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FIRST CHAPTER EXCERPT
Tribes of the Vampire
REDEEMER OF SHADOWS
By
Michelle M. Pillow
Dedication:
To the men in my family.
Chapter One
London, England
Stormy blue eyes rounded in shock,
glancing nervously in all directions. Surely she couldn’t be in the right place.
This hidden modish London nightclub looked nothing like her Aunt Georgia’s
description of a delectably auspicious café ran by a middle-aged couple from
Germany.
"Maybe in Germany their idea of delectable
includes licking various body parts in public," Hathor mused wryly. Again her
gaze darted around. She wanted to laugh thinking of her old aunt, the owner of
an upper crust London bed-and-breakfast, on one of the very decadent couches
lined before the stage. Then, realizing that the liberal Georgia could very well
come to such a place, she did giggle. Had her aunt tricked her into getting out
of the house?
No, Hathor thought with a firm shake of
her head, Georgie wouldn’t have gone to this extreme.
The club looked like an underground dance
hall and brothel straight out of the turn of the twentieth century, with a dark
and modern twist. Leather g-string panties with gem-studded adornment clasped
against the bronzed and glittering skin of the dancers, as they sauntered past
the curtain to take their place on the narrow stone stage.
The dancers’ dark faces smiled in wicked
promise as they glided through the smoke-filled air. Their spike-shaped bras
were tipped with steel and gleamed as they thrust them with wild abandon. The
clank of their high-heeled boots ground out a lusty rhythm, pounding steadily
with the beat of hard music and the aroused shrills of excited spectators.
Hathor huddled in the entryway refusing to
make her way through the scattered tables to the trendy stone and cushion
benches. Her blue floral sundress seemed oddly out of place amidst the leather,
rubber, and furs hugging against the teasing peaks of naked flesh. She gripped
her purse closely to her chest, drawing no comfort from the conservative handbag
as her fingers worked against the beaded pattern of the front. Never had she
felt so conscious or so very aware of herself.
You’re in London, she thought, doing her
best not to be overwhelmed. She wasn’t so much shocked as she was uneasy. The
dancers attracted her eyes, even as she tried to pull her gaze away. The rhythm
of the music pulsed inside of her, mesmerizing her blood with its hard and
wicked sound. Her heart began to beat faster to make time. She hadn’t been
invited into this place.
The forgotten stone walls, barely visible
in the dimmed light, were decayed and leaked in places like the weeping of
teary, old eyes kept awake a century too long. The air was damp and cool, only
slightly heated by the small crowd. To her left was a long bar, the newest
fixture in the place, made to look as if carved from stone. But, oddly, few
seemed to be drinking the hot glasses of liquor the portly bartender tried to
dispense. The apathetic man ended up shooting back that which he poured.
Around the curious stage, lounging in the
long cushioned seats, near figurines gilded with gold décor, sat only couples --
peculiarly matched. There was a stoic businessman. His arm pressed possessively
around what Hathor could only assume was an English prostitute. A young kid,
clearly American by the proud flag displayed on his shirt, crushed his lips to
the exposed cleavage of a shockingly older woman. A starkly handsome man, whose
dark hair hung about his shoulders to spill forth over his naked chest,
naughtily licked the cheek of a balding middle-aged fellow. The balding man’s
wedding ring shone bright on his finger. As his head turned, Hathor was afforded
a glimpse of his passion-hazed eyes. However, it was something else that caused
the lonely spectator to pause. Each couple seemed comprised of one captivatingly
beautiful person -- those only seen in movies -- and one very ordinary and
plain.
Eerily, the stage lights dimmed into a
bloody red. The smoky air cleared in coiling snake-like patterns as silent
exhaust was opened in the roof of the old stone building. The crowd became quiet
in respectful anticipation of the awaited performance. Eyes turned to the stage
in unison, drawn to the dancers as a possessed group. An astounded light entered
their captivated faces as they watched. The thrusting hips of the dancers came
together in sexual forthrightness.
Hathor’s eyes widened. Her face froze in
stunned bewilderment. She was fascinated and horrified and couldn’t turn away.
The chorus girls formed a kneeling circle around a platform. Her heart began to
pound curiously, cemented in edging fear as she watched white illumination open
in the bottom of the stage with a dramatic flash. She could hear the beating in
her head, like the drumming of wild horses in flight. A figure moved in the
dimming center radiance. The dancers kneeled in worship, leaning back to press
their pointed breasts into the shadowed air. A slight moan escaped from the
depths of the impassioned crowd and then another.
