Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter
Vol. One
Leonard D. Hilley II
Genre: YA Friendly; Urban Fantasy/Paranormal
Publisher: Nocturnal Trinity Press
Date of Publication: March 13, 2016
ASIN: B01CZ4LKBQ
Number of pages: 266
Word Count: ~83,000
Book Description:
"Killing Vampires Since 1888."
I was born in Bucharest in 1880 in the heart of the vampire population. At eight years old, I was considered a freak of nature since I was already the size of an adult male. Other children my age, and some of my teachers, shunned me.
Being rejected by one’s peers cuts deeply. Then I met my first werewolf and discovered a master vampire was plotting to kill me because of what I am. From that moment, my destiny stole my future aspirations all men grow up wanting.
This is how my destiny begins.
Amazon
Excerpt:
Chapter One
The Beginning
Bucharest, 1888
The wind howled
like an awakening banshee as it swirled and lashed around our snow-covered
cottage nestled in the barren trees at the edge of the forest. I was only eight
years old, but it was the harshest winter in my one hundred and thirty-odd year
memory.
My father had been
gone for several days, which wasn’t unusual. Mother had said that he was
hunting and should return soon, but the blizzard had set in with a fury,
burying the roads, fields, and the forest floor beneath several feet of snow.
Wherever he was, he’d be stuck for quite some time.
Snowdrifts lined three
sides of our meager cottage and the snowstorm had barely started. The outside
layers of snow helped insulate our rugged home. The warmth of the fire felt
like the heat of summer, making it almost easy to forget about the freezing
howling winds outside.
The hearth fire
crackled softly under a black bubbling pot of rabbit stew. Garlic cloves were
strung together above a basket of dried yams. We had enough food to last out
the week, which made me wonder why my father had chosen to hunt during the
worst of the blizzard.
My mother sat in
her creaky rocker and was sewing a new coat for me from rabbit hides. Only
eight, I was as husky and tall as a young man in his teens. It seemed that I
outgrew my clothes about as quickly as she could make new ones.
While she sewed, I
sat near the fire and sharpened a long curved dagger my father had given me. He
had traded fox hides for the blade, and I expected to soon use it whenever my
father returned with his kill.
A slight pause in
the winds caused my mother to stop rocking. She leaned slightly forward and
cocked her head to the side. The curious frown on her face caught my attention.
I set down the whetstone and rose to my feet.
A gentle rapping
at the door was faintly noticeable since the winds had quieted, and probably
would have gone completely unnoticed had they continued to whistle. But there
it was again.
Rap-rap-rap.
A bit bolder, but
not overly pronounced or with desperation.
With my dagger
gripped in my hand I eased toward the door. Confusion furrowed my mother’s
brow. She set her quilt aside and held her scissors to her side, ready to help
fend off whatever danger awaited outside that door.
Stepping to the
side of the door, I lifted the metal latch that secured the door and eased it
against the door panel, careful to be silent.
Rap-rap-rap.
Without fear, I
grabbed the large oval handle and yanked open the door. A whoosh of cold air
sprang forward, sucking out our much-treasured heat.
On the path
directly outside the door, the snow was stained crimson beneath the gray
overcast sky. A trail of blood cut farther down the path into the forest. Large
heavy snowflakes dropped, steadily trying to erase the blood path. No other
tracks were in the snow. No bandits or attackers were visible amongst the snowy
tree trunks. The bloody path ended at the door where the body lay.
A desperate weak
hand shook, reaching up for me.
“John!” my mother
shouted, running across the room to the door.
In terror I stared
down into my father’s haunted eyes, barely recognizing him. His face was
battered, and his eyes were swollen nearly shut. Blood caked in his graying
beard. His useless legs twisted behind him. How far he had crawled or how he
had managed to do so with the amount of blood he had lost? It was a mystery
then, and remains so even to this day. By every means he should have been dead,
long before he got to the door, but his stubborn determination enabled him to
ignore his pain and fight to pull himself back home.
I sheathed my
dagger and grabbed his nearly frozen hand, heaving him out of the snow and
across the threshold. Mother quickly closed and secured the door when we were
safely inside.
My father’s cold
hand fell from my grip and a huge sigh gushed from his mouth as he lost
consciousness.
“Father?” I asked,
dropping to my knees in front of him. Blood trickled from his nose. I glanced
toward Momma. “What happened to him?”
“Get him to the
bed,” she said, wiping away tears.
Placing my hands
beneath his underarms, I lifted, pulling him up enough to wrap my arms around
his chest until he was upright. His body was cold, but the heat of his leaking
wounds stuck to me. I cringed. So much blood. I fought tears. He was dying. Had
to be. Nothing lost so much blood and survived.
My father wasn’t a
massive man, like he and my mother always insisted I would become. He actually
weighed less than I and was several inches shorter. In spite of his stature, he
was a crafty fighter, capable of defending himself against men twice his size.
Stout and thinly muscular, he had incredible strength and feared no one.
For once, I was
proud of my abnormally large size and his lack thereof. I hefted him and walked
toward the bed, his boots scraping the wooden floor as I moved. Gurgling sounds
rumbled in his throat.
“A bear?” I asked,
looking at her. “Was he attacked by a bear?”
Mother brought a
pail of lukewarm water and set it by the bed. She shook her head and tore
strips of cloth.
I eased my father
onto the bed and laid him back. He gasped and groaned in pain, but his eyes
never opened.
“Strip off his
coat,” she said. “His boots, too.”
I quickly obeyed.
