The monastery had been abandoned for the past three hundred years, as far as any of the Poles in the area were concerned. It was overgrown with wild, untamable flora and the essence of something wholly unnatural and undefinable was a heady as the scent of death on the air. Adrian Vanet approached cautiously through the foliage, topaz yellow eyes squinting through the sheets of metallic rain. The door was bolted shut firmly, but a good blasting hex would fix that problem soon enough.
He couldn't see a thing, and therefore didn't see the white lioness until she was upon him. The massive animal leapt upon him from the side and slammed him into the marshy mess of the grass; her claws embedded themselves into his back and chest deeply. Adrian shouted in outrage and animalistic anger; he jerked his elbow backward so that it connected with her nose. The great roared her pain and recoiled, sneezing blood.
That gave Adrian the time he needed to get to his feet. Staggering, he withdrew his wand and pointed it at the animal where she stood, trying to get her bearings again. Hatred welled up within him like magma within a volcano, and he exploded before he could possibly contain himself. He pointed his wand at the lioness and hissed into the darkness:
She looked as though her struggle had abruptly ended. With a lifeless loll of her great, majestic head, she collapsed to the ground and lay there in a heap of albino furr; her powerful body was still warm.
Panting from his exertion, oozing blood from his chest and back, Adrian noticed the man only when he looked towards the doors of the monastery again. He was tall, possibly six-five, with long black hair tied back from his porcelain white face. His eyes were a deep and fathomless shadowy gray, lips thin.
Adrian's skin paled. He didn't have to ask to know that the man in front of him was a vampire.
(0:3 To be continued.)
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