A Tale Of Wyst
Hello everybody! This is Raye Firearrows, one of the duo from Ms. Raye Sinic. This is my first net-posted original story, and I hope everybody (if anyone) that reads this would be kind enough to review. So far, this fiction is mostly angsty, but hopefully in later chapters it will have more romance and drama, as well as some action. Be kind in your reviews, and don't overly flame. Constructive criticism is always accepted and welcomed! And if I don’t get enough people wanting me to continue, I’ll refrain from posting further chapters.
{Claimer}
This entire story is property of Raye Firearrows. All characters and events were created solely by me. If you wish to use my characters or plotline in your own work, please email me at [email protected] to ask for permission. I will be sorely pissed, not to mention upset, if I find out someone has used them without permission. Well, now that my bitchy rant is over, please enjoy and review! *(^.^)*
Chapter One: The Arrival of Wyst
Clothed in darkness, stained with depression and anguish, she flitted shadowy through the blackness, a wraith in the night.
She paused in the doorway leading to another hollow life, full of endless misery and even more death. But she had to go on - the life behind her held even less promise than the one ahead.
Besides, her thirst had become unbearable.
* * * *
She was not of the First - no, she did not have that awful honor. But she had been one of the First's lovers - and meals. She had been a young shepardess, barely a maiden, when that fey creature had stolen up from the darkness it had been born of, so tempting and alluring. He had made quick work of her, then had moved on for more prey, as was the way of his kind.
She had not known what to do, when she had first discovered the terrible truth. But her new instincts guided her well to maintain her cursed existence.
Monster she may be, but weakling she was not.
In the first few decades, her instincts and eternal hunger drove and controlled her. She survived immersed in a sort of trance, detached from the horror and death she left trailing in her wake.
But she slowly woke from her damned trance, awakened to the reality of the terror she was. She was able to override her instincts for the most, to ignore her hunger until it was at its extreme.
But monster she still was.
Wyst was one of the few vampires left in the world.
* * * *
Seth Parkers looked down at the newest victim, this one a young girl. Her blond hair was darkened by the night, her wide, glassy eyes staring blankly into an empty eternity.
But the darkness of the night did little to hide the profusion of blood reddening the woman's throat and plain, ripped gray dress.
"It's another one, isn't it, Seth?"
Seth looked up from the body at the sound of the soft, hesitant voice. "Gregory, why are you here?"
The light haired man stepped closer, his face pale and drawn. "I went to your office to speak to you, and Dawn told me you'd been called out on urgent business."
Seth sighed and nodded, draping the white sheet over the fallen girl. "It is another one."
Gregory paled even further. "What's doing this, Seth?"
The darker haired man sighed and shook his head helplessly. "I've no idea. It's like nothing I've ever seen. So many murders, all in the same way. It's almost unnatural." The man's hooded eyes met Gregory's. "It's almost cult-like. Either that, or we've got a serial killer on the loose."
"I think it is unnatural, Seth," the young man's friend whispered, fingering his holy cross necklace and rosary in nerveless hands. "People of the church are beginning to whisper of . . . unholy thing in the nights."
Seth heaved a long suffering sigh and stood, clapping his nervous friend on a shoulder. "Gregory, you put too much faith into the whispers."
"No, I put none of my faith in the whispers. I invest my faith wisely, and give it unto His hands," Gregory said obstinately. The young pastor loudly cleared his throat, hands clutching at his cross. "But still, Seth, the puncture marks!"
Seth steered Gregory from the darkened alley, out into the moonlit street. "Go home and get some sleep, Gregory. You need it."
Gregory nodded with frightened eyes and hurried off down the street with furtive glances from side to side.
Seth turned and started off in the opposite direction, feeling a cold dread creep upon him despite everything, as he thought of Gregory's fear- filled eyes. So like the dead girl's . . .
* * * *
Wyst slipped quietly into the town - unnoticed, unwelcomed, and unheralded. Her hunger burned in her throat, sent an angry humming to the back of her mind.
But the girl's will still overpowered the thirst of her vampiress half. Although she had given into the desire to enter the quiet, sleeping town, she still controlled herself.
But that was a small, meaningless victory as she entered the town's darkened streets. Even as she first set foot in its limits, Wyst could sense others of her kind, lingering in the shadows cast by the town, preying upon its inhabitants. The smell of death was heavy in the air, and the dryness of the undead lingered heavier.
Wyst was tempted to turn and flee, to return to the wilds. But her vampiress half was yet too strong. She continued down the street.
That was when she saw him.
He was hurrying towards her, eager to be on his way. She was so surprised by the unexpected arrival- the first human she had seen in years - she didn't even try to dive into the hidden shadows.
He was a young man, with dark hair and eyes, dressed in black. He froze in midstep, surprise filling his gray eyes.
They locked eyes for one fleeting moment.
Then Wyst turned and fled, running into a darkened alley.
* * * *
The young woman frozen in the street was so strange, but beautiful, to the awestruck Seth. Her long black hair flowed past her knees, and her black dress, hanging elegantly in silken tatters, clung tightly to her lithe body.
