Dhampir; Black Blood

Imagery of the opening scene, almost cover-art, can be viewed at www.sharemation.com/krystaltearz/sketches/Shara.jpg

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A mere shadow against black, a figure sat upon a rooftop in downtown Los Angeles. She was a devil among angels, living in their city. The mysterious young woman gazed down from her perch, taking in all that surrounded her.

She had finally made it to the City of Angels, seeking refuge from those who had hunted her on the eastern coast. Even now as she sat, she knew they had not followed her across the country landscape, and yet her figure was wary, jumping, startled, by every slight sound her keen supernatural hearing could pick up.

The street below her was dark, dirty, broken bottles and various other glass strewn about carelessly. The scent of blood teased at her nostrils, disgusting her, and yet at the same time, filling her with that craving she knew all too well. Someone had been murdered that night, she was sure of it; the stench of death was all-too near.

The building on which she sat, poised and ready to flee if the need should so arise, stood but three modest floors from the cold cement ground, that same damp chamber which had been her home for far too long. Even now, the stench of the sewers wafted up to her sensitive nose, and her ears twitched ever so slightly at the sound of a baby whimpering in his sleep in one of the homes atop which she sat.

Looking about at the various smaller buildings surrounding the apartment complex beneath her, the pale moonlight caught a glimpse of her pearly teeth, illuminating elongated canines in this soft spotlight. Running her tongue over the sharpened tips, she moved her eyes to pierce through the intense darkness, finding the blood quickly as if magnets had drawn her to it.

Her dark gaze was torn from the damp patch of blood on the sidewalk, as a shout interrupted her dark thoughts. Crouching ever lower into the shadows, she moved toward the roof's edge, gazing toward the Black Panther pub down the street, seeing its surroundings as if the sun shone at midday. There she saw, silhouetted against the open frame of the door, a luminosity giving him an eerie darkness, was the figure of a man. Just by glancing his way, by hearing the deepness of his age in his voice, and sensing the power in his veins, she could tell he was no ordinary man. Oh no, he was like her, and yet a totally different sort of monster at the same time.

She could make out only the brief outline of his chiseled frame, a sliver of light contouring his angular face. Of course, she would have been able to see him better but for the intense light that shone out behind him. He stood easily 6 and a half feet tall, and seemed well muscled. Yet she knew that his frame had no relation his physical strength; a creature of the night such as he had strength in direct proportion to the years he had lived his unnatural after-life. Of course the potency of the blood he received had to be factored in.

Yet a shudder overcame her, an ice-cold tingle tickling her spine, as she watched his movements as he played the bouncer, throwing out two rowdy patrons. By his movements, the way he moved with a grace usually unknown to Vampiric men, never seeming to overestimate his strengths and abilities, yet showing the utmost confidence in each and every movement. She knew in that instant that he was in essence her kin; sired by the same man who had given the gift of darkness to her mother.

Leaning back onto the warm rooftop, she watched in distain, muttering that name under her breath, spitting the words out as if they were a curse not to be mentioned aloud; 'Dima...'

That one man - if such a monster could be called a man - had ruined her life, and that of her mother. It was for him that she spent her life cloaked in the depths of shadow. She was a half-blooded Vampire, a Dhampir, one of the thin-blooded. Each of these titles she despised with a hatred as dark as the blood coursing through her veins.

She was brought into this world in a way unknown until her birth. A Dhampir was the inhuman child of a vampire and a human, usually the result of a violent rape. Yet her origins were clouded, hiding the rainbow and sunshine beyond. If she were simply the result of a vampire rape, she may still have family. But alas, the fates were not so kind to these children of Lucifer.

Her mother was a demi-Dhampir, yet not by birth. During her pregnancy, the woman was taken by Dima, and he began the change in her. The exchange in blood already begun, she had broken into convulsions, her body rejecting the darkness that threatened to overwhelm her soul. It was at that moment fate truly stepped in, and a demon hunter entered, pursuing Dima the instant he was seen as a Vampire.

The woman was forgotten, her change incomplete. Yet the harsh ruby blood still coursed throughout her own body, taking the child within her, christening her into her new life of darkness, blood, and death. Months later, the woman broke into a harsh labour, dieing in the ambulance sent to take her to the hospital. The child was delivered, and since that moment, Shara wore the eternal curse of the Dhampir; hated by the vampires, misunderstood and feared by mortals. She was an outcast in the truest sense of the word.

