Forrest
Wollinsky:
Vampire
Hunter Vol. One
Leonard
D. Hilley II
Genre:
YA Friendly; Urban Fantasy/Paranormal
Publisher:
Nocturnal Trinity Press
Date
of Publication: March 13, 2016
ASIN:
B01CZ4LKBQ
Number
of pages: 266
Word
Count: ~83,000
Book
Description:
"Killing
Vampires Since 1888."
I
was born in Bucharest in 1880 in the heart of the vampire population.
At eight years old, I was considered a freak of nature since I was
already the size of an adult male. Other children my age, and some of
my teachers, shunned me.
Being
rejected by one’s peers cuts deeply. Then I met my first werewolf
and discovered a master vampire was plotting to kill me because of
what I am. From that moment, my destiny stole my future aspirations
all men grow up wanting.
This
is how my destiny begins.
Excerpt:
Chapter
One
The
Beginning
Bucharest,
1888
The
wind howled like an awakening banshee as it swirled and lashed around
our snow-covered cottage nestled in the barren trees at the edge of
the forest. I was only eight years old, but it was the harshest
winter in my one hundred and thirty-odd year memory.
My
father had been gone for several days, which wasn’t unusual. Mother
had said that he was hunting and should return soon, but the blizzard
had set in with a fury, burying the roads, fields, and the forest
floor beneath several feet of snow. Wherever he was, he’d be stuck
for quite some time.
Snowdrifts
lined three sides of our meager cottage and the snowstorm had barely
started. The outside layers of snow helped insulate our rugged home.
The warmth of the fire felt like the heat of summer, making it almost
easy to forget about the freezing howling winds outside.
The
hearth fire crackled softly under a black bubbling pot of rabbit
stew. Garlic cloves were strung together above a basket of dried
yams. We had enough food to last out the week, which made me wonder
why my father had chosen to hunt during the worst of the blizzard.
My
mother sat in her creaky rocker and was sewing a new coat for me from
rabbit hides. Only eight, I was as husky and tall as a young man in
his teens. It seemed that I outgrew my clothes about as quickly as
she could make new ones.
While
she sewed, I sat near the fire and sharpened a long curved dagger my
father had given me. He had traded fox hides for the blade, and I
expected to soon use it whenever my father returned with his kill.
A
slight pause in the winds caused my mother to stop rocking. She
leaned slightly forward and cocked her head to the side. The curious
frown on her face caught my attention. I set down the whetstone and
rose to my feet.
A
gentle rapping at the door was faintly noticeable since the winds had
quieted, and probably would have gone completely unnoticed had they
continued to whistle. But there it was again.
Rap-rap-rap.
A
bit bolder, but not overly pronounced or with desperation.
With
my dagger gripped in my hand I eased toward the door. Confusion
furrowed my mother’s brow. She set her quilt aside and held her
scissors to her side, ready to help fend off whatever danger awaited
outside that door.
Stepping
to the side of the door, I lifted the metal latch that secured the
door and eased it against the door panel, careful to be silent.
Rap-rap-rap.
Without
fear, I grabbed the large oval handle and yanked open the door. A
whoosh of cold air sprang forward, sucking out our much-treasured
heat.
On
the path directly outside the door, the snow was stained crimson
beneath the gray overcast sky. A trail of blood cut farther down the
path into the forest. Large heavy snowflakes dropped, steadily trying
to erase the blood path. No other tracks were in the snow. No bandits
or attackers were visible amongst the snowy tree trunks. The bloody
path ended at the door where the body lay.
A
desperate weak hand shook, reaching up for me.
“John!”
my mother shouted, running across the room to the door.
In
terror I stared down into my father’s haunted eyes, barely
recognizing him. His face was battered, and his eyes were swollen
nearly shut. Blood caked in his graying beard. His useless legs
twisted behind him. How far he had crawled or how he had managed to
do so with the amount of blood he had lost? It was a mystery then,
and remains so even to this day. By every means he should have been
dead, long before he got to the door, but his stubborn determination
enabled him to ignore his pain and fight to pull himself back home.
I
sheathed my dagger and grabbed his nearly frozen hand, heaving him
out of the snow and across the threshold. Mother quickly closed and
secured the door when we were safely inside.
My
father’s cold hand fell from my grip and a huge sigh gushed from
his mouth as he lost consciousness.
“Father?”
I asked, dropping to my knees in front of him. Blood trickled from
his nose. I glanced toward Momma. “What happened to him?”
“Get
him to the bed,” she said, wiping away tears.
Placing
my hands beneath his underarms, I lifted, pulling him up enough to
wrap my arms around his chest until he was upright. His body was
cold, but the heat of his leaking wounds stuck to me. I cringed. So
much blood. I fought tears. He was dying. Had to be. Nothing lost so
much blood and survived.
My
father wasn’t a massive man, like he and my mother always insisted
I would become. He actually weighed less than I and was several
inches shorter. In spite of his stature, he was a crafty fighter,
capable of defending himself against men twice his size. Stout and
thinly muscular, he had incredible strength and feared no one.
For
once, I was proud of my abnormally large size and his lack thereof. I
hefted him and walked toward the bed, his boots scraping the wooden
floor as I moved. Gurgling sounds rumbled in his throat.
“A
bear?” I asked, looking at her. “Was he attacked by a bear?”
Mother
brought a pail of lukewarm water and set it by the bed. She shook her
head and tore strips of cloth.
I
eased my father onto the bed and laid him back. He gasped and groaned
in pain, but his eyes never opened.
“Strip
off his coat,” she said. “His boots, too.”
I
quickly obeyed.
