Here’s the deal: I’m feeling generous right now and will be posting parts of chapters every other day. This will go on until my publisher decides to pull the plug.
And you ask: Why are you doing this?
I’m looking for readers who enjoy the genre and hopefully hook some new ones in the process. Sound good?
All right, we’ll start with the first part of Chapter 1. If you have any questions, I will answer them as much as I can. If you like the post, feel free to share on Facebook, Tweet or reblog the page. Do we got ourselves a deal?
Harrow knew which types of characters surrounded him. The musty smell of the club was a clear indication of the mix of breathing beings in his midst. It was easy to discern that both human beings and his own kind were cloistered together in the dank room. Unknown to most humans, vampires did exist and had co-existed with them for a very long time. Mindful of his predicament — hunted and on the run — Harrow darted his eyes left to right. Scanning his surroundings for any possible threat, he also took in the general mood of the population around him.
The usual human emotions swirled around him: the anticipation of finding a lay for the night, the excitement of scoring drugs, and the de-stressing after a long day over a glass of alcohol. Vampire emotions were well represented, too; both males and females came with a heavy dose of lust for blood and sex. However, exterminating a sick vampire was always the top priority as far as vampire soldiers were concerned.
“Another drink for you?” the bartender asked, eyeing him with interest.
Nothing much had changed as far as his appearance went. The disease so far had only affected his eyes. Gone were the baby blues, replaced by the horrid white irises that begged to be concealed. Apart from being emaciated from lack of proper nourishment, he could still pass as normal. His blonde hair needed trimming, but that just lent a grungy look to his otherwise average form.
Harrow pulled down the hood of his sweatshirt to cover his face and adjusted his sunglasses to keep his secret hidden, making sure his identity could withstand the watchful eyes intent on taking him down. A warrant had long been issued for his arrest, but he was certain that it was closer to an order to kill. Harrow suspected that the VC would prefer him dead rather than alive. The illustrious Vampire Council had been tracking him, never relenting, and he’d been on the run for months now. The constant hiding was beginning to wear him down.
It had been a week since he’d last fed. If he intended to run and evade, he needed blood to keep going. There was no question that he could find someone here tonight; after all, money could buy anything. If not for the ache in his gut to continue surviving, he would rip away his hoodie and let his pursuers do away with him. However, he must keep trudging along, continuing to try to right whatever havoc he’d left in his wake.
He was a carrier of an unknown disease, one that he’d doubtless contracted during his transition. Harrow needed blood, now. The sooner he got it, the faster he’d be out of there, free to run and hide until hunger forced him to resurface again.
A woman slinked in his direction, wearing a mini skirt that fell just short of showing her ass and her fake blonde hair swaying in rhythm with her body’s movement. She stopped next to him at the bar and eyed him with interest. She could very well be the one to service his need. Feeding had grown trickier when he’d learned that even sucking was a sure-fire way to transmit the disease. The one way he could live with his conscience was to take fewer victims and feed less often. Yes, he was a vampire with a conscience; a sick irony, if he said so himself. He would withdraw just enough blood to get him through another week or so, and human food could buy him some time — at least a few days before his hunger for the real deal would begin gnawing at him again.
At this rate, there was no doubt that he would be dead soon.
Returning the woman’s gaze through his dark glasses, he checked out her Collagen-infused lips and flashed her a tight smile.
“Looking for some action tonight?” the woman asked in a piercing, annoying pitch. Her smile promised hours of fun.
“Yeah. Do you have any X?” Harrow replied.
If she were drugged, it would be easier for him to draw blood from her without biting. A single needle, like the one he’d pocketed earlier, would do the job.
“Of course,” she answered with enthusiasm, grabbing his hand from the counter.
“No,” Harrow exploded. He wasn’t into touchy-feely interaction. The lesions he was sporting were very much active, and last thing he wanted was to spread the damn disease. He didn’t want to take a chance tonight. Smirking, he shook his head at her now-fearful expression.
“I’m good. Just show me the way.”
