A Demon's Remorse

Adrian sat in the chair in his study quietly contemplating how he was going to rid himself of the red-eyed vixen. He was certain the last kill would bring her to him before he would have to kill again. Of all the lives he had taken, this last one he had done with his own hands and that bothered him. If he didn't want the girl so badly, he probably wouldn't have been able to follow through with kill. He detested the smell of blood and even more so, the feel of it against his skin.

It had taken him hours to scrub away the last remnants of Amy's blood. Even still, he could smell it as if it were permanently lodged in his sinuses. The incense candles weren't helping either. He wrinkled his nose against the odor. Amy's face, like her odor, was also imbedded in his psyche. He couldn't shake her face, her fear. He eyes clinched shut against the memory; his hands wrapped, white-knuckled around the arms of the chair. Still his mind was assaulted with Amy's last moments. It should have been easy like with all the others. No remorse, no memory, no regret. But then the others weren't actually killed by his hand. He had always worked through the minds of others, thus shielding him from responsibility.

This time was different. The woman's life was ended by his own hand, by his sole decision. He'd never killed a pure human before; it should have been as easy and remorseless as the mixed breeds he'd vanquished over the years. Remorse was new to him; foreign. It was an emotion he was unprepared to handle.

He stormed into the kitchen and after slamming a bottle of honey and two cans of lemonade, he retched into the sink. That too, was a first. The sweet bile hung at the back of his throat which he was unable to swallow. His stomach knotted again, sweat began a free flow down his back and forehead. It was his first experience with illness.

His hands shook as he tried to wipe his face clear of the sweat that poured off his brow. He stumbled through the cabin into the bedroom. His vision blurred as he reached the bed. Missing the edge of the bed he slid with a thud to the floor. His lungs refused to suck enough air to keep him alert. He beat his chest in anger to get them to comply with his body's demand for air. In the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a young blonde girl with violet eyes. He turned to face her but could not bring her into the focus. "Wh... Who are you?" He demanded with a raspy voice. No response. "Who are you?" He called again. Again his question went unanswered. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He looked in her direction again but found no one. "You're losing it, Adrian." He mumbled to himself.

"Why does everyone say that when they see me?"

He snapped his head up to find the girl standing in front of him; close enough to touch. Or strangle as the case may be. He swung his arm up for her throat. It passed through her, causing him to retract it as if he'd been burned. He held it tenderly against his chest and repeated his earlier question with only a slight alteration. "What are you?"

She smiled and ran her tiny fingers through his dampened hair. "I am the reason you are hunting. I am your prey."

"I don't know you."

"No you don't. But that doesn't change things. You have hunted my family for six generations so far. You may not have succeeded in ending their lives, but you have stolen life from them. They live in fear of you."

"They live?"

"Of course, they live." She knelt on floor before him. "I came to tell you, that I do not fear you."

His eyes searched hers for any signs of hidden fear but found none. Suddenly he felt as if he could throw up again, but kept it to himself.

"I make you nervous," she perceived. "Good. You should know that I am on your side. My family line should end. But you should also know that you are not the one to end it."

"And why is that, little girl?"

"Because you are a part of it. We share the same bloodlines." She stood and walked to the door of the room. Turning back she added one last tidbit of information. "The red-eyed vampire, whom you seek to kill, is not one of us."

"She will still die."

"That's where you are wrong, young one. She will not only live, but she will instrumental in bringing about your ultimate defeat."

"So, you think she will kill me?" A hint of sarcasm laced with fear filled each word.

"Oh, you needn't fear. Your life is not what she is after."

"Then..." He was about to ask, how, but she was gone before the words were formed in his mind. He rested his head against the bed, thankful the nausea had passed. The words, not one of us, drummed through his head. That didn't make any sense. He knew the girl's mother, Arianna and she certainly was one of the mixed breeds he hunted. He assumed Nickolas was the girl's father as Ariana was hiding in his mansion when the village people had found her. That, and the red-eyed tramp looked something like him. Nickolas had himself admitted the girl was his once. What did the girl hope to imply by saying 'she's not one of us'? And who was the girl, anyway? Did she mention her name? No she was just an apparition brought on by whatever sickness had hit him. He rubbed his hands over his face trying to make sense of what he had just been told when the smell of blood hit his nostrils and sent his stomach into another whirlwind of nausea.