Chapter 4

Riding my 'blood high', I was dead set on heading straight toward Leslieville in order to pick up the trail of the Winter Born. I was going to make them pay. The way I was feeling, I knew that I could take them all on ... all at once if need be.

I didn't have the patience to wait for a cab, let alone sit on my ass on the way there, so once again I simply ran. I immediately noticed that I was running even faster than before. My hunger had obviously affected me much more than I ever expected. The power and speed that I could now feel at my beck and call was simply amazing – I actually let out a short yell of exuberance and joy as I speed down the street.

Toronto is a big, busy and modern city, never really asleep. So, while it might be well past the dead of night, the streets were far from empty of cars or even pedestrians. I luckily had enough presence of mind to keep to less travelled streets and alleyways, but I'm sure that more than a few people caught a glimpse of a strange blur blazing through the city's shadows.

I reached Leslieville in just under half an hour, and then spent the next three simply walking and searching the streets. You see, I had ignored, or simply not remembered a very important fact ... I had absolutely no idea where the Winter Born had met in the neighborhood.

Very anticlimactic, I know.

I wasn't really familiar with the area either. I did know that it was once home to several light industries, like metal processing and tanning. The passing decades had left large areas of Leslieville abandoned and awaiting redevelopment. Only very recently, with the departure of a large percentage of the working class population and the significant reduction in air pollution, has the area significantly changed, becoming much more appealing to middle class residents and businesses.

Walking along I saw new restaurants, shops and coffee houses scattered amongst the occasional empty building.

I realized that if I were to find the Winter Born, I needed a plan. I'd start by getting a map of the area and do a grid-by-grid search ... ask around to see if any of the locals have seen or heard a group of bikers passing by ... maybe contact the police and find out if there are any incident reports concerning bikers in general and the Winter Born specifically in Leslieville in the last week.

Though I had hopes of being a reporter, one area in which I was seriously lacking was sources of information, particularly within the Toronto Police. I'd tried to make friends with a few young cops, but hadn't really gotten anywhere. But now, it was a totally different story. All I had to do was make a detective look me in the eyes and I could "convince" him to be my closest and most trusted friend and then I'd have access to the very best information.

As I gradually came off my high, I actually started feeling pretty foolish about going off all half-cocked. Would drinking blood always affect me like this? Cloud my judgment and make me impulsive? I certainly hoped not.

It goes without saying that I had a lot to learn about my new life and ... condition. Blood drinking and its effects on me were just the most evident. That was clear considering what had happened earlier at The Outdoorsman – I discovered that though I had incredible strength and speed, I didn't really have a lot of control or coordination. Pretty soon, I'd need to discover just what I could do, test my limits and practice, practice, practice. My new unlife just might depend on it.

Maybe I should even take a few self defense classes. This wasn't like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, were every newbie vampire seemed to crawl out of its grave with a black belt in their own unique brand of martial arts.

Remembering the shootout at The Outdoorsman, I was forced to confront yet another problem.

I had once again killed two people and I was pretty bothered by the fact that I was completely OK with it. Had becoming a vampire turned me into some sort of sociopath, incapable of caring about other people's feelings? Did human lives mean nothing to me now? Was I doomed to become a monster now?

With my mind occupied with these problems desperately needing to be solved and dealt with, I was in no mood to run back home, so I simply hailed a passing cab.

Sure it took a bit longer, but I had time before sunrise.

After paying the cabbie, I made a slight detour to a nearby newsstand that I regularly visited for a couple of newspapers. It was still officially closed, but I managed to convince the vendor to sell me a copy of the Toronto Sun and The Globe and Mail, fresh off the delivery truck, plus leftover copies of yesterday's editions.

I didn't even need to mesmerize him; I just used my own natural charm.

As I said before, I was a regular newspaper reader – on one hand it was to simply keep myself informed, on the other it was a matter of professional interest. I actually kept a couple of stacks of old newspapers in the corner of my room for research.

I think John believed that I was some sort of hoarder, but honestly, I couldn't give a royal crap about what he thought about me.

When I did make it back inside the safety of my apartment, I headed straight to my room to stow away my new bag filled with sharp, shiny toys and night hunting gear, hiding it in the back of my closet.

Next I made a much anticipated stop at the shower. I was once again covered in my own dried blood and despite having recently gained a taste for it, I really didn't like the feel of it dried on my skin and clothes.

Stripping down, I saw that my shirt was ruined, completely stained by blood, not to mention the bullet-hole. If things kept up like this, I'd eventually have to buy a whole new wardrobe. My jeans were salvageable though, just a bit stained red at the waist, and a little hydrogen peroxide took care of that.

After a short, but relaxing hot shower, I once again found myself taking in my reflection in the mirror. Surprisingly, all of the faded bruises and faint scars spread over my stomach, sides, back and arms that I had received from the Winter Born were almost completely gone. Even the bullet wound that I had received early this very night was nothing more than a barely noticeable scar.

Wow ... the miraculous benefits of a high-blood diet.

On the other hand, the scar in the middle of my chest, from the bullet wound that had actually killed me, hadn't changed at all. Exploring it with my fingers, there was no hint of pain. Clearly, the scar was literally just skin-deep. It would be a constant reminder of my death and of just how removed I now was from humanity.

I left the bathroom for my bedroom, tossing my clothes in my hamper there. My ruined shirt though went into a plastic bag, meant for the trash.

Trying to ignore the whirlwind of depressing thoughts running through my mind, I laid down on my bed and started reading the newspapers.

I read quickly, skimming a lot of the articles looking for information that I was interested in. In fact, I noticed peripherally that I seemed to be reading much faster than normal, and thinking back, I could remember what I read with much greater clarity.

Boy, could I have used that particular skill back in high school.