His body rebelled, weakening with every slight movement. He got up from the bar, leaving enough dough to cover his drink plus tip. With every passing day, his lesions became more pronounced. Until he fed, the wounds would continue to open, and he’d slowly waste away. Not a party. He’d seen it firsthand, and he was not jumping for joy at the prospect. The pain was no picnic, either.
All of a sudden, he picked up a nasty emotion rolling in thick waves from behind, more potent and hateful than the rest. Something wasn’t right.
He narrowed his eyes and sniffed the air around him, sensing an immediate threat. Just as he whipped his head around, an axe whizzed past his face, missing him by a narrow margin. It landed straight on the wall, splintering the wood on contact.
Time to run!
His head wouldn’t stand a chance if that axe landed on it. Dangeran. It was obvious that the blade, though rusty, had been constructed of the one metal that could kill vampires in an instant. Anyone who wanted to kill a vampire would be sure to use the best blade out there, and rusty or not, it was good enough to sever his head in pieces in two minutes, tops.
Harrow swung around and made a beeline for the exit, knocking down several people in his haste to get out of the club. The wind picked up, and the lashing cold bit at his skin. In his weakened condition, being killed was a big possibility. The clicking of his boots was loud on the damp pavement while he tried to outrun his pursuer and create distance between them. It wouldn’t be easy.
Harrow’s feet took him to the subway, where he might be able to lose his attacker. The well-lit underground station seemed to be an ideal place to hide, with the number of people still milling about. Maybe he’d get lucky and the vampire wouldn’t continue to pursue him in the presence of human population. It would be a gamble, since none of these vampire soldiers ever cared about witnesses, or even unintended casualties.
He slowed down to a brisk walk, trying to act inconspicuous and avoid eye contact. The last thing he needed was curious humans staring at him. Anyone could discover what he was if he wasn’t careful. After making it through the turnstile, he was turning the corner when massive hands clamped around his neck, holding him in a vice-like grip. Staggering backward, he lost his footing in an instant. The hands tightened and began to choke him.
His mind worked feverishly while he tried to find a way to escape his impending death. Harrow spread his legs and planted them firm on the ground. With quick motions, he slid to his left and twisted his body, locking his arm around his attacker’s torso. He leaned forward and threw the vampire over his shoulder. With a resounding thud, the vampire hollered in pain when he hit the ground, but his recovery was quick. The assailant grabbed Harrow’s leg before he could break away, twisting it and yanking him back until he fell on the ground. Grunting with pain and exhaustion, he felt a thick arm slide around his neck to put him in a headlock. Harrow struggled to free himself from the man’s death grip, twisting his body and prying the hands off his neck, but his weakened state made it close to impossible.
Harrow gasped, “What the hell do you want from me?”
“I want you dead,” the vampire answered.
“A — lot of people — want me dead.” He had to choke out the words.
“You’re a son of a bitch — an asshole who has infected many.” The vampire squeezed Harrow’s neck harder. He felt his grasp slipping away, and his eyes began to roll back. People were watching them now, the struggle having attracted bystanders’ attention. Some were even bold enough to move closer, intent on seeing two men battle for supremacy. Most of them could see that the bigger of the two had this in the bag and were assuming that the smaller man was dead meat.
“Someone call the cops!” one bystander yelled.
“Yeah!” another person agreed.
Then a shot was fired, the surprise of the sudden noise distracting the grappling vampires for a moment. The sound ricocheted off the concrete walls of the enclosed space while the two men continued to skid and roll on the pavement. Harrow was losing ground, but he kept trying to fight off his attacker. Startled people had started running in every direction at the sound of the gun going off, ducking on the ground or seeking cover.
“You two: get on your feet and follow me. If you don’t, I will blow your heads into oblivion!” the man ordered in an authoritative tone that brooked no argument. He cocked his shotgun once more.
What the hell?
Not enough? Well, I hope to see you all back here again for the next part. Don’t forget to share this goody with your friends, relatives and cyber friends. Thanks for reading!
Click on the links below and purchase your copy!
Barnes and Noble-Paperback