Oh no! Hathor thought in growing
desperation as she finally managed to look around. I have stumbled into an
underground sex club! These people must be prostitutes. I don’t understand. I
know I got the address right. I checked the map three times before leaving the
house. Damned European cities! Why can’t you have streets that lead in a
straight line? I shouldn’t be in here. Is prostitution even legal in London?
Hathor grabbed her purse, intent on
checking the map once again. Her fingers shook slightly. She glanced around,
wondering if she should just leave. No one seemed to be paying her any mind, and
the front passageway leading to the entrance held no doorman.
Stepping a bit from the shadows into the
light, she moved closer to the bar. The bartender glanced at her before throwing
back another shot. His eyes couldn’t meet the crowd. Hathor’s fingers began to
dig into her purse, blindly searching for the crumpled map of London streets.
Finding it, she started to pull it out. Then, as if by a will outside herself,
her eyes were drawn to the center stage. Instantly the music changed, its hard
beat turning seductively soft. A strange chanting stirred in the back of her
mind. The words refused to let her focus. Her body lit as if possessed by fire.
Hathor’s lips parted in a gasp before her
breath was held steady by her alert eyes. The lighting dimmed back to red to
reveal a man who was like no other -- strong arms, broad shoulders tapering to a
formed chest and then a slender waist.
The pulsing tones of the music fell low
and captivating. The tune was from another time, erotically archaic, with the
sweetly aching cry of a lonely violin. She could feel the strange thump
vibrating though the stone floor. It unfurled enticingly inside of her,
awakening her with a quickening she never dreamt possible. It was as if a
lethargic spell was being woven about her senses. Everything faded and blurred
and blended from her sight but the man.
The performer was dressed all in black,
snugly fitted slacks and a looser linen shirt cut into a style from the end of
the nineteenth century. The old style suited him well, and he wore it with a
dynamic ease that said it undoubtedly belonged on him. His dark eyes pierced
through the crowd in dominant pleasure, encased by the paleness of his skin,
glittering a devilish red in the light. The defined lines of his diabolically
firm mouth lifted up at one side in sensual boredom. As he lowered his chin, his
gaze peered through the long tresses of his extremely dark hair. He watched the
dancers flip over to push their firm backsides up for his viewing. His languid
smile revealed stark white teeth, two of which were pointed into sharpened
fangs.
"Vampire," Hathor whispered in awe as he
whipped his arm leisurely through the air. The man on the stage fascinated her.
As she watched him, she detected his every movement as if it was part of her
soul. His limbs swayed languidly in the ease of the music. She forgot where she
was. Shivers racked her spine in shuddering tickles of the flesh.
Her hand fell from her purse, the bag
dropping forgotten to hang at her side. Her shoulders stooped as if she couldn’t
control her arms. His very presence seemed to cast shadows over everything else,
mesmerizing her like a drug. In her head she knew it was only an act, but the
man had a swarthy power about him.
"Mm, that’s Lord Servaes, the Marquis de
Normant. He’s yummy."
Hathor stiffened at the distinctly British
accent that fell close to her ear. Her mind tried to wrap around the words and
failed. Carefully, she glanced over her shoulder to see a barely clad woman with
stark pink hair that lifted high at the bangs. She wore a cut off tank that
clung to her plentiful breasts. The dusky round tips of her nipples showed large
through the flimsy material and on her hips hugged pink vinyl hot pants. Hathor
forced her eyes away with a nervous pant. The woman stepped closer, nearing her
side. Smiling weakly, in confounded hesitation, Hathor managed weakly, "Excuse
me?"
The woman chuckled knowingly as she licked
her lips. Her eyes drifted down to Hathor’s covered breasts to peruse her with a
lustful moan. Her body gravitated closer to brush up against the ill-fitted
woman. The light tilting of her accent ground softly, as she repeated with a nod
to the stage, "That vampire you were admiring -- that is Servaes. He is the most
sought after lay in London. His performances are very rare indeed. You’re lucky
to have gotten in. I had to sleep with Sal -- that damned rotter -- for a month
before he would let me into this fleapit. And between you and me, that is a lot
of blowjo --"
"I wasn’t," Hathor broke in, shocked. With
a weakened moan, her voice trailed off. She barely heard the woman next to her,
not listening to the crude speech as the music once more invaded her. Her gaze
stayed fixedly on Servaes, traveling over him only to find that she couldn’t
keep from staring at his handsome, pale face. His lips parted. Her breath
caught.
