neither the air nor the strength for it), and flopped about in his own blood, and bled some more; great steaming jets of crimson, pulsing from his gaping throat and punctured gut. Air whistling in and out of his severed windpipe, where bright red bubbles formed a livid froth, but al slowing down now as life quickly ebbed.
Until finally it really was over ...
Outside the caravan in a mist of his own making, Radu paused for the merest moment to spit Giorga's taste from his mouth. His taste and the last trace of his blood. For despite that Radu was hungry, and his leech ever hungry, Giorga Zirescu's blood tasted vile to him. Yet the memory of what he had done would always remain sweet - and sweeter still when the rest of it was over and done with.
Radu had taken down Giorga's crossbow. Now he loaded it and his own weapon both, hooked the one to his belt and took the other firmly in a paw-like hand. And as the woods and the earth continued to issue his wreathing mist, he headed direct for the communal fire's dul orange glow in the centre of the encampment. For he had realized his strength at last; he knew his awesome power, and that he need not fear anything in man or nature - not yet at least.
And loping low through the mist, his senses were alive with al the sounds, scents, and sensations of the night. He was a child of the night! He heard the rustling in the undergrowth that tracked the hunting shrew; sensed the hooded eyes of an owl upon him; detected an almost inaudible shrilling of tiny bats, sounding clearer than ever before in his vampire-enhanced ears. And he smeled blood, of course - the blood of the Zirescus and the Ferenczys! For Giorga's blood had not been enough. But that of his sons and their friends might yet quell the fire raging in Radu's veins ...
The moon was up again, a ful and briliant disc shining like silver in the sky! Its beam fel in a swath, undulating on Radu's ground mist and lighting his way to the fire. Passing like a wraith between the innermost caravans and carts, he was almost there. Now he could see the ruddy faces of men in a huddle about the fire, and saw that they were frowning. Their conversation reached him; they talked about - the watchdogs, the camp's wolves!
For the wolves were there, those tame dogs of creatures; their tails were down and their ears flat, and they whimpered around the feet of their human masters. Aye, and if they could talk they'd be telling of Radu's presence, too! They probably were, in their way, but the men were too stupid to know it.
Except if the blood of men had a scent, so did the blood of the Wamphyri - Radu's blood! And now the wolves around the fire smeled it. Moreover, they smeled the death which he had so recently wrought. There were three of them; they quit their slinking about the feet of the seated men and as one creature turned in Radu's direction. Their ears pointed him out in the shadow of a caravan, and now that they stood in the company of men, they felt safe to issue a series of growls and yips.
'Eh?' someone said. 'Is there something there?' And indeed there was something there. Radu loped forward more surely into the fire's glow, came to a halt and straightened up. Without pause he scanned the faces in the firelight - and saw that Ion and Lexandru were there! Also the Ferenczys, and three colleagues. As scurvy a handful as he could imagine, but he hated the first four above al other men.
All jaws dropped, all eyes were on Radu, who now grinned in his fashion and growled, This is between me and the Zirescus - those two, Ion and Lexandru, rapists and murderers!' He pointed with his crossbow. 'And also the Ferenczys,' he pointed again. 'I've killed Giorga and now I'll kill his sons and their friends. As for the rest of you: you don't have to die if you don't want to. Enough of talk; too much, even.' No longer just pointing his weapon but aiming it, at Lexandru, Radu squeezed the trigger.
It started as quickly as that, without any warning other than that furnished by the watchdogs. Lexandru had come to his feet as Radu spoke, and as the bolt