The Bite of Vengeance by Connor Wolf

Author:Connor Wolf
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: RowanVale Books

The Search

Roconn’s plan had taken a massive blow. His nine trustworthy cardinals lay dead. He needed to recruit someone on the inside, and not just anyone, someone he knew could do the job. Someone he could trust. He needed Reyjak. Roconn needed all the help he could get right now. Maria immediately disappeared to Venice in order to find a courier whom she knew and trusted to send word Reyjak. Meanwhile, Roconn was thirsting for blood. He needed to hunt, and fast.

He turned away from the Vatican and sped towards the now damaged monument. He scaled it with ease and perched precariously on the tip. Roconn scanned the city, marvelling at the sight. Since becoming a priest, he had always wanted to immigrate to Italy. He had hopes of becoming a cardinal and perhaps, one day, the Pope. But that dream was long gone. Sometimes he lay on his stone bed, pondering the past; if he had not become a vampire, how would his life have turned out? Roconn shook his head as if to shake off the memory and peered at the horizon. His eyes quickly located a figure in the distance, a man by the look of it. Even miles away, Roconn could clearly make out the figure. He was middle aged and plump with a bushy, greying beard that matched his hair. He was drunk, alone, and surrounded by trees and shrubs, the perfect location to quench Roconn’s thirst.

Roconn leapt fifteen feet into the air, spinning as he fell. Nothing blurred the way it would with a human; he saw every tiny detail. The sensation, even after seven hundred years, still felt exhilarating. He landed, as quietly as a mouse, into a hunting crouch. Roconn ran, quicker and quicker, towards the drunken man, weaving between buildings, carts and trees. The drunken man was miles away, yet Roconn closed the distance in next to no time. As he neared him, he slowed to a walk. They were isolated by trees, which were all around him. When Roconn would suck the life from his body, no one would hear his scream. Baring his piercing fangs, Roconn crouched into some long grass, directly behind the man. The man, singing at the top of his voice, had tripped over a rock. There he lay snoozing. He was helpless. Roconn marvelled at how pathetic humans had become as he inched closer, preparing for the perfect, satisfying, kill.

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.

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