July, 1997, somewhere in Colorado
Konstantin emerged from the soil looking a lot more than usual like someone dead more than 300 years. His flesh was torn in several places; a large flap of the skin of his forehead hung loose, exposing bone beneath, and a fist-size chunk of muscle had been torn from his left shoulder, and an even larger one was missing from the outside of his right thigh. The injuries did not bleed, both because vampires generally do not bleed unless they choose to do so, but also because he had no blood within his body. He had expended his last bit of Vitae awakening for the evening, leaving him nothing with which to heal his injuries.
It was imperative that he feed. To not do so would guarantee that when he fell asleep at the next dawn’s approach, the sleep would be a lengthy one. It was only twelve years since he’d woke from his most recent torpor, after his body had been torn apart by a land mine in Afghanistan. He shuddered to remember his torpor dreams, and really did not want to experience them again so soon.
Konstantin knew, though, that torpor would be the least of his worries if his enemies were still about. He was in no shape to fight them, or even to escape, and as injured as he already was, they would make short work of him.
“Stupid,” he thinks to himself. “Should mind own business.”
The night before, outside Denver, he’d encountered an amazing sight – a fight to the death between two groups of werewolves. Despite having had to fight wolf-men in the past, Konstantin had always respected them: He thought their savage fury and their animal nature made them something not completely unlike himself, and he’d never encountered a werewolf who was not a fearsome warrior. So, he’d stayed to watch the fight. It hadn’t lasted long – one of the groups was larger and clearly more skilled – but unfortunately for him, the surviving pack, who called themselves Pure, had not taken kindly to his unintended intrusion onto the territory they had just claimed from the pack they’d slaughtered. Talking didn’t accomplish much – some of them were in a berserk fury, and the others seemingly just wanted to kill something else – and though no coward, he knew he was not nearly powerful enough to defeat seven werewolves, even though some of them were already wounded. He’d taken the form of a bat and tried to fly away, but was thwarted by a werewolf who had made an impressive 12-foot vertical leap to swat him to the ground. Only his Resilience and his Claws had saved him them, allowing him to survive long enough to flee again. He hadn’t been able to fly long, though - daylight had approached quickly, and when his Resilience ran out, he was left nearly torpid – and he’d still been able to hear the werewolves’ howls when he slid into the cold embrace of the earth.
As silently as possible, Konstantin climbed a tree and looked around. He saw no sign of the wolves, and hoped that meant they’d given up on him. He had no interest in seeing them again any time soon. He did, however, see the flicker of several small fires in the distance – campfires, most likely. This meant there were kine nearby, and as hungry as he was, his natural wariness of approaching fire was overruled by his need to feed.
Cautiously, staying to the trees as much as possible so as to maintain a wide vantage point, Konstantin moved toward the campfires, around the base and lower edges of a mountain. He stayed far away from the clusters of fires, seeking instead an isolated one. Even out here, it was important Masquerade be maintained, and as injured as he was, even a few normal humans were more than he could fight. He would have to be careful in his feeding.
He came upon a pair of campers – a man and a woman – off by themselves. They had a firepit, over which they cooked meat and something that smelled of tomato and spices, and a small tent. Konstantin watched, and he listened, making sure there were no others – human or werewolf, or even other Kindred – nearby.
The woman was tall, with tanned skin, an athletic build, wide hips and generous curves. Her long, curly hair was the sort of reddish-brown one called chestnut in horses. The man was taller yet, fit, muscular, with long, blonde hair and a neat beard. They wore sturdy, functional clothing and were at obvious ease in the wild – experienced hikers and campers. Though their isolated location made them the safest choice of food he’d encountered this evening, Konstantin knew they would likely not fall easily. He would have to strike quickly and with surprise were he to feed on either of them… and he would have to make certain he was not interrupted.
Keeping to the shadows, far from the lights of the fires, Konstantin spent perhaps an hour prowling the area for other campers, for the Pure, or for anyone or anything else that might be about. The animals of the forest kept themselves far from him – they could sense a hungry predator. He paid them no heed, his blood too strong for him to benefit from the blood of beasts.