Now, as she emerged from the all-encompassing world of her own deep, dark thoughts, she noticed the vampire still standing by the pub, but now, his strong eyes were gazing in her direction! Pressing her body flat against the roof, she looked up at the early morning sky, breathing heavily, yet keeping herself silent. She knew that if she could hear his movements, he would surely be able to hear hers as well.

Breathing deeply, but keeping her sounds to a bare minimum, Shara slowly but surely inched her way from the edge of the rooftop. Squeezing her eyes shut for a short moment, she stood, being sure to keep her lithe frame hidden behind a large, steel chimney platform.

Footsteps echoed down the lightening street, and Shara bit down on her lower lip, glancing around, ready to flee the instant he came too close. She adjusted her position so that she was crouching, and was about to leap off the rooftop, when the footsteps ceased. Surprised, yet worried, she moved closer to the edge and gazed down. The man below was standing, gazing eastward, as if contemplating whether or not the sun was truly rising, or his immortal eyes were cheating him. Shara smiled to herself in relief as he took one glance back toward the roof, and turned, hurrying off out of dawn's earliest light.

'So... he is a true vampire...' Shara thought as she let herself fall from the roof's edge, landing gracefully on both feet, slightly crouched down. She stood, straightened her leather duster, and continued walking on. Before she was unsure of his nature, but his fear of the light made all clear. Dhampir were the kindred and damned children of mortals and the undead, and so held only some of the Vampiric weaknesses. One of the small blessings bestowed on half-bloods such as Shara was immunity to the deadliness of the sun. True, when the sun was at full height, blazing a fiery red light down upon her, Shara's 'powers' were slowed. The harsh light irritated her, causing her eyes to water, but this could be toned down by a simple pair of strong sunglasses.

It was a pair of these that she now slid onto the bridge of her nose, blocking the light from her clear, icy blue eyes. Shaking her head, she let her long black bangs fall over her forehead, caressing her high cheekbones and the stylish dark glasses. Then, all at once, she was doubled over in pain, using the brick wall beside her to hold her lithe frame up, keeping her from falling to her knees.

It had been much too long since she had fed, and the cramps her rebelling stomach threw at her like too many exploding bombs within her, were becoming more severe than she had ever known before. And now they struck without warning, and were a constant worry. A kind stranger had almost called an ambulance, which would force her to go to the local hospital; a place she dreaded. But, being the fine little actress, she was able to feign a bright composure, and hurried off.

The hospital... Any number of the tests they would indeed run on her would prove her inhumanity. She would be stolen away from the world of darkness she had grown accustomed to, and tested on over and over again, until finally, someone would find the truth and kill her.

As if she didn't already have enough to worry about…

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Bloody images haunted her dreams, tormenting her mind with the visions of dripping corpses, screaming out in eternal anguish. Images that both disgusted her, as well as filled her with that insatiable hunger.

Early the next afternoon, Shara was awoken by convulsions wracking her slender frame. Immediately, she clamped her chattering jaws together, and attempted to calm her seizing muscles. Finally, the convulsions slowed, and eventually stopped, her muscles relaxing, and she simply lay there on the bed, breathing heavily. Sweat covered her pale body, black tank and shorts clinging to her, just as wet hair stuck to the sides of her face.

Her health was swiftly deteriorating. And yet she refused to allow herself the solace she so desperately needed. Shara was afraid that once she freely opened up, she would be helpless to stop herself, that the beast inside would overtake her. And she had already killed too many. The faces of each of her victims, countless though hey were, haunted her dreams.

Those names which she knew were forever etched into her brain, and she knew she could never escape these faces, those cruel, uncaring, accusing glares. No, Shara had not slept decently for a long while now.

Pulling herself finally to her feet, she stifles a yawn as she made her way to the kitchen of the small hotel suite. It was cozy, yes, but more importantly, it was on the fifth floor - Easy for her to escape an impending attack, but difficult to break in from outside - but the latter did little to ease her growing anxiety.

As she padded across the short expanse of linoleum tiling, she kept her senses alert, aware of the goings-on within the building, as well as on the streets outside. The attached living area and small kitchen were each sparsely furnished, and there was no food set out on the counters, and little in the cupboards, save for a small half-filled sugar bowl. The brown couch was bought second-hand, but Shara had a suspicion that it was really third- or fourth-. Likewise, the glass-topped coffee table had a long crack down its length, and was chipped from overuse.