But for all her beauty, her eyes were frightening. A dark, almost black natural violet, they glowed eerily in the darkness, piercing Seth to the soul. The inner light that shone so brightly contrasted sharply to the woman's pale, almost waxen complexion. Her face was that of a dead woman's, but her eyes glowed with an almost demonic hunger.
And then she broke the frightening gaze, fleeing down an alley. Surprise released Seth quickly, curiosity urging him to follow the strange beauty.
But when Seth reached the alley and peered into its depths, the corridor was empty.
The woman had disappeared as quickly and silently as she had come.
* * * *
It began to rain, cold and pelting on the hard streets as Wyst ran, oblivious to all around her. At the sight of the young man something had stirred within her, something dangerous and frightening. Terrified of the things she could wreak if she lost control, Wyst had fled rather than take the risk.
Death seemed to close in on all sides, stifling and suffocating. She had to escape from it all, to find shelter. But for those of her kind, shelter from evil was nonexistent.
With a splash, Wyst paused in her headlong flight. She had reached the end of the small street. A small church sat before her, drab in color but clean in appearance.
A shiver of horror ran along her spine as the compulsion to run seized her. The mere sight of that simple cross hanging above the door repulsed her.
But here was the place of sanctuary she yearned for. None of her kind could taint this holiest of places.
The only problem was forcing herself to enter the church.
* * * *
Step by shaking step, Wyst forcibly pushed herself into the holy church. The door swung shut behind her with a click - to her heightened hearing, it sounded as if a cell door had locked behind her, never to be opened again. Not only was she being daring, but foolish as well to enter a church. But she was also desperate, and this situation called for risks.
Though her legs threatened to betray her with each tedious, trembling step, she forced herself to continue, until she had at last reached the clothed altar. With every nerve afire, every muscle tense, she knelt before the altar, clutching her seizing hands together as she did so. Bowing her head, her trembling increasing with each passing moment, Wyst cried out silently with what was left of her heart, to the presence high above she had long ago forsaken by necessity.
"Are you in need of help, child?" A soft, kindly voice murmured suddenly, startling Wyst violently from her prayers.
She spun about, heart in mouth, a terror she was not familiar with creeping upon her unawares.
A young man, with strain and worry heavy in his hazel eyes, stood behind her, dressed in the black uniform of a preacher, with his pale brown hair cropped short. But while he was young, his face was soft with warmth and kindness and his eyes dark with a wisdom older than his years. His nervous, constantly moving fingers clutched at a rosary strand and small, simple wooden cross.
Wyst forced herself to regain control of her disobeying body. She was shivering far too much.
"You could say that, Father, but you could no longer give it me," Wyst whispered out, unmoved from her kneeling position.
Gregory's brow furrowed in surprise. This woman was so strange and exotic, almost frightening to look at. She was a beauty, yes, with her dark hair and mysterious eyes. But her waxen complexion was that of a dead woman's, and her eyes held no warmth and kindness in them. It was not as if she seemed a cruel person - that much Gregory was sure of. It was just the sort of coldness that came from one who was too wise, who had seen enough horrors in life to harden her. She was shaking fit to fall apart, and seemed almost ill, her eyes glazed with something deeper than terror and darker than mere pain.
And that accent . . . Gregory had never heard such an accent in all of his seemingly-long twenty-two years. It had the feel of ancient wear to it, as if it belonged to someone born centuries ago, and had remained unchanged in all those days.
But that was obviously impossible.
"You are new to town?" Gregory said not quite in question. Cawdell was not a big city, and supported only two churches. Gregory was sure he knew nearly everyone who lived within walking distance of both.
Wyst allowed the smallest of nods, but her eyes were wary. If this man of the church knew what to look for, she might never leave this holy ground.
But she immediately checked herself. This young preacher had the look of a kind man about him, one who would not harm even if forced to. And vampires were wily, never allowing themselves to be seen to those other than their own kind and their unfortunate prey - how would he recognize her for what she was? Besides, she was in a church, and anyone who knew a bit of vampire-lore knew that evil creatures of the night such as she were not welcomed on sanctified ground.
"Do you need food, shelter, clothes?" Gregory offered softly, eyes gentle and caring. Wyst's heart tore at the sight of those eyes. This was one of the few pure men she had ever seen in her hellish long life. Even without truly knowing this man, Wyst knew he was of the sort to help anyone, even evils, before asking unwanted questions. He was a trusting sort, a kind and gentle, well-liked and admired man. He lived to serve his Lord, as was right for any man of his position.
But she also knew that if ever one of her kind found this man, they would not hesitate to kill him, holy cross or no.
Gregory was both surprised and worried when the seemingly-sickly woman pushed herself to her feet, swaying only slightly. She smiled at him, a smile that somehow warmed those unnatural eyes and seemed to draw life back to her pale cheeks. She paused to regain her strength, then stepped forward, towards the door.
"Wait!" Gregory cried, reaching out to catch her arm before she could pass him. As his fingers enclosed around a thin wrist, something happened to the preacher which he would neither understand nor believe afterwards.
A flash of a strange picture blinded and disoriented him. He saw the strange woman, standing alone in a field littered with dead and dying, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks, dark red against the hellish black of the sky.
Wyst turned in surprise as the young preacher released her wrist quickly, as though she had burned him. He stared at her with wide, incomprehensible eyes.
