Blood Vivicanti (9781941240106) by Becket Page B
Authors: Becket
Tags: vampire, vampire series, vampire action, vampire action adventure, vampire books, vampire love, vampire book for young adults, Anne Rice, vampire dating, blood drinker, vampire legends, vampire army, vampire aliens, vampire night, vampire angel, vampire actionadventure
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was not Big Brother.
He was just a bad
parent.
And the earth was quite
used to his kind by that time.
Wyn leaped down the rest of
the way.
In the second before he
landed, he grabbed the two center Sleeper Devils and slammed them
into the floor.
It cracked beneath his
might.
Their black blood
bespattered his sunglasses. One died instantly. The other exhaled
one last word before death.
“ Thanks.”
Elsewhere in the Black
Building…
Lowen the Dark Man had been
on the uppermost floor the whole time, watching this scene play out
through the eyes of his Sleeper Devils.
He could see and hear their
thoughts as if they were his own. They always thought about him.
His power over them made them do so.
The nigh-life of a Sleeper
Devil was to always think of Lowen, of doing his will, of loving
him – if you could call that love.
His power made them think
that their nigh-life was perfectly natural. They thought it was
unnatural to disobey him. They could not imagine living their
nigh-lives without the echo of his voice always inside their heads
and penetrating their hearts.
He was like that jingle
that gets stuck in your head – only his jingle was the torpid
twinkling sounds of death always on the horizon, death that never
quite dawns.
Lowen the Dark Man was in a
room that he had made to be as much like Khariton as possible.
Everything was egg-shaped in some way: The desk and the computer,
the tables and the chairs and the sofa and television
monitors.
The only object that was
not ovular was the operating table in the middle of the room. It
was shaped like a T.
Theo was clamped to it with
very strong metal bars. He was sweating from suffering pain
recently and he was shivering from the cold air. His body lay along
the length. His arms were strapped to the sides.
Theo looked like the Son of
God on the Cross.
Lowen did not know how to
make a Blood Vivicanti: He did not know how to do a peripheral
blood stem cell transplant.
But he did know how to
possess a human. For years he had known how to brutally Guantánamo
souls.
He had been trying to
possess Theo that night. But his usual method was not
working.
Normally his violet ghost
would have issued out from his host body like a mist rising from
the skin. After that, his ghost would have enshrouded his next
victim like a thick cloud and he would have seeped into their
bodies, shoving out their souls.
But the body of a Blood
Vivicanti was protected somehow – perhaps by the mind, perhaps by
some sheer indomitable willpower.
Lowen could not shove out
Theo’s soul. He could not make room for himself. And he found this
both annoying and impressive. That made him even more desirous to
possess the body of a Blood Vivicanti.
He was like an addict when
the pleasure stops and the pain of dependence kicks in.
Lowen had already learned
from Theo everything that Wyn had told him about the Red Man: That
the Red Man had been scientifically developed on Khariton, that his
name was Silent because Kharetie scientists would not give him a
voice to add to society, and that he had come to take Lowen’s ghost
back to the planet to potentially fix the cracks in the Great
Harmony.
Lowen laughed at that. He
laughed to think of his note of discord being so powerful that it
cracked the planet’s once commonplace life.
But he also wept that the
Great Harmony was now called “the Noise.” He had fond memories of
harmonizing with someone else.
Lowen could relate to the
Red Man as I could relate to Nell.
Those who are misunderstood
and ostracized by society usually do feel that peculiar bond of
fellowship.
But the Dark Man felt no
bond with Theo whatsoever. In fact, he already considered Theo to
be his private property. The Red Man’s blood – Kharetie blood – was
flowing through Theo’s veins. And who else should have Kharetie
blood but a ghost from
He was just a bad
parent.
And the earth was quite
used to his kind by that time.
Wyn leaped down the rest of
the way.
In the second before he
landed, he grabbed the two center Sleeper Devils and slammed them
into the floor.
It cracked beneath his
might.
Their black blood
bespattered his sunglasses. One died instantly. The other exhaled
one last word before death.
“ Thanks.”
Elsewhere in the Black
Building…
Lowen the Dark Man had been
on the uppermost floor the whole time, watching this scene play out
through the eyes of his Sleeper Devils.
He could see and hear their
thoughts as if they were his own. They always thought about him.
His power over them made them do so.
The nigh-life of a Sleeper
Devil was to always think of Lowen, of doing his will, of loving
him – if you could call that love.
His power made them think
that their nigh-life was perfectly natural. They thought it was
unnatural to disobey him. They could not imagine living their
nigh-lives without the echo of his voice always inside their heads
and penetrating their hearts.
He was like that jingle
that gets stuck in your head – only his jingle was the torpid
twinkling sounds of death always on the horizon, death that never
quite dawns.
Lowen the Dark Man was in a
room that he had made to be as much like Khariton as possible.
Everything was egg-shaped in some way: The desk and the computer,
the tables and the chairs and the sofa and television
monitors.
The only object that was
not ovular was the operating table in the middle of the room. It
was shaped like a T.
Theo was clamped to it with
very strong metal bars. He was sweating from suffering pain
recently and he was shivering from the cold air. His body lay along
the length. His arms were strapped to the sides.
Theo looked like the Son of
God on the Cross.
Lowen did not know how to
make a Blood Vivicanti: He did not know how to do a peripheral
blood stem cell transplant.
But he did know how to
possess a human. For years he had known how to brutally Guantánamo
souls.
He had been trying to
possess Theo that night. But his usual method was not
working.
Normally his violet ghost
would have issued out from his host body like a mist rising from
the skin. After that, his ghost would have enshrouded his next
victim like a thick cloud and he would have seeped into their
bodies, shoving out their souls.
But the body of a Blood
Vivicanti was protected somehow – perhaps by the mind, perhaps by
some sheer indomitable willpower.
Lowen could not shove out
Theo’s soul. He could not make room for himself. And he found this
both annoying and impressive. That made him even more desirous to
possess the body of a Blood Vivicanti.
He was like an addict when
the pleasure stops and the pain of dependence kicks in.
Lowen had already learned
from Theo everything that Wyn had told him about the Red Man: That
the Red Man had been scientifically developed on Khariton, that his
name was Silent because Kharetie scientists would not give him a
voice to add to society, and that he had come to take Lowen’s ghost
back to the planet to potentially fix the cracks in the Great
Harmony.
Lowen laughed at that. He
laughed to think of his note of discord being so powerful that it
cracked the planet’s once commonplace life.
But he also wept that the
Great Harmony was now called “the Noise.” He had fond memories of
harmonizing with someone else.
Lowen could relate to the
Red Man as I could relate to Nell.
Those who are misunderstood
and ostracized by society usually do feel that peculiar bond of
fellowship.
But the Dark Man felt no
bond with Theo whatsoever. In fact, he already considered Theo to
be his private property. The Red Man’s blood – Kharetie blood – was
flowing through Theo’s veins. And who else should have Kharetie
blood but a ghost from
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