Friday, January 2, 2015

44 - ‘Come gentle night…’

“Cease and desist,” a voice commanded.

The three vampyres froze and slowly turned to see who had spoken.

After teetering on the roof of the tomb for what seemed an eternity, although it had only been a few seconds, Kemp managed to gain his footing before looking down at his foes and then to where they were staring. A tall figure slowly materialized, casting one glace up at Kemp before returning his gaze to the vampyres.

“Who the hell are you and why are you protecting this…thing that seeks our deaths,” the leader of the three spat out.

“That ‘thing’ as you put it is my son,” Rian Marston said in a deathly quiet voice.

“And you did not kill the creature at birth?”

Rian Marston’s eyebrow rose ominously. “He is my son. A child born of love. Would you have me kill him because you prefer to act as animals preying on the weak to sate your own hunger?”

“It is what we are, the predators. Humans are just cattle ready for the slaughter.” The vampyre took one step closer to where Marston stood. “Who are you to deny us what is our right? What is your right?”

“I am Vampyre Rian.”

“Shit,” the vampyre that Kemp had wounded muttered, glancing around as if seeking the quickest way to escape.

Marston caught his eye and smiled. “I see you have heard of me. I suggest if you don’t want my wrath to fall on you as strongly as on your cohorts that you leave. Now! I give you twenty four hours to heal and then leave the city. After that…” Marston said no more but his intent was read and heeded and the vampyre rushed to obey his order.

Glancing at Kemp, Marston beckoned for him to join him. Kemp leapt down from his perch, walking to stand by his father’s side. Once he was there, Marston rested one hand on his shoulder while staring at the two remaining vampyres. “I will leave it up to my son whether you live or die.”

“Just a damned minute, he’s a dhampir, you know what his answer will be.”

“Kemp, make your decision.”

Kemp looked at the two of them then walked to the lesser one. “Don’t try to move,” Kemp growled, tangling one hand in the vampyre’s hair to pull his head to the side. With his blade he scored an ‘X’ deeply into the skin just below the vampyre’s ear, putting two small but deep cuts on each side of the center to designate a vampyre’s bite. His victim howled as his skin sizzled with each cut but he made no attempt to escape. When Kemp had finished he released his hold, saying, “That marks you for what you are, for all to see. A killer. The scar will remain with you. If you are caught with a victim there will be no recourse. You will be slain. Now go.”

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