters as escorts? I don’t know what this means, but I know it isn’t good.”

  Alicia stood in the corner with her arms crossed. For once she agreed with Shufah.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Silvanus sat in the tall grass, legs crossed, eyes closed. He lifted his chin to catch the remaining rays of the Serengeti sun before it dipped below the horizon. The heat of this place was astounding, pouring up from the ground like a kiln, but he didn’t mind. A gentle breeze tickled the grass, causing the golden tops to ripple like water. It carried with it the scent of ancient, unspoiled dirt, of wild animals. It whispered of a land where man had lightly tread and much of its form from creation remained intact.

  Silvanus looked to be in deep meditation to the casual observer (had there been anyone around to observe), but he remained acutely aware of his surroundings. A smile crept onto his face as he heard the faintest crunch of the soft grass behind him.

  He was being hunted.

  The hunter moved closer, inching forward on her belly, watching with a trained eye for any indication that she had been discovered. Silvanus remained still. He was waiting for the sun to set, which wasn’t for another hour or so, and he hoped this little game might help pass the time.

  She must have come upon him by happenchance, spotting him walking through the tall grass, for he gave off no scent to track. She had circled around behind him to stay downwind, never realizing that he could smell the mustiness of her coat nevertheless. Her heart rolled in slow, heavy thumps. Silvanus reached out with his mind, groping for her thoughts, but all he could find was a hunger for raw, bloody meat and a deep instinct to survive.

  She crept as far as she dared to go without giving herself away, yet she didn’t pounce. She hesitated, watching him. Perhaps she had met with the wiles of man before and suspected a trap. Or maybe she was now close enough to sense that Silvanus wasn’t human. It might have been that the sun was in her eyes. Whatever the reason, she didn’t wait long.

  She exploded from her hiding spot, her powerful legs pumping like great pistons. She covered the ground between them in mere seconds. She leapt into the air, her mouth opened for his throat, but when she hit the ground Silvanus was gone.

  The lioness looked around, unable to comprehend how her prey had escaped. Silvanus stood behind the great cat, watching her powerful muscles work beneath her beautiful tawny hide. She sniffed the ground and he startled her with a whistle.

  The lioness spun on the spot, then lunged at him. Again Silvanus vanished and reappeared behind her, slapping her on the hind quarter. She came at him again. This time he used his preternatural speed to evade her sharp claws and deadly fangs.

  The large cat refused to give up, striking at him again and again. Silvanus broke into laughter. It was a good feeling. He had never laughed before‌—‌at least not in the six months since he had awakened in the fortress hidden in the mountains, known only to a few as Purgatory. Whatever his life had been before that day, he could not remember.

  That’s why he was here. To reclaim the life lost to him.

  Silvanus let the lioness take hold of him. She threw her colossal weight into him, but he only stumbled back a step. She raked at him with her claws, but could produce no lasting wounds. She bit down on his shoulder, near his neck, but her fangs couldn’t pierce his skin. Silvanus wrestled with the lioness for a moment longer then wrapped his arms around her neck. A jolt of power surged through his body as he fed on her life-force. The lioness made a low growl and fell limp in his arms. Silvanus set her on the ground and backed away.

  He didn’t want to kill the majestic beast any more than he wanted to kill a human, but he needed to feed and this brought him slightly less guilt. He had only killed five people‌—‌that he could remember‌—‌since awakening. Four had been humans working in Purgatory, which he had drained in a fit of ravenous hunger. The other had been the savage vampire Kole, which he destroyed with a blast of hellfire to save Jerusa Phoenix.

  His heart still ached with the guilt of the four human deaths. Sure he had been disoriented, awakened in a strange place with no memory of his existence, wounded in an effort to keep him from escaping, but the four that he killed had been hiding in a freezer. Their minds told him of their less-than-benevolent intentions toward him, but still that was no excuse. They were scared and weak. Undeserving of the end he had given them. Since then, he swore that no other death would be on account of his lustful hunger.

  That turned out to be no easy oath.

