[Vorcla]

The slaughter rolled on like a tidal wave of blood.

Nilos LaGory and his brides had descended on the hamlet of Leeds Cove, a tiny coastal fishing village, joined by the family they had slain at the outdoor prayer service the previous night. An open air festival was in full swing, and the atmosphere of joyous celebration was shattered by the relentless onslaught of the vampires. They attacked as bat creatures, screeching, diving and swooping from the sky almost faster than the eye could follow, ripping out throats with gleeful abandon, clawing, biting - infecting the terrified, screaming townspeople with their venom.

LaGory orchestrated the attack even as he streaked in circles around the perimeter of the town square, commanding his army with his mind. With his preternatural speed and reflexes, he darted in and out of the throng of scattered, fleeing villagers, killing dozens on the fly.

'Cattle,' he thought as he tore out the throat of a young woman and left her body kicking on the ground. People trampled each other in the melee, never realizing they were being herded toward the center of the main plaza.

A terrified young mother, cradling her screaming toddler in her arms as she ran, gasped as Sonya's talons ripped the child from her arms. Shrieking in anguish, she futilely clawed at the sky after them as drops of blood spattered down on her from above. Sonya flew in circles for a moment, draining the frantically thrashing little girl until she went limp.

Then she unceremoniously dropped the small body on an ever-growing pile of savaged corpses in the center of the village.

Realizing there was nothing more she could do, the young woman turned to flee - and ran right into the outstretched arms of Nilos LaGory, who had assumed human shape. His eyes were wild, and his face was smeared with crimson. She pulled away and tried to run, but he caught her when she sprawled on the ground by the town well.

"Oh, my, you are a pretty one - for a peasant girl," he said, chuckling as he pulled her to her feet.

"You can't h-hurt me a-anymore..." she sobbed. "You've k-killed my precious little Jennie."

"Oh, but I am going to reunite you with your precious little Jennie," LaGory soothed, stroking her hair. "And it will only hurt for a moment, followed by an ecstasy such as you have never known." His eyes glowed like live coals; his lips stretched back over his fangs. He held her close, and pulled her head back by the hair, exposing her soft, vulnerable throat.

"I will embrace you," he murmured, "and take you into the darkness..."

She screamed as his fangs sheared deep into the tender flesh of her throat, but her strident cries quickly subsided into something between a purr and a lascivious moan. The sensation of her blood pumping thickly into his mouth was sensuous beyond belief, as was his sucking, and as his pleasure venom flooded her system, poisoning her, she rapidly found herself approaching climax. She thrust her hips suggestively, rubbing against his leg, all thoughts of her beloved little daughter drowned in a sea of lust.

Finally LaGory pulled away, gasping in dismay, his nose, mouth and chin glistening with fresh blood. He cursed inwardly; he was killing her! He didn't want her to die...not just yet.

She sagged against him, limp and unresponsive. She was dying; he would have to move fast. He opened his shirt and sliced his chest with a sharp thumbnail, then pressed her mouth against the wound. She began to suck feebly, reflexively, and she gagged on the taste of his blood.

But she had drunk enough, and now she was his.

He felt her die in his arms; he released her, and her limp body tumbled into the well with a splash. She floated face down, bobbing on the surface, a thready pink cloud spreading through the water from her wounded neck.

He frowned. Perhaps the encounter with the Vorcla boy had damaged him more than he had feared. He was no longer sure if he could trust his own instincts.

Nilos LaGory glanced around the town square. Nothing moved now, save for his brides and the newly turned family of vampires. A few bodies still twitched weakly, and Hilde and Leah darted in to dispatch them. Leah's little brother and his two tiny sisters had brought down a young woman. She sat propped against the wall of a tailor's shop, her dead, horrified eyes staring out at the carnage. Her blouse had been ripped open, her chest bared. The boy had torn out her throat; a section of her jugular dangled from his mouth like a gory crimson rope. The little girls fed on her exposed breasts in a grisly parody of suckling babies.

The vampire children looked like blood-smeared, grimy street urchins, caked with dirt and mud from lying underground. That would definitely not do...

Sonya landed in front of LaGory.

"Master - there is a group of about twenty of them sequestered in the town hall."

LaGory nodded. "I know - I let them escape. Someone needs to be left alive to handle the day-to-day business of this village, to divert suspicion. But they're sheep - and they need a...shepherd."

He turned on his heel, his cape swirling around him, and strode toward the large brick building at the end of the block, his brides in tow. The round, terrified face of a plump middle aged man peered owlishly from a window as they approached.

