Manifestation of a Monster (Warm-Blooded Vampires) Book 2

Lost in Time - The Morgue - 4/15/2018

When he regained consciousness, the last thing he remembered was narrowly escaping death. His veins filled with the Necrobeast's blood. In theory, the toxin could have been eliminated before it reached his heart, but he moved so slowly that it was unlikely to happen.

Because he hadn't had any human blood for a while, he managed to make it through the attack. Not all members of their species have this ability. To him, self-control is a matter of sipping tea. A tiny bit of blood was added to keep him alive. Definitely not the same as consuming a fresh individual. But it was enough to keep his heart beating normally in the time between meals.

His hesitation to kill was not motivated by any sense of morality. Indeed, it was essential to the survival of his kind. Something he accepted centuries ago. He knew that the tea he brewed would sustain him for the weeks he went without food. Keeping his heart rate constant within a range of -15 to -20 BPM. Some people in his life might have wondered if he was trying to reduce the number of people he killed. He simply would not respond to them. However, if he did, it would be something to the effect of "Don't be foolish, what do their lives matter to me?"

His motive was merely a desire to feel his own adrenaline surge in tandem with that of his victims. Feeling his own virtually empty veins fill with blood. Like an unexpected hurricane, the blood would rush through him. A Complete system revival. It was his payoff for maintaining such regimentation in his daily life.

As he awoke from his deep sleep, that old sensation began to stir in him. He expected to feel revitalized, but he didn't. Substituted a searing agony. He felt the liquid pulsing through his veins like a knife. Every time his consciousness returned, the pain intensified to an intolerable level. And both his eyes and his mouth hurt from trying to open.

He wasn't going to panic, even though there was a lot that could have gone wrong. He had not been murdered by the black blood. Or maybe he had? He never put stock into an afterlife. But as he never truly died before, he couldn't be certain there wasn't one.

He'd only ever seen black blood once before. His people must have put him into a permo-sleep. But for how long? Had he woken up to soon? That was the question now. He had no idea how long it would have taken his body to recuperate completely from the necorbest attack.

He'd gone to sleep in the catacombs, a sanctuary for weakened or tired Kaw-Sekhmu, who needed more than a few hours of rest to recover. His kind typically needed only half the sleep required by a human, but there were times when a Ka-Sekhm would require much, much more.

When one grew bored with life itself and wanted to sleep through to another era--or, as in his case, when one was so badly hurt that the only thing that could save them was to rest until the body recuperated. They could spend decades or centuries resting in one of the glass coffins that filled the walls of their family mausoleum.

Only a select few Kaw-Sekhmu knew the true location of the catacombs. And no other creature was permitted anywhere near. He couldn't explain it, but he somehow knew that wasn't where he was now and that something terrible must have happened.

He could hear two faint voices. But he couldn't place their voices and they sounded human.

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow!" A soft woman's voice came from across the room, calling out to someone as she drew nearer. She felt human, the heaviness of her steps, the way she breathed.

His kind still could breathe, but it was much quieter, and they mostly only did so when it was necessary, and in most cases, it wasn't. Speaking, eating, and drinking, were the few times that it was.

As he got more feeling in his body, he became aware he wasn't wearing any clothes. A sure sign that things were truly dire. A thin, cheap blanket draped over his entire body. That was when he noticed the sharp pain in his neck. Pumping something other than blood into his body. A strong chemical smell insulted his nostrils.