“Oh, how rude of me.” He let his smile wash over each of them. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Niccolo Rasetti,” he continued with a slight bow. “Most of your countrymen just call me Nick.”
The man squirmed in his grasp, thrashing as wildly as his tethered arms and legs would allow him. Nick licked his lips as he watched him flail. A familiar pressure rose along his gums and he closed his eyes, relishing the moment. He opened his mouth wide, exposing his fangs for all to see. The tiny hallway erupted with panicked cries as he latched onto the throat of his prey.
His mind exploded with images as he drank. Soon, they were replaced with smells, sounds, and a myriad of emotions. For Niccolo’s kind, the act of feeding wasn’t just the taking of blood. A connection was formed with his victims, one that allowed him to see their lives through their eyes, to feel their pain and joy, to know the life they lived and carry those experiences with him for all eternity. The life he relived now was more than he could bear. With a howl of rage, he pulled free of the embrace and tore into the foul creature before him in a blur of fangs and fury.
He turned to face the others as he dropped the shredded corpse to the floor. Their pleas and tears might have been enough to turn him away if not for the acts he’d seen them commit first hand. It was in his power to calm them before he took their lives, to ease their transition, but he wanted their last night on this earth to be filled with more pain and fear than they could’ve ever imagined possible.
Drinking just enough from his victim to ignite his blood lust, he visited each man at a leisurely pace, tasting, tearing, shredding with his claws. It was going to be a long night, and he was sure to them, it would feel like an eternity.
Chapter Three
That thing in the woods had promised he wouldn’t be hunted, but Kanati still felt pursued. His journey took nearly six days. He ate what little he could scavenge without venturing too far from the route he’d marked on the map and drank from streams and ponds. Sleeping just enough to keep him going, his fear of what creature haunted him prevented more than a few hours a day.
He crested a hill, and at last, his Talwa came into view. Smoke from the hearths curled high into the air. As he drew closer, he saw people moving in and out of the dwellings in the little town. So few children darted among the homes, he wondered if he imagined them.
A dozen buildings formed the heart of the small community. Several of them lined either side of the main road that led into town. The sweat lodge, general store, and a blacksmith shop were the largest buildings on the strip. Several homes dotted the hillsides, surrounding the Talwa like a well-worn blanket. They had obviously spent so much time with the white settlers that their town was barely more than another reflection of the others.
He’d been dreaming of that moment for eleven years. He had finally returned to his people, he was home at last. I’m truly free. If only my parents were alive to greet me. He drew himself a little straighter and stepped onto the hard packed dirt of the road.
As Kanati entered the village, he caught many strange stares from his kinsmen. Clearly, no one recognized him. An understandable reaction since he was just a pup, only six years old, when the government took him and the other boys from his tribe.
Kanati stopped an elder who was walking down the road, eyeing the dirt in front of his feet.
“Grandfather, could you help me?” Kanati used the term for respected elders as he stepped in front of him with his palms up.
The old man grunted, gestured for Kanati to make his request. Kanati sensed the old man’s hesitation. Who could really blame him? He looked down at his tattered clothes. It was clear he had been running from something, but it wasn’t clear if that something still pursued him.
“I am Kanati Harjo, son of Acoma. I lived with Enola in that house. She is my aunt.” Kanati pointed to a rundown building at the edge of the village. “It’s empty now. The Talwa has changed a lot while I was away, but surely there is someone here to welcome me.”
The light of recognition flared in the old-timer’s eyes. He spun on his heel, dragging Kanati after him by the arm.
“Kanati has returned! He lives! He is…home!” The others took up his shouts, the news swept through the village like a wild fire.
People poured out of their homes, pressed in around him, touched him, called his name. The attention overwhelmed Kanati. Was he the only one who’d ever returned? He prayed such a tragedy wasn’t the case. He made sure to return everyone’s greetings, though they came at him so quickly, it was a struggle. Faces faded in and out of view as they were pushed aside so others might see him. He was truly touched by such an outpouring of tears, laughter, joy, awe—both theirs and his own. Not only was he remembered, but he was loved.