She
peeled back his shirt, revealing long gashes across his chest and
abdomen. The lacerations were too narrow to be from bear claws, but
the cuts were dark and deep. Older white scars were visible. On his
chest above his heart was the singed outline of a cross. Two puncture
marks near his shoulder were swollen, bruised. Two dark dots.
“What
did this?” I asked, pointing at the wound. My fingers almost
touched the marks, and she slapped my hand away.
“No!”
she gasped.
“What
kind of animal could do this?”
Her
dark eyes were hollowed from fear. She was paler than normal and
seemed more delicate.
“Mother,
please tell me what did this to Father?”
She
took a damp cloth and washed blood from his nose and beard. With
another cloth, she washed his forehead. Tears heated her eyes. She
spat out a word with complete contempt as she whispered, “Vampire.”
My
chest tightened. Anger rippled inside me. “A vampire attacked him
while he was hunting game?”
“No,”
she replied. “He was hunting the vampire.”
“Why?”
“It
is his calling, his duty. Magistrates and governors seek him out to
kill vampires. They pay in gold and silver coins.”
I
stared at my father’s frail body. His chest rose and fell with
shallow breaths. “Why has he never told me?”
“To
protect you.”
“From
what?”
“Them.”
“Vampires?”
She
nodded.
Frowning,
I asked, “Why would they wish to harm me? My schoolmates tell tales
that are quite scary. I’d never venture into one of their lairs.”
“You’re
like your father, but you’re too young. In time you’ll be as
fearless as he.”
“Too
young for what, Mother?”
“To
train to hunt the vampires.”
My
eyes widened and fastened upon my father’s incapacitated body. He
was barely alive. The possibility that he would die during the night
was greater than the chance of him surviving his injuries. I didn’t
think I was foolish enough to pursue the fanged demons of the night.
Trained or not, hunting vampires was destined to become a short-lived
profession.
“His
legs are broken,” I said.
She
nodded. “I know.”
Tears
streamed down my mother’s cheeks. She cried quietly without calling
attention to herself. I took a damp cloth and pressed it against one
of the lacerations across my father’s stomach. I hoped the pressure
might stop the bleeding. Some of the cuts were scabbing, but the two
puncture wounds pulsed softly, in rhythm with his faint heartbeat. It
was unnerving to witness, as if the injuries were alive, feeding off
of his body.
While
I held the cloth, her eyes widened. She rushed from the side of the
bed and ran to black water pot near the hearth. She was back in
seconds.
“What’s
wrong?” I asked.
Momma
was too frantic for words. She turned my father’s head to the side,
pried open his mouth, and black blood oozed out. She took the damp
cloth and inserted it into his mouth with her finger. She swirled her
cloth-covered finger around the inside of his mouth like one washed a
dish. When she pulled out the cloth, it was saturated with more of
the dark blood.
“Is
he bleeding that badly?” I asked.
She
shook her head. “It’s not his blood.”
“What?”
“Under
the bed,” she said softly. “Get the box.”
I
lowered to my knees and peered under the bed. I grabbed the handle
and pulled the heavy suitcase box out, scraping the floor loudly.
I
lifted the heavy box and set it on the edge of the bed.
“Open
it,” she said.
I
did.
Inside
of the box were several sharp wooden stakes, a wooden mallet, a
silver cross, glass vials filled with powder, and more glass vials
filled with clear liquid. My mother took one vial of the liquid, read
the label, and popped the cork. She walked around to the other side
of the bed.
“What
are you doing?” I asked.
“The
puncture marks have to be purified and cleansed. Or your father will
become a vampire.”
“How?”
“The
bite somehow causes the victim to turn. Don’t ask me how. Your
father would know but—” Her voice broke into sobs.
I
wanted to tell her that he was going to be okay, but I couldn’t
tell a lie that convincingly. His condition was severe. No way to
deny it.
Then
the revelation gripped me. I suddenly realized his injuries were
intentionally far worse than I had imagined. The vampire who had
inflicted the damage upon my father intended for him to die so that
he, too, would become a vampire.
“What’s
in the vial?” I asked.
“Holy
water.”
“That
will cure him?”
Mother
replied, “If we can fully cleanse the wound, it’s possible that
we can save him. But, it’s painful for him to endure. In his
weakened condition, the cure might well kill him.”
“And
if that should happen?”
“You
will have to drive a stake through his heart. I can’t . . . I
simply can’t
do it.”
Stunned,
I looked into her eyes with uncertainty, questioning. She nodded
solemnly. I knew the depth of her love for my father prevented her
from killing him, even if he were to turn, but I wondered if I was
capable. Could I drive a stake through the heart of my father? In the
matter of age, I was still a boy, struggling with a problem that only
an adult should have to consider. I had to shoulder the
responsibility but how?
About
the Author:
Leonard
D. Hilley II grew up in Fort Payne, AL, where his never-ending
curiosity introduced him to the world of biology and books. During
his youth he was an avid insect collector and reared butterflies and
moths. His love for science eventually merged with his writing. He
currently resides in Marietta, Ohio, where he writes science fiction
thrillers, epic high fantasy, and YA mysteries.
Education:
B.S. Biology; MFA in Creative Writing
Leonard
D. Hilley II is the author of Predators of Darkness: Aftermath,
Beyond the Darkness, The Game of Pawns, Death's Valley, Shawndirea,
and Devils' Den.
Leonard
D. Hilley II also writes short stories for YA. Two books were
inspired by his love of biology: Rearing Dragons in My Backyard and
Fiddling Worms. He also writes a mystery series for YA: Dee's Mystery
Solvers.
@Deimosweb
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