An island in the Mediterranean, 450 Years Ago:
The glistening fangs protruding from the child’s mouth contorted his facial muscles. His nose breathed in the pungent odor of sweat wafting through the air and he smelled fear. “Who am I? It is a fair question and, as it is the last you will ever ask, I shall grant you an answer.” He ran his small forefinger along the jugular vein pulsating on the neck of the human cowering before him, and tapped it lightly.
“You asked who I am, not what I am. I see you are perceptive enough to know a vampire when you see one. Odd, that it is my apparent age, and not my existence, which you question. As you can see, I am a ten-year-old boy.” He paused. His melancholy voice trailed off. “I have been ten for a very, very long time.” On reflection, he added, “More than four-and-a-half centuries. My tribe inhabited an island in the Mediterranean. We were isolated from civilization on the mainland. Most found the rugged terrain hostile, save the ancient Greeks and Romans who had trod our soil more than a millennium earlier. It was from the vestigial remains of their culture that I received my name, Artemus.”
The boy vampire stared into the mortal’s frightened face. The pitiful creature believes it can buy time by keeping me talking, he thought. Foolish breather. There is no escape; only death. But the longer fear courses through the breather’s veins, the more rapidly the blood will as well, and the more savory its flavor shall be. With that in mind, he resumed his tale.
The Vampires & Werewolves You Only Think You Know!
Fangs & Fur, Book One: Flashbacks