Prolog

(Freya Milano point of view)

Florence, March 1630.

That night was the night.

We gathered at the woods to check on our weapons, mostly bows and arrows, swords and stakes made of steel. Each one of us had our own choice of weapons. I preferred the stake. The stake was efficient and functional. I could use it to slit the target like using a sword. On the other hand, I could throw it to stake the target like arrows.

I took two stakes and swung them in the air. Once, twice, and I let them fly out of my hands in a certain direction. I could hear the friction between the blade and the air. That sounded like a friction of strings.

In seconds, the stakes would penetrate two trees which were close to each other. But I heard a man groan instead of the crack of a hard sharp object hitting through the hard surface of tree.

"Agh!"

I fled to the source of the groan only to find Maurice kneeling on the ground, blood oozing from his stomach. The stake got him.

"What were you doing like a fool standing on the track of my stake?"

He cussed. "Two stakes!"

"Let me get that out." I offered.

"Don't!" he shoved my hand away. "You'd cause more blood." He wailed in pain.

I laughed. "That wasn't my fault. Why didn't you speed up to avoid it? Is your speed raddled?"

"They were bloody fast. I jumped to avoid one but I was caught by the other."

Throwing two stakes at once with certain distance between the two was my favorite trick to catch a target especially the supernatural one. They sure got speed but avoiding two at once sure took more than just a speed. It needs some skill.

I kneeled down beside him when I saw he had got the stake out. "Here take a bit of my blood to help you recover faster."

"Blood of the second line vampire! Hhmmm, tasty."

Once he got his fang sink in my veins, it felt like a sting. He was in need of blood to recover his wound and my blood was definite bliss. I was no generous when it came to sharing my blood. Maurice was the only exception but there was a limit. I stopped him at the next second, shoving his chest.

He wiped the tip of his mouth. "I just got an ounce."

"You know the drill." I bent down to take the stained stake. "Where was the other stake?"

He got up carefully. "I don't know. Looking for another victim, probably."

"Don't be bitter." I hit his back. "Come on, Ignazio is waiting outside the woods."

Ignazio was physically the oldest among us but he was turned not more than 50 years ago at his 40s. Most of us in the team were turned less than 50 years ago. I turned most of them. That made me the real leader of the group but I let Ignazio take the lead on this.

That night was the third night on our hit list. We did this blood party four weeks in a row every March. We attacked a village and got ourselves rained in blood.

It was the tenth year and, bloody hell this never got old. We lived for the blood, the thrill, the adrenaline rush and the fear and pain of our preys.

*****