"Go away, demons!" he screamed. "I know that you can't come in here unless you're invited - and you're not invited!"

"Not very hospitable of you, old man," LaGory grated. "Sure you don't want to reconsider?"

He made eye contact. The plump man stiffened and stood up ramrod straight. His eyes were distant, unfocused.

"How rude of me," he murmured in a flat monotone. "Please - do come in - all of you."

There were shouts of consternation from inside as LaGory easily tore the heavy locked door off its hinges and tossed it aside. "Another dramatic entrance," he muttered.

He stepped inside, followed by his harem. The crowd backed away fearfully, except for the plump man, who stood like a statue.

Suddenly a young man burst through the knot of people, his face suffused with grief and fury.

"You bastard!" he raged. "I saw you kill my sister and let her fall in the well!"

He whipped up a chrome revolver and it went off with a sound like a thunderclap. The bullet caught LaGory in the middle of the forehead and flung him against the wall by the door. He collapsed in a heap, and his screaming brides ran to the side of their fallen master.

LaGory sat up, dazed, shaking his head. He rubbed his fingers over the wound, and they came away sticky with blood.

The bullet dropped into his palm.

"Damn!" he spat. "That's going to leave a mark!"

The young man raised his pistol again, but LaGory snarled and gestured. The weapon flew into the vampire's hand; he crushed it as if it was made of wax. His eyes blazing, he clenched a fist, and his assailant shot through the air like a missile and crashed through the window. His bloodied body landed halfway across the square and lay staring unseeing at the sky.

The broken glass had nearly decapitated him.

LaGory stood up and brushed himself off. He clapped and rubbed his hands together enthusiastically.

"All right," he said. "I need some evil minions to help run this little whistle stop. Any volunteers?"

They stood staring at him, transfixed in horror.

"I didn't think so," he mumbled. "Guess we'll do this the hard way."

They were all staring at the ugly bullet wound in his forehead, which annoyed him, but then he realized he could use that to his advantage.

"Hey, I'm down here," he said.

Instinctively, their gazes shifted. He locked eyes with them, and he was instantly inside all of their minds.

The town hall rang with screams as LaGory probed deeply, showing them their worst fears, establishing a link.

Establishing his dominance.

Then the screaming stopped.

"All right, everybody have a seat," LaGory directed.

The villagers moved like sleepwalkers, laboriously shuffling across the floor. They sat up rigidly in their chairs, staring straight ahead. LaGory plopped down on the edge of the desk.

"All right - by any chance is the mayor among the survivors?"

The plump man rose and raised his hand.

"I am," he said. "The Honorable George L. Sturbridge, mayor of Leeds Cove."

"Good!" LaGory exclaimed. "Your job is to do your mayoring, business as usual, whatever it is you do now - or don't do as the case may be." He glanced around the room. "In fact, all of you should just carry on doing what you normally do. That way..."

He was interrupted as Leah's family filed through the door. All of them were covered with earth and blood, and their eyes glowed like fire. Leah turned away, attempting to hide her icy tears from Nilos...

"Gaaahhh!" LaGory growled. "Look at them! Vampires are supposed to be elegant, smooth, cultured sophisticated - like me. These people look like...words fail me."

He waved his hand, and sloughed the dirt from their bodies.

"Better," he said, "but still rough. Any tailors here?"

An elderly couple in the back of the room raised their hands.

"All right - make them something suitable. This garb they're wearing now just screams 'peasant!'" He paused. "Does this place have a basement?"

"Yes," the mayor affirmed. "A cellar, actually. Well...more like a crawlspace. But you can stand up in it."

"Well, it's going to double as a crypt. I'm not going to have my subjects crawling back underground in the morning like earthworms. Is there an undertaker in the house?"

No one acknowledged, and LaGory sighed.

"All right - break into the funeral home and bring all the caskets he has over here and put them in the basement. You'll have to make some coffins out of wood to supplement as well, I would think. Do we have a carpenter?"

"Uhh..." Mayor Sturbridge cleared his throat nervously and pointed out the broken window to the mangled body of LaGory's attacker. "Alec is...was...a carpenter."

"Oh." LaGory raised an eyebrow. "Oops. Sorry, Alec."

He turned to the crowd.

"Well, come on - you people are peasants. You should be good with your hands. Just some plain pine boxes would be fine. If not, just stack the bodies on the floor. They'll transform into vampires before they start to stink too badly - I promise."

"Uh, Master..." a young woman began timidly. "When our neighbors...rise...as vampires, will they attack us?"