"Oh, I see," the woman continued with a
smirk, her voice rising to accommodate the music as it grew louder and more
fevered. The excited crowd began to groan louder with it. "You’re into the
role-playing. Think it will help your chances at being picked, do you?"
"I’m sorry? Picked?" Hathor questioned in
confusion. She wished the woman would go away so she could concentrate on the
strange fire in her limbs. Through the corner of her eyes, she saw the couples
growing bolder in their public desires. The mood was contagious, urging her to
throw back her head and join their mindless moans. She stood quiet, astonished
by such an impulse.
"Picked by Servaes," the woman sighed in
exasperation. "Seriously, are you in the wrong place? Who invited you here?"
"No, I’m not," Hathor stammered. "I’m
meeting someone here."
"Oh, spicing up the marriage a little,"
the woman said.
"I’m not married." Hathor frowned, not
knowing why she did. "I’m from America, staying with my aunt. She’s the only
family have."
"Oh, of course you’re not married." The
woman winked, knowingly.
Hathor glanced at her, annoyed by her
constant chatter. She turned her head once more to the stage in uncertainty.
Gasping in shock as Servaes ran his hands over a new girl brought before him,
she felt a potent jealousy run through her blood with the virility of an
out-of-control flame. With a flick of his wrist he unleashed the woman’s bra,
and the pointed spikes plummeted to the ground.
The woman’s small breasts fell forth
freely. She arched her back in offering to Servaes’ lips. He leaned over to
gently lick the solid nub before dismissing the girl with a dispassionate wave
of his hand. Hathor detected that his face showed no pleasure from the intimate
act, and yet she felt her midsection twitch in strange sensations. She didn’t
have time to wonder at her wanton feelings as they consumed her.
The gathering growled their approval as
two of the other chorus girls began sucking and kissing the bared woman’s
breasts at Servaes’ command. Their hands moved in a frenzy of desire as they
glided over sweaty flesh in massaging caresses. The adored woman howled in
rapturous delight as the others forced her back onto the platform.
"What are they doing?" Hathor questioned
in a hurried whisper. She was unable to help her curiosity as the women tied the
chosen one down. She knew she should turn and leave, knew that she was a
stranger to this place, but she couldn’t draw her eyes away from the vampire.
"Those women are Servaes’ offerings. He
chooses someone to be punished or occasionally someone to be praised. Sometimes
they are both. It appears like this one is going to be punished." The pink
haired woman grunted. Her exploring fingers strayed to her large breast as she
circled her nipple into a peak. The women on stage pulled the punished woman’s
leather panties from her slender hips. Servaes crossed his arms as he watched in
dominating approval. Her tone was a bit bitter, as she mumbled, "Servaes has
strange tastes. He likes to punish humans for their crimes -- as if it matters."
"Punish?" Hathor inquired, amazed. To be
with such a man is punishment?
"You’ll have to watch," the woman said in
mysterious delight. Her eyes danced eagerly from the lonely woman to the stage.
"So what did you mean by picked?" Hathor
asked, a pink blush starting to color her cheeks. She finally managed to draw
her eyes away from the stage long enough to study the woman at her side. Seeing
the woman’s hand cupping a breast beneath her tank, Hathor’s face turned
completely red.
"Picked to go on stage with him," the
woman said in a husky murmur. She didn’t notice Hathor’s discomfort. Her words
lowered to a whisper. "Sometimes Servaes himself will pick a woman from the
crowd, and he’ll take her in front of everyone."
"A complete stranger?" Hathor questioned,
appalled. "Is that safe?"
"Oh, yeah," the woman said with a cryptic
laugh. She touched her pink hair lightly. Her hips began to sway to the music in
gentle thrusts of excitement. Hathor realized the woman was trying to dance with
her. She tried to back away but her heavy limbs didn’t move. "At least for
Servaes it is, though it sometimes angers the one who brought the woman. I have
only seen him do it once, but that man can s … fuck. And his body -- oh! I saw
him pick this redhead. Man, she had giant t … breasts. He made her peak so many
times that she could barely walk. She had to be carried from the stage by the
offerings. It’s enough to keep you awake at night."
"Well, then no, I am not here to be
picked." Hathor denied her arousal as she lifted her chin. The woman’s eyes
traveled over her body, a knowing gleam to her as if she could see the passion
invoked within. Her breathing deepened. Her eyes focused on Servaes’ mouth. The
fanged tips peeked lightly from his slightly parted lips, causing her heart to
race. His arms crossed over his chest with a commanding force as he surveyed the
crowd, which he controlled. "Wait, didn’t you say this was your first time
seeing him on --?"
