The Dragon's Blood (Part 77)
In which Bryan Wylde faces Stefan Blackmoon...
77
They were all dead. Every one of them, all but the Dare's of course, Bishop wanted to save those self righteous bastards for last.
Brian Wylde would've taken them first, would've gutted them both, not even bothered with the gift. Then the babe, oh the babe, she would make a delectable morsel now, would she not?
Perhaps he might be able to get away with that one after all, they'd most certainly be going there next.
Bishop wouldn't approve of his taking the child unbidden, might even see that as some sort of affront to his supposed authority. Good, he hoped that's what he thought, for that was exactly what it was after all. Then it would be over, then he would have shown the Cocheta, that monstrous thing thing that called itself Reginmal, that he, Brian Wylde was worthy. He'd already survived the test Reginmal had given, had survived his mere presence. Now with Viccars gone and no competition save Bishop himself, Wylde could at last ascend to his master's side.
He pondered that as he crouched on the roof of the Chapman house, allowing the others to feed within, his bloodlust already sated. The gentle flurries landed all about him, touching him not all. What was cold after all? Only something that concerned mortals. He was of the Dragon's blood now and that fire that raged within kept him as warm as if he had stood before a bright blazing hearth naked as the day of his first birth.
Through the snowfall he saw the figure approaching, cloaked in black, a wide brimmed hat over his face. At first he thought it one of the others, it was hard to tell in the limited visibility. His heightened senses afforded him only so much in weather such as this.
Then he saw how the flurries seemed to retreat from this figure, forming a cone of nothing about him, allowing him to pass unmarked. As he came closer he saw that the figure's cloak was dry and though the temperature was cold enough that
any one mortal should be absolutely shivering, this man walked steadily, unpreoccupied with covering himself at all, allowing the cloak to billow around him like the leathery wings of some great bat. The shadows, the very dark of the night followed suit with the snow, retreating from him as if in fear of his touch.
That was the figure, the intruder, the one who'd started the entire commotion of this eventful fearful night.
He felt the sensation slowly but surely creeping up his spine, that old friend of his, fear. A great urge to retreat from that apparition came over him as well. He wanted to follow the shadows, run alongside them, get away, far away, leave the Cocheta, Bishop, all of them behind and get the hell away.
He could, after all, rule this New World, terrorize the savages, create his own army of darkness, just as long he got the hell away from that man, that blasted walking thing that so purposefully and arrogantly approached.
He was just about to do that, to get the hell away when he saw the figure halt in his tracks, saw him stall when Michael Bishop stepped out from behind the Dare house.
Bishop just stood there before him, the first to challenge the intruder, their great leader, the bastard.
Wylde dropped down off the roof of the house, his boots crunching the new snow they landed on, his fangs bared. It was time, he wouldn't flee, his fear was great, almost palpable, but even that paled before his outrage at allowing Bishop to be the one.
He approached and faced the stranger himself, standing a good distance from Bishop and maybe one step closer to the cloaked individual.
The others followed now, they'd been watching, all of them. Perhaps they'd felt it, perhaps whatever this man exuded from the very elements affected all their kind like this. It was almost a certainty that all of them, every one, had been about to flee until Bishop and himself dared to step forward.
Whatever that had been, it was gone now and they approached, all of them surrounding the stranger, their fanged mouths wide, the blood of their fresh kills staining their clothing. They growled and howled, made bold by their sheer numbers, a good two dozen of them crowded around the intruder, each of them ready to leap forward, to rend to slash, to slay.
The stranger remained still, the full moon, huge in the sky behind him, the storm clouds parting just enough for it's light to envelop the scene with brilliance.
It didn't stay long, in fact, it was gone almost immediately, retreating back into the storm, afraid as well.
End Part 76
If you find yourself interested in the whole damnedable thing and wanna throw me a few bucks, here's a link to it on Amazon.