LaGory smiled. "No, my dear. They will recognize you as my servants and won't molest you. In fact, you will be able to spend time with your families again - just not during the day." He straightened. "All right - round up all the coffins you can find and get all the bodies down here. My brides will help, as will Leah's family. Oh - and someone fix the door to this place."

He turned to Sonya. "Take over here, my dear. I want to go check on Melissa."

There was the briefest flicker of resentment - and jealousy - in Sonya's dark eyes, but she simply said, "Yes, Nilos."

He stepped outside. It was a beautiful night. The moon was just past full, and cloudless, black velvet sky was studded with bright stars. He reached out with his powerful mind, searching for Melissa's consciousness and found...

Nothing.

A thrill of alarm shivered through Nilos LaGory. He transformed himself into his winged bat creature form and shot into the sky, streaking toward his castle.

No! Could he have miscalculated yet again? She couldn't be dead! He just wanted to teach her a severe lesson, not kill her.

"Damn you, Dylan!" he spat through clenched fangs.

He poured every ounce of strength in his body into his wings, calling on reserves of strength even he didn't know he possessed.

He just hoped he wasn't too late...




*****



The cool scent of fir and pine, and blissful quiet, welcomed the first rays of the sun.

Gemma Harrison rubbed her eyes. She'd not slept well. All night long the drama of predator and prey had played itself out within earshot of her woodland cottage. In the dark she could hear the desperate screams of the caught, the abrupt silence of death.

Once she had been gazing out at the bright, full moon; wings swooped past her window, and she could see a small victim dangling from the talons of its captor. It struggled helplessly, crying, screaming.

A rabbit.

Probably the mother of the family that lived by her vegetable garden. A tear trickled down her cheek.

She didn't know if she'd have the heart to check the nest.

Gemma sat up in bed, naked, and stretched and yawned.

She realized that it was nature, survival of the fittest. Yet she had such a hard time thinking of the prey animals as anything but sweet little innocents. There was usually at least one kill every night, but last evening it had been incessant.

The darkness had been alive with screams and small, frantic struggles.

She shuddered.

The nights never used to frighten her. Since Papa had died, however, things had changed. She was so lonely.

And alone.

As light bled from the sky, detail and texture drained from the trees. They became dim, menacing silhouettes against a faint pink glow, like claws in the twilight. Darkness sank into the forest, thickening, until everything became indistinct, vague.

Threatening.

Only the nearby sea remained constant, its waves breaking on the shore in an endless, calming symphony.

Gemma closed her eyes. She missed Papa, but she wished for something more, something else.

Someone else.

Someone who could hold her in his strong arms and protect her and calm her fears when the night erupted with screams...

She sighed. Who was she fooling?

At eighteen, Gemma Harrison was an ethereally beautiful young girl. Her chestnut hair hung in ringlets to her waist. Hazel eyes regarded the world with wonder from an angelically beautiful face. She was slender and supple, with firm breasts and just enough curves to make her ripe and womanly.

One would think that a young beauty such as Gemma would have scores of suitors.

But Papa had kept the boys away from her, cloistering her like a nun in a convent. That alone would have been sufficient to drive them off, but she hadn't helped matters with her wiccan ways.

She wasn't a witch, but the few times she had gone to market in the nearby fishing hamlet of Middly Village she'd heard what they called her behind her back.

Witchy Woman.

Gemma wiped away another tear. No, she wasn't a witch, but she did believe in earth-based spirituality. She was one with nature. She understood the forest, knew its ways, its animals and its plants. She knew which plants and herbs and roots were edible, which were toxic, and which could be used as medicines. She even knew the fungi and mushrooms that induced hallucinations.

Occasionally she would ingest a small portion of these for recreation. She could forget her loneliness for a while then.

Gemma glanced around the cottage. It was spacious and spare, but she had everything she needed. A fire still smoldered beneath the cauldron-like cooking pot in the hearth. She had placed cheery curtains she had made herself at the windows. The kitchen table was set for one; a checked tablecloth covered it, and a blue glass bowl cradled a variety of wildflowers.

The sun edged up over the horizon, and a songbird trilled a cheerful, welcoming tune. She shrugged into a long, flowered dress and slipped on a pair of sandals. Then she grabbed a pail and headed out the door.

The cottage was built in a glade at the edge of a dense forest that overlooked the sea. It was so beautiful and peaceful here. When Papa died, it had passed down to her - that and 100 acres of pristine forest. Only one thing could make her happier.

Someone to share it with.

