Page 1 of The Cruelty of Thorns

CHAPTER 1

JULIANUS

Windows to the soul

I DREAMED OF blood and death.

Wasn’t the first time; definitely wouldn’t be the last. That I could dream at all was a constant wonder to me.

The hunger was there when I awoke, sharp and insistent, but something felt different tonight. Like Fate was toying with the carefully woven threads of a routine I had spent centuries establishing.

Perhaps I had grown too comfortable.

Perhaps it was time to move on.

I resented that thought. I had come to like it here. A city small enough to remind me of my youth; large enough to absorb my unnatural habits. Such places were becoming increasingly difficult to find in the world, and I didn’t relish the thought of searching for another.

Perhaps it was merely hunger, after all.

I dressed in my favorite charcoal gray suit and made my way out into the crisp autumn evening. A new distraction was what I needed, something to tempt my cock and slake this cursed thirst. With school back in session at the college, the streets were like an all-you-can-eat buffet. I wound my way leisurely through the herd, sampling sights and scents for one worthy of my attention.

Young succulent flesh.

Eager open minds.

Blinded by their own invincibility.

I didn’t know what drew me to the bar, or why I looked in the window when I got there, but the jolt I received when I met those eyes shook me to my core.

It couldn’t be. Not now. After all these years…

CHAPTER 2

MYRA

A chance encounter

I HATED GOING out, but I knew if I was going to fit in at Whitfield College I’d have to make some sacrifices. The bar wasn’t too crowded for a Friday night, but with my anxiety, anything more than a handful of people was too much. The only thing I had going for me was the group I was with. The girls were all prettier than me, thus deflecting any attention from the male clientele.

Not that I was ugly; I just wasn’t what you would consider beautiful. Average height, straight brown hair that I wore like a security blanket close to my face, hazel eyes, and a bit too skinny in all the places most women had curves. I had come to terms with my lot in life long ago; it was just as well, as I wasn’t interested in the things most girls my age were–clothes, shoes, the latest media heart throb, or especially real life men. I’d had one relationship in my nineteen years and it had ended tragically enough to cause me to swear off a repeat. Now I got my romance from the books I read and the stories I wrote.

“What are you drinking?” my roommate, Kristin shouted above the music.

“Just a Coke.”

“Come on, Myra, it’s Friday night. At least have a beer.”

I made a face. “I hate beer.”

“Then a glass of wine. Look, I’m ordering us both one.” She motioned to the server who was headed for our table.

I sighed; this was exactly why I hated going out. “Aren’t we too young to drink?”

“Drinking age is eighteen here for beer and wine,” Kristin informed me. “Why do you think there are so many bars near the campus?”

I hadn’t really paid attention. I knew there were two bookstores and a small independent coffee shop with ample plugins for laptops within walking distance of the school. I would much rather have gone there tonight. I had a paper due on the theme of realism vs romanticism in nineteenth century literature and would like to have gotten a start on writing it before Kristin dragged me out to “blow off some steam” with a few friends.

I liked Kristin well enough as a roommate. She wasn’t too loud and seemed to be serious about her coursework during the week, but she was a year ahead of me and therefore had a lot of friends at the school, both male and female, something I doubted I’d have regardless of how long I was there. Just thinking about that brought up my mother’s voice in my head. Myra, you need to get out and meet people.

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