“Do you realise what it is you ask?” asked the tall, ashen-faced man.
A loaded question. An incorrect response would guarantee a swift and brutal death; the correct response would result in the same outcome, but with much more afterwards...
“Yes, I do, my master. I am ready and await your kiss.”
With feigned confidence, Wren walked to the man. Now the actual moment had arrived, he was terrified. The gathered audience followed his progress; their eyes burned into him, their gaze struck with a physical force.
Despite his guide's warning, despite being begged to not go ahead with the ritual, Wren stood proud. The strong succeeded, the weak became food for the Vampires; the guide had not survived entrance to the room.
When Wren reached the tall Vampire, he stood bolt upright and motionless, like a soldier on guard duty, and waited for the inevitable.
“My name is Guid,” said the unholy fiend in front of him. “Soon, you will call me, Father.”
The Vampire struck. Fangs bit deep. Flesh tore, and blood pumped in an incomprehensible torrent. Both Wren's carotid artery and jugular vein were ripped. He stood for as long as he could, but eventually, the animalistic attack drove him to his knees.
The Vampire slurped and swallowed greedily, as the young boy's life passed into his own veins. Just before all became black, Wren smiled.
Excerpt taken from "A Quiet Night In" available in 'Olverston Grange ...and Other Stories'