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Chapter Eighteen

When I release my jaw, the bloodless heart drops back into the man’s open chest. I’ve sucked it dry. And his son, and his wife. They were eating dinner. We overcame their defenses so fast the man barely had a chance to grab a knife.

“You’ll heal as long as you feed,” Master says, clapping my shoulder.

The pain is gone. The bones I broke in the tunnels throb as they would after a hard day’s work.

My teeth and joints don’t hurt. My mind is free to catalog the horror of the last hours.

“Your first wasn’t a Strega, but it was good enough. You have proven yourself worthy.”

I’ve killed men on the battlefield, but they were armed and they fought with courage. This is different. These were citizens.

The boy lies on the table with his legs draped over the side as if he dropped down for a nap in the middle of eating the stew glazing his cheeks.

He is maybe fourteen summers. His shirt’s been torn off under his right arm, where the flesh has been opened.

A dry tube pokes out like a dead snake. I know this tube from the war, but this one is so empty of blood that is has gone white.

In flashes of a clear mind, I remember sucking on the end while he writhed and died. And the woman. Her dress is around her waist and her legs are open. What have I done?

Where is Laro?

“What does that mean?” I leap to my feet. “Worthy of what?”

“Immortality.” He stands, putting his hand on my shoulder.

It weighs more than I could have borne two days ago.

“You passed the first test when you survived the siring. Many die when they change from animal to fledgling. Many more die because they don’t have the strength to kill.

Some die because they cannot feed. Others because they cannot hunt. ”

I step from under him to crouch and pull the woman’s skirt down to cover her. “I will not be like you.”

He takes me by the hair and throws me down. Now that I am blood-full, I am strong enough to writhe out from under him and punch his face, but I am not strong enough to fight for long. He bends me over the table and pins me so hard that I cannot move.

“You will never be like me. I was sired by a mountain.”

I am free. My body and heart do not serve him. I was trained to fight. He is just a brute. I grab his wrist, and with a twist and push, he is on the floor.

“Ha!” He jumps up in one fast move.

We grapple over the family’s dinner table. I hold my own, but eventually lose and end up under his boot.

“You will live. Until the day someone removes your head from your body or drives a stake through your heart. Until you are left in the sun, where your eyes will burn so hot nothing is left in your skull but ash, or your entire body is thrown onto the fire, you will feed, and hunt, and when you are stronger, you will sire more to serve me.”

“Yes, Master.” I lie of my own free will.