Helloooo
These are two potential intro's to a novel I am writing. Please let me know which ones you like, why and any comments on grammar, scentences structure and overall content would be vastly appreciated
Also, just to clarify a point before you read onwards
the symbol '<' at the beginning and '>' at the end of a scentence means the dialogue is spoken and heard through the mind/thoughts only/ communicated by nonverbal methods/ telepathic/ etc.
The concept that I have for my version of the 'vampire' I intend to be vastly different for what has been seen or done as of yet so as the story progresses you will see some things that are outside the normal realm for these creatures. There will be a few similarities, of course (ie: requiring blood for survival).
Any other questions - feel free to ask and I will do my best to clarify.
Prologue (tentative #1)
The night air was crisp, warm and filled with the steady beat of a thousand hearts waiting to be bled dry. The vast and empty stretch of black sky overhead was speckled with scattered stars and the pregnant orb of a silver moon which hung heavy and full like a succulent grape waiting to be plucked from the dark abyss.
He stood next to her, still and silent, but he didn’t have to utter a single word in order for her to hear his thoughts as clearly as if they were her own.
<Gaze upon the sleeping city, my beauty. See how peaceful, how serene they are? Safe and tucked away in their homes, fires burning in the hearth, husband and wives wrapped in their course wool bed sheets…hear them all my love. Feel them.>
Head of ebony hair tipped back, Lamia breathed in the salty breeze and with it drew in the scent of warm bodies and fresh souls of vibrant young men, virginal women and innocent children. Each breath was like a drug, churning her cold blood and bringing it to boil in her veins.
She had never tasted fresh blood or seen the look in their eyes as they glazed over with death. She had never experienced the thrill that accompanied in the final moment of the kill where one could see the life ebb and flow from the victim with a sigh… Such pleasures had been denied to her, until tonight, just as she had been promised.
His hand circled from behind Lamia, to skim along her torso and upwards towards her full breasts. Even through the thin Egyptian cotton of her chemise her skin burned from his touch, instantly her loins were set ablaze and moisture collected in her passage.
The other arm came around her waist, holding tight to her body like a vice; mouth fastened to her neck, his fingers reached up under her thin hem and drew between her parted thighs.
<So wet, my beauty, dripping with passion and lust and fury. My insatiable and wanton queen of the night.> His fingers slipped along the moist crevice of her folds in teasing and languid strokes before delving deep within her core like a rock hard phallus. Lamia gasped, her vision blurred as with masterful ease he brought her quickly to orgasm. Fluid dribbled down her satiny thighs, his hand damp with her moisture he now sought to torment the sensitive nub tucked away within her womanly folds.
<Your mine, Lamia. Always.> His voice was a heady growl, the intensity of his thirst for her intensified Lamia’s own sexual frenzy. Limbs vibrating, the arousing pulse of fresh blood coursing through live bodies resounding from the quiet city below, the feel of his fingers as they drove her closer to madness, wave after wave of pleasure crashing down against her, all of it was bringing Lamia within an inch of insanity.
She fought against him for a moment, the sensations too strong, too fierce. She needed to feed, as much as she yearned for the feel of him inside her, she needed the blood – ripe, fresh, heady and aromatic, so much so she was salivating.
<Not yet.> Hand latched around her throat he squeezed hard, the sensation powerful and exquisite. <Take more.> Another climax burst through her centre like an earthquake, splitting her apart only to be pieced back together with each ravenous stroke of his fingers. She went weak and hazy before the hunger returned and doubled; the need clawing away at her with such raw vicious strength it brought both pleasure and pain.
<More.> Luther urged, fingers clamped tightly around the pale skin of her throat with brute force she came again and again, unable to deny him, unable to deny any of it. With each shuddering explosion Lamia was drawn to new heights of frenzy. She writhed against him, limbs straining for release, the pleasure pumping through every fiber of her being with euphoric and arduous vigor.
<Go now, my queen. Bring them fear – bring them terror and pain.> His arms drew away from her like the chains that bound a savage dog, releasing the beast caged within her body into the night.
Luther watched as she tore away into the darkness and shadows with all the speed and agility of a vampire caught in the blinding throes of bloodlust. It wasn’t long before the heady cries wafted up to where he stood on the cliff from below. The sounds of the dying, the smell of fire and blood, the screams of the innocent, all of it rose up against the howling wind and the silent stone to fill his mind and black heart with its crescendo of death and misery.
There he stood, basking in the night with the glow of the fire and haze of a silver moon, rejoicing in the horror that was wrought by his beauty, his Lamia while she ravaged the city and tore Libya to pieces.
Prologue (Tentative #2)
Broken. Shattered. Destroyed.
Those were the words that formed the instant he’d beheld her there deep within the confines of the cave, overlooking the vast expanse of open sea. The breeze wafting from the ocean through the tight passage of cold rock and stone would have once felt soothing he recalled, now it caused his eyes to water and sting, his skin to feel dry and irritated; in a few hours time it would begin to split, crack and bleed…he would hardly be able to stand much more then an hour down here and she had hidden herself away within the cave for close to three months.
The jagged and rough stone scrapping against his heavy leather boots was littered with split bones and rotten remains of rats, small dogs and the few men who had dared to venture deep within the belly of the cave in pursuit of a monster in the body of a woman who had once been their beloved queen.
Within the dim light of predawn she would have been difficult to spot for a human, but he was no mere mortal. Like her, he too was cursed with the demon and with it came certain enhancements. Had he not been able to see her in the eerie pale blue glow, the smell alone would have sufficed. Parts of her skin was raw and rancid, blood and pus oozed from lacerations cut deep into her body, scores on her arms where her finger nails had torn through, small patches where flesh had melted or ripped away to reveal tendons and bone.
