All legends have beginnings— some are worth remembering -- others are better left to darkness.
When college student, Marcus Brennan, discovers an ancient book revealing the origin of vampirism, all hell breaks loose not just in his life but for the world around him. He is holding the ultimate weapon two master vampires desire more than blood. It is the weapon that will give them the power to rule not only the Vampire Nation but all mankind.
It is up to Alexandra Glade, fierce and radiant vampire hunter, and her team, the Berith Lochem, to find and protect Marcus in order to prevent the unthinkable…
… The awakening of Cain.
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The Official Web Site of Novelist and Copywriter Pierre Roustan
Deep in the bowels of the Sihkov, the crew members had stored an
endless row of massive cargo crates. Runaway mice inhabited the
darkness. Piles of dust and more piles of dust atop every cargo box
infected the air, and fluorescent lighting around the entire room lit the
way in case any of the seamen did an inventory or checked for leaks in the
Vampires as well, fierce and bloodthirsty beasts, traveled in secret.
Vampires never made a sound. Humans rarely knew that they were prey
for the damned as well. Shadows, they were. Shadows, they’d been since
the beginning of time.
Underneath the breath and thoughts of mortality hid the secret nation
of vampires, a race of dark souls intent on abiding by a Code, a
contemporary set of rules of conduct not like the primitive ways when the
world was young and man was younger. Countless centuries ago,
vampires used to not only feed, but kill without mercy. They were
Not so anymore.
The Code spoke of Eat to Live, Not Live to Eat, Be Shadows of the Night, Be
One With the Darkness, And Never Let in the Light….
In essence, for centuries leading up to modern times, vampires hid in
secret, a quiet yet conceited ‘respect’ for their nourishment, the tender
flesh of mortals.
The Code never stood alone, though. With it sat two councils of the
world, hidden away from mortal eyes. One was the First Blood Council of
Russia, forged of freezing fires in the icy wasteland. The other was the
First Blood Council of South America, hidden in the darkness of the
Andean mountain ranges.
One Council enforced the Code and upheld the sanctity of the vampire
on the east side of the world. The other controlled the west side of the
globe. Both were not alike in ambition, demeanor or respect for their
fellow brethren, however…. Most notably, the Council of Russia’s respect
for the sacredness of the vampire stretched in many directions, some
As it stood, the state of the Eastern Vampire Nation shook the pillars of
Hell and Heaven. From setting suns to rising moons, covens warred with
each other. Different breeds disagreed on many issues such as territory
All because of the Council of Russia.
Their ravaging experiments, their twisted nature of turning the
vampire into a project of discovery, creating new breeds unheard of by
many, thankfully unseen by innocent eyes, and unknown to only the
noblest of purebloods, infected their dark minds. Slowly, the Council fed
on their own greed, and the rape of their own nature. Creating a truly
vicious breed among many…the threll.
Strange that a threll could possibly be lurking in the shadows of the
cargo hold, waiting to tear flesh, drink blood. Destroy life. And the
crewmen wouldn’t even know. At least not until their necks were ripped
When a victim drinks the blood of a living vampire, the dark gift takes
over: they become like them. Thrells, however, were different; they were
mortals forced to drink dead vampire blood.
The horror of that was the gift of the host didn’t translate to the
parasite. It was a sick infection. A curse. That vampiric beauty became a
twisted mutation, flesh wrinkling hideously and their minds degrading
into savagery. Very much like the ancient vampires of hidden times in the
Unfortunately, not only was the threll an unacceptable breed, it was
also spreading like wildfire. It grew in numbers well past that of the
purebloods. Some feared. Others were mystified. Most never even knew.
His name was Nikolas Stahl, Master Vampire of Russia, representative
of the nation within the continent who worked with the Council.
He absolutely loathed the infestation of thrells. More passion of hatred
fed his fire than that of human blood. He became a terrifying adversary so
much that he even opposed the Council on many occasions. Bitterness
raged. Thrells gathered. A war was going to come. And it was all from
Even the head of the governing body himself, the Dark Calling,
couldn’t rein in Nikolas. The Minister of Shadows, master vampire
charged with the matters of rogues and reckless breeds, didn’t agree with
him—much. The Guardians with their mysterious ways, soldiers of the
Council fortress, couldn’t best him in battle when bitter arguments boiled
over. Even the Scarlet Sentinels, shadowy priests, attending to the dark
desires of that arduous bloodlust: none of them could stave off Nikolas
Stahl or his need for purity.
It was unfortunate for him, however, that in great numbers, the thrells
of the Vampire Nation hunted him down. Naturally, the Council did
nothing about it.