Gemma walked easily across a carpet of pine needles. The sky began to fill with pale, calm blue, and trees stirred softly around her. She followed a stream that flowed through the glade, glittering mistily between the tall trees. A little way into the forest, it became a clear pool, sparkling over smooth pebbles. She dipped her pail into the cold, clear water.


As she turned to head back to her cottage, Gemma gazed down the slope to the sea and gasped.

There was a body on the beach!

She bit her lower lip. Occasionally drowning victims washed up on shore, but never before on her property. Then she gasped again.

The body had moved!

She scrambled, half-sliding and half-running, down the gentle hillside and went to her knees in the wet sand. The victim was a young man, a boy actually. He was naked, and tangled in seaweed. His hair was long and blonde, and his glazed, feverish eyes were green.

And he was beautiful.

He was well toned, eagle-chested and slender. His body looked like a Michelangelo sculpture. He was well-proportioned.

As her eyes wandered lower, Gemma observed that he was quite nicely-endowed as well. Her face flushed crimson. She turned his head toward her and nearly screamed.

The right side of his face was covered with sticky blood. His hair was matted; there was an ugly wound on his forehead, a puckered red and purple horror that was green around the edges. Gemma frowned and peered closely at the mess.

There appeared to be flecks of something silvery in the violated flesh.

Suddenly his eyes flickered open. Gemma jumped.

His mouth worked, and he tried to swallow.

"I...I need to ask...you something," he rasped. "Am...I dead?"

"No!" she cried. "You're badly hurt, but I can help you. I'll make a poultice from some herbs I have to clean up that infection." She hesitated. "Why did you think you were dead?"

He smiled, and Gemma felt herself growing almost lightheaded.

"Well, I figured...you had to be an angel, and...that meant I was in heaven."

She blushed furiously and answered his smile.

"Well, aren't we the flatterer? My name is Gemma. And yours?"

His face fell, and he frowned. His eyes narrowed in concentration.

"I...I can't remember..." he murmured finally.

Not surprising, she thought, considering the head wound. "Do you know what happened to you?"

He shook his head.

"Well, we'll worry about that later. Let's get you up to the house. Can you walk?"

"I'll...try," he answered.

Gemma helped him to his feet. It was a struggle, but between the two of them, they managed to get back to the cottage, a five-minute walk that took them over half an hour. She got him tucked into bed, then set about preparing a hot poultice for his wound.

She bathed his head, wiping away the dried blood. He was even more beautiful than she had first thought. He smiled gratefully up at her, and she felt her pulse race.

"We need to give you a name until you can remember your own," she decided. "What do you think of Michael?"

He nodded. "I like it. What made you...choose it? Is that a good thing?"

Her face reddened.

"Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. You said I look like an angel. So do you. You remind me so much of a painting I saw of the Archangel Michael defeating Satan. Such a strong, beautiful warrior - like you."

He grinned.

"Now who's...being the...flatterer?"

His voice trailed off, and he drifted off to sleep.

She bent and kissed his lips.

"Sleep well, Michael," she whispered.

Gemma reluctantly left his side and tossed some more logs on the fire.

To be continued...

['Ginnis]

HA! Take that Jim...now I've actually got to read it...BRB!

['Ginnis]

So I was reading and commenting as I went along...and then I lost everything due to a glitch. Take two, shall we?

joined by the family they had slain at the open air prayer service the previous night. An outdoor festival was in full swing,

To avoid internal rhyme on "open air prayer" I suggest switching open air with outdoor in the next sentence. Same difference...right? No? Your choice, just a thought.

"I will embrace you," he murmured, "and take you into the darkness..."

I wouldn't complain if Ben Barnes were offering...

The boy had torn out her throat; a section of her jugular dangled from his mouth like a gory crimson rope. The little girls fed on her exposed breasts in a grisly parody of suckling babies.

Sniff...beautiful. Also, I had a total Dickens flash back to A Christmas Carol and the demon children...I think it was Hunger and Want or something like that?

The vampire children looked like blood-smeared, grimy street urchins, caked with dirt and mud from lying underground. That would definitely not do...

Or was it Oliver Twist? God, I'm such a nerd. I make jokes about 19th century literature.

There were shouts of consternation from inside as LaGory easily tore the heavy locked door off its hinges and tossed it aside. "Another dramatic entrance," he muttered.

"All right," he said. "I need some evil minions to help run this little whistle stop. Any volunteers?"

Damn you, Nilos! Why aren't you REAL?

These people look like extras from 'The Night of the Living Dead' or something."

