In spite of the carefree face he was showing the world, Valentin Alekseev felt bone tired. Cold and hurting, but above all tired. Too many nights out in the rain, each of them a year’s worth of pain and misery. The exhaustion, the blood loss, and the hunger had taken their toll on him and he was already running on fumes, his strength and will to live almost gone. He was still fleeing, still fighting for his life, but the moment when he would no longer care what happened to him was closing in.
So many towns and faces had passed before his eyes in the last few weeks, he’d lost track of them. They all mingled, becoming but a blur in his mind. None of them mattered anyway. Humans, all weak and fragile and oh-so-shallow, nothing more than a meal or a quick fuck, simply means to pass the long hours of eternity.
Once, he would have taken his time indulging in all the pleasures mankind had to offer. Vice, in all its sizes and shapes, was no stranger to him, and while his tastes leaned toward pretty boys with tight asses, in his three hundred years he learned to take pleasure everywhere.
Yuri Sergheev, his sire, had taught him well. He’d given him eternity. He showed him the beauty of the night and introduced him to the joy of the hunt. In the hands of Yuri, he had learned the ways of their world, how to conduct himself in order to survive, how to give pain and pleasure and how to revel in them. He’d been his sire, his mentor, his lifeline for so long. And now Yuri was gone and Valentin was alone, running for his life.