Byron

The vampires gathered. They stood wordless. Not one meeting the other's gaze. The dark clouds overhead threatened to break, and a few fidgeted by crossing and uncrossing their arms, expectant of the sear of flame. This is how it always was when they fed.

At the outer edge, almost apart from the group, Byron kicked at a pebble and spat. He wasn’t the largest of the bunch, but the fiery intensity in his cold blue eyes would send a shiver down your spine. In other times, the proximity of the vampires would’ve led to a massive brawl. It was unnatural for them to be like this. Worse, they were thirsty. The agitation of unfulfilled need brought out the bad in all.

Byron paced like a caged tiger, “It’s taking too long. Why is it taking so long?”

“A fella’d think by now you’d be more patient,” said a familiar voice in a thick southern drawl.

With a jerk, Byron kicked up a mound of sand. “Ol’ slick Vic Templeton. Desperate days when I’ve got to be around the likes of you.”

Vic asked, “Why’d we never do each other in now?”

“Don’t exactly know.”

“Tell you what partner, if they all don’t show we’ll see about amending that situation.” As if to show how serious he was, Vic rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt.

Byron continued to walk. “I expect we will.”

After a time, the tension gave way to excitement when a blindfolded woman in white appeared in the distance. She crept forward, feeling out each step. Soon after, several others followed in similar attire.

Vic said, “Looks like we live to see another god forbidden day. The blood feast is on.” He glared at each of his contemporaries. “Now you know the rules, no killing. Take what you need and then let someone else have a turn. Don’t want to see none of you going too far this time. And I mean it.”

While Byron knew it was only right to heed Vic’s words, he said, “Maybe tonight I’ll finish my plate.”

At which several other vampires snickered.

“Ya’ll should be thanking me. I go to all the trouble of arranging these damn things and what do I get. Swear I’ll-”

“Shut up. We all worked for this,” Byron said. Vic opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything Byron shook a finger. “They’re close.”

Three vampires encircled each woman, and one after another bit. If the first looked to be taking too much, his peers snarled and tore him away, spattering blood on their victim’s white cloaks. In these cases, the woman emitted shocked cries, otherwise they were silent as statues.

At Byron’s turn, he kissed the puncture left on his young lady’s neck and ran a finger through her honey brown hair. His jaw gaped, and he plunged his lengthened canines into her carotid artery. Blood splashed against his tongue and he pressed the weight of his face in to her warmth, reminding him of the way sun felt against his skin. She swallowed and a chill wind thrust him back into the grim reality of his world.

He pulled away and gazed at the white ribbon over her eyes. Who is she? If he could have all of her, he’d know. Temptation whispered, go ahead. He looked around and swore to himself if Vic gave the slightest disapproving glare, he’d drink her dry, but no one glanced in his direction.

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Byron turned from the mystery of her and ran.

“Hey,” Vic said. “We’re not done yet. We have to glamour them.”

But he only ran faster—to the very limit of his vampiric abilities.

How long did he run? He had no way of knowing. Skies were always gray anymore. Be it day or night. The world ended and everything was dark.

A loud crash in the brush sent him into high alert. He slowed his steps and overheard voices conspiring. From the volume of their whispers, they could only be Blueskins. Silently, he crawled into a tree. At this vantage point, he could make out a group of three males. One was fat with gray hair, another bald, and the last had thick scars all over his naked back.

The gray-haired one shrugged. “No Starfall.”

The bald nodded.

And the scarred shook his head. “Starfall.”

Their conversation went on like this, with each party growing louder every loop. The gray-haired and bald Blueskins struck the scarred with their fists. Unfazed, the object of their abuse bared his teeth and frothed at the mouth before putting a match against a pouch on his neck and—finding himself unable to pull it away in time—detonated along with his companions into so much fleshy shrapnel.

Byron waited to see if more lingered nearby. While they wouldn’t be much of a threat, a confrontation might burn through the small reserve of energy he had left. Under his breath, he cursed himself for running so hard. A peculiar charge in the air left him on edge. Part of him wondered if the Starfall they spoke of was to blame. He hadn’t seen the bright trail in the sky, but assumed no Blueskins would come out of hiding this far west without good reason.

Determined to find the treasure for himself, he crept in circles through the forest, doing his best to conserve energy for one good strike. He wished he could sate his thirst on the remains left behind, but all Blueskins were toxic. The hue of their skin resulted from silver and other adulterants mixed with their drinking water. Whether they’d done this to fend off vampires or to purify the taint on all untreated land and water was unknown. He guessed the truth was somewhere in between and lost long ago, seeing as how each successive generation of Blueskins was more feckless than the last.

It’s a wonder anyone’s left alive as it is. Why do I keep surviving? What’s the point?

In the last few centuries, things kept getting worse. The Earth shifted on its axis and fell to its side. Tectonic plates moved and Gaia seemed intent on shaking off all the stinging flies that swarmed her skin. Only making matters worse, the super volcanoes blew their poisonous stacks one after another and day darkened into midnight.

He strode on and, after finding nothing of interest, nearly gave up his search. It was presumptuous to expect he’d find whatever cargo or person the Starfall brought without the guide of its trajectory. Besides, if he was that hard up, there was always Billie. His mind wandered to an image of the frog-eyed fellow and he cringed.

Byron yawned in boredom, and shot last looks all around him. While he saw nothing out of place, he heard a soft splash some distance away. Northeast, he thought. Cautiously, he fell into a soundless crawl.

The forest cleared, a small pond, illuminated by the faint green of natural gaslight, glowed into view. A woman lay at the edge, unmoving. He hoped she hadn’t swallowed any of the poisonous fluid. Bad as it was for her, a few drops would be the end for him. The tainted water made vampires mindless, crazy—even more dangerous—until they burned out and perished.

Perhaps it was the ethereal light or the slight mist that formed around her. But as he loped her way, he felt a stir in his loins. Even amongst the muck and mire, she was art come to life. A vision. He wanted more than a sip of her. With a shake of his head, he reminded himself, vampires don’t play with their food.

He circled to her front and took in the pleasing curve of her form. Eyes hungrily followed the line between her breasts and to the spherical symmetry on each side. At left a nametag read: PROUD TO BE OF SERVICE. MY NAME IS RORY. With only the slightest flick of his finger, the badge fell from her chest and onto the ground. A fragment of an old memory played. Could it be? Her? Hands outstretched, he reached for her neck. An invisible force like magnets of opposite polarity repelled him. From bent knees he sprang with all his might and again was repulsed.

“Well, well… I guess she really meant it when she told me not to fucking touch her.”