"Christopher Pike - The Last Vampire 01 - The Last Vampire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pike Christopher)

hunted. Yes, indeed, I vow, I will kill those who hired Riley as surely as I wiped him from the face of the
earth.

I make arrangements, through my American busi-nessman, to be enrolled at Mayfair High that very day.
The wheels are set in motion and suddenly I have a new identity. I am Lara Adams, and my guardian,
Mrs. Adams, will visit the school with my transcripts and enroll me in as many of Ray Riley's classes as
possible. It has not taken me long to learn the son's name. The arm of my influence is as long as the river
of blood I have left across history. I will never meet this fake Mrs. Adams, and she will never meet me,
unless she should talk about her efforts on Lara's behalf. Then, if that happens, she will never talk again.
My associates respect my desire for silence. I pay them for that respect.

That night I am restless, thirsty. How often do I need to drink blood? I begin to crave it after a week's
time. If a month goes by I can think of nothing other than my next dripping throat. I also lose some
strength if I go too long. But I do not die without it, at least not readily. I have gone for as long as six
months without drinking human blood. I only drink animal blood if I am desperate. It is only when I feed
from a human that I feel truly satisfied, and I believe it is the life force in the blood that makes me hunger
for it more than the physical fluid itself. I do not know how to define the life force except to say that it
exists: the feel of the beating heart when I have a person's vein in my mouth; the heat of their desires. The
life force in an animal is of a much cruder density. When I suck on a human, it is as if I absorb a portion
of the person's essence, their will. It takes a lot of willpower to live for fifty centuries.

Humans do not turn into vampires after I bite them. Nor do they change into one if they drink my blood.
Blood that is drunk goes through the digestive tract and is broken down into many parts. I do not know
how the legends started that oral exchange could bring about the transformation. I can only make another
vampire by exchanging blood with the per-son, and not just a little blood. My blood has to overwhelm
the other person's system before he or she becomes immortal.

Of course, I do not make vampires these days.

Idrive south along the coast. I am in Northern California before I stop; it is late. There is a bar off the
side of the road, fairly large. I make a smooth en-trance. The men look me over, exchange glances with
their buddies. The bartender does not ask me for my ID, not after I give him a hard glance. There are
many more men than women around. I am searching for a particular type, someone passing through, and
I spot a candidate sitting alone in the comer. He is big and burly, unshaven; his warm jacket is not dirty,
but there are oil stains that did not come out from the last cleaning. His face is pleasant enough, sitting
behind his frosty beer, but a tad lonely. He is a long-distance truck driver, I know the type. I have often
drunk from their veins.

I sit down in front of him, and he looks up in surprise. I smile; the expression can disarm as well as
alarm, but he is happy to see me. He orders me a beer and we talk. I do not ask if he is married--though
it is obvious he is--and he does not bring it up. After a while we leave and he takes me to a motel,
although I would have been satisfied with the back of his truck. I tell him as much, but he pats my leg and
shakes his head. He is a gentleman. I won't kill him.

It is while he is undressing me that I bite into hid neck. The act makes him sigh with pleasure and lean his
head back; he is not really sure what I am doing. He stays in that position the whole time I drink,
hypnotized with the sensation, which to him feels as if he is being caressed from the inside out--with the
tip of my nails. Which to me feels like it always does, sweet and natural, as natural as making love. But I
do not have sex with him. Instead, I bite the tip of my own tongue and let a drop of my blood fall onto his
wounds. They heal instantly, leaving no scar, and I lay him down to rest. I have drunk a couple pints. He