“Tonight, we will feast to honor your return.” The old man gripped Kanati’s shoulder so tightly he winced. “Welcome home.”
He finally managed to swallow the boulder in his throat. “Thank you, Grandfather. You’ve made this moment greater even than it was in my dreams.”
“You may call me Dustu,” he said, still smiling. “And your return is our dreams realized as well.”
* * * *
Kanati sat on a stone near the bonfire. The dancing flames seemed to sway to the music that filled the night air. He pulled his gaze from their hypnotic movement and studied the musicians. The motley band was comprised of elders of all shapes and sizes, much like the instruments they played. There was a water drum pounding out a steady beat, a six-foot long river cane flute wailing like an angry wind in the mouth of a cave, the deeper timbre of a buffalo horn bellowing in long bursts, turtle-shell rattles urging the others to pick up the pace, and a cluster of men added the cadence of their voice to the mix. Each seemed to play their own song, but together they created a sonata that brought tears to his eyes.
Several women walked among the revelers. They carried trays of meat and fruit, offering their bounty to one and all. The aroma was heavenly. His mouth watered as a he plucked a laden deer rib from the pile. The flesh was still warm from the fire that had seared its juices inside. He bit into the meatiest part and it was so tender it slipped from the bone nearly intact. He devoured the morsel, each bite tasting better then the last until it was gone. Wiping his mouth with the back of a sleeve, he rose to his feet in search of another tray.
The music suddenly changed tempo and he found himself encircled by smiling faces, dragging him along as they began a stomp dance. He felt a little awkward at first, unsure of his steps, but he quickly slipped into an easy rhythm as he made the first pass of a circle. Some of the men sprang and twirled, demonstrating their agility with impressive demonstrations of the fancy dance. His chest filled with pride. It was the biggest celebration he could ever remember and it was all in his honor.
A silver-haired woman stepped close and wiped his cheek. “What’s wrong, Kanati?”
His fingers instantly went to his face. He drew back wet fingers. He’d been crying.
“I’m just really happy to be here, to be home at last, Grandmother,” he assured her.
The party raged into the wee hours of the morning. Over the course of the night, he tried to put names to faces that were once only a distant memory. He was sure it would take him a long time to remember them all, but he knew they’d come back to him eventually.
He made his way up the side of the hill, passing between the scattered homes, eyes heavy from food and wine. Studying the house that loomed before him, flashes from his childhood pushed their way to the forefront of his thoughts. His aunt’s smiling face, children playing in the front yard with him, laughter. He also remembered the tears as he was pulled from her arms.
Shaking his head to dislodge the memories, he took in the small home with admiration. It was a sturdy rectangular structure with windows on either side of the door and lining both walls. The wooden shingles were mostly intact and should still hold out the majority of the rain.
The front porch creaked as he climbed the steps. The outs
ide walls, though in desperate need of paint, appeared to have a few years left in them. Opening the front door, he disturbed the dust that had gathered on the floor into a tiny swirl that settled further into the room. Everything was coated with a thick layer, making him wonder exactly how long she had been gone. The front room was sparsely furnished, containing only a small wood stove, roughly hewn table, two chairs and a tattered sofa. Everything else of significance had been redistributed among the tribe after his aunt’s passing.
He padded into the bedroom and found, to his surprise, that his kinsmen had shaken down the bedding at some point during the evening. The clean bed stood in stark contrast to the dirty room. His attention moved to a pile of clothing folded with care and placed on a trunk at the foot of the bed. He grabbed a pair of buckskin trousers from the top and held them against himself. They appeared to be right size. He made a mental note to ask who had bestowed such kindnesses upon him so he could thank them properly.
