15

REVELATION 1:18

I am she that liveth, and was dead;

and, behold, I am alive for evermore

~ * ~

Anyelet opened her eyes and the oceans of the world were made of blood. She stood at a pulsating shore and gazed upon the red vastness even as need rose in her body and her mouth began to fill with thick saliva. In a moment her fingers had undone the iron clasp at her neck and the velvet cape fell to the sand like a sheet of black oil. The air, heavy with bloodsmell, played across her collarbone and breasts, caressing her bared skin with a lover's icy, intimate hand; waves of blood swelled and ebbed before her, leaving wet, crimson shadows in front of her feet.

Anyelet’s deep red hair whipped heavily in the wind but the piercing gaze never blinked. Eons ago those eyes had been clear green; time had deepened them to a black so dark they seemed like twin pits within skin that glowed white in the deep dusk, the veins beneath blue-smudged trails of emptiness. She ached with fierce Hunger as she stepped forward, easing her foot into the hot bath of fulfillment as her lips parted in anticipation.

The sole of her foot met cool, dry sand. Anyelet looked down impatiently and saw the ruby liquid receding, as if the traitorous moon had suddenly pulled in the tide. She tried again, and again, but with every foot she gained the ocean receded an equal distance.

She closed her eyes and concentrated. Cold and beautiful, Anyelet spread her arms wide and felt power course through her as she reached, her mind's eye picturing her fingers locking as she enfolded mankind into her deadly grip. Her pain bled to agony, the collapsed arteries and veins becoming razor-studded snakes twisting within her body. Her eyes flew open and she gazed over the world she had so easily conquered, now a withered, dried-out sphere bearing no trace of the oceans of plenty she had envisioned. Fresh fever surged and her back arched, crushing the imaginary world against her chest until it began to disintegrate. Still her fingers would not open. She threw back her head and screamed as bits and pieces of the globelike form cascaded down her breasts and rib cage, then began to stretch and re-form against her rigid torso. It had been an eternity since she'd felt fear, but terror returned easily to her memory as her hands finally unclasped.

Too late. There was no escaping the starvation-blackened arms that now trapped her. The form was taking shape, smothering her in its foulness as she beat at it with fading strength, the creature sucking away her energy in great, thirsty gulps.

Anyelet gagged helplessly and her head lolled, exposing her throat and its trail of barren arteries. Loathing filled her as this nightmare being opened a pus-encrusted mouth in which two rotted fangs slid forward.

No! she howled frantically into its mind. There is no food for you here!

Hideous laughter rang in her ears. The beast's head shot forward with a speed that she had never possessed and the cracked lips fastened greedily on her neck around its filthy teeth.

Anyelet's stomach convulsed as the artery in her neck gorged and blackness began to radiate from her throat. Despair enveloped her as she realized her captor wasn’t feeding.

It was pumping its filth into her body.

~ * ~

Night had arrived with arms open, like an old friend bringing comfort.

With it came The Hunger.

Anyelet's fingers stretched, opening like the petals of a black-red rose, the sharp nails dragging along the underside of her satin quilt, an old habit that soothed her and made her feel secure. She thought briefly of the nightmare, then dismissed it. She didn't need a portent to know the situation was harsh, but with Siebold's assistance things should slowly improve. She flung the quilt carelessly aside and rose, moving to light a couple of cut-glass oil lamps. The last of the sun was sinking below the horizon; even through these stone-and-steel walls she could feel its fading heat still trying to sear her flesh in her place of rest. She smiled complacently. The sun would never set its golden sight upon her again.

The lamps spread a rich glow as she scanned her closet. Her gaze stopped on a magenta silk pantsuit, an outfit Rita had found at Marshall Field's. Seeing Anyelet in it would please her dark companion and she pulled the suit from its hanger and tossed it on the bed, then let the floral nightdress in which she'd slept drop to the floor. Naked, she crossed to the woodstove in the center of the room, a huge, windowless storeroom in the subbasement of the Merchandise Mart. She could hardly wait for spring and the rising temperatures that would finally warm the ice in her body. The stove, vented only to keep smoke from permeating the room, did a passable job until about two hours before she woke each evening; now its surface was barely warm. No matter. Rita would arrive soon, and wrapping in the covers was worthless since she had no body heat to build beneath their surface.

Anyelet turned at a slight noise and saw Rita glide into the room. Beneath a striking copper robe, the taller woman's skin gleamed like polished mahogany in the lamplight as she crossed to the stove and tossed in a bundle of prefabricated logs. That done, Rita swept a hairbrush from the nightstand and stepped behind her. Anyelet's eyes closed contentedly as Rita began to pull the brush through the red spill of her hair. A log crackled as warmth began to rebuild. Behind her, Anyelet felt Rita finish and lay the brush down, then move to stand in front of her. Opening her eyes, she met the depthless dark brown of Rita's almond-shaped gaze. The tight cut of Rita's hair emphasized her sharp cheekbones and full lips; four-inch daggers hung from her ears and followed the long line of her neck to the jutting ridge of her collarbone.

Rita spread her fingers wide and drew her hands through Anyelet's hair, combing it back from her temples to her shoulders. She stopped for a moment, then eased her fingers down to rest just above the swell of Anyelet's breasts. Rita, normally so sharp-tongued, spoke for the first time since entering the room.

"Is there something else I can do for you?" The offer was tempting. The pleasure Rita could bring was almost excruciating and the coldness that ached between her thighs eased at the thought.

But The Hunger was agony.

Anyelet sighed. "Maybe later, Rita. I must have food."

Rita nodded and stepped away, returning with the billowy pantsuit. A few minutes later the two women stepped into the blackness of the outer corridor, neither bothering with a light as they made their way along its length.

Five floors above, the Damned began their nightly screams.