Chapter 10

Zaybris materialized in the dungeon of Queen Lilith's former castle, feeling hopeful. He also felt slightly dizzy, as he usually did when traveling through dimensions, but in good spirits. His evening in the human world had unfolded just as he'd planned. No one had seen him appear or vanish, and his prey had fallen right into his hands.

Certainly, this time would be different. Fate was cruel, yes, but surely his efforts would be rewarded. He was due.

As he walked toward the cells, his footsteps echoed over mildewed stone tiles. He adjusted the weight of the young man draped over his shoulder.

Dodging a trickle of water dripping from the ceiling, Zaybris saw a small creature dart above his head. A bat, he realized with disgust. The castle was overrun with them. Sacred to Queen Lilith and the Goblyn race, the flying vermin were now colloquially linked to vampires as well. Zaybris hated that. They would need to be flushed out from every corner and destroyed.

Queen Lilith never had any use for the dungeon while she reigned, so the decay in this space was more apparent. The electric lights didn't even function anymore. A broken stone tile caused Zaybris to stumble. Glancing down at the damaged floor, he scowled—another thing for him to manage. The number of tasks that a self-appointed king must oversee was truly staggering.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Anger flared as he realized the Goblyns had neglected to tell him how decrepit the dungeon had become. They had only nodded when he gave them the order to light the wall sconces and prepare a cell.

Zaybris tightened his grip around the human, gratified that he could carry such a load with ease. The boy's blood was potent. Zaybris had felt his strength surge and his entire body sing with life the moment his fangs pierced the boy's flesh. He would enjoy drinking from this vessel each night.

A small part of his mind registered that the boy was no longer struggling, and a tendril of fear curled in his gut.

No. He refused to consider it. This one wasn't like the others. This human was robust and strong. He must have fainted, Zaybris reasoned, when his victim's arms swayed against his back. There was so much about twenty-first century society he didn't understand, but the vitality of a young man in his prime hadn't changed.

Zaybris knew the traveler's stone could take him anywhere he chose, but he always seemed to end up back home in Newark—lurking in shadows of streets he had walked more than a century ago. The train station where he used to pluck victims was long gone. But the dark alleys behind modern drinking establishments had proven quite fruitful.

He had found the boy trailing behind a group of other young bucks wearing sports uniforms. His attempts at combat had been admirable, and his life force was vibrant. It was a struggle for Zaybris to hold back when taking nourishment, but he had managed. The stakes were too high. Every precaution had to be taken to ensure the boy's survival on the journey to Aurelia.

When Zaybris came to the dungeon's first cell, he kicked the steel door open. Once inside, he laid the boy upon a cot, careful not to damage the precious cargo. Glancing around the dim room, he grunted with satisfaction. Besides the cot, there was a small table and chair, chamber pot, and a set of chains bolted to the wall.

He could no longer discern temperature, but he reasoned it must be cold in the dungeon. He would call the Goblyns to bring down tea and hot food for his guest.

"A meal for my meal," he mused, chuckling to himself.

When Zaybris leaned down to remove the boy's shoes, the white stone suspended from a cord around his neck swung out, reminding him to tuck it safely away beneath his shirt"s ruffled tie. The stone tingled against his fingers, and he gave a silent prayer of thanks that God had put such a gift in his hands.

While he adjusted the bedding, he murmured, "I think I shall call you Adam, since you are the first." Tugging at the white bedsheets, he smoothed them up over the boy's body. "Fear not, sweet Adam, you will soon have others to keep you company. For it is not good for a man to be alone."

Only after he had the human neatly tucked in and comfortable did he pull a torch from the wall to fully illuminate his prize and savior of his race.

His gaze traveled from the boy's feet then to his broad chest. Adam's collar was ripped, though Zaybris didn't remember being so rough with him. Two ragged holes, brown with crusted blood, marred the side of his neck, but that was to be expected.

Zaybris held the torch closer and frowned as he observed the ashen tint to Adam's skin and the stiffness of the boy's limbs. Gathering his strength, Zaybris leaned back to take in Adam's face.

Dull, glassy eyes stared up at him—void of any light. Mouth frozen in an eternal scream. His chest failed to rise. Zaybris touched his wrist and found no pulse.

He was dead.

Zaybris had failed to bring a living human into Aurelia.

Again.

Blind with rage, he flipped the cot over, watching as the body fell to the floor like a soiled handkerchief. This angered him even further, so he picked the corpse up and threw it against the stone wall. A dull thud echoed throughout the cell as his boot made contact with the dead boy's stomach. Zaybris roared for his servants.

Sinking to the floor, Zaybris looked down at his hands. There was still a bit of Adam's blood crusted under his long fingernails. He licked at it, then watched, ruefully, as three black spots of decay slowly faded from his knuckles. The skin knitted together and became smooth, almost alive-looking. Yet it was bittersweet. For what good was the regenerative power of human blood when he could not secure a continuous source?

He let out a hopeless moan. Since returning to Aurelia a month ago to crown himself king, this was his tenth attempt to bring back a human. Young or old, man or woman, weak or strong—each one had died upon arrival. His problem was something like a riddle. He needed to immobilize a human enough with his bite that he could carry them into Aurelia. Yet by doing so, he drained his victims of the strength necessary to survive the inter-dimensional journey.

After several minutes three Goblyns appeared outside the cell, watching him with big, frightened eyes.

"Take care of this. Burn it," Zaybris said, gesturing to the body. When the Goblyns failed to jump at his command, his melancholy mood turned savage. "What are you waiting for? Clean this cell, clean everything. And how dare you let the dungeon turn to rot? Explain yourselves."

After a heavy silence, one of the female Goblyns stepped forward. "W-when our radiant Queen Lilith disappeared we… "

Zaybris let out a howl that made the chains in the cell vibrate. Pointing an accusatory finger, he said, "I told you never to mention her name in my presence!"

The Goblyns nodded fearfully.

"Your purpose is to serve your vampiric betters. Not reminisce over your lost queen."

"Yes, my king," all three of the Goblyns whispered.

A cruel smile played across Zaybris's face as he rose to his feet. "I should punish you for such disrespect. In fact… " He reached down to grab the Goblyn who spoke by her throat. Pushing her against the wall, he sunk his fangs into her thin neck.

He took only one pull of her blood before abruptly dropping her to the ground. Fighting the urge to spit out the bitter liquid that filled his mouth, he forced himself to swallow.

It was foolish to have drunk so soon after imbibing human blood. Like drinking castor oil after sipping champagne. Damn Aurelians! He wiped the blood from his mouth with his sleeve then reached up to run his fingers through his hair. He felt a clump break off, along with a bit of scalp. Staring at the limp strands in the center of his palm, he cried out in despair.

In life, he had taken great pride in his golden locks. Each morning he would carefully style his hair with a part on the left, with thick blond waves swept back on the right. Sometimes it flopped over his eye, giving him what he believed to be a roguish air. It was his most attractive feature, and he had always been loathe to cover it up under a hat when fashion dictated.

Now it was completely white. It hung in stringy waves, barely touching the shoulders of his velvet frock coat. And each day, there was less of it. Decomposition. The word made him shudder. He threw the hair to the ground with a snarl, hating how the magnitude of his failure was symbolized at that moment.

He left the terrified Goblyns to clean up the cell and stormed down the dungeon hall. There had to be another way.

Failure was unthinkable.