A screaming comes across the sky, and Stefan de Kula tasted it with every inch of his slender body. Destiratu! he thought, throwing his head back and spreading his arms to fully drink in the magical energies. Only the merest hint so far—faint ripples on his skin, a tiny burning in his blood—yet a delicious hunger nonetheless, one that would grow stronger and more delicious should the Destiratu continue to form. No vampire could resist it, not even those who had lost their desire to hunt for human blood. Too many of his fellows were content to remain in the shadows, unwilling to draw attention by taking humans, subsisting instead on the blood of deer and lesser animals. But Stefan was young, less than four centuries from the glorious day Lord Ricard had ushered him into the ranks of the undead, and he had never lost his thirst for human blood. Only the commands of his elders held him in check, allowing him to take just enough human prey to barely satisfy his lust.
Destiratu would be felt by others, he knew. By the hated volkaanes, who would be roused and dangerous as at no other time. He had lost more than a few comrades to the vampire hunters. Yes, it would be a time for lust, but also a time for caution. And perhaps a time of pleasures scarcely imagined. His pointed fangs extruded from his upper jaw in anticipation. He had bested volkaanes before, and their burning blood was like nothing else he had ever tasted.
Shoving the memories aside, he returned to his hunt, weaving silently through the trees until he reached a thick stand of mountain laurel a short distance above a popular hiking trail. Nearly invisible in the dark shadows of the bushes, he crouched and waited, listening carefully and sniffing the air for the scent of prey.
The afternoon wore on, but he was in no hurry. What did hours matter to one who counted his existence in centuries? Despite his hunger, he let several groups of hikers pass unmolested, confident the day would eventually bring him what he needed. Finally, his keen ears heard the sound he’d been waiting for—a single set of footsteps approaching up the trail. By the weight of the tread, he knew it was a woman.
Moving with vampire quickness, he flashed down onto the path before she came into view. The woman did a mild double take when she spotted him. His black shirt, black jeans and black boots were hardly typical hiking apparel—and his pale complexion was definitely not the outdoor type—but his appearance was not so unusual to cause any real alarm, especially in a world where so few believed in vampires.
The human was tall and healthy looking, almost certainly a student at the nearby college. She might have made a fine vampire, but the coven had been full for many years, so turning her was not an option. As he came abreast of her, he pretended to stumble. She responded as he guessed she would, reflexively grabbing his arm. Straightening up, he smiled gratefully and locked his eyes onto hers. Her eyes widened at the depth of his gaze. Her eyelids began to twitch, as if she were struggling to pull her eyes away from his piercing stare. But she could not, and a glazed, unfocused look slowly spread across her countenance. A vacant smile formed upon her lips, and she offered no resistance as he took her by the arm and led her into the trees.