HUNGER OF THE WICKED

7.

Irkutsk, Oblast of the same name, near Lake Baikal, April 29, 2011

Mavra was bored to death. Draped in her elegant red silk evening gown, she walked her slender figure into the living room where about twenty guests⁠—military uniforms cluttered with decorations, and dignitaries of all kinds—discussed plans for Putin and the rearmament of Russia. If there was one thing she hated above all else, it was politics. In this case, this reception was a nightmare for her especially since, apart from the servants, she was the only woman in attendance. No possibility, therefore, to chat about the latest European fashion, very popular here, or even future trips abroad. Total loneliness.

Mavra had a new glass of champagne served and looked for her husband. He was discussing with two generals, vestiges of the cold war, whose feverish speech left no doubt about his cruel lack of interest in her. Weary, the young woman sidled quietly to the exit and walked along an endless corridor full of paintings to a double glazed door that led to the terrace. She slipped out like a cat. Seized by the cold, she shivered from head to foot, without trying to warm herself. The transition with the stuffy atmosphere of the house was a real pleasure. Taken with an impulse, she took off her shoes and ventured on the lawn covered with a thin layer of snow. She giggled with satisfaction, her skin already firmed by the thermal shock. Happy, she began to hum and whirl about herself, raising clouds of powder on her way. The music, inside, sounded muffled to her, but it was better this way: away from these politicians, she had the feeling of being able to enjoy it.

Her glass of champagne empty, she threw it without hesitation in the grass and continued to waltz. Like a star dancer, she swirled up to the perimeter wall, where she climbed freely to contemplate the view. The waters of Lake Baikal, one arm of which went down to touch Irkutsk, shone under the starlight, the rulers of a cloudless sky.

Only the halo of the city’s street lamps spoiled this amazing spectacle, even if Mavra enjoyed this exceptional location. Her villa, built on a strip of taiga where few houses stood, was indeed a privileged observation post. Surrounded by tall, dense trees that blocked the lighting of the already sparse neighborhood, it allowed its owners to make the most of the enchanting beauty of the night landscape. Suddenly frustrated, she sighed while cursing. Her life was nothing but boredom, she saw no advantage in it. She was contemplating a short trip outside her prison when a laugh, discreet, deep, tinkled in the night. She searched her garden with an intrigued look. Sitting on a stone bench by the pool, a man was watching her, amused. Mavra’s heart contracted in shock; her breath was cut off. Her secret lover! She jumped from her perch, ran to the pool, trembling with impatience, to discover he had disappeared. Had she been dreaming? Desperate, the young woman scanned the surroundings, biting her lip. He couldn’t be gone!

Someone pinched her buttocks and she suddenly turned around. He was there, about ten meters from her, but she refused to dwell on this extraordinary detail. Only his presence mattered. She stared for a moment at his tall stature, his butcher boy build, his carefully chiselled muscles... He was shirtless and wearing only worn jeans. Excited, Mavra wanted to approach but he avoided her, a strange smile on his lips.

“You have nothing to say to me?” he whispered.

“I missed you!” she replied without a hint of hesitation.

Syssoi Baranov smiled contemptuously. In a flutter, he was facing his lover and grabbed her by the throat. Subdued, unable to defend herself, she contented herself with plunging into the harshness of his blue eyes, ready to drown in them.

“You know what I want to talk about!” he hissed.

“Sorry!” whimpered Mavra, letting out a tear.

Syssoi loosened his embrace and became more honeyed.

“It’s important for me, do you understand?”

“Yes! And I did what you asked me!”

“So?”

“The man spent several weeks in Astana, Kazakhstan, where he rented medical equipment. My contact says he’s here now, in Siberia, but I have no more details.”

“Hmm... Not elsewhere in Russia, are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Mavra was wringing her hands anxiously. Was her lover satisfied? For the moment, he was staring at the stars, thoughtful, and no longer seemed to care about her presence. This hurt her and, with a hesitant gesture, she began to caress his massive chest. The contact of his skin, soft and cold as ice, always made her euphoric. He didn’t react, which disturbed her enormously. Usually, he was very quickly excited at her touch.

“Syssoi?” she squealed.

He turned his attention to Mavra, in distress. There was one thing he had to know at all costs.

“Tell me, my dear, could you locate this man, if I gave you time?”

“If he hasn’t changed his name yet, yes, of course! Otherwise, I’ll have to wait for him to shop. The last time, that’s how I did it.”

He frowned. No chance that his prey, far from being stupid, will settle in a city without taking such an elementary precaution. And he refused to wait for him to rent the special equipment he needed again, especially since there was no guarantee that he would. No, he had to go through other intermediaries. Syssoi smiled at Mavra before throwing her on the ground. The young woman’s skull hit the frozen ground hard and she was thoroughly dazed. Despite this, when she saw her lover settle astride her, she clung to his strong arms and ran her tongue over her lips. He leaned over, kissed her fiercely, then descended to her neck, and nibbled it gently. Mavra moaned with pleasure and squirmed under him to excite him. But, suddenly, he roared like an animal and planted his fangs in her jugular. The pain, dazzling, at first plunged her into a kind of perverse enjoyment but, very quickly, this feeling faded to give way to the torment of her life escaping her. It was flowing, red and dark; feeding her lover who absorbed it by releasing atrocious sucking sounds. The young woman tried in vain to struggle. Her energy was leaving her at such a speed! Her body became limp, an intense lethargy invaded her and she sank gently, staring at the stars that were dying one after the other. Then, finally, rest.

Syssoi sucked to the last drop of blood. Filled, he licked the wounds of his victim to erase the traces of his terrible deed. Contemplating her, as pale as she was, excited him terribly. Yet he knew that turning her into a vampire or even a servant would be too much of a risk to his safety: she knew too much information that he didn’t want to see spread. His project deserved vigilance and skill. He got up and shook like a dog. The new force running through his veins made him want to enter the house and s*******r all its occupants. A futile way to spend what he had just reaped. He breathed fresh air into his lungs, letting the mixed smells of humans and taiga invade him, soothing his rising fever, and he managed to calm down. For the rest of his plan, he had to locate a particular person, someone with a rare and indispensable gift. Without this precious help, he would fail for sure. He had to find him quickly and, preferably, before a fool, driven by stupid convictions, killed him. With this realization, Syssoi left the property without a glance for Mavra.