When he returned to the campsite of his chosen prey, their fire had burnt low and Konstantin did not see the man or the woman. He crept forward, slowly and cautiously. He could hear the prey in the tent, the sounds of lovemaking. He smiled a predator’s smile, knowing their fulfilling their passion would leave them both calm and probably less on guard. They might simply fall asleep afterward, which would complicate things – he’d rather not struggle to overpower two strong humans within the small space of a tent – but he suspected at least one of the, most likely the man, would come out empty his bladder and tend to tend to the fire.
He moved closer, at the end of the tent opposite its entry, and crouched there, silent and motionless, awaiting his opportunity.
Some time later, as expected, the man emerged, wearing only jeans. He went about the business of putting out the fire, unaware of his impending doom. Konstantin approached him from behind, intent on overpowering him and feeding before the man knew what was happening. This would be safest for Konstantin and also most humane for his prey, causing the man no unnecessary pain or horror, with the bliss of the Kiss being the last thing he felt.
Unfortunately for both Konstantin and the man, it didn’t work that way.
Off in the distance, there was the call of an owl. Hearing it, the man turned, and in doing so caught sight of Konstantin, crouched only a couple feet away, his fangs bared.
Konstantin pounced on the man, his strength greater than that of the human despite the human’s greater height. The man grunted as Konstantin slammed into him, but kept his calm, and slammed his fist against Konstantin’s nose.
Wounded and hungry, Konstantin’s beast surged to the fore, pushing aside the man. In full frenzy, he slammed the man to the ground roughly, growling, then leaped upon the stunned prey.
“Roy, what’s going on?” the woman called out from inside the tent. “Are you okay?”
Roy wasn’t able to answer, nor was Konstantin of a mind to do so, his fangs piercing the man’s jugular as he drank deep. He felt the warmth of the man’s lifeblood flowing into his body, savored the flavor, and used a bit of it to mend some of his wounds while continuing to drink. The man was pale and gasping his last breath when suddenly Konstantin felt a sharp pain at the back of his skull.
Dropping the man, he whirled, to find the woman, nude except for an unbuttoned, oversized flannel shirt and holding a hatchet. Still in the grip of frenzy, Konstantin attacked her without thought, slamming all his bulk into her, taking her breath. Atop her, he grabbed the hand with the hatchet and held it to the ground as he leaned in and bit her neck, opening the arteries. Despite the kiss, she struggled, pushing against him, but for nothing. In short order, he’d drained her to near death, spending some more of the Vitae to heal his torn flesh.
As his mind cleared, Konstantin became aware of what he’d done. He looked down at the woman – pale now, despite her tan, and still beautiful despite being near death. Something about her – her beauty, her willingness to fight to protect her mate, perhaps even how she fought him to her last breath – struck a chord with Konstantin, and without thinking, he bit down on his wrist, pushed it against her mouth and forced his blood, his very essence, and his will into her.
Afterward, Konstantin finished off the man, tore down the tent and, quietly and slowly, carried the couple, the tent and the rest of their gear into the woods. Earlier, he had seen an empty space within some broken rocks. During the winter it had probably served as a den for some hibernating creature, but now it would serve as a place to stow away the man’s body and all of the couple’s gear save for a pack containing some of the woman’s clothing. Konstantin covered the cranny over with some rocks and leaves. It wouldn’t keep the body from being discovered forever, but it would do the job for now.
Next, Konstantin lifted the woman – dead now, but in the process of becoming something more – and carried her away. He stopped frequently to survey his surroundings, and to make sure he was and would remain unobserved. He traveled in this manner until about an hour before dawn, by which time he’d gone far from where he’d fed and had found an isolated location, well off any trails, where they were almost certain to be left alone through the day. After finding this location, he dug a hole in the earth, large enough for the woman’s body and deep enough to not be easily dug up by some scavenger. He placed her body in the hole and covered it up with soil and rocks, then, right before dawn, merged himself with the soil next to her body.
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