Monsterland Read Online Free Page A

while they laughed hysterically at his antics.
    He took her hand, caressing the puncture mark on her finger. “We’re practically cannibals. I almost drained you of every drop of blood last month.”
    Sylvie nodded, her pink hair a matted mess. She examined her pale hand, the nails nearly blue. She was as starved as her lover. She looked at Raoul. It was all his fault. He had turned her into this. It was true she had demanded it, lusted after him for months, even though he tried to avoid the final outcome. He had warned her it was not a great life. Sylvie didn’t care. Back then, the lure of the stage, the road trips, the music had made her frantic to be included. For a time they had nightly gigs, but she barely remembered them between the bloodlust and drugs. They were careful. It was dangerous to turn someone into a full vampire—the punishment: isolation in a camp in Antarctica where the cold eventually wore them out and they died of exhaustion. Or loneliness—vamps were social, loved a party, a crowd. They defined party animals of the free-wheeling eighties. When they stopped recruiting, a euphemism for having sex, they simply started thinning out. Humans only became vampires by having a sexual encounter with one. Diseased blood, sickness, skin cancer, and a host of unglamorous reasons were steadily reducing the vampire population. Stupid assholes, who called themselves vampire hunters, annihilated the Eastern European population. Overzealous religious fanatics wiped out the rest. It wasn’t safe for them anymore, and they had nowhere to turn. They were careful in their hunger for blood. They were watchful not to leave a traceable trail. Raoul taught her well. They drank only from the homeless, or the roadies who followed them, begging to be included, so they made them into drones. Theycreated armies of these drones, people they fed on, taking just enough blood to sate the demands of their bodies They became their slaves, doing their bidding without question. Drones were not full-out vampires, and, once they stopped feeding off them, within weeks, they reverted to their regular, boring selves. Occasionally, they went all the way, initiating another poor soul into their number, but eventually the music died. The whole thing turned stale. Numbers dwindled. Their act got old, and the new generation laughed at them. The songs seemed silly, the music out of sync with the times. They lost their appeal. They were ridiculed. Where before, they had ruled the night, had been sought after, controlled the club scene, they were now seen as tired, campy, too old to imitate. Their music, their fashion were reviled. Rejected from the venues they once ruled, they were forced onto the streets. Oh, there was talk of a reality show a few years ago, but somehow they couldn’t garner enough interest. Being a vampire was de trop. They were reduced to panhandling, which only brought them in contact with other vampires who were down on their luck and running from the law as well. There were just a few of their kind now. They were almost gone. Broke, dejected, and blood starved, they scurried from town to town, searching for their next fix of blood, hiding in the shadows.
    Raoul slid down the wall and held up a creased contract that had been lying abandoned on the floor. “We would have a home,” he said, his voice low. “The other day I read that some kids set fire to a vamp hiding in an abandoned building.”
    “We took this way of life to live outside of society. Conrad’s offering us a prison. We’ll be a freak show.”
    “We won’t have to hunt. No more drones. We’ll be with others like us. He’s promising us a lot.”
    Sylvie faced the wall. “I could go home.”
    Raoul cupped her chin, his long nails caressing her cold skin. “They’re all dead, honey. They died a hundred years ago. We have no more home, and we are running out of options.”
    “It’s…it’s inhumane what they want to do.”
    “I told you…we have