Lucas - A Faction Series Prequel Book 1 Read online

  Stop your madness! Ungrateful swine. You hath been given a gift, and ye choose to wallow in self-loathing instead of embracing the powerful being within you.

  “Leave me!” I screamed, throwing myself to the ground in a fit of fury.

  The voices left me, left me to my hatred and my misery and, for once, I thanked them.

  ∽∽∽

  I do not remember the moment I got up off my belly, but when my senses returned, I found myself in the town square, watching men and women enter and leave the tavern, some sober, some drunk, some even unable to stand by themselves; helped home by loved ones.

  Edward stumbled from the inn. “’Tis his fault the boy is dead, I tell thee.”

  Three of his friends emerged after him, holding his arms while he staggered to sit on the dusty ground.

  “What dost thou mean?” one asked him.

  “Lucas.”

  My name seized my attention and I moved closer, keeping to the shadows, being certain to remain unseen.

  Edward continued. “’Tis he who is to blame for that poor boy. Not a chance did he have to survive such a vicious beating. Lucas killed that animal.”

  Blasphemous, traitorous hound.

  “And he is nowhere to be found?” His friend steadied Edward against the brick wall of the well.

  “Ran. Ran like the coward he is. Left his poor family alone.”

  “Surely they know of his whereabouts,” another offered.

  “We must find out. He must pay.”

  “We should ask his deserted wife on the morn.”

  “What about right now?”

  Voices mingled together, the words swimming dangerously around in my head until I could not gauge who said what. A darkened, crimson mist descended before me again, marring their features… features that came closer and closer until all three looked up in fearful shock.

  I gave not one of them a chance to say a word. With extended, sharp fingernails, I sliced open the necks of the three friends. They fell, clutching their seeping wounds. The smell of their life slipping away dazed me, reeled inside my head.

  Edward’s scurrying alerted me back to his presence, his eyes bulging with pure fright, his face paler than the moon above us.

  When I tore out this throat, his blood shone murky black.

  I drained them all.

  Chapter 12

  Screams woke me. Men and women, shrieking, crying, yelling for the authorities. All around me they moved, kicking up the ground, spraying my prone figure with dirt and debris in their haste to run from whatever terrified them so.

  I tried to open mine eyes, but something sticky impeded me.

  “This one’s still alive.” I heard someone shout before they dropped to their knees beside me.

  Through half-open slits, I made out the form of a bearded man, silhouetted by the failing light of a disappearing moon.

  Day would soon break. I would need to hide, yet I could feel many hands underneath my body, lifting me, dragging me to their idea of safety.

  Kill them all. They want to harm your family.

  “N-no.”

  “He’s trying to speak, give the man a moment.”

  Take their blood; it belongs to you.

  “No.”

  “The man’s raving mad, take him inside.”

  “Fetch the doctor. He may be wounded like the others.”

  “What of the others.”

  “Dead.”

  “This man does not appear to be fatally injured.”

  “Doth he have a name?”

  “What is thy name, man?”

  I felt drunk with stupidity, my head rolling from side to side, delirious.

  Too much, greedy Lucas Drake – too much at once.

  The voice chuckled at me, reprimanded me like a small child caught for spite. It coursed through my blood, an otherworldly presence making me queasy. It plucked at me, ran rough fingers up and down my bones, pinched my skin, and still it laughed.

  Look upon me, slave of mine. For thou art now lost to this world, reborn unto mine a superior being. Look at me.

  My eyes snapped open.

  Among the throng of men and women beside me, a small child stood – a beautiful, young girl with hair as ebony as the night, and skin paler than milk. Her eyes were the blackest onyx and her lips ruby red. She looked the picture of innocence as she stared at me, a slight smile tipping her lips.

  Welcome, Lucas Drake. Her lips did not move, but her smile grew, widened, displaying pearly-white teeth tainted with blood.

  “Away… get away,” I slurred.

  “This man is drunk and delusional.” The same bearded man from outside dipped closer to me. “What is thy name, sir? What did ye see?”

  “A girl… .”

  “A girl? A girl did this?”

  “Not possible.”

  “Where is that blasted doctor?”

  “No!” I cried, sitting upright, my head still groggy.

  “That is Goodman Drake.”

  “He hath abandoned his responsibilities.”

  “Have him arrested, at once.”

  I sprang from the table, knocking over chairs and half-empty pitchers of ale. Bolting for the door, I shoved passed people in my way, throwing them to the floor amid curses and cries for me to stop in my tracks.

  I did not listen. I sprinted, faster than anything human, back to the forest that had become my safe haven – as close to my family as I dared get, while remaining hidden from the light and prying eyes.

  For days, I stayed away, reverting back to feasting on the blood of animals. The voice in my head shrieking at me to stop being stupid, to embrace my new being, the beast inside of me. In my high-strung state I kept seeing the girl’s face, laughing at me, hiding among the trees and the foliage, running from me, chasing me, hiding, running, chasing, an endless, mindless game.

  I wanted her gone. I wanted it all gone. I wanted my family back.