"Who are you?" he whispered softly, curiosity and something more glinting in his eyes.
Wyst paused, her breath hanging ragged in her throat. What had he seen? What did he know of her, from that sudden contact?
"I am called . . . Wyst," she relented finally. She looked up from the floor, catching the young preacher's eyes with hers. "And, Father, never journey from the safety of this place after the sun has fallen."
Without another word, Wyst turned and fled with all the speed her kind possessed, wrenching open the door and running into the rain and darkness of night.
Gregory closed the door behind her, staring unseeing into the blackness.
* * * *
Seth started awake from dreams of a swirling mass of blackness as a loud, urgent knock resounded from his door.
"Parkers! Parkers!"
The man heaved a long-suffering sigh and swung his legs from his warm, soft bed, cradling his suddenly-aching head in his hands. "What do you want, Dawn?!"
"It's not me, Parkers, it's Gregory who wants to speak with you!" The impatient, certainly haughty voice of Seth's secretary snapped waspishly through the door. Seth grinned slightly. It seemed he wasn't the only one who disliked being raised from bed so early.
"What time is it?" Seth groaned, searching around vainly for a discarded shirt.
"Five bloody o'clock!" Dawn hissed, as if for Gregory's ears only. "And the sun's just barely risen. You idiot!" Now came the sounds of muffled slaps. "I need my beauty sleep!"
"Don't have to tell me," Seth muttered rebelliously.
"Seth Redin Parkers!!" Dawn screamed furiously. "I heard that!"
"Those sharp pointy ears don't miss much!" Seth snapped back.
When in a good mood, the young and certainly pretty Dawn was a perfectly amiable person to get along with, and was in fact great company for gossip. But in a bad mood . . . Not even Gregory had the patience enough to be civil to Dawn Abigail Night.
"Gregory, did you hear that!" Dawn hissed in a scandalized tone of voice. She clearly expected her long-time boyfriend to do something about the rude, unmanageable Seth Parkers.
"Yes, dear," Gregory's faint, muffled voice sounded wearier than usual.
Seth finally discovered his shirt and hastily pulled it on. Shuffling to the door with wide yawns and silent curses for early risers, the man unbolted the lock and opened the door.
"Get in Greg, so Dawn can get back to sleep," he murmured wearily, standing aside to allow the harried preacher to enter.
Dawn scoffed and turned on her heels, marching away with a haughty step, her long golden blond hair and gauzy blue nightgown billowing out behind her.
Seth snorted in distaste and slammed the door shut.
* * * *
Wyst slept deeply, hidden from the sun's fatal light. She had discovered an abandoned and unwanted warehouse on the outskirts on the town, decaying and almost falling to pieces as she watched. But it was dark, and its cellars were deep and complete enough to protect and shield her. And the obvious decay of the place made certain she would not be disturbed, nor discovered. She was not safe from herself, but safe from the day.
As safe as a vampire could be.
* * * *
"What do you want, Greg?" Seth groaned, dropping back heavily onto his creaky, well-cushioned bed. As he plumped pillows behind his head and situated himself, Gregory began to pace, a sign that never boded well.
After a good few minutes of watching, Seth finally called a halt to Gregory's nervous repetitive motions.
"Sit down, Greg, and tell me what the hell's bothering you!" Seth snapped, partly from his weariness at being awakened so early.
Gregory briefly flashed an apologizing grin, than slowly sank into the one chair of the room, his fingers practically glued to cross and rosary. He sighed and looked about for a long moment, gathering his wits and train of thought.
"Something very strange and unusual happened to me last night, Seth," Gregory began slowly. "After I got back to the church."
"Well?" Seth prompted impatiently when the preacher paused.
Gregory sighed. "I had a visitor at the church, and a most strange and unusual person you've yet to meet! She seemed almost ill, shaking and trembling as though she had a brain-fever."
Seth's attention was suddenly caught. "A strange woman? One you've never seen before?"
Gregory nodded, puzzled by his friend's reaction.
"What did she look like?" Seth demanded eagerly, leaning forward.
"She had long black hair, and was very thin and pretty. Her eyes were a strange violet that was almost black, and they seemed to glow! But her skin was so very pale, and cold to the touch . . ."
Seth fixed Gregory's eyes with his. "I saw the exact same woman last night, just before it began to rain!"
Gregory was surprised. "Where did you see her?"
"About a block away from here, on Blackby Street. It looked like she was just coming into town."
"Did you speak with her?"
Seth shook his head in disappointment. "We saw each other, but then she turned and ran down an alley as if the Hounds of Hell were at her heels. I chased after her, but when I reached the alley, there was no sight of her."
"Odd," Gregory mused.
"But you clearly spoke with her, yes?" Seth urged.
Gregory nodded, preoccupied. "There was something about her that I know I should have noticed, but what?" He groaned and leaned back into his chair. "I'm so unobservant! If only I'd looked at her more carefully."
"What did you speak with her about?" Seth pried.
Gregory sighed. "I asked if she need help, or food and shelter, but she refused all of it. She had the strangest accent I've ever heard - she spoke the way someone hundreds of years ago would have, in an accent I can't place."
He paused to muse, then spoke again before Seth had the chance to become impatient once more.