"Hey, I’m Ginger," the woman interrupted.
Hathor glanced briefly in her direction.
Absently, she muttered, "Hathor."
Ginger giggled playfully. She took her
finger and placed it lightly on Hathor’s shoulder. "Pleased to meet you,
Hathor." Ginger’s wandering hand grew bolder as Hathor didn’t back away. It fell
completely against her arm in a chilled caress. Under her breath, the woman
mumbled to herself, "You have a nice body. Why would you hide it under this
hideous dress?"
Hathor only half paid attention to what
the woman said as she tucked a strand of reddish-brown hair back into her bun.
She wasn’t sure if she should be excited by the show or shocked. It wasn’t as if
they were living in the Middle Ages. Sex was everywhere one turned -- posters,
billboards, cable television. She was never one to watch porn, yet here she was
completely enthralled by the performance and entirely jealous of all the women
on stage.
The offerings effortlessly succeeded in
stripping the punished one’s clothes from her writhing body. Dozens of tongues
lapped at her naked skin -- over her ripened nipples to her neck to her exposed
womanhood. They shackled her ankles into stirrups, holding her legs open.
"What is her crime?" an excited voice
shouted in the watching crowd. Hathor recognized the older woman with her
college boy.
The music lowered by degrees until it was
a soft thud in the background, once more stirring the desires of those watching.
The crowd’s hands grew empowered by the wickedly delectable show, and their lips
found temptation in the arms of the others gathered. The bodies mingled together
with the beginnings of an orgy. Flesh pressed against heated flesh as they
waited for Servaes to speak. Lips parted revealing more fangs hidden within the
crowd. Their combined breaths caught up in a rhythm of sensual pleasure and
denial.
Slowly, Servaes moved over the stage,
keeping everyone on his own time. A smile curved his luscious mouth, and he
looked over the crowd in languid perusal from his deep-set eyes. Hathor shivered
as the red light glinted in his devilishly handsome gaze, looking as if it came
more from within him than reflected from him. His eyes narrowed with a bright
feverish tint. Arousal, swift and strong, coursed through her veins. Hathor
gasped, nearly swooning with the unexpected intensity of it.
Ginger felt her shiver and mistook its
cause. Leaning closer, she fitted her moistened lips to Hathor’s throat. Hathor
stood transfixed by the man on the stage. She felt teeth brush her skin, but it
didn’t distract her eyes back to awareness. At the same time Ginger kissed
Hathor’s pale flesh, her hands found the rounded tilt of her confined breast.
"Crime?" Servaes stated in ominous
declaration. His word was as soft as a whisper and held the deadly pleasing tilt
of an old culture.
Pick me. Hathor breathed, unable to stop
the thought as she watched him.
Servaes suddenly stopped moving. His
serious eyes turned from the stage to dart over the crowd. The smile melted from
his delectable lips, replaced by a snarl of confusion.
"How about we go find a seat?" Ginger
offered with hot pants against Hathor’s skin. "Servaes can see you better if you
are in the crowd."
Hathor gasped in shock and pulled away.
This wanton attitude was not like her. She didn’t want to sleep with perfect
strangers, no matter how handsome they were. The spell she felt cast about her
suddenly broke. A cloud lifted from her brain, a haze melted off her limbs
seeming to run onto the floor to puddle around her feet. Shaking her head, she
was suddenly very frightened. Her voice cracked, "I --"
With a pull and a gasp, Ginger’s gaze
hastened to the stage. Her eyes narrowed to glare in defiance. Her nostrils
flared. Then, almost instantly, she lifted up her hands and bowed in remorse.
Hathor thought she noticed the glint of extended fangs in the woman’s mouth.
Ginger backed away from her. Hathor noticed an inner flash to the woman’s eyes
-- pooling red with blood for an instant. The woman’s gaze filtered back to the
stage and she smiled like a punished child. Yes, Ginger definitely had fangs.
The hairs on the nape of Hathor’s neck
twitched in dread as she spun back around. Her heart began to pound faster in
dismay. Her breathing deepened. The crowd had gone extremely quiet. Her blood
rushed loudly in her ears as she turned to see all eyes on her--the intruder in
their midst. Even the offerings stopped in their task to glare curiously at her.
