Read Vampire Rising for Free Online Page A

bodies of the
dead and wounded; many, tumbling over the stone balustrades, fell
into the river, whose black waters, like snapping jaws, swallowed
the still twitching bodies. Many of the humans, scrambling to get
away, tripped on the discarded placards that littered the ground.
Others, hindered by the awkward sandwich boards they wore, fell
and, arms flailing, were defenseless, trapped by their own hatred,
as the Vampires tore at their flesh.
    The mockingbirds wheeled through the sky,
mimicking the screams and gasping last breaths of the dying humans.
The police, who’d been standing idly by, sprang to sudden kinetic
life, like over-wound toy soldiers. Responding to shouted orders
that broke, like canon fire, over the square, they stomped past
Barnabas in a lather of jack-booted violence, a goose-stepping
bewildered army of madmen. As the cops advanced, the flock of
mockingbirds turned, as one, and flew straight at them. The cops
opened fire.
     
    Guided by a beating heart which did not
carry his own blood but which acted as if it did, whispering its
trouble in his veins,   Barnabas’ fear passed through Gatsby like a
tremor. His rapidly beating heart echoed in his bloodstream. Blood
pounded in Gatsby’s ears like hammer strikes. He felt as if a piece
of his soul had been torn away. He threw his head back and howled.
“Barnabas!”
    A mockingbird spread his wings and carrying
the echo of the last syllable of Barnabas’ name with him wheeled
across the sky.
     
    Barnabas, whose fear of crowds had caused
him to take shelter in a covered doorway, from where he had a clear
view of Malcolm, but which obscured his presence, emerged, on legs
stiff with terror, from the sheltering alcove into the chaos.
Almost immediately, he felt a searing pain in his side, and started
to fall, the metallic taste of blood hot in his mouth, the awful
screams of the mockingbirds loud in his ears.
    A cool wind blew over Barnabas as he felt
himself caught and lifted up as if borne on the wings of a prayer.
All motion seemed to stop, and sound drained away as he rushed
though the heavy death-filled air.
     
    * * * * *
     

In Manus Tuas, Domine
    BARNABAS STIRRED. He felt warm and cool as
if he was being bathed in menthol. He realized he was about to
come, only this was like no orgasm he’d ever had before. This one
kept building. On the verge of release, he’d soar then reach a
plateau only to soar higher, reach another plateau then soar still
higher, over and over, up and up he went. When he finally came, his
orgasm seemed to last forever. Yet when it finally ended, he didn’t
feel let down or exhausted or alone. He merely
felt… sated …and loved. His heart wasn’t even beating
fast.
    As he came to himself, he realized Gatsby
was nuzzling his neck. He turned his head slightly and Gatsby
pulled away. Barnabas felt a prick but in reverse, a drawing out
instead of an intrusion. He was puzzled by the sensation. When he
looked at Gatsby he thought he saw blood on his lips. Then he
slept.
     
    Barnabas woke suddenly to find Gatsby
staring at him anxiously.
    “Hi,” he said.
    “Hello,” Gatsby answered. “How do you
feel?”
    Barnabas tried to sit up, failed. “I don’t
know.” His voice was cracked, ragged. He cleared his throat,
started again, “I don’t know. OK, I guess. My neck is sore.”
    Gatsby smiled. “Yes, I expect it would be.
That happens the first time.”
    “The first time what? I—I don’t
understand.”
    Gatsby smiled and took his hand. “Do you
remember what happened?”
    Barnabas tried to concentrate. Memory seemed
just beyond his grasp though he seemed to remember a leaden sky and
bursting blood vessels, but that made no sense.
    “The Vampire rally?” Gatsby prodded him.
    “Last night.”
    “No, not last night. It was several days
ago—”
    “Several days ago?”
    “Yes.”
    “What happened?
    “There was a riot. You were hurt badly. I
was afraid if you were taken to the hospital they would think you
were a