But Shara didn’t care. This apartment, these things, were not a part of her, not resemblant of her being. They were simple necessities that had been purchased upon being thrust involuntarily into this new life. The belongings meant nothing to her. The most important thing she possessed at that time, precious for it had nearly been lost many times, was her own semi-mortal life.

Twirling a wisp of hair absently between her fingers, Shara pushed the button on her coffee maker, and it roared to life, filling the apartment with the warm aroma of those coveted beans. Over the years, perhaps in her reluctance to give in to her inhuman cravings, Shara had developed a great fondness of coffee, for caffeine in general. Wandering to the murky windows by the worn couch, mug in hand, she glanced outside, watching the people below, and marveling that they all lived in ignorance of the many hesitant truths of the world.

Shaking her head slowly in dismay that she were no longer one of them, she sipped her coffee in the natural light of the sun, savoring the aroma, the bittersweet taste of the brew in her mouth, letting the caffeine rush distract her from her slowly easing cramps in her abdomen. Like it or not, however, she knew that soon she would be forced to feed. But still she resisted, knowing she could not do so for long.

Soon thoughts clouded her gaze, and when finally she forced her mind to be cleared of the haze, an hour had elapsed without her realization, and the liquid in her mug had cooled. With each passing moment, her own anxiety grew, and her eyes kept wandering to the meager wooden door that bore entry to the small apartment suite. For with each moment that passed, the sun moved ever closer to the horizon, soon to be swallowed whole by the night, the city to be consumed by darkness.

Surely her pursuers would have tracked her unwitting trail by now, and by the night their hunt would be resumed, safe for them to take to the streets. And once again, the reluctant hunter would become the stalked prey. What exactly they wanted with her, Shara did not know. And neither was she curious enough to learn from personal experience…

--Chapter Two--

The sun had set, leaving in its wake a hazy red glow to stain the clouds and moon like white cloth over a bloody corpse. It was as if Judas had made a return to Heaven, massacring each of the angels in a bloody slaughter, their most vital of bodily fluids seeping out for all Earth to see.

Try as she might, Shara could not dispel the metaphors and crimson thougths that bombarded her as she gazed upward. And so, she turned her gaze to the ground, where her booted feet thudded ominously against the cool concrete. Ink black hair whipped about her pale face; a west wind had picked up, bringing with it a cool sea scent. In the late September residual warmth, it ws welcome, comforting, though soon the western coast would surrender to the throes of winter, leaving the nights chilly.

In any case, the clouds would be blown beyond vision, and the sky would be rid of the sanguine stains from the departing sunlight.

Shara needed desperately to feed. A Dhampir such as she, as she had only recently learned was the name to describe her 'race', could restrain his or herself for only so long, before the beast within took matters into its own hands. The technical term for the act was frenzy, a verb. When a Dhampir frenzied, they were no longer in charge of their actions. They acted like a person possessed, and became passive observers, unable to stop what "the beast" chose to do. And what it would do is fulfill its basic purpose; to feed by any means possible, and as quickly as the task could be completed. The beast within was the basic being that also dwelled within each vampire, the relentless, ruthless black soul that served the simple purpose to keep its host alive. Thus, Dhampir also frenzied if they were cornered, and brought out their most dangerous side.

Shara had never frenzied for the latter reason, although had also for the former a few times. Slowly she was beginning to accept her fate, and gave in to her cravings. Lately, however, she had had more important matters to occupy her time. Being chased cross country by a group of relentless vampires was enough to keep anyone's mind busy for any length of time.

The first time Shara had felt the cravings, she had felt like her innards were composing their own version of the second world war and slowly ripping her abdomen to shreds. Not knowing what was expected of her, she didn't feed and the cramping grew worse until they had gotten so severe that she had done something she had rarely in her life done; she had visited a doctor who had told her that it was just bad menstrual cramps and to take some midol. Chauvanistic pig. Male doctors never understood cramps, let alone these which came not during that particular phase of her cycle, these which told Shara she were dying.

And then, as the cramps worsened and she came out of a particularly bad seizure that would have put the most severe epileptic to shame, she had frenzied. At first, she had no memory of the event, only what she had figured to be bloody dreams, for she had been having them often by then. But when she awoke, and looked about her room blinkingly, the red stains didn't disappear into her subconscious. They were real. As were the dreams.


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Note from the Author: Quite obviously, since the ending here is so abrupt, this is a work in progress. Thanks for all the great R&R guys!


~*Kiki*~