  Instead, I watched villager after villager visit my home, taunt my wife, insult her, throw things at her and the house until she cried at them to leave her be.

  I could stand it no longer. The torment ate at what remained of my soul, shattered what remained of a heart I once used to love those worthy of it, unconditionally and without question.

  Opening my eyes to my surroundings, I found myself outside the place where it began.

  Outside of George’s home, the day left the sky, replaced by a twinkling blanket of stars, and I wondered whether or not God would be looking down on me this eve, ready to show me mercy, ready to return me to my former self… ready to return me to a family who so greatly needed me.

  For the first time in a long time, I dropped to my knees and I prayed. I clasped my hands tightly together and I prayed that he would listen to my soul speak to him, beg him for forgiveness.

  The door opened, and hands lifted me up, effortlessly and with care.

  “Come inside,” a voice told me, “I hath been waiting for you, my child.”

  “God?” I lifted my head, slowly, eyes adjusting to the bright lights of the lit wall lamps.

  “Oh, no. Something far greater than God.” George smiled at me. “Something infinitely more powerful.”

  His wench closed the door behind us, locking me in with my eternal misery.

  Chapter 13

  My inebriated stupor dissolved while I sat on a chair in George’s lavish parlour, staring between him and his mistress – the same jezebel who had fed me her blood.

  “What hath ye done to me?” Anger laced my words.

  Smiling, George answered, “I hath given thee a gift. The gift of eternal life.”

  I stood, my fury reaching unclaimed heights. “What gift is this if I cannot even be around mine own family. Take it away, I do not want it.”

  “Impossible,” the woman responded, and for the first time, in my newfound clarity, I detected a foreign accent – French, mayhaps.

  “Find a way!” I wanted to scream from the very bottom of my lungs
, wring them both until they would rid me of this curse.

  “Once given, it cannot be revoked,” George continued, the woman sitting down beside him. “You had a choice that night, Goodman Drake. Ye asked to be saved.”

  “I did not ask for this.”

  “’Twas the only way to save thee,” the woman added.

  “Elisabet, please, let me speak with our guest alone.”

  The woman – Elisabet – left the room, her waist-length red hair flowing like silk behind her.

  George returned his gaze to me. “I will not apologize, Lucas, for what I have given thee. You trespassed on my property and saw too much. ‘Twas either death, or—”

  “I would rather have died,” I spat. “At least then my family could mourn my loss, bury me, grieve for me, then be properly provided for.”

  “They will mourn thee, in time, for ye cannot return to them. Your living body is as good as dead; replaced by something entirely different.”

  I did not tell George that I had already returned to see my family. Though, where he thought I might have been all this time remained a mystery.

  “You hath been exposed… to a degree.”

  I furrowed my brow at the answer to a question I did not ask.

  “In the town. There hath been talk.” He steepled his fingers, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “They saw you run, faster than any human alive. You hath raised suspicions and this must be avoided.”

  “You are a fine fellow to talk, Master Langley. Does no-one miss the scores of women that pass through your doors? I dare to suggest they never return to whenst they came.”

  “You are right.” He sat back. “They do not return. But they do not have families to return to. Most are ladies of the night, eager to make an extra coin, and some are homeless vagabonds, eager of the same thing. You see, Lucas, we are a feared species, and we must keep ourselves hidden.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We are considered parasites; devils of the night. We live only on blood, and must never step foot under the suns fatal rays.”

  “I… .” I looked down at my arms, for the first time noticing no marring or markings, no evidence of the torture the sun cast down upon me, nor any evidence of the beating John imparted upon me – I had failed to notice before.

  “We are quick healers; we cannot be harmed or killed by human means, so long as we keep ourselves sustained. Self-preservation will be paramount to your survival.”

  Opening my mouth, I soon closed it again, unsure of what to say, of what to ask… of what to make of this.

  “It is a lot to take in.” George rose from his seated position. “Why doth thou not rest for a while? If the rumours are true, ye will not need to feed again for some time. You should use that time for respite. I will have Elisabet show you to your room; we will talk more later.”

  He made to move, but I stopped him. “Master Langley?” I said. “What am I?”

  The smile he displayed chilled me, more so than the cold I came to find permanently attracted to me.

  “You, my child, are vampire.”

  Chapter 14

  Music and merriment woke me, drifting through the halls of the second floor I slept on.

  I clambered from my bed, noticing, with joy, that the constant thirst plaguing me seemed to have expired. Perhaps I would get to go home after all.

  “Thou art awake.” Elisabet’s French lilt made me jump. “Art thou hungry?” She emerged from the darkened shadows in the corner of the room.

  “How long hath I been asleep?”

  She giggled. “You do not sleep, per se. You regenerate.” She spied my one raised brow, then tutted, rolling her eyes. “You hath been asleep for almost two days.”

  “Two days?” I balked. “What of my family?

  “What of them?” She walked back over to her chair, pulling it further into the middle of the room before sitting down.

  Incredulous! “I want to see my family, now.”

  “It will do you no good; you cannot return there.” She looked bored, inspecting imaginary grime underneath her long fingernails. “Stop torturing thyself.”

