“Oh, so beautiful,” he whispers. He’s always loved to see me cry, and he’s always gone as far as necessary to cause me to. He stares without blinking at my suffering face, feeding on it.
“Pain is so beautiful, sweet Isolde. It is the essence of human nature, you see. It’s what makes humans human—their ability to suffer. You know, there are experts who say that’s how you measure whether a creature should be treated with compassion or not. They say you only have to ask yourself one question—can this creature suffer? Because, you see, suffering is the most precious feeling. It’s what connects you to your basest instincts, suffering is the place where people truly become themselves. This, right here, Isolde, is the real you. It’s even more real than your skin.”
He slowly wipes a tear off my face with his finger, and licks it. He rolls his eyes in delight, his lips parting as he abandons himself to the sensation. “The taste of compassion. Exquisite. Did I ever tell you I could taste people’s emotion from their tears? Yes, it’s what got me interested in suffering in the first place. Oh, look how I’m opening up. You’re so good at this, no wonder I fell in love with you.”
I want to scream at him how much I hate him, but I’m too afraid of the repercussions. I’m a coward, because he’s an expert at giving pain. He always gives me just a little bit more than I can take, raising the level of what I can put up with every time, so that he can keep increasing the intensity with each session.
“I was six, playing, when I discovered this inclination. It was the Middle Ages, you know, axe throwing was considered an acceptable pastime for children. And what better way to practice on living targets than practicing on animals. But the cat I had chosen from a distance had an owner, an old widowed lady, whose five sons were all at war. The cat was all she had, and well, she broke down after the creature fell dead from the barrel. That was the first glimpse I got of the authentic human soul, of how it bares itself in the face of suffering like a beautiful maiden losing all her clothes, like Venus herself emerging from a dusty, chapped shell. Nothing is more human than pain, Isolde. I stood fascinated, I got high on the experience. But after a while the effect wore off, and I craved for more—like any addict, I admit.”
“You are a born henchman,” I say through my teeth, saliva pooling at the edges of my mouth, my cheeks burning from everything I feel inside—anger, hurt, the need to pour his own poison down his throat.
“Let me tell you a secret, Isolde, from husband to wife.” He bends close and touches his lips to my ear gently. It’s actually barely a touch, it’s like the brush of a wet snail. “I’m not done with the boy yet. By the time this is over, I’ll make Tristan DeKnight bare his true soul—not to me, but to himself. I promise you, the vampire assassin will know a whole new level of misery. I will make of him my masterpiece.”
CHAPTER V – Saving Isolde
Tristan
MARK SERPAINT CONDUCTS his business in this town from an obscure strip club by the sea. The place seems carved into the limestone slope, its terrace overlooking the sea. This place has been abandoned for years, and it’s falling apart from neglect, but it doesn’t matter, because clients are only interested in what’s inside.
“You like the girls, Tristan?” Serpaint calls at me over the music. “Or do you prefer vampiresses, like many of your kind? I heard most vampires see human women only as food, falling in love with them is almost like falling in love with your pet. Is that true?”
“It is.”
“So you wouldn’t like to fuck one of the girls? No taking their blood, though, they’re making us good money here.”
“I’m good, thank you.”
The red lights slink around the club, Serpaint’s corner seeming a big leather cocoon from where he presides over the girls turning and twisting around poles. All that covers them are sparkling stars on their nipples, and thongs.
The scent of their blood and sweat wafts over to me, and my nostrils flare. I haven’t hunted in days now, I’m gonna have to find release. I glance around—Serpaint’s men have the most mouth-watering scents in here, not to mention that his own scent makes me want to rip his throat open. Despite the way I hate him—or maybe because of it—I can imagine feeding on him like a beast, hurting him and drinking him at the same time. Maybe because of all the power in his blood.
“Okay, now I’m even more curious about your sex life.”
“What’s so interesting about my sex life?” I throw over my shoulder.
“You’re being secretive about it, and that compels.” I glance at him, and he grins knowingly. “But you know that.”
I return my attention to the club, my eyes rapidly assessing the people. They’re all human besides Serpaint’s guards, who are all at and around this table. Even the two big bouncers outside are fully human. They clearly have military training but are, still, only men.
Serpaint moves closer and puts a long, alien-like hand on my shoulder. “You know, there’s a reason why I’m asking all this.” His eyes dart over to the bar where Soraya sits, his serpent assistant. “I think she’s into you.”
Indeed, she looks my way from the bar, smiling. She has very white and very big teeth, looking alien-like with her physique that’s specific to serpents. She’s wearing a tight green outfit that covers her from throat to ankle, singling her out as someone who is to be respected, not hit on. Her dyed black hair is now loose, but still doesn’t balance out her too-long face, and she’s wearing tons of makeup. Seems she’s the matron of this place.
“I’ve been looking for a worthy man for her for a long time,” Mark says as I’m studying the woman that I intend to make him fall in love by using the potion.
“Maybe you and her would make a good couple,” he continues, “especially considering the difficulties between my people and yours. It could be a strategic alliance, like back in our time, when rivaling kings had their relatives marry to secure peace and joint dominance over territories.”
I look him straight in the face and raise an eyebrow. “Really? You’re thinking about marriage, no less?”
He shrugs and puts his hands up as if displaying his innocence. “You can take her for a test drive, I don’t mind.”
“Sir,” one of the serpents intervenes. “He’s here.”
All eyes turn to a heavyset man with a beard and thick black curly hair, throwing money at a dancing blonde, and acting like he owns the place. Serpaint raises two fingers like a king, and his men grab the guy just as he’s about to get a lap dance, escorting him over. They invite him to take a seat opposite from us.
The guy doesn’t seem intimidated. If anything, he’s pissed. From the corner of my eye I spot a retinue of tattooed men in jeans and leather heading over, which means he’s someone with power, someone with people to back him up.
“You have guts, Serpaint,” the man says with hostility. He’s either a big somebody in this town, or he’s plainly an imbecile, treating Mark like an equal. “I sold you this place, and now you treat me like this?” He jolts forward and holds up a chubby finger with a thick golden ring in Mark’s face. “Lemme tell you something then, I don’t like half the stuff you’re doing with it. You’re giving me trouble with old clients. They say you’ve replaced their dealers, and even introduced some new powder that does whacky shit to people.”