In a flash no longer than a blink she saw red trails of blood coming from the
dancers’ fanged mouths, falling over their throats to disappear in the valley of
their breasts. Their victim lay barely moving beneath them. In a daze, Hathor
blinked heavily to see the blood was gone.
Servaes arrogantly stood on the stage. His
eyes bore piercingly into her, the brown depths glowing eerily with an
unfamiliar light. Suddenly, a green tint flashed over the captivating orbs.
Hathor felt herself caught up in his stare. Her lungs forgot to breathe. It was
as if he was inside of her, searching through her thoughts, listening to her
heart. Somehow he didn’t seem angry at her presence, just confused as if he
probed her for something he couldn’t find. Her body hummed as if on fire. She
heard his voice in her head, whispering words she couldn’t understand, in a
language she couldn’t know.
He opened his mouth as if to speak. All of
a sudden he seemed aware of where he was. No words came from his curling lips.
Hathor backed away slowly from the prying eyes, those with fangs caught up the
red light from the stage in their hungry gazes.
"He has picked," someone whispered near
Hathor’s shoulder.
Hathor shook her head slowly in denial.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the Marquis. Her limbs quaked with dread. She couldn’t
go on stage. What was she doing? She should have run from this place as soon as
she walked in. Quickly, she backed into the shadows away from his notice. His
eyes followed her, as if he could see her in the impossible darkness.
A spell trapped her limbs with a numbing
force when Servaes looked at her, making it hard to move. A slight frown
overcame his features at her rejection of his attention. Then a smirk lined his
confident lips as he turned back to the crowd. He ignored her.
"Her crime…." he stated with a wave that
encompassed the room, bringing the attention back to him. Instantly the
penetrating eyes of the crowd were drawn away from her and Hathor felt as if she
could once again breathe freely. She watched him point to the offering to be
punished, as he continued, "…is that she denied her partner release after
finding her own fulfillment."
"And her punishment?" a man with yellow
underwear poking out of his unbuttoned blue jeans yelled. His hand grasped
firmly to an exposed breast of his fanged lover. The vampire leaned over to lick
his exposed throat as she grasped firmly on his erect penis.
"Her punishment will befit the crime,"
Servaes said, his thoughtful tone oddly impersonal. "She shall be brought near
pleasure but denied several times until her body runs hot with moisture and her
loins pulse with unfulfilled desire. And then we shall drink from her."
The gathered onlookers voiced their
approval, half in moans and half in panted cheers. The punished woman wailed as
an offering forced her legs further apart. The sounds she made were filled with
wanton pleasure. Servaes went to stand over her. Hathor watched from the
shadows, mesmerized. Reaching his hand down, the vampire hovered his cold
fingers over the punished one’s exposed womanhood. The woman tried to grind her
hips up into his palm. He backed the pale fingers away from her so it was just
beyond her reach.
The bound woman let loose a tortured moan,
as she was denied his touch. Then, withdrawing his hand into the folds of his
masculine chest, he nodded at his women. Instantly, they were on the tied woman,
licking and poking at her flesh with their fangs. Their searching fingers
touched everywhere but her seeking center as they teased her trembling skin.
Hathor pulled back, terrified by the
strong urge in her stomach. The club suddenly smelled of sex as the crowd tore
at their clothing in a frenzy of excitement. Her tongue flicked across her teeth
as if to find her own set of fangs there. Her teeth were flat, but she bit her
tongue. Lightly, she touched her lips only to draw her fingers away dotted in
her own blood.
Servaes had wanted her. Out of the fifty
or so people in the crowd, he had picked her. Seeing Ginger watching her
intently, Hathor backed towards the narrow passageway leading to the entrance.
The woman’s eyes were transfixed on her bloodied finger.
The sound of Hathor’s feet echoed as she
ran from the risqué couples beginning to fornicate before the stage. Pursued by
the potent smell of sex and blood, her heart pounded and her head swam. She
couldn’t make her wooden feet move fast enough.
The bricked alleyway was wet as she
finally made it into the night. The moon shone full and bright in the sky,
glittering on the moist pavement like millions of sparkling diamonds. Leaning
against the cobblestone wall, Hathor took a deep breath. Her blood rushed in her
veins, threatening her body with its silent song of temptation. Beautiful pale
skin and handsome brown deep-set eyes haunted her. The image burned into her
mind, warning her that she was forever changed.
Suddenly screams rang out from the hidden
club--the sound of people brought to slaughter. The shrill cries jumped all
around her, making her hair feel as if it stood on end. The noise shook her from
her stupor. She pressed into the stone wall, too frightened to move.
