Somewhere on the other side of the world, a master vampire, having slipped totally into insanity, paused in his hunt and fell to his knees. A pain unlike any he’d ever experienced momentarily crippled him.
While he knelt there, panting, trying to breathe through the pain he knew would surely rip him in half, visions of a frightened, yet needy little female, kneeling before him with her belly large and swollen, smiling up at him as he tore into his own wrist and fed her from his vein, flooded his mind.
In the far reaches of his demented brain, he realized the pain he felt was her spirit leaving this world for the next, and he smiled through the pain. Another vision filled his mind. That of a female, her dark hair piled high on her head, jewels at her throat, her ruby red lips pursed in disgust as he knelt before her begging her to save him. To join her life to his, to use her magic to save his worthless soul before he was too far gone and beyond any chance at all. But she’d laughed at him. Refused him. Left him to waste into the soulless creature he was destined to become.
The picture in his mind shifted and the image of the beautiful young girl with the jewels decorating her body merged with the one of the elderly lady, grey hair swirled upon her head in much the same way as the young woman who scorned him in the gardens decades ago. Only now, she hurled insults and spells at him as he laughed at her attempt to keep him away from the granddaughter she so loved, as the granddaughter labored to bring a child into the world — his child.
The vampire, Alastair, plunged his clawed fist into the chest of his most recent victim, grasping the still beating heart and tearing it from the chest of the male before him. He brought it to his mouth, sinking his pointed teeth into it and sucking the blood from it. He grinned again, blood dripping from his chin as he raised his head, turning his face to the sky. “You are welcome, Marceline,” he said aloud to the night sky, and the desecrated bodies strewn about him. “You are most welcome.”
Seventeen Years Later
Chapter 4
Solange watched her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her thick hair into a manageable ponytail high on her head. She sighed as she slipped on her black leggings and her matching black sports bra. She was tired. But training still had to happen. It was nothing new. She’d been training all her life.
Her earliest memories were of training. Her Sensei squatting down behind her when she was little more than a toddler, patiently placing her arms and hands in the right position, then looking down to arrange her feet and legs, only to have to address her hands again. Her Sensei was a Sixth Degree Black Belt in Ishinru Karate, a Second Degree Black Belt in Japanese Jiu Jitsu, a First Degree Black Belt in Japanese Judo, a Second Degree Black Belt in Philippino Escrima. He was a Master in the Art of Bladed Warfare, the Escrima Sticks, the Long Bow, and Psi’s, as well as a Master in the use of Japanese Katana — the art of using the long sword. And these weapons, thanks to her Sensei, had become second nature to her. She had no idea where Grandmama had found him, or how she’d convinced him to agree to train a little girl, a toddler at that, but she had. And he had. And now, at seventeen years old, she was a Third Degree Black Belt herself, with honors and skill sets that far outshone many who were twice her age, and that would one day rival her Sensei’s.
She smiled thinking about her Sensei. He had become more than just a teacher to her. He’d become a role model. Someone to look up to, with gifts and beliefs to be emulated. Had she any goals other than murder and vengeance in mind, she’d have aspired to be just like him. But she wasn’t that good of a person — she never would be. It just wasn’t in her to be good, and she was okay with that. Some people were inherently good, others inherently bad, and still others never even figured out what they were. At least she was lucky enough to have been taught to harness her inner evil and use it for good. Solange paused to think about it. Vengeance was good, right? It was delivering justice for those who couldn’t seek it for themselves. That’s how it was in her case anyway. Solange reached for her boxing gloves, left untouched for the last few days. She’d even taken boxing when Sensei had to leave town from time-to-time. He’d leave his son in his stead to come by and work out with her. He was a professional boxer, and was never disappointed in the speed with which she picked up the drills and footwork he taught her.
Where most girls her age were flirting with the boys in school, buying fancy dresses, or having highlights put in their hair, and planning senior prom, she started with weapons training at 4:00 A.M. each morning. Then she’d dutifully finish her home schooling, practice her craft — witchcraft that is, and eat every little healthy meal and snack placed before her every three hours. She practiced the old Latin spells her great-grandmother insisted she learn and be able to repeat verbatim in her sleep, and she practiced her gymnastics. She did it all or some combination thereof every single day.
She sat dressed and ready to go, on the edge of her bed in the very room she was born in, and took a small 5” x 7” framed photo off her nightstand. She cradled the photo in her hand and gently ran the fingers of her right hand down the face of the girl in the photo. She seemed so shy, so quiet, and kind. Solange’s eyes misted over and blinked away the tears. Grandmama had never lied to her about her beginnings. She knew she was the result of a vampire’s attack on her mother. She knew her mother had thrown herself out of the second floor window to protect Solange from her own hunger. And she knew she’d been cursed from the moment she was conceived. But that was okay. She’d made peace with it, to some extent, anyway. And she saw everything she worked toward as her right, her right to defend her mother’s honor. Her right to destroy the male that had destroyed her mother, and by so doing, to take vengeance into her own hands. It was her sole focus in life. Kill vampires. All vampires. At least until she found the one. The one that had created her, then, she’d have to see how she felt after she’d sent him to hell. She may continue with wiping them from the face of the earth, and then again, she might not.
Solange lifted the photo to her lips and kissed it. “I’m going to get him, Mom. Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” She replaced the photo on her nightstand and stood. She leaned over touching the floor, then stretching even further, placed her hands on the floor between and even a few inches behind her feet. She held the position for a moment then straightened and twisted her back first one way, then the other. Working the soreness out of her muscles from this morning’s workout. Sensei Advinadeto may have been her trusted and beloved Sensei, but he surely didn’t take it easy on her. Every inch of progress she made, she fought for — she even on occasion bled for. And she’d have it no other way.
She needed everything she could take away from her training. Even on the days she happened to see girls her own age in town and became momentarily envious of their easy, superficial lives, she still wouldn’t trade with them. She had a vengeance to deliver. A vengeance that would never allow her to rest, until it was delivered. And she renewed her promise to her mother every single day just to be sure that the promise was fresh in her mind, fresh off her lips, fueling her heart and soul.
Solange left her third floor bedroom and started down the grand staircase to the first floor. She was only eight steps down from the third level when her Sensei launched an attack on her. She was lifted off her feet from behind, her Sensei holding her by the throat, as a real attacker would do. Solange lifted her body and using the strength of his hold on her, swung her feet up and over his head, breaking his grip on her throat and forming her own hold on his throat from behind. She held him tight, her arm across his throat, her other hand wrapped around her own wrist, pulling for added tension across his throat, one leg wrapped around his abdomen, holding his arms down so that he couldn’t pry her off.