Overcome with exhaustion, he pulled back the fur blanket and dropped unceremoniously onto the straw mattress. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, still marveling that he had made it back to Enola’s home…his home.
Chapter Four
Niccolo perched on the edge of a roof near the festivities, immersed in shadows. He was quickly becoming infatuated with Kanati. He’d followed him as he made his way home from the boarding school. Having every intention of protecting him on the journey, he quickly found there was no need. He seemed to possess an uncanny ability to avoid trouble.
On his second night of travel, he came within a couple of hundred yards of a band of men, drinking themselves into a stupor around a dying campfire. From Niccolo’s vantage point, he could see that Kanati was going to crest a hill and land smack dab in the middle of them before he had a clue they were there. He sent out his probing mental fingers to search their thoughts. They weren’t pretty. Bracing himself to engage the ruffians, he pulled up short when Kanati suddenly veered in a new direction. There was no possible way he could’ve known they were there. Even with his enhanced auditory perception, Niccolo could barely hear them. No, it would appear something other than the mighty vampire was looking out for him.
He cast a final glance over the celebrating tribe. Satisfied his charge was safely received, he pulled his feet under him and sprang into the air, taking flight. He rode along with the warm summer currents, gliding lazily, searching for signs of life below him. Spotting the lights of a small encampment to his left, he swooped in low and landed on the outskirts of the town.
The little community was comprised of three buildings and several small clusters of tents. His gaze swept across the crude structures. A cross nailed above the door of the first told him it was a church. The second bore no sign, but if he had to guess, he would think it to be a general store. It was the last structure that put a smile on his face.
“What town would be complete without a rowdy saloon?”
Whistling a playful tune, he strolled up the rough road, kicking rocks from his path. He pushed open the small swinging doors and surveyed the dirty faces that peered back at him from the dimly lit room. He strode casually to the bar as the other patrons returned to their drinks and conversations.
He slipped a gold coin from the leather purse in his vest pocket, slapped it on the counter and nodded at the barkeep. “Whiskey.”
The elderly man eyed him, eyes squinted. Nick plucked his thoughts from the air and looked down at his attire. He thinks I’m a dandy. He wore black britches tucked into riding boots, a white cotton shirt open at the collar and claret vest so dark it was nearly as black as his pants. I can’t imagine why.
“A little late for traveling, init?” he asked while pouring a shot. “Specially by your lonesome.”
“Do you have a lot of trouble around these parts?” Nick asked, one eyebrow arched.
“The territory’s seen safer days.” He nodded. “If you’re a needin’ a place to sleep for the night, I can rent ya a cot in the back.”
“No rooms available then?” he laughed.
The barkeep leaned over the bar and said in a low voice, “Does this look like the sorta place that’d have an inn?”
Nick looked at the wall behind the bar, scanning the rough wood planks. He could see the night sky through the spaces between them. “No, I don’t suppose it does, but that’s alright. I’m just passing through.”
“To where?” His face puckered up in a scowl. “The next decent sized town is a good two day ride from here.”
“I thought I might try my luck up in Guthrie.” He shrugged.
The barkeep’s gaze flicked to his left toward the corner and back so quickly, Nick nearly missed it. “Perhaps, you should just have the one drink and be on your way then. That road’s a dangerous place at night.”
He hazarded a glance over his shoulder and spotted four men sitting at a table in the corner. They weren’t looking his direction, but they weren’t talking either. He turned his gaze to the shot glass in front of him. A quick probe of their minds revealed them to be only feigning disinterest. They very much wanted to know what his plans were for the evening.
Rising from his barstool, he made a show of pulling out his coin purse and shaking it as he looked for the telltale eagle of his silver dollars. He plucked one out and flipped it to the barkeep. “Thanks for the information.”
“But, you haven’t drank your whiskey yet,” he protested, rubbing the coin on his sleeve.
“Give it to one of your fine patrons,” he said, waving his hand to encompass the whole room. “If it’s a two day ride, it’ll take me a week to walk it. I better get started.”