"When she turned to leave, I grabbed for her wrist, to stop her. I didn't think it best for her to leave during a storm. And when I touched her, the strangest picture came to me. I saw her standing in a field, a field littered with dead and dying people, crying blood-red tears as the sky turned black."
Seth shivered. "How lovely."
Gregory shook his head slowly to clear it. "And then I let go of her. I asked her what her name was, and she said it was . . . Wyst. Isn't that such a strange, uncommon name? And then she told me to never leave the church after sunset, and she just ran out. And she ran so fast, as if she were a wild creature instead of human. And her being so sick and shaky, too."
Seth mulled over all of this. "Do you think she's up to no good?"
Gregory was startled. "Oh, no, of course not!" He said hastily, waving his hands for emphasis. "I'm actually sort of worried about her. She seemed so alone and sad, and this town can seem so much bigger when you're new and friendless."
"What do you want me to do?" Seth asked, exasperated, seeing the hope beginning in Gregory's eyes.
"Nothing really," he began nonchalantly. "Just keep an eye out for her when you go out. And if you find her, try to convince her to come to the church for a good meal and some company. Please?"
Seth groaned. "With eyes like that, Greg, you could charm the Devil himself."
* * * *
"Nosferatu, you are the Devil himself!" Nyx laughed, fingering the golden chains about his neck in a playful way, her alluring blue eyes glittering invitingly. The blond beauty kneeled on the many cushions surrounding her, her green gauzy dress pooling elegantly about her pale, bare feet. The man reclining beside her was clearly her match in looks, despite the fact that he was completely lacking of hair. His black eyes were dark and mysterious. The paleness of his skin was a sharp contrast to his dark eyes.
"And you're just a naughty lil' vixen," he whispered, grabbing her wrists in his hands, pulling her closer and startling a shrill squeal from her.
"Nos! Nos!"
The two looked up, annoyed by the interruption, as another man rushed up from the darkness, the multitude of candles barely lighting up his sallow face. "What is it, Martan?"
The man paused to recatch his breath, his dark brown eyes glittering uncannily in the feeble light.
"Another has come, from the wilds!" Martan's voice was excited and breathless, his eyes hungry. "A woman. She arrived yesterday night, in the waning of the moon."
Nosferatu's eyes glinted. "Have you seen her? Made contact?"
Martan shook his head sadly. "She entered the town, but then, shortly after doing so, seemed to disappear from my senses."
"How is that possible?" Nyx demanded scathingly, looking down her long nose at the miskempt man. "That would only happen if she immediately left or entered a sacred place, and what vamp in their right mind would do that?"
Martan shrugged helplessly. "All I know is she disappeared for little more than an hour. Then she reappeared again, but it was too close to sun- up, and she was too far away to track down just then."
"Do you know where she's chosen to roost?" Nosferatu demanded eagerly, standing from the silken cushions. Nyx pouted with a huff, crossing her arms in an offended way. But Nos was too excited to care. One more vamp to add to their number was something always welcomed.
"Shut it, Nyx," he growled warningly. "One more vamp with us, and we very well may be able to begin undermining this pathetic little human hole. Especially if she's an old and wise one."
"No fair, Nos!" Nyx pouted. "You're just hoping for a new plaything!"
"Maybe so," he snapped irately, throwing a withering glance down on the pretty girl. "Maybe you no longer interest me."
Nyx's returning glare was hot enough to singe a lesser man.
Nosferatu promptly ignored the smoldering vixen. "You will lead me to this newcomer tonight, Martan. We will merely have to hunt tomorrow."
"As you wish," Martan said with a grin, bowing low before running off into the darkness.
* * * *
Wyst fought against the hunger pains, but she knew it was to no avail. It had been much too long since her last kill, and if she did not give in soon, she would turn completely feral with hunger.
Stalking the dark streets as carefully and silently as possible, she slid along with her back against the walls of the darkened allies, praying for some way to satisfy her thirst without wounding her conscience further.
"Hello, there," a soft voice suddenly whispered out of the darkness, starting the preoccupied Wyst from her silent reverie. She froze instinctively as a sudden shadow detatched itself from the darkness of the alley.
"Now, why would such a pretty, lovely girl like you be lurking in a dangerous, dank alley like this?" The unkempt man that stepped closer murmured in a suggestive tone as he moved to block any possibility for escape.
Wyst seriously wondered why her prayers had been answered.
She was obviously stronger than this mere human, but decided to let him make the first move. He didn't disappoint her.
With that sickening smile Wyst had often seen on more than one coarse man's face, he stepped closer, reaching out for her seemingly delicate wrist. "Why don't you let a nice fella like me keep you company this cold, lonely night?"
Wyst could restrain herself no longer. She could feel her vampiress half break free.
The man's eyes widened in palpable horror as he gasped for breath. He stumbled back, groping blindly for a weapon.
The willow-thin, seemingly defenseless girl he had cornered had transformed into a red-eyed hissing demon. As her lips pulled back in a terrible parody of a smile, her razor-sharp teeth glittered in the sudden moonlight that illuminated the dark alley.
When Wyst continued down the street, her hunger was satisfied, and there was one less homeless man in the city of Cawdell.
