The scent of her blood intoxicated me. This bouquet, never before heard by me, struck me with its beauty. The scent of fresh young human blood, filled with a touch of sea breeze and tart sweetness. To savour it, I breathed often and deeply, and my mind was involuntarily filled with strange questions. Who is this girl? What is she doing here? How had I not noticed her appearance on the bridge?
My interest in the stranger grew with every second, and I involuntarily just stared at her. Suddenly, as if sensing my frank gaze, the girl turned to me for a few seconds. But half a second was enough for me to reproduce her portrait in my mind. The first thing that caught my eye was her hair-dark, thick, falling in a waterfall down to her waist. The stranger's face was unusual, intriguing. The soft pale lips gave a slightly sharp contrast to her bright dark brown eyes. Her figure was slender, with no outlines of unhealthy thinness or starvation. The girl seemed mysterious and even beautiful to me. Her beauty was soft and expressive, like an autumn day that had not had time to cool down from the sun's rays, but already with the sun gone, sprinkling the sky with its farewell light.
For a moment our gazes crossed like swords. Suddenly the stranger took a quick step away from the bridge, as if fleeing from my unwilling, insistent attention. But I, as if mesmerised, looked after her, I just couldn't let her go. Let go of that magic.
Shit! What was I thinking?
I mentally berated myself for allowing myself to stare at some mortal, and, by an effort of will, albeit a hard one, I pushed the thought of her out of my head and remembered my immediate plans for the evening – to get away from the world and be in another reality for a while. But that memory brought back another, unwelcome memory-the scent of the stranger's blood, so tantalising. I would kill her and drink every last drop of that delicious blood.
No. Not this time.
I had principles I did not deviate from, even for the sake of such a unique flavour: killing girls and children was taboo for me. I hunted people who had already tasted life. The category of my victims started from the age of thirty to fifty, and I unmistakably felt the age of my victims, determining it by the smell of blood, and in the years of my life never made a single mistake. I felt that the girl I was interested in was still young, about twenty-two years old. Let her live. Maybe in eight years I'll find her and taste her blood.
With these thoughts I drove back to the castle. There, leaving the Toyota in the garage, I walked to the city.
In the morning several people were once again reported missing in Prague. When I heard this, I grinned: these were the hunting tracks of Markus and his fiancée. All the Prague newspapers wrote about these mysterious disappearances, including the cries of unhappy relatives and appeals for vigilance. The citizens of Prague discussed the news with bitter sighs. I, on the other hand, was filled only with indifference and derision.
CHAPTER 3
I passed the physics with flying colours: it was easy to tell what I had learnt long ago and knew like a proper name. And, although at this period of my life studying was a burden to me, being a part of modern universities was interesting to me at all times, and I was curious to see how education, its system, was changing, how every year new and new, unrepeatable faces appeared. At one time my hobby was people-watching, but this activity soon became nothing but a source of frustration and contempt for me.
