Fateful Collision

Prologue

It had been such a long time since his thirst had been slaked.

When he saw the tall woman enter the basement, his eyes narrowed slightly. She appeared to be an angel since she was dressed in a shimmering white robe that was trimmed in white fur, but in reality, she was anything but.

When she got closer, the bottom of her velvet robe produced a quiet swishing sound, and once she was there, she kneeled down outside the holding cell. Raquel.

As Phil saw her take up the thin silver-bladed knife that was sitting next to a golden jewel-encrusted goblet on a low wooden table, he couldn't help but let out an inward groan. As she started to chant, her voice was low and almost mesmerizing, which caused his body to stiffen up. As she reached through the bars and drew the blade across his right thigh, he gritted his teeth in pain. She picked up the goblet and held it under the wound, allowing it to absorb the dark crimson blood that was leaking from the shallow cut that was relatively long. She made a similar cut in his left thigh while reciting while the goblet was halfway full. This happened when the goblet was halfway full. She exited the cellar after the cup was completely full.

She came back after a brief interval of time.

As the door to the cell opened, Phil sat up a little taller and extended his teeth. At the same time, a woman wearing a wrinkled brown dress was forced inside. She was hysterical as she scraped her knees on the chilly cement after she had fallen to the ground. His hands were clinched as the aroma of her blood, which was warm and delicious like copper, filled his nose.

The woman, whose eyes were wide with fear, struggled to her feet and dashed toward the door that was secured with iron bars.

She pleaded with her hands clenched around the bars, yelling, "Please!" "Let me out! Oh, please, I beg you, just let me get out of here!"

Yet, no one paid attention to her desperate pleading.

As Raquel turned and left the cellar, his prey wept uncontrollably and inconsolably.

The woman's one and only remaining chance was gone, so she ran to the farthest corner of the cage and put her back against the bars while wrapping both of her arms tightly around her waist. Her eyes welled up with tears as she pleaded with her cheeks, "Please don't."

Yet all he could make out was the rapid beating of her heart and the sound of blood quietly coursing through her veins.

“Please.” She bowed her head and clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture.

Yet, that would not be enough to save her.

Nothing could help her at this point.

It was time to start eating.

*********

Phil started to stir, and suddenly he woke up with a swear word on his lips. Another day wasted in obscurity, and another night spent in purgatory. If there was any way for him to end his own life, he would have done it a long time ago without hesitation.

He cursed the witch who had abducted him, the enchantment that had prevented him from recognizing her true identity, his unquenchable desire for blood, and the heavy silver chains that had kept him powerless. He sat up and said these things.

Damn.

He cast a glance across at the woman with the dark hair who was curled up on the floor next to him. Her respiration was shallow and erratic, and she appeared unkempt, both in her hair and clothing. Since this nightmare first began, how many women had been slaughtered by him? It didn't matter how much he tried to fight it, in the end he always gave in to the hunger that burned through him. It was unrelenting and impossible to ignore, so he had no choice but to give in to it. He attempted to resist the siren song of their blood. He experienced a pang of guilt for having to kill yet another innocent person. She was in the middle of her life, had been married for four decades, and was bound to die at his hands.

When pangs of guilt tore at him, he clinched his fists tighter and tighter. The feeling of regret had become his constant companion, along with an intense hatred for the witch who had held him captive, who had bled him to death and starved him to the point of death, until any shred of humanity or mercy that had been left in him had been obliterated by a hunger that was too excruciating to deny.

As the woman realized that he was looking at her from below, she jerked awake and her eyes grew wide with terror.

"I ask that you not," She tried to get away from him by scooting to the side, but there was nowhere else for her to go and nowhere for her to hide.

There was no way out for either of them.

Phil closed his eyes as he leaned his head against the wall behind him and thought about the night he first met Raquel. His thoughts drifted back in time to the moment they first met...

He had traveled into the city with the intention of hunting, but all thoughts of food went the moment he walked into a dingy nightclub and saw a woman dancing in the center of a mob of men cheering her on. He left the city without hunting anything. She had been stunningly gorgeous, and her motions had been as smooth as silk as she dipped and swayed to the rhythm of the music. Phil, along with every other male in the room, had fallen prey to her enchantment and been left entranced by the hidden allure that lay dormant in the depths of her sea-green eyes.

When she smiled at him, he completely disoriented himself.

When she asked him to her place, he did not give it a second thought to decline her invitation.

She gave a low giggle in response to his inquiry about her name, and then she took his hand and led him out of the tavern, through a twisting road that was narrow in places, and ultimately to a large house with two stories. As they were inside, she made a show of locking the door behind them and then took him into her bedroom, where she fulfilled all of his wildest fantasies.

As he awoke the following evening, he found that he was bound, that the stunning woman had been taken away, and that an emaciated, gray-haired witch was sucking his blood out of a gold cup that was adorned with jewels. Since then, he had been kept in this terrible cage, where he was restrained by powerful silver chains that drained his strength and damaged his paranormal abilities.

It did not take him very long to figure out what was taking place in the situation. The woman who had tricked him was actually a witch who had disguised herself as a beautiful young siren so that she might trick him. She had been looking for a vampire everywhere in the world, and Phil had stumbled into her trap completely by accident. Raquel had restored her youth and beauty through the use of his blood, and now she sold his blood to anyone who was willing to pay the price for it. Because some people chose to pay him in cash, others in gold, and yet others in human beings, he was occasionally presented with attractive women.

Phil cast a quick peek over at the terrified woman crouching next to him. She had been robust when Raquel had brought her to him for the first time; her blue eyes had been brilliant, and her fair complexion had been radiant. Now she was emaciated, with stringy hair that was uncombed and unkempt, and her eyes were sunken and clouded with terror. The witch would bring the woman water once a day, but she would not bring her any food. Why bother giving someone who was going to die food and water?

Phil let out a low cuss word. He didn't want to cause the woman any harm or rob her children of their mother, but he knew that sooner or later, the temptation to feed would become uncontrolled and the anguish of refusing would be severe. He didn't want to do either of those things. Even at this late hour, the terrified racing of her heart stirred his innate need to go hunting. The odor of her blood, which was warm and red as it poured through her veins, offered the hope of rapid respite from the misery that was encircling him.

He was going to have to eat sooner or later, and when he did, he was going to devour everything in sight. Perhaps it would have been more merciful to have killed the woman the first night Raquel had brought her to him rather than letting her linger, her fear growing as she waited for him to strike; perhaps it would have been more merciful to have killed the woman the first night Raquel had brought her to him.