Hello everybody! This is Raye Firearrows, one of the duo from Ms. Raye Sinic. This is my first net-posted original story, and I hope everybody (if anyone) that reads this would be kind enough to review. So far, this fiction is mostly angsty, but hopefully in later chapters it will have more romance and drama, as well as some action. Be kind in your reviews, and don't overly flame. Constructive criticism is always accepted and welcomed! And if I don’t get enough people wanting me to continue, I’ll refrain from posting further chapters.
{Claimer}
This entire story is property of Raye Firearrows. All characters and events were created solely by me. If you wish to use my characters or plotline in your own work, please email me at [email protected] to ask for permission. I will be sorely pissed, not to mention upset, if I find out someone has used them without permission. Well, now that my bitchy rant is over, please enjoy and review! *(^.^)*
Chapter One: The Arrival of Wyst
Clothed in darkness, stained with depression and anguish, she flitted shadowy through the blackness, a wraith in the night.
She paused in the doorway leading to another hollow life, full of endless misery and even more death. But she had to go on - the life behind her held even less promise than the one ahead.
Besides, her thirst had become unbearable.
* * * *
She was not of the First - no, she did not have that awful honor. But she had been one of the First's lovers - and meals. She had been a young shepardess, barely a maiden, when that fey creature had stolen up from the darkness it had been born of, so tempting and alluring. He had made quick work of her, then had moved on for more prey, as was the way of his kind.
She had not known what to do, when she had first discovered the terrible truth. But her new instincts guided her well to maintain her cursed existence.
Monster she may be, but weakling she was not.
In the first few decades, her instincts and eternal hunger drove and controlled her. She survived immersed in a sort of trance, detached from the horror and death she left trailing in her wake.
But she slowly woke from her damned trance, awakened to the reality of the terror she was. She was able to override her instincts for the most, to ignore her hunger until it was at its extreme.
But monster she still was.
Wyst was one of the few vampires left in the world.
* * * *
Seth Parkers looked down at the newest victim, this one a young girl. Her blond hair was darkened by the night, her wide, glassy eyes staring blankly into an empty eternity.
But the darkness of the night did little to hide the profusion of blood reddening the woman's throat and plain, ripped gray dress.
"It's another one, isn't it, Seth?"
Seth looked up from the body at the sound of the soft, hesitant voice. "Gregory, why are you here?"
The light haired man stepped closer, his face pale and drawn. "I went to your office to speak to you, and Dawn told me you'd been called out on urgent business."
Seth sighed and nodded, draping the white sheet over the fallen girl. "It is another one."
Gregory paled even further. "What's doing this, Seth?"
The darker haired man sighed and shook his head helplessly. "I've no idea. It's like nothing I've ever seen. So many murders, all in the same way. It's almost unnatural." The man's hooded eyes met Gregory's. "It's almost cult-like. Either that, or we've got a serial killer on the loose."
"I think it is unnatural, Seth," the young man's friend whispered, fingering his holy cross necklace and rosary in nerveless hands. "People of the church are beginning to whisper of . . . unholy thing in the nights."
Seth heaved a long suffering sigh and stood, clapping his nervous friend on a shoulder. "Gregory, you put too much faith into the whispers."
"No, I put none of my faith in the whispers. I invest my faith wisely, and give it unto His hands," Gregory said obstinately. The young pastor loudly cleared his throat, hands clutching at his cross. "But still, Seth, the puncture marks!"
Seth steered Gregory from the darkened alley, out into the moonlit street. "Go home and get some sleep, Gregory. You need it."
Gregory nodded with frightened eyes and hurried off down the street with furtive glances from side to side.
Seth turned and started off in the opposite direction, feeling a cold dread creep upon him despite everything, as he thought of Gregory's fear- filled eyes. So like the dead girl's . . .
* * * *
Wyst slipped quietly into the town - unnoticed, unwelcomed, and unheralded. Her hunger burned in her throat, sent an angry humming to the back of her mind.
But the girl's will still overpowered the thirst of her vampiress half. Although she had given into the desire to enter the quiet, sleeping town, she still controlled herself.
But that was a small, meaningless victory as she entered the town's darkened streets. Even as she first set foot in its limits, Wyst could sense others of her kind, lingering in the shadows cast by the town, preying upon its inhabitants. The smell of death was heavy in the air, and the dryness of the undead lingered heavier.
Wyst was tempted to turn and flee, to return to the wilds. But her vampiress half was yet too strong. She continued down the street.
That was when she saw him.
He was hurrying towards her, eager to be on his way. She was so surprised by the unexpected arrival- the first human she had seen in years - she didn't even try to dive into the hidden shadows.
He was a young man, with dark hair and eyes, dressed in black. He froze in midstep, surprise filling his gray eyes.
They locked eyes for one fleeting moment.
Then Wyst turned and fled, running into a darkened alley.
* * * *
The young woman frozen in the street was so strange, but beautiful, to the awestruck Seth. Her long black hair flowed past her knees, and her black dress, hanging elegantly in silken tatters, clung tightly to her lithe body.
