“Please, don’t do this.”
Amaia tutted and shook her head. “I think we both know that’s not an option. I had thought maybe you would plead for the lives of your loved ones.” Her hand tightened around his throat, cutting off his reply, and his hands flew to her arm. “But humans really are selfish creatures, aren’t you? Whatever will your family do without you here to tend the sheep? Perhaps I shall put them out of their misery quickly.” Amaia leaned in and tasted the salty tears on his lips. “You know, if you had asked nicely, I might have spared them.”
The despair in the young man’s eyes was fathomless. Without a voice, he couldn’t contradict her claims. He would go to the grave riddled with the useless emotion of guilt. Humans were peddled guilt at every corner of life, from their church, their god, their family, themselves. It was only fitting that this boy died in it.
“May I tell you a secret?” Amaia stared at the boy again until he nodded. His hands began to wring her wrist. The only sounds on the night air were his choked sobs and sniffling as he vainly tried to clear the snot that flowed from his nose.
“There is no God. No one awaits you at the other end of tonight. You’ll never see anyone ever again. You’ll simply sleep and never wake. So, you see, there’s no reason to feel bad. You’ll never see your family again. They’ll never be able to judge you for your weakness. All those sins you paid penance for, none of that matters. Just close your eyes, and go to sleep. I can offer you more comfort in death than your priest can.” Amaia leaned in to his neck. “Just go to sleep. A dreamless sleep.” Her fangs pierced his skin, and her mouth flooded with his warm blood, his terror giving it a pleasantly bitter tang.
She drank slowly, savoring every drop as it left his body. His energy waned. Nearly seventy years of practice enabled her to know the exact moment when his life hung in the balance. She pulled away from the bite she had carefully placed to avoid the quick and messy death that piercing an artery would bring. The boy couldn’t support his own weight anymore, and she lowered him gently to the ground, cradling his head in her lap.
“If I leave you here, there’s a good chance you will live. I haven’t taken enough blood to kill you yet. If I keep drinking, though, you will die. Are you ready to enter that eternal slumber?” She caressed his face the way she imagined a mother would touch her sick child.
The boy’s head lolled to the side in a pathetic attempt to answer in the negative. “Why not? Surely it is better than this? Why do you hold onto life so desperately? What about living is so wonderful? You will age and suffer if I leave you here. That doesn’t seem the Christian thing to do.”
Amaia combed her fingers through his hair. These were not creatures to be loved. They were to be despised for their weakness. The species possessed no redeeming qualities. They simply went about their lives like little ants who think the world takes special notice of them. No being whose sojourn on Earth was so short could ever have any real intelligence.
“It’s time.” Amaia put her lips to his ear. “And don’t worry. I won’t harm your family.” Her lips descended to the bite, and she sucked the last bit of life from him.
When the body was empty, she took care to hide it away. The young man would simply appear to have gone missing. If his body was ever found, it would be long after she had left. Enjoying the pleasant weather, she walked slowly home to pack.
Chapter 20
Lhasa, August 1691, 3 months later
“You are different.” Cho walked alongside Amaia in the temple’s garden. She found it difficult to understand the monk’s meaning, and it wasn’t just her tenuous grip on the difficult language causing the problem. She had learned over the past several days not to underestimate him.
“Of course. Lawrence and I are from England. Meg and Liam come from Prussia.” Amaia admired the manicured cypress trees and the flowing willows, resisting the temptation to look at Cho and see how her misdirection had been received. Reading his energy was useless. Like most of the monks she’d met, Cho’s energy maintained a constant, steady hum.
“That is not what I mean. You will not reincarnate.” She should have known. She had come to the monks to learn about reincarnation, to try to make sense of Michael. At every turn, they had proven wiser than she had anticipated. The fact that Cho could speak about something so out of the ordinary in such a calm manner impressed her. He possessed a steadiness that she didn’t often find in humans.
“No, I won’t.”
“Your friends, they are different too.”
“Yes. Have you ever met any of my kind?”
“No.”