  With irritated rage, I stomped toward her, grabbed her by the throat, and hauled her off of her seat, closing in on her; nose to nose. “What do you know of torture?”

  Fear clouded her grey-purple eyes. “P-put me down,” she gasped.

  Loosening my hold on her, I dumped her back in the chair, turning away from her.

  “Torture is watching a family you cannot be with grow old and die, while you do not. It is watching your children mourn for thee, your husband or wife growing to love someone new, thinking ye are dead.” Her voice quivered. “’Tis watching the memory of you fade from their minds, because life goes on with or without you.” She gritted her teeth. “Save thyself the torment, Goodman Drake, because in this life, it is not worth the sorrow thou will forever hold on to.”

  I stared at a spot on the wall, unmoving, for precious moments, taking in Elisabet’s seemingly personal account of what happened to her, realizing that I, too, would now bear this burden.

  It hurt.

  It hurt more than if a thousand swords were to pierce my belly. Never in my life had I known pain so deep that it would leave scars on my soul for the rest of my days.

  “I must say goodbye; I must see them, so that they know I have not deserted them, nor left them to a fate of suffering and anguish.”

  Elisabet’s hand skimmed my shoulder. “Lucas, ye must let this go. If you see them, you risk… you risk too much, for them and for yourself.”

  “I hath already seen them.” I turned to her, my face heated, my voice raised. “They think I am a monster, that I would hurt them. They are dying and they think I have abandoned them.”

  “You… you hath seen them?” Her hand fell away from me.

  Turning, I stalked out the door to her cries of protest, yet she did nothing to try and stop me from leaving.

  Into the cold night I went, speeding toward what I would never again be able to call mine.

  The stench of death lingered, the closer I got. Sickening dread crept through me, slow at first, then faster as the house came into view. Lights were burning – unusual for such a late hour. Outside, on the path, stood a cart, a driver at the helm calming two restless horses.

  Two men emerged, carrying a stretcher between them. A sheet-covered form lay spread on it.

  A loud roar erupted, stinging my ears. It wouldn’t stop, kept getting louder and louder, while all faces turned in my direction. Then I realized the roar came from me.

  I had walked right up to the cart, saw Thomas’s spectral face, his lips ice blue, eyes closed… peaceful, he looked peaceful. But the feeling in my heart was anything but.

  I collapsed when the men put Margery onto the back of the cart; her face the same angelic face of always, an innocence frozen forever in death.

  Falling to me knees, I clung to them both; gripped their ankles and refused to let go, sobbing noisily as every cherished memory of them filtered through my mind. Every touch, every word, every childlike look they gave me to get what they wanted.

  Lost.

  Lost to an unknown darkness… both them and I.

  “Why art thou here? Hath you come to see what your abandonment hath wrought?”

  I barely heard the words, whether because of how softly there were spoken, or because of the grief I found myself drowning in, I couldn’t be sure. But I turned to face my wife.

  How could I tell her that she would never see me again? How could I tell the woman of my dead children how much I would always love her, how much I worshipped the ground she walked on, but that we could never again be together after this night?

  She collapsed, sobbing to the floor and my world collapsed with her.

  One of the men placed a hand on my arm. “Are you Goodman Drake?”

  Not removing my eyes from my wife, I nodded.

  “Then you need to accompany us; there is a sancti
on out for your arrest.”

  Mary’s head snapped to attention, her eyes swollen with tears and wide with shock. “Monster,” she uttered, shattering my heart all over again.

  Between them, the two men held my arms behind my back, dragging me backwards toward the cart.

  “Mary,” I pleaded, “I did not do anything wrong.” I believed it. I did not ask to be turned into this… this foul beast of the night. “I am not myself, my darling. I’m sorry, I love thee; I will always love thee.”

  I fought for my freedom of the two men handling me – an easy feat, considering an enhanced strength I appeared to have. I shook them both off me with very little effort, punching one in the face for good measure, where his nose cracked under the weight of my fist.

  A piercing discomfort spread around my belly. I looked down to see the first man holding the hilt of dagger, embedded in my flesh. It surprised me a little to realize I could still bleed.

  Though I experienced minimal pain, the outrage at this inconvenience sent me reeling over the edge of a dangerous cliff. With both hands, I pushed the man back.

  He stumbled, releasing his hold on the leather-handled knife.

  Pulling it slowly from my wound, I stared at the man – the stumpy, bald-headed cod-piece trembling in front of me.

  Spurred on by the wrath inside me, feeding from the madness, I pounced at the unsuspecting fool, gripping his neck and driving the dagger deep into his eye socket.

  He did not even scream; he could not. Shock took hold of him, made him convulse. He flapped like a fish fresh from water when I dropped him to the ground.

  His companion, however, did scream. But it died in his throat when I grasped the sides of his head and twisted his neck, smiling at the loud snap as it rang through the otherwise eerie quiet of the night.

  As the cart sped away, horses neighing loudly, I turned back to Mary, flinching when I watched the rejection spread across her terrified features.