Senka rocked back and forth on the little bed. Knees up, humming a tune.

To Vasilja, the tune meant nothing.

But the younger vampire insisted it was the song of the Felstone.

“Well, it would make a terrible sonata,” Vasilja said.

“I wish you could have heard it.”

“I don’t need to, Senka. I’ve been enduring it for an hour now. I think I could hum it back to you if you like. It’s not terribly complicated.”

A soft knock on the cabin door.

“Lady?”

“Dimiti,” Vasilja breathed. Slid the door open. “At last. Please tell me there’s some form of entertainment on this thing. I’m almost to the point of tossing her out the window. Or myself. I haven’t yet decided.”

“You’re in luck, Lady.” His smile was the slightest curl. “There’s a trio who are travelling in one of the other cars. They’ve offered to put on a performance tonight after dinner. Violins and cello, I believe.”

“Dimiti, you have no idea how happy that makes me. Senka? Will you get yourself dressed and wipe that muck off your face?”

“What muck?”

“You had your head out the window. There’s smoke from the engine. What muck do you think? Honestly, you look like a beggar.”

“Oh.”

“Have you checked on our luggage, Dimiti?”

“Twice, Lady. Nothing’s been touched.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” She began to close the door. “You should get some sleep, then. You look tired.”

“Thank you, Lady. Are you sure there’ll be nothing else?”

“I think we can manage.” Thoughtful look at Senka. “But if she’s not here in the morning, there won’t be any need to worry. I simply threw her off the train. Good riddance, I say.”

“Of course, Lady,” he said. This time letting the grin widen as he turned away.

Shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth, he unlocked his own door and went inside.

Vasilja turned. Noted the younger vampire still hadn’t moved from her bed.

Scowled.

Clapped her hands. “Senka! What are you doing? Come on!”

It wasn’t until she was seated in a fine, if a touch too soft, couch and nodding along to a perfectly adequate set that she allowed herself to relax.

Shook her head as the waiter tried to push a glass at her.

Leaned toward Senka, and whispered. “Stop looking so bored.”

“I am bored.”

“Try not to look it. I don’t sit around looking miserable every time you want to stop at a coffeehouse or wine bar or whatever wretched little hovel you want to roost in.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I do not.”

“You do too, Vasilja. And you complain. Loudly. At least I was being quiet.”

“This time.”

“I’m hungry. That’s all.”

“I know.” She touched the young vampire’s hand. “And you know I’ll look after you. Just try not to ruin the evening for me.”

Senka shut her mouth and slumped in her chair. Tried to lift her shoulders back, but failed to summon enough enthusiasm.

The gathered guests, she’d been told, were all fascinating people. Which translated as rich. One was supposed to be a prince, but she forgot which one. Another was a famous actress. There was also an American, a few sour-faced bankers, a man who said he painted butterflies, and an Englishman who spent most of his time complaining about the food.

Everyone immaculate.

Everyone charmed to meet her.

She couldn’t understand why these people nodded along with polite rapture on their faces.

The violins were a banshee screech.

The cello a groaning calf.

Surely Vasilja would be scathing in her review.

But, like the fascinating people with empty eyes, Vasilja listened with absolute attentiveness. Smiling dreamily if she seemed to enjoy a particular chain of notes. Lifting her hand and moving her fingers in time to the rhythm.

All while Senka tried her best not to fidget.

Her patience crawled inside like a nest of hot ants.

Which chewed at her intestines and raced down her nerves.

No matter how she sat, she couldn’t feel comfortable.

Nor could she leave. So, she waited.

Just waited.

And waited.

While the violinists sawed and the cellist looked like he’d fallen asleep even as his arms worked furiously.

When it was over, the scattered guests gave a hearty round of applause which left Senka wondering if they were as excited as she was that it was over.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

The musicians bowed and made a discreet exit through the back of the car. Vasilja watched them go with a reluctant sigh. “I really wanted to bite that violinist, Senka,” she said. “Very much. In fact, I should like to spend some time travelling Europe one day biting them all. Their blood must be intoxicating. Especially the good ones.”

