Chapter One

A bitter chill lingered in the night air, bringing with it the first winter freeze. Shrouded in black, Malik swept through the small town. Not many people were awake at such an hour. Those that were quickly evaded his path, somehow sensing the darkness of his soul. He did not consider himself evil. After all, the Grim Reaper did not seek the souls of the living simply because he had a desire to do so. No, Death served a purpose as did Malik. He did not yet know his purpose. All he knew was the never ended hunger that gnawed at him, begging to be soothed. When that hunger called, he answered.

The snow crunched beneath his boots. He was just a mile within the town when an all too familiar scent drifted towards him. He paused, a freezing blast sweeping across his face. Somewhere, a poor soul lay dying in the snow. The scent of their precious blood, not soon forgotten for those of his kind, filled his nostrils. Inhaling sharply, he shook his head in disdain for whatever crime had caused that scent. Malik may be a murderer but even he did not kill without reason. Even then, Malik feasted only on those who were not far from death’s door. He feasted on the poor souls who begged for his mercy.

His feet returned to their travel, drawing him closer to whomever would be his victim that night. His sharp vision searched alleyways, the dark corner that would be missed by mortals. His hunger began to growing, coiling in the pit of his stomach like a sharp knife. He growled softly. He did not look forward to finding his next meal. Yes, he needed it, craved it beyond measure, but it was not something he did with joy. He dreaded the moment he would take that person's life. Not just the moment of frightening despair in their eyes, that last ditch effort to cling to their mortality. It was the overwhelming sensation of utter emptiness that followed afterwards. When their eyes no longer glistened with life, their heart now still and quiet, they would be welcomed into whatever life existed afterwards. It was a life, an experience he would never get.

Pushing the depressing thought aside, he continued on his journey. It did not take long to settle on his next victim. Hunched against a decaying brick wall, she reeked of death. It oozed from her pores, swirling and choking him with its pungent odor. A thin, ragged blanket hung over her frail shoulders, her eyes settled in hollow sockets. Skin blistered with sores, pus oozing down her cheeks, he could not help but take pity on the woman. Elderly, she had outlived her usefulness. She had been discarded to die, alone, on the street. His shadow fell over her shivering form, drawing her eyes up. Her wind blistered lips pulled into a smile. Blood trickled down her chin.

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he knelt before her. He dabbed away the blood. Her bony fingers wrapped around his wrist, eyes pleading, “Are you here to deliver me from this misery?” She croaked.

He offered a reassuring smile, “Aye, if that is your wish.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek. It froze halfway down, “I cannot bare this life a second longer.” 

He stood, offering the woman his hand. Frostbitten fingertips gliding across his palm, allowing him to guide her into a standing position. She teetered a moment, her frail form sagging against him. His eyes search the darkened streets for any potential witnesses. Finding none, he maneuvered her into the dark alley directly behind them. He preferred to feed away from an audience. Once encompassed by darkness, the frail woman’s head tilted in invitation. He accepted.

Her skin tasted of leather but offered little resistance as his fangs tore into the side of her throat. He did his best to make the feed as quick and painless as possible. She whimpered, hands  clutching his shirt. Her blood flowed down the back of his throat, swirling in the pit of his stomach. The more he drank, the more his hunger demanded more. 

Once they neared death, even his more willing victims lashed out. This one was no different. With the slowing of her heart, the withered form in his arms began to flail. Her cries rung out. Despite her willingness for her life to end, she made one last attempted to cling to it.  He did not release her. It was much too late for that. Even if he stopped feeding, too much blood had been lost for her to survive. It would be cruel to release her now. Instead, his hand wound about her mouth, smothering her cries of despair. 

Her heart offered one last beat of despair. Her arms dropped listlessly, body falling limp in his arms. Malik pulled away. He stared at her empty eyes for a moment before lying her slowly into the snow. Plucking the handkerchief from his pocket once more, he wiped the evidence of his crime from his lips. He stuffed it back into his pocket. He stood. Guilt gnawed at the hole in his chest where his soul would be…if he had one.

The scattering of cans forced him away from his victim. He could not be seen once her body was discovered. He backed from the alley. He collided with the shoulder of a stranger. Malik fought the urge to tear his throat out for the insult.

Breath reeking of alcohol, the man was hardly a threat. He staggered back,  Their eyes met. The man mumbled what sounded like an apology, shaking his head. Taking a swig of the papered container in his hand, he stumbled in the opposite direction.

Malik watched the man until he disappeared around a dark corner. Only then did he allow himself to relax. He could not afford to be caught… not again.  In all his years, he had only been discovered a handful of times. It never ended well for the mortals foolish enough to track him to his lair. He did not feed from them but he also did not allow them to return alive. 

Before Malik could take another step, another scent drifted towards him. He paused, head tilting upwards. His eyes slid shut. Sweet yet laced with fear, he’d never smelt something so..intoxicating before. He considered his options.

