The Billionaire’s Baby(26)

Night was the time for hunting.

The crinkle of dry autumn leaves roused him sleepily from his position high up in a fairly naked apple tree, where none of the red fruits had grown in quite some time due to the chilly weather, and where hardly any of the long-rotted brown leaves still clung on their last breath to the high, twisted branches.

An especially cold winter was bearing its icy tendrils deep into the country of Landrian; a small, peaceful country sitting against the border of Corsentil.

Corsentil, itself, was not exactly the largest country in their world either - but it was powerful, and it was quick to hate, and this made it feared. They’d been especially virulent since the murder of their Prince, and Landrian had felt the brunt of this.

The people of that rough land were known for aggressiveness and being extremely vengeful for even the slightest of grievances, while Landrian, aside from strict border patrol between itself and the belligerent Corsentil, was much more calm and passive.

Instead of the carefully mapped out cities and bustling towns of its northern neighbor, Landrian was made up of tiny villages strewn haphazardly across its hilly forests. There were hardly even dirt roads to connect them. Despite a ruling King, the villages of Landrian generally governed themselves. Conflict between the remote communities was rare and mostly handled independently. In fact, many young children of Landrian had no idea what their King looked like, many did not even know his name.

It was this seclusion and disconnectedness that caused the odd young man to take Landrian as his home, though he did not frequently spend his evenings lounging in foliage.

He yawned almost silently and stretched his lithe arms in the air, letting himself fall limp backwards after a moment, legs locked around the thick branch he'd been perched on. As he swung downwards toward the harsh, waiting embrace of the browning ground below, he let his legs flick free of the branch, landing like a gymnast on a lower branch.

His eyes quickly searched out the source of the noise below him - a tiny figure huddling inside of a thick, dark green cloak away from the frosty wind.

'Perfect.' He mused lightly to himself, observing the figure in growing curiosity.

The person was tiny, probably ten or twelve years old, definitely child sized. The little kid would at least serve as a snack.

However, one thing nagged at the back of the man's mind – what kind of parents would let some defenseless kid wander around in a forest as big as this one? It was a mistake they would soon come to regret.

A low, content grumble of a laugh left his lips he leapt lower and lower till he was on the branch closest to the ground, eyes skimming intensely around him into the darkness of the night, a darkness that was all too welcome to him.

Surely, the child would not be alone. Whoever owned the kid lived somewhere near, they always were. Perhaps he could pay them a nice little visit when he was done with the child.

The youngster wouldn't be a snack, the beast of a man decided with a lick of his lips, but more of an appetizer. He could feel his stomach rumbling with anxious desire. It’d been a long time since a proper feeding.

The people of Landrian were sick and scrawny, their blood too metallic with illness to be delicious.

He bent down to almost a crouch, grabbing the branch he stood on and swinging himself down onto the ground, landing with a light thump on a patch of brown grass.

One sharpened fang slipped over his bottom lip, giving him a more goofy look than threatening. Had the child noticed him, it probably would have giggled.

That simple sharpened canine however, only visible for a few short seconds, was the only hint to what this young man truly was, for other than that he looked completely human. An average human at that, he’d turn no heads walking through a crowd of mortals.

His eyes and hair were dark, though not unnaturally so. He was somewhat pale, but he'd met victims of his which were much more pallid then himself and certainly more human. His slightly blanched face certainly was handsome, but not unearthly. He did not dress in any strange sort of way, no thick jacket to hide from the sun of the day or the cold of the night; instead, he wore a simple tan long sleeved shirt and dark brown pants with laced leather shoes. Had he strode into the nearest village no one would have taken more than a second glance at him.

His age was harder to pinpoint. There was a certain youthful air about him. The arrogance and all-knowing in his gaze could put him just over eighteen, or even into his early twenties. The question was often met with a slow, predatory smirk. Those who asked, after all, would not enjoy his answer.

Though rather ordinary looking, he was graceful however, like a cat, and for that he was grateful for his undead gift.

The sound of feet hitting the ground was enough to alert the child a yard or so in front of him however, for the kid stopped short and stiffened, the cloak suddenly tightening around them. This gave the pale man no pause, however, and he continued onward.