“Was he good?”

“Of course! Don’t tell me you weren’t listening. It was rapturous. Honestly, you have no taste at all in fine things, do you?”

“I’m not sure,” Senka snapped back. “You’ve never let me bite a musician. But I often want to.”

“Don’t be snide.”

“Whatever that is, I’m not being it.” Tugged at the cuff of her coat. “I’m being hungry.”

“Ladies,” a cheerful voice cut through Senka’s moan. “If you’re hungry, my friend and I would be delighted if you’d join us for dinner.”

“Eavesdropping is very rude,” Vasilja said, her tone softening as she looked up at the two young men. “But we could possibly forgive you this once if you’d at least share your names.”

“Archibald Larkin,” he said, with a slight bow. “Please call me Archie. And this is Oliver Winchester. The Third, if you’d believe it. His father felt it important to give him the numerical.”

“Stop it, Archie,” the other said with a playful slap to the shoulder. Nodded in greeting. “Ladies.”

Vasilja looked them both up and down, then smiled.

Pushed her power outward with a gentle exhale of breath.

“I do apologise, gentlemen, but we simply can’t eat with you tonight. My sister here has a touch of chill and will be needing to spend the evening somewhere warm.” She smiled wider. Red lips. Plush. Heat in her tone. Promise of intimacy with every word. “It was a risk to leave our cabin this late in the evening, so we’ll be retiring. I’m sure we could make your acquaintance when we’re closer to Paris? You are heading to Paris, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Archie said. “That’s where we’re going. Right, Ollie?”

“Paris.” Ollie put a hand to his head. He swayed with the gentle jostling motion of the carriage. “I feel very strange all of a sudden.”

Vasilja stood, holding her hand out for Senka to take. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

As she drifted away, Senka twisted her lip.

“But-”

“Hush, Senka. Not right now. I’m concentrating.”

“Oh.” She let out a soft grunt. “That’s alright then.”

They moved to their own car before Senka glanced over her shoulder and saw the two figures following at a discreet distance.

“They’re following us.”

“Of course they are.” Vasilja’s brow was furrowed. She pushed her fingers to her forehead. “We couldn’t very well wander around with them if we’re going to bite them now, could we? If they disappear off the train, someone might notice. And they might recall that we’d been walking with them. We don’t need that sort of attention. Now, hurry up and open the door.”

“Yes, Vasilja.”

Pushing into their cabin, Senka made to close the door. Stopped when Vasilja held it. Her lip curling cruel. “Let them enter, first.”

The two young men entered in a daze, eyes unblinking.

Only when Vasilja told them to share one of the small seats did they begin to look around.

Ollie, squeezed in beside Archie, coughed nervously. “Well, this is very comfortable,” he said.

“Yes,” Vasilja nodded. “It is.”

“I must say, our cabin isn’t quite so… elegant…”

Senka stood by the door, unsure where to go. Rising heat in her belly. Thirst in the back of her throat. Thirst which would never be quenched.

But one she craved to feed.

“Vasilja?” She ran her tongue across the back of her fangs. “Which one is mine?”

Vasilja reached out and placed a hand on Ollie’s cheek. He closed his eyes with a shiver of delight. “I like this one,” she said. “He’s sweet.”

Senka moved in front of Archie. Undid the buttons on her coat and threw it onto her bed.

He swallowed, eyes tripping across the tight shirt she wore. The skin above her collar. Her eager mouth. Her glittering eyes. “Oh, Lord.”

She loomed over him.

Pressed her nose to his.

Then, deliberately slow, licked his mouth. Tasting him.

With a satisfied smile, she dropped into his lap, legs either side of his hips. Ignoring Ollie’s squeak as Vasilja wrenched him out of the couch and threw him onto the bed with uncharacteristic frenzy.

“I have to be quiet,” Senka breathed into Archie’s ear. “So no one can hear. That means you have to be quiet, too. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” he whispered back. Tried a brave chuckle as his night veered into a direction he’d always entertained in fantasy but never expected to become reality.

