The Bite of Vengeance Read online

  He could smell the foul stench of stale alcohol on the man’s filthy, shabby clothes. A bottle fell from his clutch as the man twitched in his drunken slumber. Deep-crimson liquid spilled into the dirt as Roconn took the final steps towards him. He bent low over the man. He would have much preferred someone cleaner than this to feed from, but in times like this, he had no choice but to surrender to the ever-growing thirst in his throat. Roconn saw a vein pulsing in the man’s neck, and at once sank his fangs into it, lifting him into the air with one hand clenched around his throat. The burning started to subside in his throat. The man awoke immediately, but Roconn drank more and more until the man stopped screaming and his body went limp.

  Roconn’s body felt refreshed and he dropped the man to the floor with a soft thud. The burning sensation in his throat had disappeared. He stood up. The body must be hidden. He was sure that he would not be so lucky if this body was found dead in the same manner as the cardinals. People had seen him enter the city. But he was a stranger, and intended to keep it that way. Roconn scooped up the corpse and carried it towards a nearby river. Roconn hung over the riverbank and let the body go. It hit the water with a splash and floated for a moment, before descending into the dark depths. He had satisfied his thirst, and he had acquired the map. Now he needed his cardinals.

  Weeks passed, and still Maria had not returned from Venice. Roconn was getting anxious; she should have returned days ago. He had to find her. She was in danger, he could feel it. Having fed only hours before, he felt he could afford to leave the wonderful Rome. But one day he would return and destroy the Pope, as was his destiny. Roconn formed a plan. He would set out at dusk and travel to Venice where he would find whoever had captured his wife, and end their life.

  Hours passed. Dawn came and went. When dusk finally arrived, Roconn was ready. His detailed map still lay secured within the folds of his highly complex, vampiric brain. Roconn paced the small, dingy, one-roomed shack. It was very plain, with no furniture hugging the bare walls, there was no carpeting, nor any rugs, on the compacted dirt. Roconn thought for a moment and then drew his cloak around him, pulling up the hood so that he could travel incognito.

  Ten minutes later, he was wandering the dusty, deserted streets of Rome. Buildings towered over him as he walked. Carts and barrels were scattered haphazardly around the side streets and in front of shops. Alleyways shot off in every direction; one could easily get lost here. Lanterns lit up the street, and flies swarmed around an upturned cart of food waste. A cat meowed somewhere in the distance. Roconn was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice a man peering over a window ledge a few feet above him. Roconn strolled onwards. He knew where he would go. He would call upon an old friend who would surely know where Maria had last been seen. This person had a lot of spies and friends. If anything happened in Venice, he would be the one to know about it.

  A warm breeze blew across the street, bringing with it a very familiar scent which he recognised the second it reached his nostrils. Maria. Roconn inhaled a lungful of air. The smell was coming from an alleyway ahead, on his right. He reached the mouth of the alleyway in a split second. Maria’s scent grew stronger as he silently crept along the path. A building overshadowed the alleyway and a large, twelve-foot wall on the left created a new, very narrow, alleyway. As Roconn walked on, another familiar scent reached his nose. He could not remember where he had smelt it before. This worried him more. Had an ally turned enemy?

  Roconn started to shake. Maria was a royal vampire, a clan-leader like himself. Someone, or something, must have been powerful enough to capture her. This thought did nothing to ease his fear. Roconn reached a point in the centre of the alleyway where Maria’s scent was strongest. His cat-like night vision spotted a spatter of deep-crimson blood on the wall to his left. Roconn felt as though his blood might boil with built up anger. He must find Maria before it was too late. Once again, he inhaled the familiar scent so that, if he came across it again, he would recognise it.

  Venice

  Roconn would continue searching for Maria, but first he needed to journey to Venice. He headed for a nearby tavern in order to find someone who could take him there. They would be well paid. Roconn was a wealthy man who carried a large purse of coins in case such needs arose. Roconn reached the large tavern, known as The Traveller’s Den, its windows glowing with the many candles inside, and opened the door. Light spilled onto the road. Inside, wooden tables and stools were scattered around a spacious room. The bar was long and swamped by loud, fat, men who were shouting and cursing in Italian. Roconn took an unoccupied stool at the bar. At once the barmaid was upon him.