Out of mourning and grief she had scratched and ripped away at her body and face, inflicting herself with physical pain to match the agony slicing through her heart.
“Lamia.” Her name was a tortured whisper and to say it nearly broke him in two. She had once been a woman, graceful and beautiful beyond compare and was now a quivering, sickly mass but her eyes were unmarred and still stunning and filled with such heart breaking sorrow.
Sangard could remember the first time he had seen her, swimming in the nighttime waters of the sea, her naked form highlighted by the glow of the moon and kissing her lightly tanned skin. He had loved her upon sight, in that moment, there in the moonlight while she swam in the sea.
The soul, tainted by the Vamprioric demon within his core, had for the first time in fifty years reflected something other then the darkness and shadows of the damned. In that instant he had been human again, just a man overwhelmed with desire and passion and love for a woman of indescribable beauty and strength of spirit. A woman he had sworn under oath to the King to protect.
“Do not call me that.” She’d barely uttered in a tone above a murmur but the inflection of her voice reverberated off the slick and damp walls of the sea cave, amplifying the disgust, sadness and despair. “I do not know who I am – I have no name now except demon.”
Sangard drew near her body where she had tucked away against the cold rock, arms wrapped around legs which were drawn high to her chest. She was nude, body exposed to harsh sting of the salty sea air. She wanted to die, that much was obvious. But instead of simply jumping into the sea and ending her life in one swift motion, she had chosen to rot away slowly in the bowels of the earth where the saltiness of the sea breeze could eat away at her with painstakingly drawn-out precision.
He removed his cloak from his shoulders with unsteady hands and despite her protests wrapped her weak and ravaged body in the soft wool. She fought against him at first, wild and spitting with rage but was soon reduced to sobs and tears. Her fingers latched onto the cotton of his tunic like talons, body cradled against him, Sangard leaned into the rock and held her close and safe.
She curled to his chest, sobbing like a child, throat raw from so many shed tears. The blood that oozed from her wounds was a thick and putrid black, the smell foul as it had started to rot in her veins. She needed to feed, it was clear she had denied herself any fresh sustenance for nigh on a month judging by the remains he found in her dwellings.
“I—killed them.” She buried her face in his broad and beefy chest, arms wrapped around his neck she held on and breathed him in. He was warm, comforting and safe. “I killed them all…has my father sent you to find me, Sangard? Are you here to take my life? Please end my suffering – I can’t live like this.” For a while he said nothing, continuing only to rock her, slow and gentle for he knew excessive motion would cause excruciating pain; he would rather cut off his own arm them inflict more hurt.
“No.” he said at last, voice deep and rich and filled with complete affection. “I have come to take you home.” Her head tipped back, wet brown eyes searching and filled with so many questions.
“Home? How can I go back there? I am a monster – I know you saw what I did.”
“Aye,” He nodded his head of silver blonde hair; his Nordic blue eyes never pulled away from her for an instant. “I don’t mean for us to go back to the palace. Come away with me Lamia, you can’t end your life like this.” A shadow crept into her gaze and in her he could see distrust.
“I sense something in you.” Even though Lamia had spoken softly, there was a bite in her tone and it cut deep with her words. She pressed a palm scrapped raw to his chest, through the tunic she felt the slow and languid beat of a dead heart. The demon within him quivered and coiled, crawling under his skin and Sangard knew Lamia sensed it.
“By all the Gods above and below – what are we? What foul curse had been brought down on us? What have I done to offend and invoke wrath of the furies for them to punish me so cruelly?” His arms held her close again, head tucked under his chin, he waited a beat while she sobbed bitter tears of regret.
“We are of another kind with many names and words whispered in dark corners. I know of someone who can help answer your questions and still your fear. She is old and wise beyond comprehension. She sent me to find you, to bring you forth and so I have.” Lamia was gazing up at him once more, face battered and ravaged from where her finger nails had clawed deep, cutting through skin and flesh revealing small patches of gleaming white bone stained with black blood.
At his hip was a small water bladder filled with the fresh blood of a new born colt he’d slain that evening. He brought the lip of the bladder to her mouth, saw her eyes turn red from the scent; he knew she could smell the youthful vitality as well as the strong aroma of horses and would know it had not come from a human…or a child.
“You mustn’t deny yourself any longer Lamia.” She wanted to refuse, she wanted to argue, but there was such devotion and sincerity in his stare that Lamia found she was unable to deny him even though she wanted to. He wasn’t Luther; he wouldn’t use or control her. That much she could see plain as day, but the urge to harm him – to harm all men for what she’d been subjected to, was momentarily blinding.
<No, that’s not you – that’s the demon.> Sangard’s voice filled her head, drowning her raging thoughts. He was right. It wasn’t her and it wasn’t what she wanted. Somewhere, underneath his soothing voice, she heard laughter, dark and deep and a part of her.
It was the laughter of the demon.
“I want to die Sangard but you’ve made me realize that I can’t allow that to be – not yet. Instead I swear this oath: I will go with you and I will meet with this woman and find the answers I need to become strong and in control. Then, when the time is right, I will destroy Luther and all those like him. I won’t rest until I have crushed his dead heart in my hands.” Her deep brown eyes, eyes that had always been so soft, loving and kind, turned hard as black diamonds, beautiful and cold, in her sockets. “I swear it on the love I bear for my children and husband whom I slew in savage bloodlust, even if it means I must burn in payment for my sins, I would face and eternity of damnation in return for vengeance.”
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