HEARTTHROB Read Online Free PDF

But it was growing close to the time when
the Rajah and his guests would be sitting down to eat. The cook's
mind frantically thought of alternatives, which he could hurriedly
prepare, but at last he decided that there was nothing, he could do.
Nothing except to serve the tainted soup as it was. He added the
final ingredients, then tasted it He was satisfied that no one would
suspect that there was something in his creation which should not be
there.
    How terrifyingly wrong he was! And how horrified he became when, the
next day, the Rajah himself came into the kitchen. He had loved the
soup, he said. He had tasted nothing like it — ever. So much did he
crave the delicacy that he wanted more this evening. And then he
added two specific instructions. The first was that although the same
amount of the soup was to be prepared, it was to be served to himself
alone, to consume within his own apartment. The second instruction
was that more of the special ingredient should be added.
    The cook was shocked. "Special ingredient?" he asked.
    "Yes," the Rajah replied, wetting his lips. "Whatever
it is, you know the element I mean. Is that not true?"
    The Rajah's eyes held the look of ice in them. The poor cook, knowing
well that the penalty for displeasing his employer was an agonizing
torture and a merciless death, could not but admit that he knew the
special ingredient of which the Rajah spoke, the ingredient of which
he himself dared not to speak. And so that night he followed his
instructions, cutting gently into his finger and adding his blood to
the broth — but this time six drops — and then carrying the bowl
through the halls of the palace to the darkened apartment of the
Rajah.
    The next day the ruler again visited his kitchen. The cook dreaded
hearing the words of his master, yet he knew what they would be. The
soup was even more delicious than before. It obviously was the effect
of that special something, thus its quantity again was to be
increased.
    And so it went for more than a full cycle of the moon. Night after
night the old cook prepared the same meal for his master, night after
night adding increased amounts of his own blood into the broth, and
night after night carrying his preparation to the darkened rooms of
the Rajah. And then one morning word came from the servants' quarters
that the old cook was dead. The entire household had recognized that
he had become quite pale as of late, and his final end had not gone
unanticipated. Thus it was with some alarm that the household heard
their master scream hysterically at the news. And then came the
further news that he had shut himself up into his rooms with the
order that none should enter — none except those bringing his meals
to him at the appointed time of day.
    It was not until three days thereafter that the whispers among the
servants came to the ears of the eldest of the Rajah's daughters, who
with her husband was visiting her father's palace. Two young serving
girls were nowhere to be found within the palatial halls. Both of
them had been those assigned to bring to the cloistered Rajah his
evening meals on the two previous days. The daughter was incensed at
the veiled accusation against her father. She instructed the kitchen
that, on this night, she herself would bring the tray to the ruler.
And thus it was that she did so, knocking gently upon his door at the
appointed time, hearing his voice —- but a strange voice it seemed
— instructing her to enter, and then entering.
    Her father stood in a dark corner of the room, his back to the door.
"Enter, please," he said, indicating a table near where he
stood as the place the tray should be deposited. It was not until the
girl had done as she was directed that her father turned. She
screamed with all her strength as he stepped from the shadows and she
saw his face... the wild black hair... the sharp red-stained fangs...
    Fortunately for the girl, her husband had not felt