This short story is about a Vampire who stalks the Appalachian Mountains. A traditional Vampire who uses fangs instead of guns. He hunts, He kills. He sleeps at Dawn.
Release Date: October 7, 2016
She turned to run back down the hall, but he moved so quick that she was in his arms, and in his death embrace before she could blink. He caressed her neck, pushed back her hair, and then delivered the fatal bite. He drove those two perfectly shaped white fangs into her neck, and drained her until she shriveled up. He pulled back with a satisfied glee and then wiped his mouth clean, licking the last bit of her blood off of his lips. Full and satisfied, he stripped her naked, and then carried her body down the hall to the stairs.
He descended the carpeted stairs, framed with wrought iron railing on either side, to the cold stones of the first floor. He walked over to the front door, and, with just a thought, turned the gold knob and popped the lock. The door opened up before him, and he stepped outside.
He walked across the gigantic porch complete with marbled columns of Roman design, and descended the black marble steps that led down to the bare ground, the bright moon above casting a spotlight on the creature carrying the lifeless dangling corpse.
He paused a moment, and looked out across the Appalachian Mountains, sucked in the cool mountain air. He loved it up here, far away from the world, far away from the Alps where he had been made into this thing that sleeps at dawn in the 10th century . . .