Life and Death

By Chrissy

Stella and Armand flew through the night in a sleek stretch automobile with windows so darkly tinted she wondered how he was able to see to steer. It was bizarre. For the car in which they traveled seemed almost to soar above the asphalt. Oncoming headlights skimmed past in a blur without even a sound of engines. And, although the car windows were shut, the dark interior swirled with strong gusty squalls that whipped the hair about her head and fanned wild blasts of cool air into her face.

Her mind sometimes played tricks. At times she thought they were actually in a horse drawn carriage, dashing through a dark stormy night, the coach lurching wildly from side to side. They coach was drawn by a team of splendid black stallions, the steam from their backs clouding the dark night, the ground vibrating with pounding of their hooves. Beside her Armand stood from his seat, the reigns held tight in his hands, whipping the galloping horses into a frenzy.

Stella leaned back in the car seat and frowned. A nagging ache filled her head. Whenever she tried to think about things, about her life, about her home, her brow would crease in confusion. Her brain whirled, her head clouded and she would draw a puzzled blank. It was like a thick fog had taken control of her senses.

The only thing she could recall for certain was Armand. Armand. Aristocratic, commanding Armand. But who was he? Was he her father? Her guardian? Her lover? Lover? Was he her lover? She felt that she loved him. Maybe she did.

She turned to gaze at him as he steered the automobile through the dark night. His profile contoured proud and handsome. Fabulously handsome. Thick black hair rippled in a stream behind him. His eyes shone so bright with golden passion she wanted to gaze into them throughout eternity. What a fascinating man he was. But who was he? She really could not remember who he was or where he came from. When did he come into her life?

She couldn't remember anything for sure, except that earlier she had lain in Armand's strong arms during the sinister hours of sunlight. She cringed. The very thought of bright light and hot sun made her skin crawl. She preferred the darkness. Just as Armand had said she would. And she liked something else. Blood. Unconsciously she licked her lips. She loved the taste of blood.

She remembered the meal she had eaten at the hotel yesterday. Was it yesterday? Why couldn't she remember anything? Everything was so odd. Wispy memories would drift by, but she could not catch them.

But she remembered the blood. It had tasted good. She licked her lips. She wanted more.

When Armand had asked her what she would like to eat she had said, "Steak. I want steak. And I want it rare. Very rare. Extremely rare." At the thought, her mouth had filled with impatient hot spittle.

Armand had thrown back his head and laughed. He ordered the meal from room service. When the man came to the door with the food she had not been able to hold back the gush of saliva. It had dribbled down and dripped off her chin at the sight of the huge slab of meat, wet and runny with red blood. She had tore at it. Not even bothering with a knife and fork. Armand had slouched back in the armchair and grinned at her. He had watched in amusement as she feasted with relish and finally licked the crimson juices from the plate.

Armand ate nothing. Not even water passed his lips. But he studied her with intense scrutiny, absorbing every sensation, watching as she swallowed the chunks of raw beef.

"I cannot remember how it is to eat," he said longingly. "I cannot remember the feel of food. The taste of food."

But on finishing the meal, Stella had experienced an overwhelming wave of self-disgust. Wiping her chin she looked down at the plate and wondered what on earth had come over her. What was she doing tearing at raw steak like an animal? Had she become deranged?

Coming back to the present she slunk lower in the car seat. When they left the place she had once called home, they had traveled across the land to the bustling metropolitan hubbub of Mexico City. Dazzled with a million neon lights, they had sped through brilliant neon streets to arrive at a large imposing hotel. She could not really recollect how they got to be there. But she remembered being in the hotel lobby and looking up at Armand for direction.

"Sit in that chair and be quiet," he ordered, pointing to a high backed chair in a shadowy corner of the lobby. "I'll arrange a room for us."

Armand had a way of moving through air as if it wasn't there. He was at the desk in a blur without taking a single step.

"How much is your most expensive room?" he questioned the hotel desk clerk, tossing back his long hair with a haughty flick. It was the middle of the night and only a few people milled about. The clerk rubbed stubby fingers across the pimples on his face.

"Er…do you want the penthouse?" he muttered regarding exotic Armand with pop-eyed wonder.

"I want a room without a window," returned Armand, an air of superiority lifting his head proudly. "I will pay any amount you ask."

"Without a window?" the boy sputtered, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"That's what I said. No window. No light. No sun."