“You’re on foot?” The barkeep was clearly dumbfounded. “Looky, this here dollar’s more ‘an enough to cover the cost of that cot. Why don’t ya just—?”
“No, thank you. I really should be on my way.” He turned on his heel and left, the bartender still protesting to his back.
He couldn’t believe his luck. He’d hoped to find a ghost to sate his thirst, someone who no longer had the will to live but still went through the motions, waiting for death to claim him or her. Times were hard and many a mortal fell into this category. But he could hardly resist an opportunity to rid the world of vile men. If it weren’t for one drawback, they would be his sole source of sustenance, but then that one thing was more than his sanity could handle on a regular basis.
Sticking to the middle of the road, he walked at a brisk pace, listening for the sounds of hoof beats behind him. He plodded on for over an hour and was far from any prying eyes, only surrounded by shrubs and rolling hills. Just when he was about to give up on them, the clip-clop of horses approaching reached his ears.
Continuing his pace, he moved to the shoulder. A familiar tune crept into his thoughts and he began to whistle Green Sleeves. The thunder of hooves grew around him. The ground vibrated beneath his feet. Still, he whistled. Two of them raced passed him, blocking the road ahead. He could hear the other two dismount behind him. Their horses shied and brayed, refusing to come any closer to him.
“Howdy, stranger,” a gruff voice called out. “Bit late for stroll, ain’t it?”
The two men in front leapt from their steeds and edged closer.
Nick glanced over his shoulder. “I beg to differ. With the heat of summer on us, the night is a wonderful time to travel.”
They closed in on his position, forming a rough circle. Each held a pistol. The barrels pointed at his person.
“Well, I can assure you, this night will be extra wonderful,” he replied with a snicker that elicited guffaws from his crew.
“You’ll be wanting my purse then?” He stiffened as cold steel pressed against his back.
“Oh, we’ll be having that too, pretty boy.” The man’s foul breath was hot upon his ear.
Nick started to laugh, enjoying the effect it had on his would-be assailants. They cast nervous glances at each other and back at him. He plucked their names from their thoughts.
&n
bsp; “This is going to be fun, Doyle,” he said when his humor died away.
“What?” the leader asked, his voice nearly a whisper. “How do you know my name?”
“Oh, we go way back. I know your whole crew. That’s Bobby, John, and Lucas,” he said, pointing at each as he spoke their name.
“Well, at least you’ll know whose name to call out while we’re taking turns with you,” he said with a mirthless snicker.
In a blur of speed, Nick spun, leapt into the air and latched himself onto Doyle’s throat. His fangs exploded from his gums and into the soft flesh between them. As he drank, he was forced to relive the man’s vile existence through his mind’s eye. When the images of the fiend’s first rape appeared, it was more than he could bear. He yanked his head away, severing the connection and pulling a chunk of flesh with it. The burn of bullets entering his back accompanied the sounds of gunfire.
He dropped Doyle and sprang at Bobby, who was already sprinting for his horse. Wrapping his knees around his waist, he rode the flailing man to the ground, pulled his head back by the hair and drank from him hungrily. He could feel his body pushing the led slugs from his back as the wounds began to heal. Then he was plunged into the nightmare world of Bobby Moss. Ripping himself free, he howled in disgust, grabbed the man’s head with both hands and broke his neck with a quick twist of his wrists.
Rising to his feet, he turned to face the two remaining hooligans and smiled. They scrambled for their horses, but he was on them before they made it more than a couple of paces. He grabbed each man by the back of the neck and leapt into the air. They flailed in his grasp, arms and legs thrashing wildly as he soared ever higher. He pushed into a cloud, the moisture coating his face. Only when he burst through the top of the cumulonimbus did his ascent slow. He took a deep breath and savored the atmosphere. He always loved the view from so far up.
John stopped struggling and turned his head to face him. “What are you?”
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