  ‘Ciao signore, cosa posso fare per te?’ she asked.

  Roconn, who was fluent in Italian, understood that she was asking. He also knew that he needed to find a carriage driver.

  ‘Sto cercando di assumere un cocchiere,’ he replied.

  ‘Si,’ she said and beckoned him towards a door at the back of the bar.

  She opened it and he followed her in. Once they were inside she shut the door behind them. The room was small and, apart from one man sitting on a stool, empty.

  ‘Grazie,’ said Roconn to the woman, who retreated to the tavern.

  ‘Hello,’ said the man.

  He was short, dumpy, and cleanly shaven with tidy hair. He wore smart, simple, clothes. ‘Apparently he has a lot of business as a carriage driver,’ thought Roconn, who was glad to hear that he at least spoke English, got straight to the point.

  ‘I’m looking to hire a boat to Venice.’ Roconn withdrew the purse of coins and threw it to the man.

  The man caught the purse and felt the weight of it. He then put it up to his ear and gave it a shake. The coins inside jangled together and the man smiled.

  ‘Not a problem. When are we leaving?’

  Roconn was relieved by his eagerness to set off, but first he needed to hunt and make sure he had enough strength for the journey.

  ‘Tomorrow, at sunset, I’ll meet you at the front gates. Make sure you are ready to leave the second I get there,’ said Roconn, and with that he turned on his heel and strode back into the tavern.

  It was still crowded. In the corner, Roconn noticed a young, blonde, attractive woman wearing a frilly dress. She was smiling and batting her eyelids at him. Perfect for feeding, he thought.

  A few minutes later he and the young woman were taking a walk. He was glad to see it was still a deserted street. Roconn led her down an alleyway with her hanging on to his arm. This was the ideal time and place for a kill. He slammed her against a wall. The wall towered over them, casting a long shadow over the alleyway. She let out a high pitched scream. Roconn grabbed her head and gave it a sharp twist. A loud snap indicated that she was dead. He sunk in his fangs, and drank.

  He then let her body fall to the floor, and returned to the tavern. No one had noticed them leave, just as no one had noticed him enter alone. He walked up to the barmaid and rented a room for the night. She showed him to his room and left with a smile. Roconn spent the whole day waiting for night to fall. He was eager to leave and wanted to kill Maria’s kidnapper. This had been the longest day since they had been created and he was relieved to see night fall outside.

  Roconn stood up abruptly and headed to the door, wrenching it open. He ran downstairs and out of the tavern, into the night. It was a bit colder than last night, but Roconn was not fazed by the temperature. He hastened to the front gate. As promised, the man was there, standing by his carriage. He entered the carriage and driver climbed on to front, Roconn laid back and shut his eyes, it would be a while before he reached Venice. He wouldn’t be happy until Maria was in his arms and the Pope lay dead. Roconn would kill the Pope soon enough and all of religion would fall beneath him. Then, after seven hundred years, he would have his revenge.

  Three days later, having found shelter during daylight, Roconn arrived in beautiful Venice. Rows of black coloured gondolas punted up and down the canals. Market stalls had been sprung upon the city
streets. Crowds of people adorned the streets, even during the night. This would make hunting difficult, but Roconn would find a way after he had tracked down his friend. He would do anything, and sacrifice anyone, to have Maria again. He tried not to think too much about her being dead, it only made his blood boil.

  It was late now, and dawn was approaching. He needed to find blood, and shelter. With a few hours of night left, he decided to take the risk and hunt first. The streets were clean and tidy. This was obviously a city of wealth. Though the sight was impressive, Roconn could not fully appreciate it given the capture of his wife.

