Deamhan by Isaiyan Morrison Page B

what they saw. I guess this was what being protected meant.
    “We need to go.” She pulled a wide-eyed Murphy down the street toward Palm Oaks, clutching the crumpled envelope to her chest.
     
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
     
    Alexis straightened her shoulders, jutted her chin, and yanked opened the door. She strode past a makeshift cross nailed to the wall holding a gagged and tied human woman. She stopped short, inhaled the scent of blood seeping from the lacerations on the woman’s breasts and stomach. Tiny razor blade cuts covered her legs. The victim breathed erratically. The wounds weren’t deep, but effective to cause pain.
    “This one is dying,” Alexis called out. “She’ll need food soon.”
    More human bodies laid scattered in the back room. Some were in the first stages of decomposition while others were passed that. Near the back wall, five Deamhan held down a scantily clad woman. She kicked valiantly, fighting against her handlers. They pinned her arms and legs to the floor and they sunk their teeth into her soft flesh. An amused smile tugged at Alexis’ lips. The victim’s sobs and whispers fell on deaf ears.  
    One of the Ramanga bit into her wrist hard enough to cause an audible crunch. The human shrieked in pain. Moments later, her writhing slowed to a stop.
    Alexis rolled her eyes. How many Deamhan does it take to kill a human? Their kind never ceased to annoy her.
    The scent of fragrant incense masked the odor of fresh blood. She hated coming back here especially with the Deamhan around. She reminisced about the times when it was just her and Lambert, surrounded by dozens of humans to pick and feed from. They picked and chose their meals in their own hell bent paradise.
    Now, Lambert invited the Deamhan to the back room to gorge on their hapless, helpless victims. He accommodated them while ignoring his own kind. He never invited vampires to the room anymore, and she didn’t understand why. He loathed the Deamhan as much as she did.
    Sniffing indignantly, she walked past the bartender and a Deamhan who acknowledged her presence with a nod. She passed the remains of a human nailed to the wall, his intestines exposed and hanging from his abdomen with his heart and his lungs nailed to the right of his body. His scrotum was stuffed in his mouth.
    She recognized Lambert’s artwork.
    Lambert loved to use some of his more unique kills displayed as a fine still life. He used the remains of his victims, contorting their broken limbs and insides as an effigy to the human body. He found the human body to be intricate and complex.
    Impressed, Alexis moved on. She found it a waste of time examining the decaying, misshaped bodies of humans. Besides, she didn’t want to press her luck by keeping Lambert, her maker and her lover, waiting any longer. He hated waiting.
    She pushed aside the red silk curtain that sectioned off the octagon-shaped feeding room, filled with tastefully placed black beanbag chairs. A nude, hard-bodied man lay atop a long black table in the middle of the floor. It surprised Alexis that vampires, not Deamhan, surrounded the body, picking at it in feast.
     Behind them, observing the melee with a gleam in his brown eyes, stood Alexis’ lover for centuries, Lambert. His shoulder length brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail, hung over his left shoulder. He licked his slender lips, revealing his sharp pointed fangs (not as long as the fangs of a Ramanga, vampire fangs proved to be just as sharp.)
    Lambert, his arms folded across his chest, raked his eyes over Alexis’ body. In his hand, he held a white, blood-spotted handkerchief and the silky black robe from the night before. Alexis smirked, remembering the naughty, decadent things he did to her in that robe.
    Lambert clapped his hands, grabbing the attention of the bloodsuckers away from their meal. “A time alone with my woman.”
    The dejected vampires exited against their will, leaving the pulsating man softly moaning in pain. Alexis