Saints Of Satan Prologue

His breathing was deep, ragged, the occasional cough disturbing the cool night air with a trail of wispy smoke. The man’s feet crunched in the snow, a blanket of brilliant white layered thick on the ground. His footprints wandered back along the path, amidst many others that had marked it before. He shivered, pulling his thick jacket tighter about him, and spurred on faster, eager to reach home and the warm coffee that awaited him on his return.
My stomach lurched. It was too inviting. My eyes slowly tracked the man below, wondering what thoughts disturbed his simple mind. My throat was parched, too long had it been since I had drunk my fill. Too long had I been aroused by the slightest aroma of the cherished liquid my breed had come to long for with every passing minute. I licked my lips. My legs took me slowly along the branch upon which I was perched, mimicking the man’s hurried steps in easy strides.
My eyes never left him, as I tracked his every move, watching as his arms shook ever so gently, his legs causing his body to judder with each step, his head bobbing up and down as he hurried on.
Swooping down in one elegant motion, I landed silently behind him. I mirrored his every step, planting my feet where he had already trodden, so as not to make a sound. For minutes I strode on but a few metres behind him. There was no need for haste, I had scouted ahead hours before and measured the length of the winding path. The two of us had at least five good minutes until we reached any buildings. I smiled, focusing upon the man intently, my gaze directed especially on his throat. His jugular vein beat in time with his heart, and my mouth almost watered thinking of the crimson liqueur rushing through it.
I shook my head, battling hard to keep myself from moving on the man then and there. Not yet, I told myself, biting my tongue and tearing my eyes away from the man’s neck. I had already chosen a spot, now I had to simply bide my time.
Our legs trod on for a minute more, his throbbing neck becoming ever more tantalising. My smile grew wider, we were there. I stopped, then, let out a gentle cough.
The man glanced over his shoulder, then turned to face me, his podgy face lit beneath a full moon. He looked puzzled, wandering how he hadn’t heard me sooner. The man opened his mouth, about to speak.
No sound left his lips. In a single swift motion I ran my hand across his throat, my sharp nails tearing through flesh, rendering him incapable of speech.
His eyes grew wide with shock. A torrent of crimson blood erupted form the wound. My nostrils tingled, and I inhaled deeply. The red liquid was as the sweetest wine to me, and the strong aroma was almost impossible to fight. I could hold it in no longer, and with inhuman speed dived forward, toppling the man over and sinking my teeth around the open gash in his throat, warm liquid pouring into my mouth.
An animalistic craze took hold of my senses, and I lapped greedily at the torrent of blood pouring into my mouth.
After a frantic minute, I threw aside the pale corpse, every drop of the precious fluid drained from his body. A small pool now stained the snow, the deep red a strong contrast to the dazzling white. I looked up to the night sky, bared my teeth and let out a long, deafening wail.