She peeled back
his shirt, revealing long gashes across his chest and abdomen. The lacerations
were too narrow to be from bear claws, but the cuts were dark and deep. Older
white scars were visible. On his chest above his heart was the singed outline
of a cross. Two puncture marks near his shoulder were swollen, bruised. Two
dark dots.
“What did this?” I
asked, pointing at the wound. My fingers almost touched the marks, and she
slapped my hand away.
“No!” she gasped.
“What kind of
animal could do this?”
Her dark eyes were
hollowed from fear. She was paler than normal and seemed more delicate.
“Mother, please
tell me what did this to Father?”
She took a damp
cloth and washed blood from his nose and beard. With another cloth, she washed
his forehead. Tears heated her eyes. She spat out a word with complete contempt
as she whispered, “Vampire.”
My chest
tightened. Anger rippled inside me. “A vampire attacked him while he was
hunting game?”
“No,” she replied.
“He was hunting the vampire.”
“Why?”
“It is his
calling, his duty. Magistrates and governors seek him out to kill vampires.
They pay in gold and silver coins.”
I stared at my
father’s frail body. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. “Why has he
never told me?”
“To protect you.”
“From what?”
“Them.”
“Vampires?”
She nodded.
Frowning, I asked,
“Why would they wish to harm me? My schoolmates tell tales that are quite
scary. I’d never venture into one of their lairs.”
“You’re like your
father, but you’re too young. In time you’ll be as fearless as he.”
“Too young for
what, Mother?”
“To train to hunt
the vampires.”
My eyes widened
and fastened upon my father’s incapacitated body. He was barely alive. The
possibility that he would die during the night was greater than the chance of
him surviving his injuries. I didn’t think I was foolish enough to pursue the
fanged demons of the night. Trained or not, hunting vampires was destined to
become a short-lived profession.
“His legs are
broken,” I said.
She nodded. “I
know.”
Tears streamed
down my mother’s cheeks. She cried quietly without calling attention to
herself. I took a damp cloth and pressed it against one of the lacerations
across my father’s stomach. I hoped the pressure might stop the bleeding. Some
of the cuts were scabbing, but the two puncture wounds pulsed softly, in rhythm
with his faint heartbeat. It was unnerving to witness, as if the injuries were
alive, feeding off of his body.
While I held the
cloth, her eyes widened. She rushed from the side of the bed and ran to black
water pot near the hearth. She was back in seconds.
“What’s wrong?” I
asked.
Momma was too
frantic for words. She turned my father’s head to the side, pried open his
mouth, and black blood oozed out. She took the damp cloth and inserted it into
his mouth with her finger. She swirled her cloth-covered finger around the
inside of his mouth like one washed a dish. When she pulled out the cloth, it
was saturated with more of the dark blood.
“Is he bleeding
that badly?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“It’s not his blood.”
“What?”
“Under the bed,”
she said softly. “Get the box.”
I lowered to my
knees and peered under the bed. I grabbed the handle and pulled the heavy
suitcase box out, scraping the floor loudly.
I lifted the heavy
box and set it on the edge of the bed.
“Open it,” she
said.
I did.
Inside of the box
were several sharp wooden stakes, a wooden mallet, a silver cross, glass vials
filled with powder, and more glass vials filled with clear liquid. My mother
took one vial of the liquid, read the label, and popped the cork. She walked
around to the other side of the bed.
“What are you
doing?” I asked.
“The puncture
marks have to be purified and cleansed. Or your father will become a vampire.”
“How?”
“The bite somehow
causes the victim to turn. Don’t ask me how. Your father would know but—” Her
voice broke into sobs.
I wanted to tell
her that he was going to be okay, but I couldn’t tell a lie that convincingly.
His condition was severe. No way to deny it.
Then the
revelation gripped me. I suddenly realized his injuries were intentionally far
worse than I had imagined. The vampire who had inflicted the damage upon my
father intended for him to die so that he, too, would become a vampire.
“What’s in the
vial?” I asked.
“Holy water.”
“That will cure him?”
Mother replied,
“If we can fully cleanse the wound, it’s possible that we can save him. But,
it’s painful for him to endure. In his weakened condition, the cure might well
kill him.”
“And if that
should happen?”
“You will have to
drive a stake through his heart. I can’t . . . I simply can’t do it.”
Stunned, I looked
into her eyes with uncertainty, questioning. She nodded solemnly. I knew the
depth of her love for my father prevented her from killing him, even if he were
to turn, but I wondered if I was capable. Could I drive a stake through the
heart of my father? In the matter of age, I was still a boy, struggling with a
problem that only an adult should have to consider. I had to shoulder the
responsibility but how?
About the Author:
Leonard D. Hilley II grew up in Fort Payne, AL, where his never-ending curiosity introduced him to the world of biology and books. During his youth he was an avid insect collector and reared butterflies and moths. His love for science eventually merged with his writing. He currently resides in Marietta, Ohio, where he writes science fiction thrillers, epic high fantasy, and YA mysteries.
Education: B.S. Biology; MFA in Creative Writing
Leonard D. Hilley II is the author of Predators of Darkness: Aftermath, Beyond the Darkness, The Game of Pawns, Death's Valley, Shawndirea, and Devils' Den.
Leonard D. Hilley II also writes short stories for YA. Two books were inspired by his love of biology: Rearing Dragons in My Backyard and Fiddling Worms. He also writes a mystery series for YA: Dee's Mystery Solvers.
@Deimosweb
http://deimosweb-hilley.
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