While the new aroma certainly enticed him to seek out the source of it, he had to ask himself one question:  could he risk remaining in town? It wouldn’t take long for the corpse was discovered. Or…would it? The woman certainly had no family to speak of. Would she even be missed? If so, would her death be investigated? His lips twisted into a frown.

His feet seem to choose his path before his mind was decided. He found himself drifting further into the quiet town. The delicate aroma led him to a large, dilapidated building seated in the center of town. Red curtains decorated the decaying windows, soft candle light illuminating the red. The sound of laughter echoed out into the streets. He knew this place. Although he’d never ventured within, he’d overheard the servants within his household speaking of it.

He stood in the snow, head shaking in slight disbelief.  How could such a heavenly smell be coming from such a place? Did he dare enter that place of temptation? He may have been immortal but he was certainly not immune to the…bodily pleasures a woman could provide. He was no monk.

It had been many years since he had sought out physical pleasure. It had never ended well for either party involved. It was not worth the risk of loosing control and murdering the unfortunate girl that had found her way into this bed. That had happened more than he cared to admit.

A girl appeared from within,  smoke swirling about her as she stood just outside the door. Malik’s breath hitched.  Emerald eyes flashing in the soft moonlight, he watched the shiver that ran down her spine.  She wore no cloak. It was clear from the way she dressed that she was no whore. She showed no inch of flesh save the sliver of exposed throat that peeked from beneath her collar. 

The raven haired vixen refused to look any of the men in the eye. Her gaze remained steadily focused downwards as she took a cautious step forward. Malik finally noticed the throng of both men and women that had gathered at the steps.

She was the source, of that he was certain. He took a step forward, the scent becoming almost unbearable to ignore. Malik didn’t know that this was but he yearned for more. He stood only inches from her. A man stepped between him and his destination. He uttered a soft growl. The man made no acknowledgment of Malik. His focus was entirely on the entrancing woman before him. 

The interloper extended his hand. She shook her head, rebuffing him. He did not enjoy that…although Malik did. Immensely. 

“Look here, I have paid good money for you. I shall not be denied.” He drawled, voice laced with liquor. 

“You have paid for a whore, which I am not.” The petite female returned. There was a waver of fear in her voice but she hid it well.

Malik could not see his the man’s face but there was no denying his rage. The man took a menacing step forwards, beefy fingers taking hold of her upper arm, “You are what I say you are.” He growled.

He’d seen enough. It wasn’t in his nature to intervene under normal circumstances but, for her, he would make an exception. Stepping forwards, he offered the man a light tapp on the shoulder. He wanted to rip his throat out.

 “The girl has made her wishes known. I suggest you remove your hand before I remove it for you.”

The man blinked, head swiveling to gaze up at Malik. He was a good head and a half shorted than himself. Even without his supernatural strength, if it came to blows, the man stood little chance of winning.  His beady eyes narrowed, indecision flashing behind them for a brief second. His lips parted for a moment but closed just as quickly. Chin tilting, he let out a string of curses before deciding it would be in his best interest to leave the girl be. Malik watched him enter the lair of sin before turning his attention towards her.

“Are you alright?” He inquired, hand reaching out in comfort.

Her eyes dropped to his outstretched hand, recoiling from the kind gesture, “You should not have intervened, sir.”

Malik blinked. That wasn’t quite the reaction he had expected. “You did not desire what he was offering.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away.  “The Madame will not be pleased, is all. You get to leave this place. I do not have that same option.”

Malik frowned, hand retreating, “I see.”

As if uttering her name was enough to summon her, an older lady appeared. She hovered on the step above them, snake eyes appraising Malik with both anger and interest. Arms crossed, she made her descent. She paused just behind the shivering girl. Her hand lifted to the girl’s shoulder. Malik could see how her nails dug into the girls skin.

“My dearest Annabelle. Word has reached me that you turned away a potential client,” She clicked her tongue, “That was not wise.”

Malik stepped forward, intervening once again. What the hell was wrong with him? He should walk away. He found himself unable to do so. 

“That was my fault, ma’am.” His gaze travelled to her terrified face, “I saw her and desired that no other man touch her.”

This statement caught the Madam’s attention. Her perfectly polished eyebrows lifted in renewed excitement, “Is that so?” She stepped beside the girl, offering him her hand, “Well, perhaps we should step inside my office for a moment.”

“I would be delighted to.” Malik replied.

The look on Annabelle’s face caused him a moment of pause. Like a deer caught in a hunter’s trap, her eyes revealed her desire to flee. She knew she could not. Her plush lips opened, quickly closing again. She wished to speak, wished to beg the Madam not to do whatever it was that she planned on doing. Her desperate eyes flickered towards Malik. Unshed tears shimmered in her frightful gaze. He quickly looked away. Malik would not harm her, would not touch her without her consent. But, alas, this was not something she knew. She thought him like the others, a man obsessed with the pleasures of flesh.

“Annabelle, see to the other guests. I will send someone to fetch you once our business is finished.”

“I look forward to seeing you again.” Malik called to her retreating form. She did not respond. She would come to trust him, in time.