“Good.” She slammed a hand down across his mouth, cutting off all sound. Shoved him further back into the couch so his head was pinned to the wall. “Now. Fight me, Archie. Fight me before I rip you to little pieces!”

He struggled. Cautiously at first. His mind was soaked in the charmed fog Vasilja had poured into his brain. Trained since birth to always act the part of a gentleman, he struggled to reactivate the switch which controlled instincts and reactions meant for survival.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Vasilja hunched over Ollie. She’d straddled his prone body and her head was buried in the crook of his neck. Ollie’s arms were up, but not touching her.

Like he was unsure what to do.

It was, Archie knew, his first real encounter with the opposite sex. It should be a pleasant thing. An exciting thing.

But something…

Archie’s breath froze as Senka kept shaking him. As she growled into his ear.

Something was terribly wrong.

Then his eyes went wide as blood fountained with a wet hiss from Ollie’s throat.

Vasilja reared like a snake. Her mouth drooling crimson. She let out a lustful sigh and jerked open the front of her dress to let the blood rain down her pale skin. Opened her jaws and lunged, ripping into the side of the gurgling man’s throat one more time.

Like a shark.

Worrying at its prey.

Archie wrestled, then. With all his strength he thrashed at the young vampire. Bucking hard, he tried to throw her off.

She pushed him down. Harder. Her grip like steel.

He managed to get one hand free – or did she let him?

His punch slammed into her side.

And she absorbed it without sound.

Second into her chest.

Not enough force.

He couldn’t get a decent swing.

But he knew he had to.

Ollie’s blood spurted again. A final rush of red which splashed across Vasilja’s bared chest. She turned to stare at him, mouth open. Fangs drooling crimson down lips. Chin. Breasts.

Smiling, Vasilja turned her gaze back to Ollie’s corpse. Gently, she lowered herself back down and suckled at his throat.

He screamed, but Senka’s hand was still muffling his cries. What little sound made it through was drowned in the fierce chugging roar of the engine.

Tears of desperation as he struggled. Tried pulling her hand off his mouth. Couldn’t. Her strength was astounding. And with each passing second he felt less and less oxygen making it into his lungs.

Senka’s eyes blazed with unholy need as she glared down at him. Body grinding into him. The raw sexual need of her should have made his body respond, but the horror had driven him beyond that.

“Hit me,” she moaned. “Hit me!”

He went berserk. It had happened once before. When he was at school. A bully had pushed him into one of the pools. Nearly drowned him.

He thought he’d been infuriated then, but this time he utterly lost it.

She was a monster! A demon! He had to escape! Had to make it-

She clawed him.

Nails raked across his face, gouging long deep lines into skin.

She slapped him, the impact rattling his jaw as she hissed; “I said, hit me!”

Both arms free, he rallied his strength and tried one more time. He knew this would be his only chance. If he just get out from under her…

His skin crawled as he realised she wasn’t even struggling to hold him down. He looked up into her eyes to find the hunger had left her gaze. Instead, she stared at him with disappointment.

“You’re useless, Archie,” she said. “I’d hoped for so much more.”

She lunged. Fangs ripping into his throat like knives in a savage snap of jaws. Blood gushed.

He cried out. For his mother, of all people. A mother he hadn’t seen in five years. He cried for her.

Cried until blood poured through the punctures in his neck and down his throat.

He couldn’t breathe.

It bubbled in the back of his mouth.

She straddled him tight, planting her mouth across his.

Sucking at the blood which he coughed and choked up.

Sucking at the last breath of life which left with it.

Spasms ceasing, Archie’s last thoughts were of a tree near his home. A tree on which he’d tied a rope when he was a boy.

He’d swung on that rope.

Back and forth.

Creak of rope.

Singing a song he could no longer remember.

The words just weren’t in his memory anymore.

And, with a final brutal tearing of flesh, neither was he.

Vasilja watched Senka try to drive her face deeper into Archie’s gaping throat, and smiled. Blissfully content.

Glancing down at the rivers of blood sliding down her own skin, her frustration at the burden of having to make decisions seemed to slide away from her.

“Oh, Senka,” she purred. “I think you were right about trains. They’re so romantic.”