But for all her beauty, her eyes were frightening. A dark, almost black natural violet, they glowed eerily in the darkness, piercing Seth to the soul. The inner light that shone so brightly contrasted sharply to the woman's pale, almost waxen complexion. Her face was that of a dead woman's, but her eyes glowed with an almost demonic hunger.
And then she broke the frightening gaze, fleeing down an alley. Surprise released Seth quickly, curiosity urging him to follow the strange beauty.
But when Seth reached the alley and peered into its depths, the corridor was empty.
The woman had disappeared as quickly and silently as she had come.
* * * *
It began to rain, cold and pelting on the hard streets as Wyst ran, oblivious to all around her. At the sight of the young man something had stirred within her, something dangerous and frightening. Terrified of the things she could wreak if she lost control, Wyst had fled rather than take the risk.
Death seemed to close in on all sides, stifling and suffocating. She had to escape from it all, to find shelter. But for those of her kind, shelter from evil was nonexistent.
With a splash, Wyst paused in her headlong flight. She had reached the end of the small street. A small church sat before her, drab in color but clean in appearance.
A shiver of horror ran along her spine as the compulsion to run seized her. The mere sight of that simple cross hanging above the door repulsed her.
But here was the place of sanctuary she yearned for. None of her kind could taint this holiest of places.
The only problem was forcing herself to enter the church.
* * * *
Step by shaking step, Wyst forcibly pushed herself into the holy church. The door swung shut behind her with a click - to her heightened hearing, it sounded as if a cell door had locked behind her, never to be opened again. Not only was she being daring, but foolish as well to enter a church. But she was also desperate, and this situation called for risks.
Though her legs threatened to betray her with each tedious, trembling step, she forced herself to continue, until she had at last reached the clothed altar. With every nerve afire, every muscle tense, she knelt before the altar, clutching her seizing hands together as she did so. Bowing her head, her trembling increasing with each passing moment, Wyst cried out silently with what was left of her heart, to the presence high above she had long ago forsaken by necessity.
"Are you in need of help, child?" A soft, kindly voice murmured suddenly, startling Wyst violently from her prayers.
She spun about, heart in mouth, a terror she was not familiar with creeping upon her unawares.
A young man, with strain and worry heavy in his hazel eyes, stood behind her, dressed in the black uniform of a preacher, with his pale brown hair cropped short. But while he was young, his face was soft with warmth and kindness and his eyes dark with a wisdom older than his years. His nervous, constantly moving fingers clutched at a rosary strand and small, simple wooden cross.
Wyst forced herself to regain control of her disobeying body. She was shivering far too much.
"You could say that, Father, but you could no longer give it me," Wyst whispered out, unmoved from her kneeling position.
Gregory's brow furrowed in surprise. This woman was so strange and exotic, almost frightening to look at. She was a beauty, yes, with her dark hair and mysterious eyes. But her waxen complexion was that of a dead woman's, and her eyes held no warmth and kindness in them. It was not as if she seemed a cruel person - that much Gregory was sure of. It was just the sort of coldness that came from one who was too wise, who had seen enough horrors in life to harden her. She was shaking fit to fall apart, and seemed almost ill, her eyes glazed with something deeper than terror and darker than mere pain.
And that accent . . . Gregory had never heard such an accent in all of his seemingly-long twenty-two years. It had the feel of ancient wear to it, as if it belonged to someone born centuries ago, and had remained unchanged in all those days.
But that was obviously impossible.
"You are new to town?" Gregory said not quite in question. Cawdell was not a big city, and supported only two churches. Gregory was sure he knew nearly everyone who lived within walking distance of both.
Wyst allowed the smallest of nods, but her eyes were wary. If this man of the church knew what to look for, she might never leave this holy ground.
But she immediately checked herself. This young preacher had the look of a kind man about him, one who would not harm even if forced to. And vampires were wily, never allowing themselves to be seen to those other than their own kind and their unfortunate prey - how would he recognize her for what she was? Besides, she was in a church, and anyone who knew a bit of vampire-lore knew that evil creatures of the night such as she were not welcomed on sanctified ground.
"Do you need food, shelter, clothes?" Gregory offered softly, eyes gentle and caring. Wyst's heart tore at the sight of those eyes. This was one of the few pure men she had ever seen in her hellish long life. Even without truly knowing this man, Wyst knew he was of the sort to help anyone, even evils, before asking unwanted questions. He was a trusting sort, a kind and gentle, well-liked and admired man. He lived to serve his Lord, as was right for any man of his position.
But she also knew that if ever one of her kind found this man, they would not hesitate to kill him, holy cross or no.
Gregory was both surprised and worried when the seemingly-sickly woman pushed herself to her feet, swaying only slightly. She smiled at him, a smile that somehow warmed those unnatural eyes and seemed to draw life back to her pale cheeks. She paused to regain her strength, then stepped forward, towards the door.
"Wait!" Gregory cried, reaching out to catch her arm before she could pass him. As his fingers enclosed around a thin wrist, something happened to the preacher which he would neither understand nor believe afterwards.
A flash of a strange picture blinded and disoriented him. He saw the strange woman, standing alone in a field littered with dead and dying, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks, dark red against the hellish black of the sky.
Wyst turned in surprise as the young preacher released her wrist quickly, as though she had burned him. He stared at her with wide, incomprehensible eyes.