The boy stared. "All our rooms have windows," he shrugged. "They all come with windows."

Stella watched as Armand leaned over the counter and clutched the boy around the neck in vice like fingers. He jerked the boy towards him, his face inches from the bewildered youth's.

"Do not anger me," he hissed. "I do not like to be angered."

The boy's eyes popped even more. "I'll get the night manager," he gulped. Armand released him and the boy ducked around the corner.

A few moments later a woman appeared at the desk. "Good evening, sir" she said politely. "I am the night manager. My name is Claudia Madras. I understand you are looking for a room without a window? If you don't mind me saying, that is a very strange request."

Stella, watching from her shadowy armchair, experienced a mild stab of annoyance. She took an instant dislike to Claudia. The woman was too cool and beautiful, her black hair smoothed into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, her large almond eyes blackened with kohl, her lips painted ruby red. The woman was sleek and slim and radiating a positive self-confidence that annoyed unsophisticated Stella.

And Stella did not like the way Armand was behaving with the woman. His attitude had changed completely. Unexpectedly sweet and agreeable, he leaned in close, smiling seductively. His handsome good looks and overwhelming charisma were being utilized to the fullest extent.

"I am a man who must live in a world without sunlight," he whispered as if sharing a great secret.

The woman regarded him evenly, "Oh? And why is that?" She raised one eyebrow in obvious skepticism.

Armand leaned in even closer as though taking her into a great confidence. "I have a serious skin disorder. Since the day I was born I have been fatally allergic to the sun. Its deadly rays must never touch my skin or I will die. There is no cure," his beautiful tawny eyes gazed at her pointedly, "I face only an early death. Unfortunately, I have no option but to become a creature of the night. I have never seen the sun nor experienced its warmth."

The woman regarded him for a long moment; her eyes roved over him, taking in the unusual attire, the long hair, the pallid skin.

"Well, you are extremely pale," she said, more to herself than to Armand. She hesitated for a few more moments. Finally her mind seemed made up.

"Actually, we have several rooms at the basement level," she said, her initial suspicion now replaced by a show of sympathy. "We use them in overflow situations when the hotel is full. The rooms are below street level and have no windows. But they do have bathrooms and full facilities."

Armand took up her hand from the counter and kissed it as if in great relief at her words. His seductive eyes locked onto hers. "Senora, I will take one of your basement rooms," he confirmed graciously, "I will pay any amount. Money is of no consequence."

Claudia appeared flustered for a moment, her composure gone. "Well, " she flapped, the heat rising in her throat. "We will have to take a few minutes for housekeeping to dust and refresh the room for you."

Armand gushed his thanks, turning on full charm. The woman spoke on a phone and then brought a large ledger from beneath the counter and offered a pen to Armand. "Will you be staying here alone?" Her eyes fluttered flirtatiously. It was obvious she hoped he was.

Armand turned and with a snap of his fingers he beckoned Stella to his side. Stella scuttled across the carpeted lobby and stood close to Armand, interlocking her fingers possessively with his. 'He's mine!' she wanted to blurt to the older woman.

"My niece will be staying with me," Armand was explaining. "We have just returned from the funeral of her father, my brother. Unfortunately he suffered from the same affliction. But he was not as prudent as he should have been. He was caught unawares. He died from one single lick of the sun."

Stella stared up at Armand in sudden shock. "My father is dead?" she quivered. "Papa's dead?" Her eyes filled with tears. Her father was dead? Why couldn't she remember anything about it?

Armand smiled tightly at Claudia. "It was a great shock to my niece," he said, his grip on Stella's hand constricting her fingers painfully. "Her mind has become temporarily unhinged."

"Ow! You're hurting!" Stella cried, attempting to snatch her hand away.

But Claudia did not notice. She busied herself with the ledger and watched as Armand's long fingers signed a name and address. It struck her as odd that his fingernails were so extraordinarily long. She wondered if it was part of the rare condition from which he suffered.

Once in the hotel room, Armand dragged a heavy dresser across the door. "It's almost dawn," he murmured, removing his cloak. "The terrible dawn." He smiled and held a hand out to Stella. "Come, child. We will sleep."

"I don't understand. Why did you say my father is dead?" Stella pouted pulling away from him.

"It was a fabrication. A falsehood. I had to lie to the stupid woman so that we would have a lodging."

"I thought you like her. You acted like you liked her."

Armand smiled. "I can bewitch, my dear. I am quite good at it."

