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“Because you’re tired of killing,” Damien repeated.
“Exactly,” Maxton replied.
Alrighty, Damien thought.
“I get it. I do,” Brutus said, standing beside MF. “There comes a point where you start asking yourself, why? I kill, I kill, then I kill again. But does it change the world? Does evil cease to exist? No. So then you ask, well, is there anything in it for me? Any sense of satisfaction or pleasure? No.”
“You understand me well, Brutus.” Maxton bowed his head.
“I hate to break up this bromance,” Damien said, “but there is an insane goddess who doesn’t care if you enjoy killing, being a vampire, or if you’ve taken a vow. She will kill the only two women I have ever lo—sworn to protect, and they are more important than your feelings of vampiric impotence.”
“Damien, did you not hear the man?” MF snapped. “He doesn’t want to go.”
Suck-up.She was just agreeing with Maxton so that he might give her his blood.
“I do not see the point of breaking my vow.” Maxton raised his chin smugly. “If I go to this place you call LA, it changes nothing. The world will continue spinning in one mundane circle after another.”
Damien growled.
“Damien, can I speak to you outside?” Brutus asked.
Damien nodded, and the two walked down the hill a ways, stopping under a large tree filled with Amazonian suede panties.
“Laundry day.” Brutus shrugged.
“What is it you want to say before I take that vampire, tie him up, and drag his ass back to LA?” Damien grumbled.
“You won’t make it, tailor,” Brutus said. “I watched him fight your beast for hours. You are evenly matched. Also, there isn’t sufficient time to walk to the nearest airport.”
“I’ll run.”
“Or you could listen to my suggestion. I will fly you in our helicopter to the nearest Uchben airstrip and personally take you to LA. I need to make a diaper run at Costco anyway.”
“You have a helicopter? And a plane?” Damien asked.
“Of course. You don’t expect us to live out in the middle of the jungle without proper transportation? As for the vampire, I sense he is lying.”
“About?” Damien asked.
“I have fought in many wars. I have led many soldiers into battle against some of the fiercest creatures the Universe has to offer, and I have seen this situation before. I believe Maxton did not grow bored of killing, he grew to enjoy the violence too much. He lost control, and this is what upsets him. Anyone can see he is a rigid creature with a predilection for boundaries. And what are boundaries but a form of rules. He likes discipline. Control.”
Could Brutus be right?
Because now that Damien thought about it, Maxton’s story did not sound right. New vampires loved killing. Small or large. Young or old. Day or night. They just couldn’t get enough. As they got older, their bloodlust quelled, and they became more focused on their legacies. That, or power and wealth. Either way, vampires felt a sense of relief when they were no longer controlled by bloodlust.
But then there were those who never lost the taste. Killing was an addiction that controlled every aspect of their lives.
It was exactly the reason Damien had left behind his life of violence. There came a day when he no longer knew where his beast ended and he began. He became sickened by himself—the monster is a fine suit, controlled by a wickedness inside him.
So, one day, he quit cold turkey, shut the door on his beast, and pushed everyone away. His tiny shop became his sanctuary of control. He worked alone. He focused his days on keeping busy and doing something familiar, something he’d been doing since he was a boy working in his father’s shop. He made suits, and he tailored.
“He savagely murders anyone who gets near his lair,” Damien muttered. “It’s because he can’t stop himself. He created rules, and when anyone breaks them, he loses it. So why is he here in your hut, just chitchatting away?”
“I do not know, but look at the man. He almost seems, well, free. Or relieved. Something or someone here is causing it.” Brutus stared at Damien poignantly.
“You mean me?” Damien pointed to himself.
“Maxton could not best your beast.”