There were some interesting articles, but nothing that really caught my attention. Nothing, that is, until I reached the end of one of the newer issues. There, I found a small blurb about the barn that I had burned down outside of the city. It was really light on information – it simply stated that a pair of burned corpses had been found in the remains of the burned out husk of the barn. Apparently the police declined to comment on the identities of the victims and on how the fire had started. Investigations were ongoing. There was no mention of the Winter Born or the mobile meth lab.

I admit, thinking about how those bastards got what they deserved raised my spirits a bit and brought a small smile to my face.

But then an idea hit me.

I jumped off the bed, headed for my computer and opened a new text file. I then proceeded to write a new article on the barn fire, using my own knowledge to fill in some of the gaps. I described how an eye witness had seen a large group of bikers in the immediate vicinity the night before, and how besides the dead bodies, firearms and significant chemical remnants from methamphetamine manufacturing were also present. I then wrapped it up with the theory that an illegal motorcycle club was expanding its drug trade into southern Ontario.

Not a bad article ... enough information to make it interesting, but not too much as to make people (i.e., the police) question where I got my information.

I decided to take a short break, then reread it and sent out some feelers to a few people I knew to see if anyone was interested in the story.

Dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers, I went out into the kitchen. There was a bottle of vodka in the freezer and I sure felt like I could use a stiff drink. I idly wondered if I could still get drunk.

I'm actually embarrassed at how long it took me to notice that the lights were on in the kitchen.

'Dammit, I'm supposed to be a supernatural predator; a legendary creature of the night. How the hell could I get so distracted that I don't notice someone else moving around the apartment?!'

I braced myself and continued on into the kitchen for what I assumed was going to be an unpleasant encounter with John. Instead, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a large, hot mug of tea was his girlfriend Karlie. About the only upside that I could possibly think of to having him as a roommate was the occasional presence of his girlfriend.

She was an incredibly beautiful woman, with clear, bright blue eyes, full rosy lips and a small upturned nose, all gracing a delicate face, topped by dark red-brown hair hanging down in waves well past the middle of her back. She was blessed with a lithe and athletic figure, honed to perfection thanks to years of training in dance and gymnastics. With long legs, well-toned calves and thighs, leading up to a firm heart-shaped ass, a nice flat stomach with just a hint of abs and two perfect handfuls of breasts, simply watching her walking around the apartment in her fluffy bunny slippers and flannel pajamas was a grand exhibition in style, poise and grace.

It was pretty easy to see why John was interested in her. Not only was she incredibly attractive, she was also loaded. At least her family was. Though you couldn't tell by the way she acted, she came from old money and as an only child she stood to inherit millions.

But the big question which plagued my mind was why the hell she was with a douchebag like him? Sure, he was a good looking guy and could be charming as hell when it suited his needs, but Karlie was a smart girl. I honestly thought that she should have seen past all that bullshit to the self-centered asshole that he was at heart.

Yes, it's true. I have had the serious hots for her, ever since I had first met her.

Not only that, I really liked her as an individual. She was an incredibly kind, empathetic and generous woman. Whenever she was here and not occupied with John, we tended to have friendly conversations about current events, books, movies, music ... my writing and journalistic aspirations, her work as a dance instructor for children ... my unsupportive and emotionally distant parents, her jet-setting parents who seemed intent on compensating for their absence with lavish gifts...

In short, we became close. And the more I got to know her, the more I liked her. We weren't quite best friends, seeing as John wasn't in any way shy in letting her know his feelings about me and she didn't want to antagonize him, but we were far from mere acquaintances.

"Hey Karlie." I said a bit dumbly.

"Hi Des. Late night?" She asked with a teasing smile.

By the widening of her eyes and the blush on her skin as she saw me entering the kitchen, I could tell that she was surprised and a bit embarrassed by my state of undress. My first impulse had been to excuse myself and rush back to my room to get something else on, but I stopped myself.

'Wait a second; was she actually checking me out?'

The mere possibility inspired me. I needed to stop being so cautious and afraid. After getting beaten to death, little things like body modesty kinda lose their importance in the grand scheme of things. I needed to man up and be more confident in myself. Those thoughts seemed to be enough for me, and I felt myself relaxing, rather easily.

"Yes I was, as a matter of fact." I answered, calmly walking toward her, ignoring the fact that she was watching me intently. "What about you?"

"Oh, umm ... I woke up when I heard you get in, but then I couldn't get back to sleep." She was flustered, her eyes never focusing on one place for long – on me, the floor, her tea, back to me. She licked her lips nervously and tucked some errant strands of hair behind her ear.

Had I always had this effect on her? Was I just that blind, or was this something new?

For my part, I was pleased to discover that being undead hadn't changed how I felt about her in the least. In fact, taking her in with my newly enhanced senses, I seemed to be even more attracted to her than before. I felt happy to be in her presence and filled with nervous excitement.

I was also more than a little bit horny. I quickly, but calmly, sat down at the table across from her in order to hide the rising tent in my boxers.

That was a bit strange actually, after I gave it some thought. If I didn't have a pulse, how could I maintain an erection?

On the other hand, it didn't really matter how it was possible ... I'm just glad that it was. Immortality would really suck if I couldn't have sex.

We proceeded to have a comfortable and familiar conversation, catching up on what was happening in each others lives. Without discussing it, we both spoke in hushed tones, not wanting John to wake up and interrupt us.

Karlie eventually offered me a cup of tea, apologizing for not offering earlier. Forgetting all about my plans of trying to get drunk on vodka, I happily accepted. We continued talking, but I was a bit distracted as I was busy enjoying watching her move about the kitchen. Her pink silk robe was blessedly short and, though not tight, it seemed to hug her curves, showcasing her body at the same time as it was concealing it.