Page 1 of Last Hope
Prologue
He lost everything he ever cared about. He told himself this over and over, reminding himself that everything he had lost had been caught on fire; that’s how the boy liked to think about things: in scientific terms.
Everything had been burned and had fallen to ashes. He could try to pick the dust up in his fingers, try to piece it back together, but it wasscientificallyimpossible to return it back to its former state once there was nothing left.
As if he even had the right to put it all back together. To put back together what he didn’t deserve. And why should he deserve happiness? Love? His sister? Especially since he had killed Isis. Slaughtered her with his own two fangs; sunk them deep into her flesh all of those years ago to get a taste of that sweet liquid coursing through her veins.
It had been an accident, hadn’t it?
No. No, it hadn’t been.
Caesareon told him that he lost control of the bloodlust, that he had killed his sister because he couldn’t control the monster within.And why should you?Caesareon had wondered aloud to him,why should you control your true nature?
Humans were weak, that is what he was taught to believe. It was what Caesareon had taught him. He told him that it hadn’t beenhisfault his sister was merely human, that she couldn’t handle him. And, despite his Master’s reassurances, he felt completely responsible for the death of his beloved Isis.
So he worked hard to please his Master.
He went along with that plan to convert every human into a supernatural. Because, after all, they werethe stronger race and he didn’t want other humans to suffer like his sister had suffered. He would help Caesareon breed a race of supernaturals, to make humans stronger.
Had he believed it would work? He wasn’t sure…but anything to wash away the guilt that burned deep in his insides.
He should have died that night, he thought miserably. He should have slit his own throat instead of carrying on with his life while his mother and sister had been brutally robbed of theirs. He would have done it, too, if Caesareon hadn’t stopped him, told him to join a greater cause, to give a name, a face, to supernaturals out there and to help him rule.
What else did he have to lose?
Nothing, that’s what.
Not when he had woken up that night with blood staining his hands, scarred at the throat and a clear new vision of everything. His senses had become more sensitive. He could hear from which direction a soft gust of wind blew at the sand. He heard the last flickers of fire diminish into absolutely nothing. And he heard the soft footfalls against the sand, making their way to him.
He had looked up, braced himself for an attack. His gums had ached for the chance to devour something, though he wasn’t sure what he wanted devoured. Out of the shadows stepped a man and though the darkness around them was heavy he saw every detail clearly. He remembered everything about that night.
Why wouldn’t he remember the first time he met Caesareon?
He was dark haired, dark skinned, with a cloth draped around his waist. The man had faint pink scars against his body, like they had recently healed. Caesareon had frowned at him a moment, then smiled. “Do you feel it?” Caesareon asked. “Do you feel the hunger, the thirst?”
The boy, in reply, stared at him quizzically, almost incredulously, with an eyebrow raised. “Who are you?” he asked, and his voice didn’t shake.
And then the man’s eyes flashed red. The boy knew exactly who he was. He had seen those eyes before, hidden in the darkness beside the village. He had warned Isis about those eyes, about the pull they could have on someone. The evil in them.
The thought of Isis had him turning around. There was a body near him, female and familiar. Weakly, he crawled to her, the blood in his veins ice cold. He turned her body, moved aside dark hair, and his heart stopped.
His mother was dead.
“Where’s Isis?” he demanded of the man.
“Your sister is dead,” he stated plainly. No remorse, no sympathy. Only as a matter-of-fact.
“How?” he choked out, feeling tears prickle at his eyes.
“You killed her in your lust for blood. You see things differently now, do you not? It is because you are a vampire and you took the blood of your sister because you could not control the monster inside of you. I buried her body so you would not see her, I tried to get to your mother but here you are, awake and aware of the truth. Do not fret, young vampire. What is your name?”
The boy swallowed the lump in his throat. Should he believe this stranger with the flaring red eyes, now dimmed down to a steady yellow? Was his sister really dead? Had he killed her? Hate for himself twisted in his gut. Had he killed his mother too? Was it possible? He couldn’t deny what the man had said; it was too real, too surreal. He had keener senses, true, but what did that prove?
He had been taught to be cautious of the world. His mother had taught him that. Isis had taught him that. And now, their images burned deep into his mind, everything about them he remembered. Absently, he looked down at his hands, covered in blood. Whose blood? Isis’s blood? Could it be?
Feeling that lump in his throat rise, the boy shook his head back and forth and in that moment, he made his decision. If this man offered him help, he would take it. Already, the man seemed to understand him completely and the boy wanted nothing more than his help. He wouldn’t kill anyone else. But who did he have to kill? He had lost everyone he cared about.
Tears fell down his cheeks as he looked up at the man. “Azizi,” the boy whispered. “My name is Azizi,”