  He walked the wondrous streets, taking in the marvellous sights. The tall brick houses were spotless and well built. The people of the city were well dressed and polite as he passed them. Roconn took an alleyway and was finally away from the bustling streets. He gazed up at the moon. It shone brightly above him, illuminating the surprisingly clean alleyway. Ahead, a thirty-foot wall blocked his path. With the agility of a cat, Roconn scaled the wall, flipping into a crouch as he landed on the roof. From here he would be able to scout the area, memorizing as much of it as he could for when he was walking in the streets. He spotted a few men in the distance, vampires by the look of them, on the roof of a tall building. As soon as they noticed he was looking at them, they sped off in a flash. Roconn could tell they were afraid, for the air became thick with the stench of fear.

  Roconn changed his mind on hunting. He would do that tomorrow night. Tonight he would get acquainted with this maze of a city and memorize as much of it as he could. He ran at lightning speed towards a tall clock-tower, leaping and climbing where necessary. He scaled the clock-tower and perched on the edge, leaning over towards the city. With eagle eyes Roconn scanned Venice, memorizing locations and how to reach them. After a while he could see dawn approaching, so Roconn leapt from the tower, spinning and flipping. He watched each as each brick seemed to float upwards as he fell, until he landed silently in a deserted street. A breeze blew past and the scent of a vampire filled his nose, but as quickly as it had come, it was gone, leaving Roconn confused.

  He walked the streets of Venice until he found a place to stay for the day. It was a small shop that looked deserted. Windows were smashed and boarded up, the door hung from its hinges, and the whole building reeked of mildew. When he walked inside, his feet were submerged in a grey cloud as he disturbed the years of collected dust. Roconn walked into a large room which was equally as dusty, no scent of humans or vampires hit his nose. Instead, the only smell was that of the rotting wooden desk and bookcase standing on the right-hand side of the dingy shop.

  He decided this would be the perfect place to hide from the burning sun. While walking slowly and carefully towards the desk and bookcase, he noticed an upturned stool behind the desk and set it upright, releasing another cloud of dust and filth. Mould on the walls created a dense, musky, smell, it would have been repulsive enough without the enhanced sense of smell a vampire has. Roconn started to relax as he set in for the day. Dawn started to approach; Roconn had been a vampire for so long, the daylight hours felt like seconds to him. Roconn noticed dark clouds above that were threatening a wet day ahead. Rain started to pour in within minutes of this thought. He was highly tempted to take a risk and find a meal, but he didn’t know how long the sun would be gone, and Roconn was not one to take an unnecessary risk.

  A Friend

  Roconn slumped onto the stool and stared at the dusty stone floor when he heard a faint footstep in the hall. It was too quiet to be a human. No breeze blew in, so he could not pick up a scent. Roconn tensed and kept his eyes firmly upon the doorway, clenching his steel fist. The footsteps sounded again. It was surely a vampire stalking him, he thought, but it seemed rather odd. If a vampire was stalking him they would know he was the clan-king. Roconn noticed that they did not seem to be making an effort to muffle their footsteps. Was this a message? He stood and spoke to the unseen stranger.

  ‘Come out, I would speak with you.’

  The vampire, who had no choice but to obey the command, crossed the threshold and into the room in full view.

  He stood with his arms rigid at his side and sank to one knee.

  ‘My lord,’ he whispered, ‘it’s wonderful to have you here in Venice.’

  Roconn could not return the enthusiasm, so he grunted in response. This did not seem to faze the vampire. Instead, he remained silent, calm, under Roconn’s glare. He did not dare speak unless spoken to.

  ‘How did you find me?’ Roconn shot at the vampire.

  ‘My lord, forgive me, but I had to see if the rumours were true. The others, Malun, Kiran and Desuchio, swore they saw you on top of the clock-tower. They saw you, and fled to bring the news to the Venetian clan-leader, Klomano, that you had arrived in Venice. He seemed to be expecting you my lord,’ said the vampire.

  ‘I see, and you are?’ asked Roconn.

  ‘My name is Zaichari.’

  ‘Where is Klomano? Take me to him.’ Zaichari stood up at once and made for the door.

  Roconn held out his arm to stop, Zaichari looked fear-stricken.

  ‘Not now, wait until nightfall.’ Zaichari’s face smoothed.