  He had been violently ill after ingesting the poisoned blood that had threatened to turn Jerusa into a savage. He was no vampire, at least not the kind that drinks blood; his system couldn’t handle it and he was further weakened when he had replaced Jerusa’s blood with his own.

  Silvanus sat in the circle of flattened grass created by his scuffle with the lioness. He looked up at the fresh dusting of stars appearing in the darkening canopy. As most nights, he thought of Jerusa.

  So much had befallen her, much of it his fault. She had been the first kind person he had ever met. She brought him clothes and had offered to feed him, without asking anything in return. He imagined her long auburn hair, her pale, almost porcelain skin, her emerald green eyes, so much like his own, all of which were enhanced by the infusion of his blood.

  Her inner beauty, however, outweighed her outer beauty by leaps and bounds. There was a gentle meekness about her, a quiet humbleness that one only purchases through great trials. Yet, she was not weak by any means. Even as a human she had a certain fire within. As a vampire she was something to see, that was for sure. His blood had given her incredible speed and strength, something that seemed to both amaze and disconcert the other vampires she was with. Jerusa also retained her ability to see spirits, which according to Shufah‌—‌who had lived several millennia‌—‌was an unheard of gift among vampires.

  Despite all the gifts his blood had bestowed upon Jerusa, she was still a blood drinker. Why? He had traded blood with Jerusa after watching Shufah turn her ill-fated love, Foster, into a vampire in just the same way. Shouldn’t his blood have changed Jerusa to be like him? But she wasn’t like him. She couldn’t bear the sunlight. She had fangs and desired to feast upon living blood. She couldn’t teleport or make the hellfire like he could.

  His search for answers had only led him to more questions and heaps of frustration. He wanted to know who and what he was, but more so, he needed to know if he had made a mistake in giving Jerusa his blood. Had he saved her or condemned her? Could he still make her like himself? Could he return her to the sunlight?

  He wanted to go to her, right then, to vanish from this land and reappear at her side. It would be as easy as a thought to him, yet he knew he must stay. He couldn’t face her until he knew how to help her.

  The sun vanished beneath the horizon, pulling the thick blanket of night over this part of the world. Silvanus could see why they called it the Dark Continent. A waning crescent moon hung low in the eastern sky, doing very little to d
ispel the inky darkness that seemed almost tangible. He pitied the humans of this region, who lacking the enhanced eyes of the immortals, felt the true weight of night’s obliterating hand.

  The world seemed to come alive with the setting of the sun. Lions roared to one another over the long miles. Wildebeests grunted back and forth. Even the lowliest of insects appeared, as if from nowhere, to sing a song to the night.

  Though the whole symphony of nature was a masterpiece on the grandest of scales, Silvanus didn’t have the luxury of playing audience to it this evening. Other nocturnal creatures, ones far more deadly than the roaring lions, would be stirring soon, escaping their daylight refuge to hunt the few humans that inhabited this ancient land.

  Silvanus’s lip curled back in a sneer. He understood the hypocrisy of his thoughts. Whether divine or not, he was still a vampire of sorts. He fed from the energy of other living creatures, did he not? Though he had killed, he took no pleasure in it. But the blood drinkers, they seemed to relish in the death of the mortals they fed from or at best looked upon the act with a sort of tired apathy. He didn’t really care for any of them, even those in Jerusa’s coven.

  With just a thought, Silvanus vanished from his spot within the tall grass, reappearing several miles away atop a large outcropping of boulders. The massive round stones were clustered in such a way that it looked as if an army of giants were clawing their way free of the underworld. The granite boulders were hot to the touch, charged by the heat of the intense African sun. Silvanus squatted down in a broken cleft in the top of the highest boulder, his eyes trained on a heavy, flat, slab of stone resting in the scree at the bottom of the hill.

  After a long moment, the scree began to dance around as though a tremor moved the ground. The flat slab, which must have weighed a ton or more, rose several inches, sending the loose stones bouncing down the hill. The slab slid to the side revealing a hole at the base of the boulders and out from the belly of the earth, emerged three of the undead.