"Who are you?" he whispered softly, curiosity and something more glinting in his eyes.
Wyst paused, her breath hanging ragged in her throat. What had he seen? What did he know of her, from that sudden contact?
"I am called . . . Wyst," she relented finally. She looked up from the floor, catching the young preacher's eyes with hers. "And, Father, never journey from the safety of this place after the sun has fallen."
Without another word, Wyst turned and fled with all the speed her kind possessed, wrenching open the door and running into the rain and darkness of night.
Gregory closed the door behind her, staring unseeing into the blackness.
* * * *
Seth started awake from dreams of a swirling mass of blackness as a loud, urgent knock resounded from his door.
"Parkers! Parkers!"
The man heaved a long-suffering sigh and swung his legs from his warm, soft bed, cradling his suddenly-aching head in his hands. "What do you want, Dawn?!"
"It's not me, Parkers, it's Gregory who wants to speak with you!" The impatient, certainly haughty voice of Seth's secretary snapped waspishly through the door. Seth grinned slightly. It seemed he wasn't the only one who disliked being raised from bed so early.
"What time is it?" Seth groaned, searching around vainly for a discarded shirt.
"Five bloody o'clock!" Dawn hissed, as if for Gregory's ears only. "And the sun's just barely risen. You idiot!" Now came the sounds of muffled slaps. "I need my beauty sleep!"
"Don't have to tell me," Seth muttered rebelliously.
"Seth Redin Parkers!!" Dawn screamed furiously. "I heard that!"
"Those sharp pointy ears don't miss much!" Seth snapped back.
When in a good mood, the young and certainly pretty Dawn was a perfectly amiable person to get along with, and was in fact great company for gossip. But in a bad mood . . . Not even Gregory had the patience enough to be civil to Dawn Abigail Night.
"Gregory, did you hear that!" Dawn hissed in a scandalized tone of voice. She clearly expected her long-time boyfriend to do something about the rude, unmanageable Seth Parkers.
"Yes, dear," Gregory's faint, muffled voice sounded wearier than usual.
Seth finally discovered his shirt and hastily pulled it on. Shuffling to the door with wide yawns and silent curses for early risers, the man unbolted the lock and opened the door.
"Get in Greg, so Dawn can get back to sleep," he murmured wearily, standing aside to allow the harried preacher to enter.
Dawn scoffed and turned on her heels, marching away with a haughty step, her long golden blond hair and gauzy blue nightgown billowing out behind her.
Seth snorted in distaste and slammed the door shut.
* * * *
Wyst slept deeply, hidden from the sun's fatal light. She had discovered an abandoned and unwanted warehouse on the outskirts on the town, decaying and almost falling to pieces as she watched. But it was dark, and its cellars were deep and complete enough to protect and shield her. And the obvious decay of the place made certain she would not be disturbed, nor discovered. She was not safe from herself, but safe from the day.
As safe as a vampire could be.
* * * *
"What do you want, Greg?" Seth groaned, dropping back heavily onto his creaky, well-cushioned bed. As he plumped pillows behind his head and situated himself, Gregory began to pace, a sign that never boded well.
After a good few minutes of watching, Seth finally called a halt to Gregory's nervous repetitive motions.
"Sit down, Greg, and tell me what the hell's bothering you!" Seth snapped, partly from his weariness at being awakened so early.
Gregory briefly flashed an apologizing grin, than slowly sank into the one chair of the room, his fingers practically glued to cross and rosary. He sighed and looked about for a long moment, gathering his wits and train of thought.
"Something very strange and unusual happened to me last night, Seth," Gregory began slowly. "After I got back to the church."
"Well?" Seth prompted impatiently when the preacher paused.
Gregory sighed. "I had a visitor at the church, and a most strange and unusual person you've yet to meet! She seemed almost ill, shaking and trembling as though she had a brain-fever."
Seth's attention was suddenly caught. "A strange woman? One you've never seen before?"
Gregory nodded, puzzled by his friend's reaction.
"What did she look like?" Seth demanded eagerly, leaning forward.
"She had long black hair, and was very thin and pretty. Her eyes were a strange violet that was almost black, and they seemed to glow! But her skin was so very pale, and cold to the touch . . ."
Seth fixed Gregory's eyes with his. "I saw the exact same woman last night, just before it began to rain!"
Gregory was surprised. "Where did you see her?"
"About a block away from here, on Blackby Street. It looked like she was just coming into town."
"Did you speak with her?"
Seth shook his head in disappointment. "We saw each other, but then she turned and ran down an alley as if the Hounds of Hell were at her heels. I chased after her, but when I reached the alley, there was no sight of her."
"Odd," Gregory mused.
"But you clearly spoke with her, yes?" Seth urged.
Gregory nodded, preoccupied. "There was something about her that I know I should have noticed, but what?" He groaned and leaned back into his chair. "I'm so unobservant! If only I'd looked at her more carefully."
"What did you speak with her about?" Seth pried.
Gregory sighed. "I asked if she need help, or food and shelter, but she refused all of it. She had the strangest accent I've ever heard - she spoke the way someone hundreds of years ago would have, in an accent I can't place."
He paused to muse, then spoke again before Seth had the chance to become impatient once more.