Another modern reference that sort of throws things out of whack. I know he's "with it" and such but...something funny there.

As light bled from the sky, detail and texture drained from the trees.

Great imagery.

"Well, I figured...you had to be an angel, and...that meant I was in heaven."

If he wasn't delirious I'd call him a sap...

Great stuff, Rick. The violence was well executed and the background on Gemma was wonderful. I love the old feel of all this, even though it's all very recent. It's almost like a world untouched by time, which does a lot to flatter LaGory's character and the gothic roots of the genre. Keep it up, looking forward to more.

[Vorcla]

Originally Posted by vorcla;

...joined by the family they had slain at the open air prayer service the previous night. An outdoor festival was in full swing,

Originally Posted by 'Ginnis;

To avoid internal rhyme on "open air prayer" I suggest switching open air with outdoor in the next sentence. Same difference...right? No? Your choice, just a thought.

Good suggestion. Done.

Originally Posted by vorcla;

"I will embrace you," he murmured, "and take you into the darkness..."

Originally Posted by 'Ginnis;

I wouldn't complain if Ben Barnes were offering...

Hehehe...Ben would make a perfect LaGory in a movie. Just the right age, everything.

Originally Posted by vorcla;

The boy had torn out her throat; a section of her jugular dangled from his mouth like a gory crimson rope. The little girls fed on her exposed breasts in a grisly parody of suckling babies.

Originally Posted by 'Ginnis;

Sniff...beautiful. Also, I had a total Dickens flash back to A Christmas Carol and the demon children...I think it was Hunger and Want or something like that?

Thank you. Well...at least Hunger has been satisfied!

Originally Posted by vorcla;

The vampire children looked like blood-smeared, grimy street urchins, caked with dirt and mud from lying underground. That would definitely not do...

Originally Posted by 'Ginnis;

Or was it Oliver Twist? God, I'm such a nerd. I make jokes about 19th century literature.

Ha! As soon as I typed "street urchins," I thought of "Oliver Twist."

Originally Posted by vorcla;

There were shouts of consternation from inside as LaGory easily tore the heavy locked door off its hinges and tossed it aside. "Another dramatic entrance," he muttered.

Originally Posted by vorcla;

"All right," he said. "I need some evil minions to help run this little whistle stop. Any volunteers?"

Originally Posted by 'Ginnis;

Damn you, Nilos! Why aren't you REAL?

Hehehe. He is a real ladykiller, isn't he? Literally as well as figuratively... Too bad he isn't real. He'd be quite a dynamic individual.

Originally Posted by vorcla;

These people look like extras from 'The Night of the Living Dead' or something."

Originally Posted by 'Ginnis;

Another modern reference that sort of throws things out of whack. I know he's "with it" and such but...something funny there.

Changed. I had a gut feeling about this one; should have listened. As you so succinctly put it, Kara, "Go with your gut, boy!" I trust my own judgment, but every now and then I have a brain cramp.

Originally Posted by vorcla;

As light bled from the sky, detail and texture drained from the trees.

Originally Posted by 'Ginnis;

Great imagery.

Thank you.

Originally Posted by vorcla;

"Well, I figured...you had to be an angel, and...that meant I was in heaven."

Originally Posted by 'Ginnis;

If he wasn't delirious I'd call him a sap...

Well...Dylan IS a sap, and proud of it - delerious or lucid - makes no difference.

Great stuff, Rick. The violence was well executed and the background on Gemma was wonderful. I love the old feel of all this, even though it's all very recent. It's almost like a world untouched by time, which does a lot to flatter LaGory's character and the gothic roots of the genre. Keep it up, looking forward to more.

Thanks for such an in-depth and thoughtful comment, Kara. These little fishing villages are sort of stuck in time. They have some modern conveniences, but stil harken back to the old times, which lends itself to the gothic scenario. Glad you liked it.

[dearest]

I agree about the time period, I have to keep reminding myself that this is near present day. But it makes sense, considering that half our characters have been alive long enough not to notice fads, and the other half are villagers stuck in decades and traditions past. Nice job on the atmosphere.

Hmmm...I like Gemma, though I hope her character will be a little more fleshed out later, don't know much about her yet. And I like the whole washed up on the beach thing, very Tristan and Isolde, very sweet. ^_^

"Well, I figured...you had to be an angel, and...that meant I was in heaven."

Vorclas: fictional or real, it seems they're always flatterers. ^_^ Very good, anxiously awaiting the next enstallment.