"Go!"
Hathor heard Servaes’ command as if he
shouted it in her ear. With a start, she jolted away from the building, spinning
to look behind her. When she saw nothing she twirled, darting her gaze all
around. She realized she was completely alone. The only noise was the beating
inside her chest, uncommonly loud. Hesitantly, she leaned to peer down the
passageway leading to the decadent club. Seeing a flash of pink hair, Hathor
jerked back with a gasp. She mindlessly ran down the narrow alleyway, not
knowing how she navigated the dark paths. She didn’t stop until she was safely
home.
* * * *
Go!
Servaes opened his eyes, knowing the
strange woman obeyed him. The heady smell of blood rose around him, gripping him
with his hunger. Without appearing to move, his head whisked about, taking in
all that happened around him.
Fellow vampires fed on their lovers, their
hands still massaging and gripping naked parts of the prone bodies as they
drained them neatly of their life’s fluid. The bartender turned, wiping his
counter with a lulling precision. The pudgy man lifted a bottle to his lips and
took a drink of what Servaes could smell from across the chamber as fine brandy.
The man was a mortal, bound to them in service and long unaffected by the
killings around him.
Looking down at the reddened eyes of the
fanged performers, he watched as they turned to him with satisfied smiles.
Respectfully they backed away on all fours, moving with a swift gliding force,
their lips dripping crimson with warm blood -- only a taste from their aroused
victim on the stone slab. Then, as quick as a single moment of time, they
disappeared from the stage, going to stalk their main course in the dark,
overcrowded streets of London.
"Mmm," the tied woman groaned in protest,
unaware of all that happened around her. She moved her naked body restlessly
against her bonds. Slowly, her eyes opened. With her came the scent of greedy
longing and expensive perfume. Seeing Servaes above her, she smiled weakly,
"Monsieur le Marquis, my body is on fire for you. Take me. I am yours. Drink
from me!"
Servaes knew he could easily wield his
power over the simple woman. He could keep her suspended in a web of physical
ecstasy, as he drank of the sweetened nectar of her impassioned blood, the sweet
arousal like a drug to his kind. Just as he knew he never needed the iron bonds
that held her in place. If he wanted her prone beneath him, he could have easily
wielded it so with the power of his determination.
Gradually, a wicked smile formed on his
mouth. His eyes flashed and filled with blood, blocking out his pupils and the
coldness they contained. He refused to drink from her, suspending from the
violent need.
Seeing his swarthy smile, the woman moaned
louder. The others around them began collecting the lifeless bodies of their
victims into their arms, carting them away. Some of the corpses would go into
the dark waters of the Thames, others would find their way buried in old family
crypts never opened, and still others would be left in the seediest parts of
London -- mutilated.
As they left, Servaes heard their directed
thoughts in his head. Well done, Marquis.
Why are you denying yourself, take her.
Her blood is fevered.
Until tomorrow, my friend.
"Monsieur le Marquis, why are you waiting?
End my torture." The woman lifted her hips to him. With an appealing pout
jutting out her bottom lip, she begged, "Come inside me."
Servaes watched her pleading with
indifference. Finally, he lifted his hand to instantly still her words. Without
moving his lips, he said to her, I know what you did. I know every detail.
Her eyes rounded in horror. The passion
began to drain from her, instantly replaced by a sensation of drowning. Her arms
began to pull at her bonds, unable to get up as she imagined murky waters
creeping up her skin. Through her frightened eyes she saw the liquid -- real and
cold and wet.
Her mouth opened to scream in protest. The
water flooded in, choking her shouts of terror. Her lungs struggled to breathe.
Her lips parted desperately. Servaes watched. To him she was just struggling in
empty air. Her body writhed and racked. He knew her lungs exploded and smoldered
in pain. He knew her ears burned with the never-ending silence of water, marred
only by the sound of his voice as he spoke to her. He knew that she drowned,
feeling every painful moment drawn out in agonizing slowness. And he refused to
let her out of her torment. He refused to let her die.
Slowly he walked up next to her, studying
her calmly as her eyes sought his in terror. Their frightened brown orbs begged
him for pity. Her throat gurgled desperately -- transcended in airless death
that wouldn’t claim her with release.
Leaning next to her ear, he whispered
darkly, "One hour, Madame. One hour for each of your five children you drowned
last year in your car. The terror they felt for that moment tied to their seats
-- helpless and scared -- you will feel tenfold. And before you die you will
feel the bullet your maid used to take her own life after you accused her of the
deed. How do you like your freedom now, Madame?"