"So," Stella began to smile. "You only pretended to like her?"

"Of course," returned Armand, holding out his hand. "Come to me. Come into my arms, my child. We will hide from the terrible dawn together."

Arms and legs wrapped tightly, they lay atop the bed, Armand's heavy cape enveloping them completely. Stella liked it. She liked being entwined with Armand. His soft hair brushed her face and his cool breath fanned her skin. It was nice and comforting and she felt safe and secure. She easily drifted into a deep sleep.

***

Carolina decided that women handled stress much better than men. They were now into the third day of Stella's disappearance and Antonio was taking it badly. For two days he had neither slept nor eaten. Carolina was forced into the position of taking control. She had to be the strong one in the family. She dealt with the police, she answered the constantly ringing of the phone, she remained level headed and in charge. On the surface, that is. Deep down inside her guts twisted in panic and fear. Where in heaven's name was Stella? How could she disappear into thin air?

When he was home, Antonio paced the house like a caged animal. He began smoking heavily again, a plastic bottle of water in one hand, a cigarette in the other. His handsome face haggard, his clothes disheveled, he would pass through moments of insane murderous anger. His eyes would glitter. His curls would fly. He would curse and gesture and yell his intention to "slice the fucker's balls off." There was no talking to him. He was a wild man.

But most of the time Antonio was not at the house. He spent hours on his motorbike, speeding along the back roads, the dusty fields, the dense woods. He rode through valleys and mountains. He would stop the Harley in a blaze of flying gravel and call her name until his voice grew hoarse. He would return to the house, his eyes haunted and lost, his grimy cheeks stained with the tracks of his tears. His shoulders slumped in failure.

He made love with his wife. An urgent kind of love. A love spawned from exhausting tension. Antonio would take Carolina forcefully, sometimes brought to loud weeping in the throes of stormy orgasm. "Where is she?" he would cry in tortured anguish, his body jerking, his cock hard inside her. "Where in fuck is she?"

The police were stumped. They had made extensive inquiries and come up empty handed. There were no leads. "There's no sign of a struggle, no footprints, no break and enter," they said. "It had to be someone she knew,"

"But who?" Carolina would ask, wracking her brain for an answer.

"Your dog didn't bark," the police pointed out. "So it was someone known to the dog."

It was true, MoJo had not barked and he always barked at strangers. He was a good watchdog. But who? Who? Who took their daughter away? And why would she go without even a word? None of it made any sense.

***

It was the early hours of the fourth morning when they received a phone call. It was from one of their neighbours.

"Hey, Carolina, It's Pedro. We're at a hotel near the airport in Mexico City. I thought you guys must be here too. We thought we saw Stella last night."

Carolina gasped at his words. "What? Hold on. Oh My God!" She called out to Antonio. "It's Pedro Lupina. He says he's at a hotel in Mexico City. Antonio! He's seen Stella. She's okay. He says…oh…"

Antonio rushed into the room. Momentarily taken off guard at the sight of him, Carolina's excited words died in her throat. He looked as sexy as hell and despite everything her mouth grew dry with sudden hunger for him. His torso was bare. His blue jeans hung wide open, unzipped down to satin soft pubic curls, a mesmerizing glimpse of a beautiful cock clearly visible. She dragged her eyes away annoyed that she could become so easily distracted.

Her husband pulled her into strong muscled arms. "Thank God," he cried, his voice breathy and jubilant, "Oh, Thank God!"

They embraced for several seconds in elated relief, Carolina could hear the racing of his heart, smell the sweet musk of his skin. In his warm arms she felt safe and secure and filled with confident expectation. Everything was going to be okay. Soon her daughter would be safely home and they would be a family again. This was just another bump on the road of life.

Antonio grabbed the phone from her and put it to his ear. "Hey! Pedro, man. Thank God you've phoned us. Stella's been missing for four days. We've been going through fucking hell. Where are you? Which hotel is she at?"

"It's the Mandelay."

"Did you talk to her? Is she okay? Why did she run off like that?" Antonio spoke the words anxiously, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. "Oh God, man. You don't know what a relief this is. Is she with you now?"

"No, she not with me," Pedro replied, his voice hesitant, realizing his news may not be what Antonio expected. "Actually, I've only seen her the once. She was with some guy dressed up like a magician. He was wearing this crazy black cape. At first I didn't think it was Stella. She looked so different."