Nikolas fled Russia. But he had a mission, a very private, passionate,
powerful one. It was a mission that could give him the power not only to
end all thrells, but to overtake the Council that had opposed him so many
times. He would obtain the greatest of glory. He would become Master of
The saber in the sky cut through the night as clean as a killing blade
would if it had a history of blood behind its hilt. The streak of lightning
reflected the thoughts of Nikolas and his secret mission. Stars, like drops
of bright blood shed from the blade’s glowing steel, glistened. Reflected in
the raging waters of the ocean, nothing held peace. The rise and fall of the
waves resembled undulating rolls of liquid fire hissing left and right. The
clouds toiled around the moon and stars like a cloak suffocating the light
and harkening in darkness. The rain wailed, burst eardrums and hearts
with the constant drone of percussion, blast after blast, atop the Sihkov. It
headed toward the Port of New York to deliver goods.
Men toiled as the ocean toyed with the ship, foamy waters crashing
against its starboard side and billowing over its bow. The crew onboard
didn’t expect the storm that soon; nevertheless, they readied themselves.
They had turned on the lights. The skipper manned the radar and satellite,
staying the course, unwavered by the gale. In the haze of howling winds,
ripping rain and tearing waves, the men hollered commands to each
other. All hands were on alert, never faltering. Good men never falter, not
when it involved goods, or the invaluable materials the ship carried.
Strange the lack of care some men tended to take with goods. A
scrawled signature to the ship’s manifest, a checkmark as the cargo was
lifted aboard and stowed. But they never really…checked. Who knew what
they carried around? History had shown transits, in cargo or on planes,
had carried numerous unknowns all the time. Not unheard of. And most
of the time authorities neglected or at least remedied unknowns such as
indigenous insects or plant life or curable diseases after passing through
One of the containers in the hold blasted open in a splash of sawdust,
wood splinters twirling in the musty air.
Naked, heaving, powerful—a slender man stood in the middle of the
debris, eyes like cigarette lighter flames and eyebrows pointing down to
the bridge of his nose. His silvery hair reached down to his lower back
and reflected the fluorescent lights, making the room brighter.
He checked the other boxes around him to find that none of them had
been tampered with or damaged. They carried the rest of his belongings—
clothes, treasures, china, blankets, pillows and heirlooms. He hadn’t
planned on a vacation; not that this was a holiday. He was on his way to
his new home, the United States.
For a long time, he hungered for a godly treasure, a sacred book. If not
for his bloodlust, he’d spend the whole trip in the box, conserving his
strength, letting time melt away so that he could continue his personal
mission in America.
Some seamen shouted through the ceiling. Waves smashed into the
hull as it creaked and groaned again. Nikolas swung each way, wary of
every noise and whisper. He felt more vulnerable in the middle of the
room…and he couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling…that someone or
something watched him.
He crouched in his broken box, staring up, forehead
Something else hid in the shadows of the room. He felt it.
Squealing mice scurried past. He shifted, following their pattern. Not
the mice, he thought.
He felt a heat of danger rise inside his body, and his eyes burned with
fury. Someone hunted him. He knew it, above all things. The prize, soon
to be his, would be in danger of landing into someone else’s hands.
Unacceptable. He would let the sun ravage him before anyone else
acquired the one thing, the one truth.
A clawed blur shot out from the darkness, reaching for Nikolas’ throat.
In a breath, he blinked and crossed his arms, meeting the mysterious
thrust with iron-like hands clutching cold, wrinkled, leathered skin and
tossing the figure away. The blur growled as it scrambled up. Nikolas’
eyes widened to better catch sight of the attacker. He couldn’t think fast
enough as it crawled toward him.
The beast smashed the crate with steak knife-sized talons. Nikolas
leaped backward, growling at it. He landed atop a box on his knee, hair
falling into his eyes. Bladed teeth bared, he waited for the monster to
come after him.
It hopped into the air, claws out in a maddened frenzy.
Nikolas snatched both arms and stood his ground. The force of the
impact caused the crate to almost tip over as vampire and beast locked
together, vying for an advantage. An anger of survival hanging on him,
Nikolas stared into the eyes of a wretched demon.
The beast smiled hideously. Its putrid, discolored face and bright feral
eyes begged to dive into his flesh and kill. Its horrific body, covered in
loose, tangled brown hair, and long claws ached to pierce his eyes and
taste his blood and brain—the creature drooled hot saliva, growling,
roaring, pressing. Hating.
Nikolas howled as he strained to lift the monster over his head,
breaking the battle of strength. He tossed it clear across the room,
smashing the fluorescent lighting on the far side. The breakage rendered
the room a mess of sporadic light and dark.
Nikolas lost sight of the beast.
He crouched on the box—heaving, teeth bared—muscles tightened
into something raw and ripped. His unbreakable focus glared at the spot
where he threw it off.
Holding his breath…death waited….
As the light flickered, he saw nothing. The room went dark….
