The Vampyre Read Online Free PDF

and his neck lolled strangely as though it had been twisted round. Yes, she remembered him. The silhouette on the Mayfair street. And seeing him in the light, she knew why he had seemed familiar even then. ‘The bookseller,’ she whispered. ‘You brought me the letters. The ones from Thomas Moore.’
    â€˜Oh good,’ he wheezed, ‘it’s all coming back again, I see. Nothing less flattering for a fellow than to be forgotten by a pretty girl.’ He leered again, and again Rebecca had to hold her breath and look away. The man seemed unoffended. He took Rebecca’s arm, and when she tried to shake him off, he gripped her until she could feel his nails gouging deep into her flesh.
    â€˜Come on,’ he whispered, ‘move those lovely legs!’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜I am a humble worm, I crawl and obey.’
    â€˜Obey what?’
    â€˜Why, the unspoken wishes of my master and lord.’
    â€˜Lord?’
    â€˜Lord.’ The man spat out the word. ‘Oh yes, we all love a lord - don’t we?’ Rebecca stared at him. The man was muttering to himself, and his face seemed contorted by bitterness and loathing. He met her glance, and bared his teeth in a grin. ‘I speak now as a medical man,’ he said suddenly. ‘You have a most intriguing wound across your throat.’ He stopped her, holding her hair and yanking back her head. He sniffed at her wound, then licked it with his tongue. ‘Mmm,’ he breathed in, ‘salty and sanguinary - a splendid mix.’ He hissed a chuckle, then pulled her along by her arm again. ‘But we must hurry, so come along! People might notice.’
    â€˜Notice what?’
    The man muttered to himself again under his breath, dribbling now.
    â€˜I said, notice what?’
    â€˜Oh Christ, you stupid bitch, can’t you see?’ the man yelled suddenly. He pointed back at the crowd round the corpse. ‘Your wound,’ he shouted, wiping saliva from his lips, ‘it’s the same. But the bastard, the fucking bastard, he killed that other one, but not you, the bastard, he didn’t kill you.’ His head began to twitch and loll on its twisted neck. ‘Bastard,’ he muttered again, ‘bastard . . .’ and his voice trailed away.
    Rebecca stopped. ‘You know who did that terrible thing?’ she asked, pointing back across the bridge.
    â€˜Oh yes!’ The man began to chant. ‘Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes!’
    â€˜Who?’
    The man winked. ‘You should know.’
    Without thinking, Rebecca stroked at her neck. ‘Lord Ruthven? Is that who you mean? Lord Ruthven?’
    The man tittered to himself, then stopped, and his face was a twitching mask of hate. Rebecca struggled suddenly, and managed to break free. ‘Leave me alone,’ she said, backing away.
    The man shook his twisted neck. ‘I’m sure he’d want to meet you again.’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜You know.’
    â€˜I don’t. I don’t. It’s impossible.’
    The man reached out to take her arm again and stare into her face. ‘Fuck me,’ he whispered, ‘ fuck me , but you’re gorgeous. Quite the most gorgeous I’ve ever sent. He will be pleased.’ Again, the man’s smile was livid with hate. He began to pull her along the bridge. ‘Now, now, no more struggling, you’ll bruise your pretty skin.’
    Numbly, Rebecca followed him. ‘Lord Ruthven,’ she whispered, ‘who is he?’
    The man cackled. ‘You surprise me, you being such an educated girl.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜That you should not know who Lord Ruthven was.’
    â€˜Well, I know of a Lord Ruthven . . .’
    â€˜Yes?’ The man grinned encouragingly.
    â€˜He was the hero of a—’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Of a short story.’
    The man nodded and chuckled. ‘Very good. And what was it called?’
    Rebecca swallowed.