"What do you mean - different? Is she okay?"

"Well, like I said. I don't know if she's okay or not. I only saw her just one time. She was walking through the hotel lobby with this magician guy. If it is Stella, she looks like she's doped up, Antonio. Sorry to give you news like this. But I think she's on drugs."

"Christ Almighty! What the hell is going on? Did you talk to her?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, Antonio. I didn't think it was Stella. Maybe it wasn't. This girl sure didn't act like Stella. She's all meek and mild around this fella. He snaps his fingers and she comes a-running. That's not like your Stella."

"Listen, man" Antonio gripped the phone, "Go get her. Find out which room she's in and go get her. I'm on my way."

"You know what?" Pedro's voice was becoming careful and reserved, "Now that I think about it - I don't think it was Stella. This girl's eyes were blank; her hair looked like it hadn't been combed for days. Her clothes were dirty. She must've been some street kid. Not your Stella. I'm sure now it wasn't your Stella."

"I don't care - I want you to make sure. Go find her and keep her with you. I'll be there today. I'm leaving now. I can be at your hotel by nightfall."

There was a silence at the other end of the phone. "Pedro?" Antonio's voice hissed low and tense. "Speak to me, man."

"Well, actually we're not at the Mandelay any more. We stayed overnight last night and right now we're at the airport. It was Lola who said I should call." Lola was Pedro's wife. "She said it all seemed a bit weird and we should just check with you guys."

"Go back to the hotel and get her, man." Antonio's jaw pulsed with tension. "I'm begging you! She's in danger."

Pedro hesitated again, "Well, our plane's just leaving, Antonio. We've saved up a long time for this trip. We can't miss our flight. I'm sorry."

Antonio's face filled with angry black rage. "You fucking son of a bitch!"

But the line had gone dead.

"I'll fucking kill him." Antonio smashed the phone into the wall where the plastic split into a million pieces. He spun around and raced upstairs.

Carolina found him sitting on the bed loading a magazine into his gun.

"Antonio! Christ! What are you doing?" she cried in alarm as he slammed the magazine home with the heel of his hand.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

Carolina began to shake. "I'm phoning the police," she cried.

He pointed a trembling finger at her. "Don't you fucking call anyone. Understand? If you call the police they'll fuck everything up. I'm leaving now."

"But the Mexico City police can go to the hotel right away, right now, right this minute and get her. I'll call our police and they'll contact them. Oh God! Antonio! Don't go flying off in a rage like this. You've not slept or eaten for three days. It's a long drive, honey. You're crazy from lack of sleep."

He looked at her through narrowed bloodshot eyes. "This is between me and this perverted fucker. If he's put one hand on my daughter he's a dead man. I'll fucking riddle him with bullets and they'll have nothing but holes to bury. And when I see Pedro again I'll fucking rip his ass off and shove it down his throat."

"Antonio, please" Carolina cried. "Think about this rationally. The police will lock you up. They'll lock you up for a long time. Oh, honey, please don't act crazy like this. You're scaring me. And, anyway, Stella might not still be at the hotel. The Mandelay - that's a high-class expensive place. What would she be doing there? Maybe it's not her. Let me call the police and they can check for sure. They can check right away, honey." She spoke softly as if coaxing a child.

He glared at her with an expression that was almost frightening. He stood to his feet, tucked the loaded gun into the back waistband of his jeans and pulled a T-shirt over his head.

"I'm going to find him and then I'm going to kill him." He said abruptly. "And I don't want you phoning anybody. Not the police. Not anyone. This is my fight. I'll deal with it my way." He went swiftly from the room.

Carolina whirled about and started down the stairs after him, crying and sobbing hysterically. "Antonio. Antonio. Come back here! Please come back!" But he had raced out the door.

*** Armand lifted his head from the pillow and his golden eyes opened shining bright in the darkness. "He knows," he whispered against Stella's cheek. "He's coming."

"Who?" she asked, stirring. Her limbs were stiff and cold. Armand never offered any warmth no matter how close they lay. She shifted. Her stomach rumbled. She was hungry.

"Your father. He's coming for you." Armand's voice was low and strained.

"My father? My father is coming?" Stella was confused. Her head began a dull ache.

"Yes, my child. Go to sleep. It is the daylight now. We must rest."

