David McAfee - After, Taras and Theron - Beyond Jerusalem

He winced as her claws traced a line across the top half of his face, missing his eyes by a hair’s breadth. His own blood dripped into his mouth, and the taste of it brought his fangs to the surface. He suppressed the urge to lunge at her throat or jab his clawed fingers into her belly, instead trying to hold her back and knock her off him. If he could jar her loose, he might be able to escape. He tried to wriggle out from under her, using his legs for leverage.

Adonia laughed, smiling at him as he tried to block her attacks rather than strike back. She certainly had no qualms about trying to kill him. He looked in her eyes and realized that, to her mind, she had already won. History together or no, she would not stop until one of them was dead. It reminded him of his former friend and Lead Enforcer, Ephraim. They had worked together for centuries, yet he’d killed Ephraim without a second thought.

Forgiveness, Jesus had said. That’s what Ephraim had been looking for when Theron killed him. Is that what he wanted? To be forgiven? Could he ever be? It’s not too late, for him or for you…

Theron knew better.

Pain ignited in his side as Adonia scored another serious hit. Her claws dug several inches into his abdomen, tearing at the flesh with a wet slurp. His blood flowed over her fingers and into the street beneath him, just as Ephraim’s had flowed over his fingers to drip onto the floor. Ephraim had died without fighting back. Not a single blow. He’d just sat there and waited for his death with a sad expression on his face.

Not me, Theron thought. He gave up trying to block Adonia and let himself get into the fight, at last. He let go of her wrists and reached for her throat with both hands. Surprised, she did not move away in time, and Theron’s fingers closed around her throat. He dug his clawed thumbs into the soft flesh under her jaw, launching a spray of her blood at his face.

She raked his arms, trying to claw her way free of his grip, but he accepted the pain willingly, even eagerly. He’d told her he didn’t want to kill her, but as his right thumb brushed against the bone of her lower jaw, he realized now that it was a lie. It would always be a lie. Not only did Theron want to kill her, he wanted to drain her completely and leave her dried out carcass in the street as a warning to any other Bachiyr who might come hunting for him.

More pain in his side, this one in his lower ribs, as his desperate opponent dug into the flesh, grabbed a rib, and snapped it. The pain was intense, flaring through his torso like fire, but he held on. He pulled her close, bringing her throat down and closer to his mouth. Adonia’s struggles increased in frenzy, and she abandoned her attempts to injure him in favor of breaking free. She put her hands on his chest and pushed, flailing with her legs. Now he was the aggressor, and she was the one trying to escape.

Theron wrapped his legs around her lower half and pulled her closer to him, taking away her leverage. He then shifted his weight, rolling her onto her back. She slammed her forehead into his face, breaking his nose with an audible crack. More blood spilled onto his lips, but instead of making him wary, it fueled his hunger. He released his grip on her throat and immediately blood welled up from the wound and spilled down over her flesh. He then grabbed her by the face and slammed her head into the hard stone cobbles. He did so again, and then again. The fourth time, he heard a sharp crack.

Her arms went limp and her eyes clouded over. She lay stunned and unmoving in the street. The effect would only last a moment, just long enough for her senses to return, but it was long enough. Theron pressed his jaws to her throat and opened her veins, drinking greedily from the fountain of a very old vampire’s well.

Power surged through him, igniting his nerves along the way as her potent blood filled his every pore. She had lived for over two thousand years, and was a direct child of Lannis. Her potent blood screamed with energy, tearing through his body like lightning. Her body shriveled beneath him but still he drank, unwilling to break the connection.

When at last the flow of blood ceased, he noticed the utter silence around him. Neither he nor Adonia had cast a Psalm of Silence, but the air was deathly quiet. He raised his head and looked around. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, the heady blood in Adonia’s body had left him with a bit of vertigo. But once his vision cleared he noted several humans standing nearby, watching him with eyes as wide as dates. None of them had moved to intervene, which he took as a good sign.

Theron shot to his feet and snarled at the crowd, baring his teeth for all to see. All but one of the spectators fled, apparently finding better things to do than confront a murderous Bachiyr. Smart. The single remaining witness stepped forward, and Theron caught a glimpse of his face. It was another Bachiyr, perhaps come to claim the Council’s prize. He looked young, but among his race, appearances meant nothing. However, his nervous expression and the way his fingers fidgeted at his waist told Theron he was probably no more than a few decades old. He might even be one of Adonia’s children. If so, his blood would be sweet, indeed.

The new Bachiyr’s eyes went from Theron to the dried up corpse of Adonia, and then back. In Theron’s time, Adonia had been the most powerful Bachiyr in the city. That would explain the young vampire’s sudden reluctance.

“You know her?” Theron pointed at the body, which had started to flake away in the light breeze.

The youth nodded.

“You feared her,” Theron noted.

The youth nodded again.

“You see what I did to her, this most powerful of Athens’ Bachiyr?”

He nodded and took a step backward.

Theron sprang forward, catching the other Bachiyr off guard and grabbing his shoulders before the youth could think to block him. The young vampire struggled, but Theron’s hand clamped onto his shoulder and brought him in close. Fear radiated from him like a cold mist, and he reprised his opinion of the youth’s age. Not more than a decade, most likely. Theron flashed his fangs, smiling as the younger vampire shut his eyes and tried to look away. Theron dug his claws into the youth’s flesh, reveling in his victim’s pained groan.

“Look at me,” Theron commanded.

The young vampire turned to look at him, his face a mask of fear and pain.

“You know who I am,” Theron said.

The young vampire nodded.

“Say my name.” Theron squeezed his fingers, digging them deeper into flesh.

“Theron!” the other gasped. “Theron of Macedonia.”

“Good.” Theron relaxed his grip a bit, and some of the tension went out of the other vampire’s body. “Tell every Bachiyr you meet about this. Make sure they know that I am the one who killed Adonia of Athens, and let it be a warning to them. I will do the same to every Bachiyr who tries to hunt me. Swear to do that, and I will let you live.”

The younger vampire nodded, his face reflecting his eagerness to get out of this alive.

“Swear it!” Theron dug his claws deeper, grinding their tips against the young vampire’s bones.

“I swear it!” he replied. “By the Father, I swear!”

Theron released the youth’s arms, smiling. The younger vampire dropped back a few paces, rubbing the bloody holes in his arms. He glared at Theron for a moment, then turned to go.

“Wait,” Theron said. The youth turned around to face him, a wary look on his face. “There is one more thing I want you to do. Take her body back to the Council’s gate in Athens and leave it with the clerk.”

The young vampire’s eyes widened again. Theron understood. Such a thing would be taken as a direct dare to the Council. Doubtless the youth thought he was crazy.