Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

would be ice-cold to the touch. His face was long and angular, all planes and high cheekbones, and his eyes were dark and unblinking. The smile that stretched his pale lips wasn't reflected in his eyes, and he held himself like a fighter waiting for the bell.
    For the moment his gaze was fixed on Hazel, and Owen was glad for it to stay that way. The Wampyr was openly disturbing on some deep, primal level. Owen glanced at Hazel to see how she was taking it and was surprised to find she seemed more angry than anything else.
    "Hazel d'Ark," said the Wampyr, in a voice as cold and eager as the grave.
    "You've come back to me."
    "Lucius Abbott," said Hazel disgustedly. "Of all the people I didn't want to meet, you were right on the top of the list. Why couldn't you have done the decent thing and died long ago?"
    "I did," said Abbott. "They brought me back. Now I live on through people like you. You shouldn't have run away, Hu/el; you're mine, and always will be. Your blood has rushed through my veins."
    Owen pushed in beside Hazel. "What's he talking about?"
    Abbott's smile widened. "Haven't you told him, Hazel? Haven't you told him how you used to be a plasma baby?"

    Plasma baby. A chill rushed through Owen, and he was hard-pressed not to shudder. He knew the term. There were those who gave their human blood for the Wampyr to drink straight from the vein; a master and slave relationship that was said to be closer and more intense than sex or love. One of the few perversions banned throughout the Empire. The Wampyr were dangerous enough without an army of fanatic blood junkies as followers. Owen looked at Hazel, and she glared at the pity she saw in his face.
    "I was never one of his sick puppets! I sold a pint of blood on the black market occasionally, but only when times were hard and I really needed the money. His filthy lips never touched my veins, and whatever he got from me he paid top rate for. Now get out of my way, Abbott, or I swear I'll put you in the ground where you should have been years ago!"
    "You're mine, Hazel." The Wampyr's voice was cold and commanding. "Kneel."
    There was a sudden power in his voice, vile and inhuman and overpowering.
    Everyone shuddered who heard it, and Hazel fell back involuntarily. She tried to draw her sword, but her hand was shaking too much. Several men and women in the crowd dropped to their knees, and still more fell back, leaving a wide space around the Wampyr and his chosen victim.
    This has gone far enough, thought Owen, and murmured the code word boost. Power flooded through him and burned in his muscles, wiping away the command in the Wampyr's voice. Without looking round, Owen picked up a nearby table and hit Abbott with it The heavy wooden table swung through the air like a giant flyswatter, and slammed into the Wampyr with unstoppable force. The impact picked Abbott up, threw him across the tavern and out through a window that was closed. Glass flew in all directions, and the Wampyr disappeared out into the
    curling mists. Everyone waited tensely, but he didn't reappear. Hazel nodded approvingly to Owen as he put down the table and dropped out of boost.
    "Nicely handled, Deathstalker."
    Owen smiled modestly. "I have my moments."
    "Not that I couldn't have handled him myself, of course."
    "Perish the thought," Owen said gallantly. He looked round at the rapt crowd.
    "Anyone else?"
    There was a slight pause, and then everybody very studiously went back to what they had been doing. The noise returned to its previous level, and Owen was about to leave when Cyder stepped in front of him and put a restraining hand on his chest.
    "Not so fast, hero. There's a little matter of a broken window to be paid for."
    Owen looked at the shattered remains of the window he'd thrown Abbott through and reluctantly admitted that she had a point. He cleared his throat cautiously to give himself time to think, and tried to imagine how much the repairs would cost on a primitive planet like Mistworld. The answer was not encouraging. He did his best to fix Cyder with a determined look.
    "Abbott started it; let him pay for the window."
    "He's not here," said Cyder. "You are."
    Owen mentally checked the contents of his pockets and looked at Hazel. "I appear to be somewhat financially embarrassed at the moment. Do you think you could… ?"
    Hazel glared at him and dug into her pockets. "Next time, choose a less expensive way of dealing with him."
    "He was your old boyfriend," Owen pointed