Cider Mill Vampires (The Caleb Anthony Paranormal Series #1) by Spencer Alan

Author:Spencer, Alan [Spencer, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Blood Red Press
Published: 2011-07-01T05:00:00+00:00

23

Sheriff Graham failed to divert his focus from blood; it was worse than any built up hunger or cigarette or coffee withdrawal. He couldn’t watch his arms for too long, or else he’d see through the skin to the veins and circulatory system. The stray terrier on the side of the road raised its head at him as he sped by, and he could see the inner workings of the canine.

“Gads!”

He had forgotten where he was driving to, but he soon recalled, thinking back to Ruden’s demands. This wasn’t a choice, the craving built up inside him making that determination for him. He was ordered to collect the deputies and criminals locked up and kill them. Their bodies would be dragged through the apple conveyor belt and liquefied. He couldn’t wait to bare witness.

-You’re coming around, yes.

He immediately knew who’d broken the boundaries of his thoughts, causing him to stiffen in his seat and almost veer off the road.

“You—what do you want with me now? I’m obeying you.”

Beads of sweat broke out on his skin. He was run-down and needing a pick-me-up that couldn’t be provided by any other source than bloody murder.

You understand allegiance faster than Dale or Annie. Good for you. You’d miss out on the sweetness otherwise. You’ll swim in it and fuck as many women as you want if you obey me.

The warm blood Ruden spat into his mouth was pure. Real. It was everything he wanted and everything he’d ever need.

Everyone will be bloodthirsty, and those who aren’t will be devoured.

Which are you, Sheriff? The thirsty or the devoured?

He continued driving, and after a time, the presence in his mind waned.

The creature already knew his answer.

Police headquarters was stationed two blocks from the post office in town. The sheriff parked in an empty spot out front, keeping his head low and checking each side of the street before ducking into the station. The sheriff failed to mask the mutations, though in the early stages, he looked sickly more than anything, and he panicked when Katie Turner at the other end of a glass window gawked at him in concern.

“Jesus Christ, you look like you've got the plague."

Officer Luke McCullough, a man four years on the force, looked him over and the color drained from his face. In that drawn out moment during the morbid staring contest, Luke’s skin parted, and the sheriff studied the veins pumping and racing and harboring what he craved. He acted without decision, reaching up with digging fingers, now mutating to talons, and scraped the flesh from Luke’s face. He shoved Luke’s face to his mouth to bite down, sucking the delectable red spilling from the open wounds of his cheeks. “Arrrrrrrrrrrgh!”

Katie screamed, raising the .38 revolver strapped to her holster, “LET HIM GO, DAMN IT!”

“Shoot him!” Luke demanded, his throat constricted, the words barely eking out. “He’s lost it! Gaaaaaaaaaawd!"

The sheriff crushed his larynx with his free hand, one clamp down and he was dead. He sucked Luke’s eyeball out of the socket and spat it out, freeing up more red that burbled forth.

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