Stella closed her eyes. Her father was coming? The thought gave her a familiar sense of comfort and she snuggled closer into the cold body next to hers. She licked her lips. When they awoke again it would be safely dark and Armand would order a raw steak for her from room service. She would eat her meal and then she would be ready for a nice visit with her father. She drifted to sleep with a satisfied smile. Something to look forward to.

***

Claudia Madras looked up as the man strode across the hotel lobby toward her. At first glance he looked like a vagrant come to beg money from the hotel guests. He was unkempt. His long hair curled wildly about his head. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked as if he had not shaved for days, nor perhaps slept either for his face was haggard and his clothes rumpled.

As he stomped across the lobby, he took a long drag from a cigarette and flicked it into an ashtray as he swept by. He strode forcefully up to the counter. "You in charge?" he asked gruffly.

"Can I help you, sir?" Claudia was wary and unsure. She saw at once that this man was very, very upset.

"Yes! Yes, you can help me," he was straining every nerve and muscle, obviously exhausted by worry and sleeplessness. He lit a cigarette with shaking hands. "My daughter is at this hotel," he said, his voice a low growl. "She's with some sick fucking pervert who's giving her drugs."

Claudia flinched. "This is a respectable hotel, sir," she replied coolly. "Please lower your voice and watch your language."

"Listen, lady. All I care about is my daughter. I know she's here and I want you to tell me where she is!"

He was tall and muscular and strong and very, very angry. Claudia took a step or two backwards, intending to turn and run if he made the slightest move toward her.

"What is your daughter's name?" she asked, her fingers shook as she opened the registration book.

"Stella. Stella Ramirez."

Claudia made a great effort of checking. Then she looked him squarely in the eyes and noticed for the first time what a handsome man he was. "There's no one here by that name," she said softly.

Antonio slammed a fist onto the counter causing a nearby vase of flowers to rattle violently. "Obviously she's not registered under her own name. I just told you. She's with some fucking pervert who's kidnapped her."

"I'll call the police if you don't calm down, sir," Claudia warned quietly. Frightened at the rage in his eyes, she made another small, almost imperceptible movement away from him. But she need not have worried for, without warning, the man suddenly crumpled into loud anguished sobbing. Claudia stared in surprised.

"Tell me where she is," he cried in desperation, tears spilling down his cheeks. "I've been driving all day to get to her. Where is she? Tell me where she is. Please tell me where she is. Oh Christ. She's just a kid."

Claudia experienced an overpowering rush of sympathy. She fought an irresistible urge to take the stranger into her arms and cradle his head against her breast. Tears streamed from his eyes. He shifted restlessly as if trying to escape an inner pain. Suddenly his two hands grabbed hers between them and he lifted his beautiful amber eyes and gazed up at her. "Help me," he begged.

And all at once she knew who he was. She had seen those eyes before.

"You're her father, aren't you?" she said softly. "He said you were dead."

***

Stella and Armand were in the car driving aimlessly about the city. Armand was looking for something and not finding it and his mood was petulant.

"Life today is too complicated," he complained. Stella could never quite figure how his hair blew about in a silky raven stream even though the windows of the car were closed.

"Everyone must have ID documents and official papers." Armand grumbled. "I cannot pass from one country to another without idiots asking me for all this paraphernalia. It's very annoying and very vexing to a man who has traveled this earth for hundreds of years."

Stella had heard this kind of talk from Armand before. She really didn't understand or care about his complaints. She looked down with a smirk at the pink T-shirt she wore. Printed across the front in red letters were the words - "I'm not listening". She had thought the T-shirt amusing when she first bought it at the mall, but now it seemed strangely appropriate.

As she stared down at herself, her eyes caught sight of something else. Blood. She pulled the T-shirt away from her body and peered down carefully. Blood. She had splatters of blood all over the front of her T-shirt. She dragged down the sun visor and looked at herself in the small mirror. God! She looked awful. Her hair hung in lackluster snarls and tangles and her skin was so pallid it scared her. She leaned forward staring at her reflection. Dark smudges sunk her eyes, the only colour in her face seemed to be her lips which were full and glistened ruby red. She rubbed her chin with her fingers. It, too, seemed to be stained with red.

As he drove Armand had been watching her from the corner of his eye - "You enjoyed your raw meat tonight, Stella. You dripped it all over yourself."

"I look terrible," she complained.

"Well," Armand smiled widely, revealing his strangely pointed teeth. "You have not crossed over yet. You are still mortal. And mortality is harsh even on the young. Immortality offers eternal beauty that never fades or spoils. I can give you immortality. But not yet. Not until he comes."

