Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
“Either way, tailor,” said Brutus, “you have earned some serious respect from Fina and her sisters. There’s talk of a statue.”
“Where’s the vampire now?” Damien stood up, feeling like his body had been run over by several semis. And a herd of elephants.
“He’s in my hut.” Brutus chuckled. “You know, I think you were just what he needed to bring him out of his shell. Damned vampire won’t stop chatting.”
“You are joking, yes?” Damien asked.
“Come see for yourself.”
CHAPTER NINE
MF and Brutus entered the large hut ahead of Damien, who decided to stay outside listening—just to be on the safe side—as the vampire reminisced with some of the villagers about the good old days, when he used to truly enjoy being a vampire.
“Killing had meaning. It felt powerful yet challenging to take a life,” Maxton said.
“It’s not anymore?” asked MF, sounding a little peppier than usual.
“When I was a new vampire, I never knew the outcome before I hunted my prey. I mean, yes, I could overpower any mortal, but there was a piece of my soul that struggled and questioned every kill. Sometimes, I walked away out of guilt. Other times, I overcame my moral objections and took the life. The point is that the outcome was never predetermined. Even if I hunted a depraved murderer, rapist, or child molester, which were always my favorites to dine on, there were moments when I said to myself, ‘Maxton, why not simply break his legs and arms and throw him in a ditch? Allow him to suffer.’”
“So why did you run off to hide in the jungle?” someone asked. Damien couldn’t see who.
“One day, I woke up, and it was gone. I no longer cared who I killed. If I came across any immortals who challenged me, I was old enough to overcome them.” Maxton sighed. “Life just didn’t have meaning anymore.”
Holy hell. Was this vampire saying he got bored of being a vampire? That was why he was here in this jungle? Damien shook his head. Sounded a little pathetic.
Maxton went on, “So I wandered the globe, searching for meaning, and do you know what I found?”
“What?” Brutus asked.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing except the desire to die.”
“Why didn’t you?” MF asked.
“Suicide? Never. I am a Catholic.”
Damien blinked. Huh? Suicide no, but killing innocent people yes?
Maxton continued, “So here I remain, hoping that someday a creature strong enough, brave enough, will find me and end my life. Last night was the closest I’ve come. A great fight, but not enough to do the job.”
He just got lucky, Damien thought, stepping inside the crowded hut. “Hello, vampire.”
Maxton sat in the corner on a wooden chair, his dark hair combed neatly back. He wore only a white dress shirt covered in mud. No pants, no shoes, nothing else. He was surrounded by eight warrior women, who stared with lustful fascination, plus MF and Brutus.
“Beast.” Maxton dipped his head, his green eyes vigilant.
“The beast is napping. I am Damien Greystone. Pleasure.”
“Did you forget your clothing?” Maxton asked.
Damien looked down at his nude body. “Yes, well, I do not know what happened to my clothes, and someone has my emergency travel suit.”
Brutus handed Damien a pair of leather pants. “Here. I can’t wear these anymore. Much too hot for this weather.”
“Gee. Thanks.” Damien snatched the pants from his hand and slid them on. Yes. They were very hot. And they smelled of sweaty balls. Also, they had been stretched out to Brutus’s shape. On Damien, they looked like a deflated leather balloon.
MF giggled. “Someone needs to work out more.”
“I beg to differ,” said Maxton, rubbing his jaw. “That body packs quite the punch. And I would return your suit, but I’m afraid it was ruined during our fight.”
So that was why Maxton was only wearing a dress shirt. Can’t believe he killed my suit.
Damien held back his anger. “I can always get another,” he lied. It was no longer produced by Armani. “What I am concerned with is you coming back to LA with me.”
“That’s what we were chatting about earlier while Brutus was out looking for you,” said MF. “Maxton has vowed never to leave this jungle.”
“Because you’re tired of killing?” Damien asked.
“No. Because I am a vampire who finds no joy in his purpose. My life has no meaning.”
“Because you’re tired of killing,” Damien repeated.
“Exactly,” Maxton replied.
Alrighty, Damien thought.
“I get it. I do,” Brutus said, standing beside MF. “There comes a point where you start asking yourself, why? I kill, I kill, then I kill again. But does it change the world? Does evil cease to exist? No. So then you ask, well, is there anything in it for me? Any sense of satisfaction or pleasure? No.”
“You understand me well, Brutus.” Maxton bowed his head.
“I hate to break up this bromance,” Damien said, “but there is an insane goddess who doesn’t care if you enjoy killing, being a vampire, or if you’ve taken a vow. She will kill the only two women I have ever lo—sworn to protect, and they are more important than your feelings of vampiric impotence.”