"When she turned to leave, I grabbed for her wrist, to stop her. I didn't think it best for her to leave during a storm. And when I touched her, the strangest picture came to me. I saw her standing in a field, a field littered with dead and dying people, crying blood-red tears as the sky turned black."
Seth shivered. "How lovely."
Gregory shook his head slowly to clear it. "And then I let go of her. I asked her what her name was, and she said it was . . . Wyst. Isn't that such a strange, uncommon name? And then she told me to never leave the church after sunset, and she just ran out. And she ran so fast, as if she were a wild creature instead of human. And her being so sick and shaky, too."
Seth mulled over all of this. "Do you think she's up to no good?"
Gregory was startled. "Oh, no, of course not!" He said hastily, waving his hands for emphasis. "I'm actually sort of worried about her. She seemed so alone and sad, and this town can seem so much bigger when you're new and friendless."
"What do you want me to do?" Seth asked, exasperated, seeing the hope beginning in Gregory's eyes.
"Nothing really," he began nonchalantly. "Just keep an eye out for her when you go out. And if you find her, try to convince her to come to the church for a good meal and some company. Please?"
Seth groaned. "With eyes like that, Greg, you could charm the Devil himself."
* * * *
"Nosferatu, you are the Devil himself!" Nyx laughed, fingering the golden chains about his neck in a playful way, her alluring blue eyes glittering invitingly. The blond beauty kneeled on the many cushions surrounding her, her green gauzy dress pooling elegantly about her pale, bare feet. The man reclining beside her was clearly her match in looks, despite the fact that he was completely lacking of hair. His black eyes were dark and mysterious. The paleness of his skin was a sharp contrast to his dark eyes.
"And you're just a naughty lil' vixen," he whispered, grabbing her wrists in his hands, pulling her closer and startling a shrill squeal from her.
"Nos! Nos!"
The two looked up, annoyed by the interruption, as another man rushed up from the darkness, the multitude of candles barely lighting up his sallow face. "What is it, Martan?"
The man paused to recatch his breath, his dark brown eyes glittering uncannily in the feeble light.
"Another has come, from the wilds!" Martan's voice was excited and breathless, his eyes hungry. "A woman. She arrived yesterday night, in the waning of the moon."
Nosferatu's eyes glinted. "Have you seen her? Made contact?"
Martan shook his head sadly. "She entered the town, but then, shortly after doing so, seemed to disappear from my senses."
"How is that possible?" Nyx demanded scathingly, looking down her long nose at the miskempt man. "That would only happen if she immediately left or entered a sacred place, and what vamp in their right mind would do that?"
Martan shrugged helplessly. "All I know is she disappeared for little more than an hour. Then she reappeared again, but it was too close to sun- up, and she was too far away to track down just then."
"Do you know where she's chosen to roost?" Nosferatu demanded eagerly, standing from the silken cushions. Nyx pouted with a huff, crossing her arms in an offended way. But Nos was too excited to care. One more vamp to add to their number was something always welcomed.
"Shut it, Nyx," he growled warningly. "One more vamp with us, and we very well may be able to begin undermining this pathetic little human hole. Especially if she's an old and wise one."
"No fair, Nos!" Nyx pouted. "You're just hoping for a new plaything!"
"Maybe so," he snapped irately, throwing a withering glance down on the pretty girl. "Maybe you no longer interest me."
Nyx's returning glare was hot enough to singe a lesser man.
Nosferatu promptly ignored the smoldering vixen. "You will lead me to this newcomer tonight, Martan. We will merely have to hunt tomorrow."
"As you wish," Martan said with a grin, bowing low before running off into the darkness.
* * * *
Wyst fought against the hunger pains, but she knew it was to no avail. It had been much too long since her last kill, and if she did not give in soon, she would turn completely feral with hunger.
Stalking the dark streets as carefully and silently as possible, she slid along with her back against the walls of the darkened allies, praying for some way to satisfy her thirst without wounding her conscience further.
"Hello, there," a soft voice suddenly whispered out of the darkness, starting the preoccupied Wyst from her silent reverie. She froze instinctively as a sudden shadow detatched itself from the darkness of the alley.
"Now, why would such a pretty, lovely girl like you be lurking in a dangerous, dank alley like this?" The unkempt man that stepped closer murmured in a suggestive tone as he moved to block any possibility for escape.
Wyst seriously wondered why her prayers had been answered.
She was obviously stronger than this mere human, but decided to let him make the first move. He didn't disappoint her.
With that sickening smile Wyst had often seen on more than one coarse man's face, he stepped closer, reaching out for her seemingly delicate wrist. "Why don't you let a nice fella like me keep you company this cold, lonely night?"
Wyst could restrain herself no longer. She could feel her vampiress half break free.
The man's eyes widened in palpable horror as he gasped for breath. He stumbled back, groping blindly for a weapon.
The willow-thin, seemingly defenseless girl he had cornered had transformed into a red-eyed hissing demon. As her lips pulled back in a terrible parody of a smile, her razor-sharp teeth glittered in the sudden moonlight that illuminated the dark alley.
When Wyst continued down the street, her hunger was satisfied, and there was one less homeless man in the city of Cawdell.