The woman moaned and gurgled. Her throat
constricted in cords of pain. Lightly, Servaes tapped her cheek with a long
fingernail. The vampire smiled a charming and devilish smile -- so handsome that
he could enchant any mortal to his will. But inside his heart thud in dull, even
beats. He could feel nothing. Within him was the hollowness of death.
Enchant any mortal but her, he thought
suddenly with a curious frown. His eyes moved to linger where the stranger had
run from them. He could still see the flash of her innocent blue dress and her
slightly tanned skin -- glowing like warm honey in the sunlight. And her eyes,
though nothing compared to the captivating gaze of the undead, were sparklingly
beautiful for a mortal.
Not that you remember the look of honey in
the sunlight, he thought wryly.
With a grunt of bored disgust, he glanced
at his victim, still tossing about in pain. He could read the condemned woman’s
thoughts, but chose not to. He didn’t want to hear how she was sorry, how they
were all sorry when their deeds were visited back onto them.
Standing, he knew he could deny his hunger
no longer. The force of it gripped him, seizing him with need. If he put it off,
he would go senseless -- attacking anything that neared him, no matter how
dangerous the outcome could be for him and his kind.
Waving his hand, he made another surge of
freezing water rush over the writhing woman. He turned his back on her, blocking
out the sound of her voice in his head. With the speed of darkness, he began to
move.
If you wanted the woman, you should have
taken her. She shouldn’t have been allowed to live. She has seen us.
Servaes stopped. Without turning to
Ginger, as she pouted in the opening to the passageway, he flew to her within a
mortal blink. The woman doesn’t know what she has seen.
"How can you be sure?" Ginger asked
coldly. "Besides, she is a mortal. And I want her."
Leaning to her ear, Servaes whispered,
"Yours is not the right to question me. You asked for asylum here. You will obey
my will. Otherwise, leave. Go back to the countryside and face those you have
wronged."
"You are not our master," she whispered
hotly. "We may put up with you because of your age, but we are not yours to
command. The others might let you have what you want, but I will not. I am going
after the woman."
"I am the oldest, the wisest amongst you.
And you have no idea the lengths of my powers," he hissed. His eyes filled with
a deadly chill to emphasize his words. Ginger recoiled slightly, her lips
stiffening. "Now question me no more. I mark the woman as mine."
Ginger shot him a bitter look through
black eyes, but said nothing. She flashed from him with a pant of anger
radiating all around her, breaking the chilled air with its fervent heat.
Servaes was unaffected. He didn’t watch her go as he left to trail the nights in
search of his own meal of blood, wondering why he bothered to lay claim to a
mortal at all.
© copyright July 2004,
Michelle M. Pillow
This is a work of
fiction. All characters,
events, and places are
of the author’s
imagination and not to
be confused with fact.
Any resemblance to
living persons or events
is merely coincidence.
REVIEWS
Novel
Spot
5
Quills!
REDEEMER OF SHADOWS was something else. ... The story took me
over so completely that I was unable to put it down. I found myself displaying
emotions of laughter, then anger and even vengeance, not to mention falling a
little bit in love with Servaes myself. REDEEMER OF SHADOWS was so good I even
cried, finding myself commenting to the author, Michelle Pillow, as if she
could hear me, "Please don't let it end like this!" By the time I completed
the reading of REDEEMER OF SHADOWS I felt as if I had been on a roller coaster
of emotional ups and downs. And before the reader asks, I'd like to think it's
not my hormones speaking!...
If you want to read a really good vampire book and don't mind it being a
little on the dark side REDEEMER OF SHADOWS is definitely a must read book!"
Reviewed By: RogueStorm
(c) July 2004
Romance Junkies
5 BLUE RIBBONS!
"From the moment I
began to read REDEEMER OF SHADOWS I was completely hooked. Hathor and Servaes
were brought face to face with their own beliefs and moral issues, which they
struggled to resolve as their relationship developed. Their characters were
complex and realistic, and even the most minor characters in the book had
depth. Ms. Pillow has provided a unique and sympathetic treatment of the
vampire character, and I can honestly say that I have not enjoyed a vampire
story this much since reading Anne Rice’s novels. Ms. Pillow has written a
book which I found difficult to put down, and I highly recommend it. REDEEMER
OF SHADOWS is the first book in the Tribes of the Vampires series, and I can
hardly wait until the next one comes out!"
