Eyes Of A Stranger: Chapter Eight Of “Waiting For The Sun”

I have just realized that my eyes are not my own. By this, I mean that-though I am still Cris-I am no longer the Cris of old. I have become a new person. A new creature. I am no longer human.

But I am not merely a vampire either. I still feel emotions other than hate. I fear. I feel sadness. Anger. Elation.

I am more than just a vampire, yet less than human. I am something in between. I have wings. A vampire does not. I can change shape. Most vampires are doing good to turn into giant bat-like hominids. Can’t call them humans. They aren’t.

They are the lowest form of un-life. Evil. Thoughtless. Destructive.

They could care less about what damage they are doing. When they appeared, they were a form of balance. Now, they are a parasite. Draining the life out of the planet.

I hate parasites. They bleed everything dry. All take, no give. Selfish to the core.

They deserve to die. They waste their resources, namely the population of humans. They seem to think that the supply of fresh blood will never end. I wonder if they are breeding humans for mass consumption. Is that the reason they are so wasteful? Mindless?

They claimed they would use their resources better than man. But they are no better. But they do not exactly rule the world yet either. Thought they would like you to believe that they do.

I know better. For all their dark bravado, they have nothing. Just wishful thinking. And empty dreams. Empty promises.

Not much better than their human predecessors. In a lot of ways, they are worse. Even worse than what the elderly called Communism. Oppressive. Violent. Bankrupting.

Sometimes, you just want to ask them what they think they are doing. But they will never tell the truth. Always with the illusion. Always with the fiction.

Man may have been stupid, but at least he knew when to admit he was full of it. Even a liar was prone to admit that he had lied. Not so with a vampire. They lie and call it the truth.

But I am not like them. I am always truthful. I cannot lie. Not willingly. Or purposefully. There is no deceit in my heart.

I am always honest. Always concerned. Always desiring to be upfront with those I deal with. But within reason.

I do not speak to the vampires we hunt. I have nothing to say to them. And why should I? After all, they are the reason I am what I am. And that makes me angry.

I hate what they have made me into. I do not live. Nor am I dead. I am stuck in what Truva calls limbo. Somewhere between Heaven and Hell. But not purgatory. I guess it is just a place where you wander the earth neither alive nor dead.

No mention of my soul. or if I even had one. I am just here. Whether I want to be or not.

I am not being defeatist. Just real. Life, or the lack thereof, sucks. Undeath sucks. Big time.

I look forward to the night. The hunt. The battle. I look forward to exacting justice for everyone I have lost.

Truva is concerned that I have lost my chance to return to what was. I don’t know if I really want to. I don’t know what kind of life I would have now. Not without my family.

Of Course, there is Isabel. But she is with the Sisterhood. With no Rome, The convent has become a place where armies are trained. Armies of hunters. All going out into the world and hacking through the evil masters of this age. I wonder if this is what the Bible meant about the end times. Is this the real end of the age? And these vampire overlords the Antichrist? I don’t know.

It would be so easy to say so. But I am no judge of those things. I do not want to presume anything. Least of all God’s intent.

I look up to see Truva at the door. “McCall is about ready to go out. He wants to know if you are too.”

I nod. “Yes. Just doing a bit of meditation before the hunt.”

He peers at me through his spectacles, suspicious. “Hope it was productive.”

Again I nod. “Yes.” I get up and pick up my swords and slide them into their hidden scabbards. Under my wings. I have added the tantos given to me by Fujinaki and slip them into their sheaths at my back. Throwing on my cloak, I stride confidently out of my room.

I join McCall at the door to the main house. He is as tall, dark and mysterious as ever. And as quiet. I find it alluring. Almost too tempting in ways I dare not think. Especially since he is more like a father to me, having raised me, than any other.

I look at Truva. “Who we after tonight?”

He smiles. “Tonya Le Strange. You will recognize her as the one they call The Black Rose.”

I look him in the eye. ” Second only to the one they call The Queen Of The Reich.”

“Yes. One of the two most dangerous of the female vampire enforcers.” He clears his throat. “Be extra careful tonight. You do not know how many goons she will be surrounded by. She is the mistress to Jason Kalkolides. But so is Queenie.”

I show my disgust through making a face. “Not very loyal, is he?”

“It is a thing of prestige, not loyalty. Each woman is from another clan. Smaller clans offer one of their girls to the leader, warlord, of a larger clan in hopes of becoming allied to them. Often, though the smaller usually gets absorbed into the larger eventually through intermarriage. In other words, the smaller clan ceases to exist as a separate clan.” He raises his right eyebrow.

“Oh.” I am not sure I actually understood it fully, but I believe I have a good picture.

As McCall and I slip into the darkness, I know that this is going to be the greatest test of my skills. This is no lackey we are hunting. This is one of the main players. A mistress. A Lady of the court.

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