These are the journal entries of a centuries old vampire, Nicolas Rider. Welcome to his world...

Sunday, July 24, 2022

July 18, 1415 – Budapest

The water is cooler than I expected but that is helpful. It distracts me from the fire raging inside. I swim slowly, watching the way the moonlight ripples over the waves my body makes as it pushes through the water. I had come here for seclusion so when a red-haired woman approaches with a wide smile, I am less than thrilled.
    She asks if I would like company in the water and on a typical night, I might have. But this is not a normal night. Tonight, I will come one night closer to gaining my freedom from all of Marcella’s supervision. I tell the lady the partial truth; that I do not want her in the water; that I am, in fact, avoiding people like her. I do not tell her that it is because I made a deal with my mother that I would not bite anyone for an entire month to prove that I am capable of such control, or that I am two days away from completion which is too close for a tart like her to ruin all my progress. Offended by my brashness, she leaves me alone to swim in peace, never realizing how close she came to a real-life boogeyman. As the clacking of her shoes disappears into the night, I continue paddling about letting the water comfort me once more and reminding my burning throat, it is only two more days.

Thursday, July 7, 2022

July 2, 1980 - London

    The sound of the music quiets, helping me to hear her heart beating in her chest. She stares at her drink but she can feel my eyes on her. A shy smile spreads slowly across her face as she slides her drink closer, leaving a wet trail across the bar. A thick drop of condensation rolls over her fingers and drips away but I do not watch it splatter on the floor. My eyes only see the way she licks her lips, preparing for a drink. It only lasts a moment, but I notice everything about it. The way her tongue glides across her soft lips only makes them lure me more.
    As she raises the glass to her lips, a light redness flushes her cheeks and I realize that somewhere deep inside she has already accepted that she will let me take her home. That she will let me uncage myself, freeing me to give in to my most carnal needs, the same needs every man has. But what she has not realized is that there is another need inside me. Like an animal raging inside, it makes my heart pound and my throat burn with hunger. And although she does not realize it yet, that need will be satisfied tonight as well.

Friday, July 1, 2022

February 11, 1618 – Madrid

The cobblestone street graciously allows the rain to pool into a dark little puddle between the stones. Barely bigger than my palm, it must suffice as a mirror as I assess my injury. The freshness of the burn on my cheek fill my nostrils with charred flesh. There will be no permanent damage to my skin but for now, the rawness of my exposed muscle and scorched tissue sizzles against the cool night air.
     Marcella will not be pleased. The most essential part of attacking a local is that they die. They can run; they will scream; but they must die. They do not pull a cross from their bag and smash it against my face. And they certainly do not escape, like this one did. My fingers rub over the unevenness of my otherwise flawless face. It is not the pain that causes me to groan but the situation I now find myself in. I supposed I will have to disappear for at least a few months, possibly longer. Perhaps, we will go to Cairo. Marcella has been wanting to visit Egypt anyway.