Chapter 1: Lessons

learning to live a new lifestyle has it's ups and downs

            Stefano watched the man with casual indifference.  The sound from the cobblestone street gave evidence to the man’s condition; uneven footfalls, shuffling, slow/fast pace of a man trying not to fall.   Added to the fact the man had just left the Retched Raven inn and pub, alcohol was certainly involved.  Normally such a soul would be overlooked by the young vampire, but he hadn’t fed for a fortnight and hunger somewhat clouded his motives.  With the sound of a leaf in the wind, Stefano left his perch in the shadows, moving quickly to the darkness of the trees that surrounded the pathway.  Soon his prize would be headed down hill and, though not steep, in the man’s apparent condition, it wouldn’t be difficult to bring him down.

            He struck with the agility of a cat and the speed of a cobra’s strike.  There was no sound from his victim as he brought him down, sinking fangs into the man’s neck.  They withdrew as he began to drink, allowing sustenance to flow freely.  Stefano did not move until this new well ran dry.  Only then did he stand and look at the body at his feet, flinching slightly.  A sound up the path brought him from his reverie and he turned, disappearing into the shadows as shade itself.

            Vaulting over the sea wall, he now walked towards Haven, his movements undetectable by any in town as the tall stone partition barely gave view of the distant horizon from within the gates.  He paused at a large rock outcropping, sitting where the water lapped against the stones, remnants of the crashing surf that made it up shore.  He lowered his head to his hands and shuddered, part from remorse over his actions, and part from the unexpected level of alcohol attacking his system.

            He didn’t mean to drink so deeply.  He never did, and that only made his sorrow greater.  With each feeding he would tell himself Only enough to survive.  No need to kill.  And each time he would drain his victim of all blood, leaving less than a droplet behind.  When the beast took hold, there was no denying it of food, no holding back from the incredible exhilaration felt when first starting to drink.  He remembered chuckling the first time he stopped to consider it.  At his first feeding he had complete understanding why their kind didn’t need sex; feeding was ten times the explosive hit to the nervous system. 

            Their kind.   His kind.  Thanks to Vargon, his sire, he was part of they.  Yet he did not fault the man.  What was done had been done through kindness, and Stefano’s grief had changed over time.  Though not completely gone, he was able to look past his losses … for the most part.  He gripped at the rocks as convulsions hit him and he heaved up the fluid contents of his stomach.  He coughed and spat into the wavelets as weakness consumed him.  In that state he almost missed the tell-tale whisper of air movement denoting his sire’s arrival.

            “Chylde, how oft must I tell you to stay away from the drunken?”  Anger rolled in the heavy darkness of Vargon’s voice as he sat beside the younger man.

            “I know, Father… I … I was so hungry …”

            “I should leave you in this state, let you perhaps learn.  But I was new once … Here.” 

            Stefano looked up at the offered wrist and dove into it, mindless in the beast once again.  Vargon grabbed a handful of his son’s hair and ripped him away, almost throwing him into the water.

            “With respect, whelp, or I shall let you starve.”

            “Yes, Sire.”  Stefano slowly moved back, averting his eyes as he once more took the elder’s arm in his hands, and drank slowly, gently.  The power that surged through him awoke all his senses to their surroundings.  He slowly pulled away, licking the wound and letting it heal.  He glanced up at the elder’s face.  “Father … Sire ….”

            Vargon smiled slightly.  Hearing both his titles, he knew a major question was on its way.  “Yes, my chylde?”

            Stefano weighed his words carefully before he began, “I’ve been with you on a hunt.  You know that �" it’s how you taught me.”  He paused briefly.  “You don’t kill every time you feed … or at least it doesn’t look like it …”

            “No, son, you are correct.  It is not necessary to kill when you feed, but it is most times more prudent as it leaves no witness.  But if you haven’t been seen, then you should not need to kill.”

            “Why can’t I do that?  I mean, I tell myself before the strike that I will only drink till satiated, but when I taste their blood … it is a feeling I can’t describe.  And it drives me to drink until there is no more …”.  His voice trailed off, the pain in his soul over the issue more than evident.

            “That control comes with maturity, Stefano.”  Devotion echoed in the man’s voice.  “You shall find it in time.”

            “Time is an eternity anymore.”

            Vargon chuckled.  “You are maturing already, if you feel the endlessness of time.  It shouldn’t be long, my son.   Does it bother you to kill?”

            “Sometimes.   Some.   Usually.”  Stefano lowered his eyes.

            “That too should pass away.  I would suggest you allow it to happen … This life can be excrutiating if you always regret eating.”

            Stefano looked up to find Vargon’s gaze.  “Thank you, Sire.  My grief over … my past, it grows less all the time.  I will trust the other will as well.”

            Vargon smiled and stood.  “Good.  Then come.  I have something I wish to show you.”

            Stefano rose and followed his sire into the shadows.