  He had a thin, pointy face. His deep-brown eyes looked around the room. Zaichari clearly had not expected to be spending the afternoon with the clan-king. He was dressed in black robes, with a silver clasp at the top holding them closed. He looked clean and well built, tailored for the vampire life, Roconn was sure he was an efficient killer.

  Roconn on the other hand, did not. He had been in the same robes for days on end. They were dirty and the occasional blood splatter stained his sleeves and torso. But even so, Roconn’s robes were much more exquisite. The long, black, robes ended at his ankles, golden thread was sewn along the edges where they had been clasped together with a gold coloured eagle catch.

  ‘Of course, my lord.’

  During the course of the day he was informed that Klomano’s clan’s hideout was hidden away inside a large castle just outside the gates of Venice. Roconn was told he could enter via the canals on a black gondola which had the Venetian Clan’s crest painted on the side: a silver dragon, whereas Roconn’s Clan crest is represented as two golden vampire teeth. He need only say the words: secrecy is hidden, where the sun does not penetrate, for the gondola to be punted to a sewer entrance leading straight into the main hall. There he would be greeted by Klomano, his old friend.

  Finally, dusk arrived and Roconn was eager to find out information.

  ‘My lord, it is time, if you would be happy to follow me, I will take you there.’

  ‘After you,’ Roconn replied smoothly.

  He and Zaichari walked through the busy streets. On more than one occasion Roconn found himself staring at the pulsing neck of a passer-by, and quickly recovered himself. He needed to feed, and fast.

  As if reading his thoughts Zaichari whispered as a large group of evening-walkers passed by, leaving the sweet scent of a tasty meal.

  ‘My lord, should you need blood, we keep an ample supply at The Den. Our hideout.’ He added looking at Roconn’s puzzled face.

  ‘We can’t all retreat to the luxury of Castle Blackmoor, my lord,’ he said to Roconn with a smirk.

  ‘Good, I shall require it soon. The need for restraint is becoming increasingly difficult.’

  On they walked, through the streets, taking a different turn every now and again. They twisted through dark, narrow alleyways, and ended up in another street that looked nearly identical to the last. Venice was a stone maze, but Zaichari knew it like the back of his hand. He walked with confidence to the end of a street and was greeted a man clad in deep blue robes of silk who stood by a large canal. Zaichari clapped his hands together three times, each quieter than the last. Roconn knew he was sending a signal, so they waited patiently for a few minutes and admired the lively canal. People walked up and down the side of the canal, bustling about as other gondolas punted up and down the water. Zaichari greeted a number of
people as they passed, Roconn assumed they did know he was vampire, but admired the way Zaichari had blended and mingled with the residents of the city, a wise move, befriending the townsfolk.

  ‘When were you turned Zaichari?’ asked Roconn curiously.

  ‘In the year eleven thirty-four, by Klomano. He sought me out while I was working in a field, gathering crops for my father. I was nineteen. He said he had need of my abilities. I didn’t know what he meant. I had no abilities as far as I was concerned. Well, unless you count the ability to pull up a carrot,’ Zaichari laughed bitterly.

  Roconn had the distinct feeling there was something more to this story than he was letting on. Eager to know more about who he was walking with, Roconn pressed him.

  ‘Klomano visited me during the evening. I was still working to put food on the table while my good-for-nothing father sat about the barn, complaining about how little I did for the family, how I was the worst son he had ever had. He told me I was useless, and that I couldn’t even master the simplest jobs, like collecting crops. He did nothing and I did everything,’ Zaichari explained.

  Roconn noticed his hands had clenched into balls.

  ‘Klomano visited me in the field, we were surrounded by wheat. He told me I deserved better, and that I was much more than this. He made me hate my father even more. Klomano then told me he could make it all better and give me a gift greater than any other. I knew there was a catch. He told me that in order for him to do this, I must give him something in return.’

  ‘What did he ask for?’ Roconn asked

  ‘A life. He told me I had to kill my own father. I hated him, yes, so that night I crept into his room whilst he was sleeping, grabbed the knife he always kept by his bed, and I…’ Zaichari trailed off and kept looking toward the end of the canal.