"Who?

"Your father. I told you. He's on his way."

"Then we should get back to the hotel," Stella cried anxiously. She did not want to miss her father. It seemed important that she should meet him.

"Not yet, my dear. I must take sustenance first. I have to face your father and I will need nourishment." He sighed deeply. "It is such a problem finding the necessary nourishment in today's world. Centuries ago it was easy. No one missed a few lost souls. Nowadays everything's a major investigation for the police. It must be recorded and written down and analyzed. I must stay one step ahead of all their damn computers. And when I find deserted lodgings in which to hide from the sun they are full of fools sticking needles into themselves. Everywhere is bustling with meddlesome people and every move I make must be in line with some foolish law demanding documents and official papers. The world is too crowded. It is very vexing." He turned to her, appearing somewhat sad and tragic. "The world keeps changing. But I cannot, you see. I cannot."

***

Claudia had taken Antonio down to the basement room and unlocked the door for him. He rushed expectantly inside, but the room was empty just as Claudia had predicted. He explored every corner anxiously but it was devoid of any signs of human occupancy. No clothes in the closet, no indication that the shower or bathtub had been used. Then his eyes alighted on a couple of soiled plates on the night table. He frowned.

Claudia saw his look. "Every night the man orders raw steak from the kitchen."

"Raw steak?! He eats raw meat?"

She shrugged. "Only the very prime cuts of steak. He wants it pan seared and blood raw inside. He pays a small fortune for it. He's got money. Lots of money. He dresses expensively, but his clothes are bizarre. He is a very strange man. His skin is very pale, almost white. He says he cannot go out in the sun. He told me that your daughter was his niece and that her father - you - had died. He said the whole family had this rare deadly allergy to the sun." Her eyes flicked over the healthy tan of the man before her. "Obviously he was lying," she remarked evenly.

Antonio pushed back his wild curls in confusion, "This makes no sense. What does he want with my daughter? Is he a pervert? A child molester? A pimp? What?"

Claudia experienced another great rush of sympathy for the man. "Shall I call for the police?"

Antonio looked up quickly. "No police. This is my fight," he said swiftly. "This is between me and him."

Claudia's gaze ran over his muscled arms. "Oh, I think you'll win," she smiled warmly

She moved toward the door. "Well, I've got to get back to the front desk. You may stay here as long as you like. You should probably get some sleep. They usually stay out all night. They never come back until 4 or 5 in the morning. You've got lots of time. Good luck."

Antonio had no intention of sleeping. He smoked and paced for more than an hour, his mind going over and over the story that Claudia had told him. He had expected to confront some drug addicted 18-year-old pimp, not a weirdo in a cape who ate raw meat. What the fuck was it all about?

A cell phone was clipped to his belt and he grabbed it quickly dialing his home. Carolina answered, her voice filled with worry. He didn't tell her everything. He only said he was in Stella's room waiting for her to return and that they would be home soon.

"Don't do anything foolish," Carolina implored.

After speaking with his wife, Antonio lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes. Within seconds he fell into a deep sleep, his abandoned cigarette burning down to the filter in the nearby ashtray.

*************

Stella sat in the car waiting for Armand. He had been gone for a long time and she was becoming bored. She wanted to get back to the hotel to meet her father. Her face scrunched in concentration as she tried to remember what he looked like. Why couldn't she remember? Why did her head hurt so much when she tried to think?

Suddenly the driver side door was wrenched open and Armand leaped into the car. He seemed out of breath and agitated. He started the engine and raced away from the curb with a squeal of tires.

He turned to her, his eyes angry and savage. "They think they can fight me," he cried frenetically. "I am far stronger than any ten of them. The fools! If they didn't fight then they wouldn't die. I would let them live. It's always a problem when they die. I don't have to take every single drop, you know. But if they fight back, then they forfeit their life."

He suddenly grimaced and shuddered. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ugh! The blood is criminally inferior these days. Nobody eats a nourishing meal anymore. Artificial preservatives and synthetic flavors. Ugh! Oh, how I long for the days of simple wholesome cooking. It makes such a difference in the quality of blood."

"We have to hurry back, Armand" Stella said excitedly, breaking into his words. "My father is waiting."

As he steered the car, Armand's golden eyes glowed. "Yes, yes. He waits. It is time for us to meet."