Light flashed back on, and the beast stood in front of him, frothing at
Nikolas gasped, cutting both arms in a pounding double backhand,
knocking the beast into a delirium for a few seconds. He roared, the saliva
starting to drip down his fangs as the monster reeled.
The creature snapped, widening its eyes.
It drove one talon into his shoulder blade. Blood spattered, flesh tore.
He gritted his teeth, grunting. Pain didn’t seethe in him—rather the
thought of being pinned by such a wretched abomination sent his fury
into the heavens.
Staring into his eyes, the fluorescent light like lightning, it spoke…. “It
will be mine…Nikolas.”
Its voice, a wild whisper, bled into his ears and brought up even more
fury. The monster grinned again, sensing a true victory. No creature
would stop Nikolas from his quest. Come all things evil, he would find his
prize and claim it for himself. No beast would have his glory.
Nikolas screamed as a wave crashed into the side of the hull, tearing
out the monster’s talon and tossing the threll into one of the containers,
shattering it. The creature howled as it bled from the point where the talon
had snapped off.
Without taking a breath, he broke off two strips of wood and leapt
toward the beast, driving the two pieces into the beast’s arms, pinning it
to a box. It howled again, blood rupturing from both arms.
Nikolas wrapped a hand around its throat, subduing it. Death would
indeed come…but not for Nikolas. Not before he received answers.
“Ferus, I presume?” he said.
The monster spat, gnashing out at him, unable to sink its teeth into his
smooth, bare skin. Nikolas stayed his fury for just a moment.
He had felt sure no one followed him; it apparently didn’t pay to trust
his own senses. He feared this wasn’t any longer his own personal quest
for glory but had become a chase with him as the prey.
“The thrells of Mother Russia are after me, are they not?” he asked.
Ferus stared before he began to laugh while Nikolas stewed over his
unanswered question. Nikolas took deep breaths, still feeling the sting of
Ferus’ broken talon in his shoulder.
“Strange that you laugh, Ferus, knowing I have you pinned here.”
Ferus snarled. “You’re oblivious, Nikolas…you have no idea what you
Nikolas twisted the wood in Ferus’s wounds. The threll howled in
“I do, indeed. I face a mindless monster with too much pride to talk
and would rather die next to a box.”
“You will never find it, and the thrells of the world will overcome the
Vampire Nation when we are the ones to claim it. We are tired of your
“You are all abominations. Mere abominations.”
“My brethren, including Breed, will come after you…” Ferus said,
Nikolas glared. “Breed? How would that perversion of nature know
where I am?”
Ferus met his gaze with an icy glare.
“We know everything,” the threll said. “Sometimes…just sometimes, it
is a benefit to lurk in the shadows as we do.”
“And why is that?”
Ferus laughed. “We hear secrets better.”
Nikolas growled, feeling his face burn with heat. His voice grew a little
darker as he breathed. Ferus ridiculed him with those cold, wild eyes,
cracked lips, long nose, wrinkled skin and jagged teeth. To Nikolas, Ferus’
life was no more than an embarrassment to the proud Vampire Nation.
He let go of the wood, flexing his fingers to point at Ferus’ chest.
“Doesn’t matter, Ferus. I will find it. I will find the one who knows of
it.” Nikolas drove his fingers deep into Ferus’ chest cavity, exploding the
threll’s ribcage. “And when Breed finds me, he will meet the same end as
Ferus gasped for breath, shaking madly at the pain. Nikolas had
pierced Ferus’ heart with his nails and had felt the quickening of blood
blast throughout its organs. The threll’s body went limp. Its heart ceased,
the blood slowing down but not stopping as it poured out of its wounds.
Between every flash of light, Nikolas growled, driving his fingers deeper
inside. As if Ferus’ quick death didn’t satisfy him. His simple act of
invasion, the need to kill, to take and to dominate, that mattered more
than the death. Nikolas smiled with glee at exploring Ferus’ insides.
He’d had enough, ripping his hand out.
Leaving Ferus there, Nikolas stood with the talon still stuck in his
shoulder. Blood stained his naked body. He couldn’t help but wonder
how many more of the thrells would come after him. With his opposite
hand, he grasped the talon and pulled it, pieces of flesh coming out, blood
drooling down the side of his chest. Nikolas clenched his teeth, unable to
make a fist, his arm tight with the rush of anguish.
No worries. After all, he was a vampire. A master vampire.
Nikolas walked toward the stairs where he still heard the seamen
above. The storm never left. He felt the waves crash into the hull. The
flashing light enticed him to walk up the stairs.
He was a vampire. Again, he felt the heat of hunger well inside him.
This time, it wasn’t the heat of mere anger and the drive to kill; this was
In time, his wound would heal with enough rest…and enough blood.