Pam Sacknea
LoveRomances Review
5 HEARTS
"Michelle Pillow has again shown us
what a versatile writer she is. She has now explored the domain of the vampire
and has given us a very deep, dark story of vampire love and legend...The
plot moves along smoothly and will have you turning the pages in anticipation....
This reviewer experienced a variety of
emotions while reading this book. First, awe at the descriptions. Then,
warmth and hope at the love growing between Hathor and Servaes, and horror and
disgust at the villains and their deeds. Finally, there were joyful tears at
the happy end. It is not often that this reviewer feels so much while reading
a book. This is the first of a new series from Ms. Pillow and this reviewer
will certainly be following it with anticipation."
Reviewed by Valerie
August 2004
Love Romances
5 HEARTS!
"This is
probably one of the best books this reviewer has read this year, and is one
of those rare books she feels is totally deserving of the best rating
possible to give. There was nothing disappointing about this book, except
for some editing errors scattered throughout. Although the unresolved
mystery subplots may leave fans wondering, this doesn't detract from the
story. It's evident that these mysteries will be carried on into future
books, where this world will be delved into with more detail. Well worth the
time and money, don’t wait! Run on over to NCP and pick this one up today!
It is guaranteed not to disappoint."
© Kelley A.
Hartsell, October 2004. All rights reserved.
eCataromance Reviews
5 STARS!
"With her penchant for creating memorable, immortal characters, Michelle
M. Pillow has penned one the darkest yet tormented vampires I have ever had
the pleasure to read. With the setting in present day London, there is the
constant threat of danger with underlying shocking possibilities. The
vampires in the tribe are clearly defined, from those with nothing but evil
thoughts to the few who still retain a small amount of human compassion.
With the descriptive prose, I could feel, imagine and almost taste all that
the characters experienced. REDEEMER OF SHADOWS is one book that will not
soon be forgotten, as the atypical characters and noteworthy story line will
invade your thoughts long after the last page is read....
...Ms. Pillow has definitely written a story about a couple who will pull
forth deep emotions from the reader. REDEEMER OF SHADOWS will capture your
attention until the heart-stopping ending."
Amelia Richard, eCataRomance Reviews
THE BEST REVIEWS
"The relationships between all the characters are well done and beautifully
portrayed, especially the romance of Hathor and Servaes. All of the fears,
frustration, tenderness, and love between them can be felt very strongly by
the reader."
© Kelley A.
Hartsell, October 2004. All rights reserved.
THE ROMANCE STUDIO
FOUR HEARTS!!
"This book is a great read and sure to interest vampire lovers of all
genres. It will keep you turning the pages to see what happens next and never
gets boring for one minute. Servaes is the tortured yet sensitive hero who is
looking for love. Hathor is a confused woman who doesn't know what to believe
about the mysterious man she has met, but is brave enough to find out. I hope
this is only the first book of many for Michelle M. Pillow in the vampire
genre and that there is many more to come."
Reviewer: Angel Brewer
July 11, 2004
Fallen Angels Reviews
"Ms. Pillow’s vampiric world is quite violent and gory. Her
narrative is complex and thought provoking. She doesn’t hold back in her
descriptions of what the vampires did to their victims. At times, this book
read like a dark fantasy rather than a romance book. For this reader, we
didn’t enjoy the graphic details. There are many secondary characters and they
all serve their purpose of furthering the story along. Many of them were
intriguing, especially Jiri, and they all have stories to tell. However, this
is a love story at the central core and Ms. Pillow will wring many
emotions from her readers as we watch Hathor and Servaes’ relationship bloom."
Reviewed by: Susan T
Romance Reviews Today
"REDEEMER OF SHADOWS is a
powerful tale of love conquering all, but not without a bit of blood and death
to gum up the works first...
REDEEMER OF SHADOWS is well written. Michelle M. Pillow pens a vivid tale that
gives readers a chilling story... If you like the darker side of vampire life
and want to read a story that goes into great detail about that life, then
grab REDEEMER OF SHADOWS today."
Sinclair Reid
Romance Reviews Today
Enchanted in Romance
"Michelle
Pillow has created a unique world of vampires to satisfy any fan of the
genre as well as anyone who seeks a quality love story. If you are familiar
with Ms. Pillow's other books, you are sure to love her latest,
Redeemer of Shadows. With elements of romance, erotica and horror, Redeemer of Shadows is sure to have something for everyone."
Reviewed by Tonya
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