by William Maltese

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A one-thousand year old, handsome, and sexy vampyre's much-in-demand blood-splattered fashion-line is strutted by blood-splattered models on blood-splattered runways in the blood-splattered abattoirs, slaughter houses, and butcher shops of the world ... as his own blood-line makes Vladymyr Draqual beloved and hated by the most powerful members of his kind.

Product Details

BN ID: 2940153969138
Publisher: MLR Press
Publication date: 01/18/2017
Sold by: Smashwords
Format: NOOK Book
File size: 342 KB
Age Range: 18 Years

Read an Excerpt

SARGASH DRAQUAL, VAMPIRE, raises his arms night-skyward, waits for the slight ripple of morphed wings, and leans off the cliff into the void beyond.

The updraft he calculates to advantage dissolves beneath him; nighttime isn't the most ideal time for flying; sun-warmed air is more readily apt for high gliding.

There's the slight snapping sound of his leathery wings finally filled with more dormant air, against which he flaps to cease his descent.

He's still too low, the fog still too thick, for him to spot his destination in the distance, but he feels its presence strangely pulling him towards it and warning him away.

Sargash has heard warnings against this journey he's taking. Many a vampire, it is said, has visited this place and never returned. Likely, the locale has a very strong vampire slayer in residence, or maybe a whole family of them, like the always-to-be-avoided Family Joriah. Little is known by vampires about the origins of such enemies of vampiredom, most of what was once know is lost in the past as is the origin of vampires themselves. For every force there is a counterforce? For every good there is an evil? For every right there is a wrong?

If his fellow vampires knew of his flight, especially if his Family Draqual knew, there would be efforts made to stop him. Many more people fear for his safety, these days, than they ever did in his earlier days as a vampire. Things have changed tremendously for him since it was discovered he is one of the Draqual Five who can dispatch a fellow bat into painless oblivion.

Sargash, still far from bored with his life-style, is amazed by how many of his peers are anxious to end their lot in life andwould have done the deed, long before, if not for the horrendous pain attending any such self-destructs.

It is the profusion of vampires suddenly out to advantage the services of the Draqual Five that compels Sargash to do what he's doing now, to escape, if only temporarily, his life which has become no more than his being one-fifth of a lethal apparatus much in demand for painlessly dispatching those of his own kind. He wants more from his hopefully centuries yet to come than to provide a means of dying preferable to death and dissolution by fiery cremation.

All of the Draqual Five, at one time or another, have discussed the possibility of one or more of them "getting away" to provide a respite for the entire group. Any proposed get-away locations, though, never included the island-in-the-mist dead ahead.

Sargash glides even closer to the white blotch of landscape on the horizon. He's so close to the waves that he can, on occasion, feel their spray. As he gets nearer, some heavy-duty flapping is required, as if he suddenly enters some kind of invisible miasmic barrier of super-thick air through which he needs to maneuver.

He finds this latest challenge exhilarating and frightening, seeing it as indicative of either one more warning for him to stay away, or of one more hinting as to what secrets lie ahead of him that have been denied others of his kind only because they've been too loathe taking the risk of discovery.

Certainly, he hopes that one secret that will become his and, thereby, become the possession of the Family Draqual, is the nature of the wondrous blue dye with which the local residents purportedly paint and tattoo their furry bodies and color the occasional animal furs they wear when not running the island's woods stark naked. At first rumored as woad, woad doesn't work well as body paint. It's highly astringent and, when used in tattoos, leaves scar tissue without a trace of residual blue. Such a secret, wrested from the hands of savages so reluctant to part with it, could provide Family Draqual with a new means of vibrantly dying its cloth in a way not yet seen or exploited in the markets of the civilized world. When Sargash returns to his family, such a secret will be a nice sop offered up to them as restitution for the turmoil and frustration he undoubtedly causes by his unexpected absence.

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