[Vorcla]

Originally Posted by dearest;

I agree about the time period, I have to keep reminding myself that this is near present day. But it makes sense, considering that half our characters have been alive long enough not to notice fads, and the other half are villagers stuck in decades and traditions past. Nice job on the atmosphere.

Yeah - watch "The Wolf Man" (1941 version) with Lon Chaney Jr. sometime. That's the feel I wanted. It works, because, believe it or not, things havent changed all that much in 67 years. Stuck in time...

Hmmm...I like Gemma, though I hope her character will be a little more fleshed out later, don't know much about her yet. And I like the whole washed up on the beach thing, very Tristan and Isolde, very sweet. ^_^

We'll learn more about Gemma as we go along. That's the problem with expostion; you try to do it all at once and you get bogged down. I wanted to deliver just enough to get a feel for her character. She is an incredibly sweet, incredibly sheltered, lonely young girl. Her father was a recluse, a hermit, and she's into Wiccan beliefs, although not a fanatic about the religious end of it. And after being sheltered for so long, she finds herself co-habitating with a handsome young amnesiac, and her hormones go into overdrive!

What she doesn't realize is that she's co-habitating with a werewolf who doesn't remember he's a werewolf. Nothing good can come of that...

I liked the washing up on the beach thing too. Dylan is indestructible; makes sense he'd make it back some way.

Originally Posted by vorcla;

"Well, I figured...you had to be an angel, and...that meant I was in heaven."

Originally Posted by dearest;

Vorclas: fictional or real, it seems they're always flatterers. ^_^

Hehehe! Must be genetic, hun. Dylan doesn't even know he's a Vorcla right now, and he's still a flatterer!

Originally Posted by dearest;

Very good, anxiously awaiting the next enstallment.

Thank you, Tricia. If all goes well, Part 10 will be up this weekend. Kara said she'd start posting VQ3 once I finished this, so I'm on a mission to finish Dylan Vorcla: First Moon - I can't wait for VQ3. But I'm not going to bat it out so fast that I compromise its quality.

Thanks again for your comments.

[Jimbalaya]

Ah, there we go. I'm back on track now.

Reading through the comments, I think the changes you made perfected this chapter of the story. I couldn't find one flaw in there. Having read this one, of course, the next one has fallen right in line.

Another brilliant character in Gemma. I love her already. Please don't killer her, bro. Giver her to me instead. I'll take care of her.

I can't say enough about your ability to characterize. You seemingly pull the first image from your mind of what a character should be and put it down on "paper" flawlessly. They are full of endearing qualities and quirks that make you actually bond with them. One other writer has made this happen for me: Dean Koontz in his book False Memory. He made a most endearing character that I fell deeply in love with...and then he killed her in a most sadistic and emotionally wretched way that I'll never forgive him for it.

Your characters remind me of this, and I hope you take it as a compliment becuase that's how it is meant.

You know I already read the next chapter, so I'll just sit by eagerly awaiting the next. Thanks for this story, Rick. Reading it has been a great, and entertaining, way to pass the time.

[Vorcla]

Thanks, Jim. Being compared to Dean Koontz is a great honor; I'm flattered. I appreciate your comments about my characterizations. Thanks again.

As for Gemma....we'll just have to see...

[Syrah]

I like that he's getting a fresh start. With Mel succumbing to LaGory, it gives a ray of hope for Vorcla's happiness.

[Vorcla]

Originally Posted by Syrah

I like that he's getting a fresh start. With Mel succumbing to LaGory, it gives a ray of hope for Vorcla's happiness.

Ah, yes. Vorc has had it rough. We'll see...

Thanks for the comments, honny. Always appreciated.

[RENA HANDS]

To be nit picky, you need to watch your introduction spacing as you write. It may distract or bother others, but you want to keep track of it to maintain consistency.

With his ‘preternatural’ speed and reflexes,(?) Shouldn’t it be ‘supernatural’ speed?

LOVED the whole ‘vampire children’ description, scene!

Should Town Hall be capitalized as the vampires head towards it? (…twenty of them sequestered in the Town hall.) (?)

Again, nit picking…the spacing you have between your breaks (***) these should be Centered. The spacing between the paragraphs before and after should be not so largely gaped.

I think…She had placed (the) cheery curtains (that) she had made herself at the windows.(?)

Did you mean…a checkered tablecloth?

Wonderful observations you made with, of Vorcla from Gemma’s point of view.

An ‘angel’ who practices the Wiccan ways...

I will have to wait until tomorrow to read what happens.

A rating of 5/5!