Free Blood Life by Gianna Perada Page B

all his might, only to land at her feet. He turned and scrambled back over to Alexandria, protecting her from the woman.
    She stood, frowning down at him. “You would be mad to try.”
    “Her blood—” he gathered her body into his arms again, holding her out for the woman to view, “—you drained her blood . . . you took her from me.”
    He found himself choking on tears again as he lay on the ground and pulled Alexandria on top of him, cradling her to his chest.
    “No, not me,” the woman answered solemnly. “Lokee took her life; I am your protector, but I could not save her. If I left you, you would have ended up as Alexandria is now. Don’t you dare blame me! I, Devendra, have been with you.”
    Roman looked up at her, surprised by her name and familiarity. Devendra leaned down and took Alexandria into her own arms, carrying her away.
    Roman jumped up, following her to a grove of redwood trees not far from town. The walk seemed to take hours, as he fell countless times, weeping and unable go any further. Devendra urged him on, promising a light at the end of his tunnel.
    Moments later, they reached a bed of roses, fresh and at full bloom. Devendra laid Alexandria down on them, murmuring a soft, sweet prayer, then with a thrust of her hand, ripped open the Earth and lowered Alexandria’s body down into it—safe to rest in peace.
     

     
    Thirteen
     
    It seems almost common knowledge that cannibalism has extended throughout human history and religion; but few realize that this vein of instinct still underlies our Nature. The act of consuming another human being was at first for food, sustainment, the propagation of life, and these reasons have not dwindled. Every layman knows that blood is the liquid of life; the distinction of those in light and those in darkness lies in this very fact: Blood is life.
    To grasp this concept, to make this final extension of possibilities is a mortal barrier; for to conceive this idea, one does not have to understand—one has to taste.
    The taste is always on the tongue, coursing just below the senses. The unenlightened are so oblivious, so trapped in their small ideas that they never realize that the Blood Life is within them, sustaining them, and can be exhumed from them. To cross this barrier is the only gift given by a vampire: their only gift is life. And they have been passing this gift down to the chosen mortals since the first vein was pierced.
    In the time of ritual, the times of Dionysian ecstasies and Olympian lore, mankind discovered the fountain of youth. Through dismemberment, cruelty and sacrifice, the taste burned its way into the tongue. It was when Gods were celebrated; their gifts were celebrated—when life was celebrated.
    Now, in later years, society might have learned to call this cannibalism, but it was truly vampirism—the state of Godliness. Vampires dedicate themselves to the propensity and pleasures of life. 
     

     
    Fourteen
     
    The flickering shadows and light revealed the depths of darkness that lay about Devendra’s lair. This mosaic of a hidden abyss was sheltered beneath a ring of candlelight. The gentle fumes of incense and smoke danced beneath the ceiling, weaving through one another in gentle blue curls. The chaos above him seemed to settle Roman, even though he had not found peace. His wish was that from this death he would unite with Alexandria, a reward worth any task.
    Appearing in her brilliant shape of strikingly white beauty, Devendra’s grotesque nature was buried under the veil of tender flesh. The subtle curves of her nudity would brutalize the desires of most mortal men. Carrying out the motions of her seductive rite, she pierced her perfect cloak of skin with a consecrated blade, allowing the red streams to flow into a magnificent, tarnished silver chalice. With a passion for precision, she lifted the cup between her fingers and delivered it to its place at the epicenter of four candles, each burning at the four corners of