Chapter One
The only thing he remembered with any semblance of clarity was pain.
Pain was not a strong enough word. A word to describe the hell that dominated his memory did not exist. Nor was relief a proper term for the way he felt when it finally stopped. When it did, he found himself alone and confused.
His mind seemed to have closed a door on what he'd been, before. He knew there had been a before, even if he couldn't remember exactly what it was. What he had been before his birth, because that was the only way in which he could think of it. The blessed relief from the pain, accompanied by a sense of wonder and newness at everything, all led him to the term. Reborn was an even better word for it.
The confusion was in sharp contrast to his physical senses. He knew he was stronger, but stronger than what, he didn't know. That was as far as he got in his reasoning before a new sensation, overwhelming in its urgency, overtook him.
Thirst, hunger, desire, all rolled into one irresistible need. Instinct told him what to do. He quickly examined the surroundings he'd come to consciousness in – woods. Plants of every kind dominated the landscape - low bushes, tall trees, and vines and parasitic plants that connected the two. The air was dry, the soil rocky. He drew breath into his lungs, not because he needed to breathe, but because that was how he was going to find what he needed to stop the craving. The yearning prevented him from questioning anything – why he was alone, even what he was.
A tendril of a scent, one molecule among billions, did not escape his notice. Before he could recognize it, he was off like a shot through the trees. How he moved! Some niggling memory told him that it was unnatural to move this fast, to be able to react to dodge the trees as nimbly as he did, but the smell grew stronger and forced these random thoughts from his mind. It was dominated by one thing – quenching the thirst. Nothing else mattered. It could be dealt with after the desire was fulfilled.
The scent became defined, and he was able to pin down its source. There was no caution as he bolted for it in a straight line – there was no need for caution. Instinct told him that he was supremely superior to the prey he was after. Nothing would, or could, deny him.
As they finally came into view, an unconscious, low snarl ripped through his teeth. They resembled his own form, but they were sloppy first drafts. Slow, sluggish, dull-witted – they were so obviously prey animals, and he didn't even slow down as he collided with the first of them, taking him to the ground and tearing out its throat in one swift motion. He fastened his lips around the ragged wound, forming a seal, and drank deeply of the precious, steaming liquid. He vaguely heard the other prey animal scream and begin to run, but it did not bother him. He knew he could finish up here and take the other one at his leisure.
After the second one – human, his mind told him – was drained, he ran from the scene. Not to escape – there was nothing that he would ever need to escape from. He had the supreme confidence of an apex predator, and fear was not a part of his new genetic make-up. He ran for the joy of it – moving so swiftly and silently was its own reward. Nowhere near the satisfaction of the act of feeding, but still pleasant. As he ran, the nagging questions returned, one by one, and now that the craving was dampened, he felt as if he could entertain them. He climbed a massive Sequoia, ignoring the branches and digging his fingers and bare feet into the bark, which felt as pliable as hot clay to him.
'What am I?' was the first, and most important question. He shook his head – how could he know? He moved on to the second question, one that he felt he should have the answer to. 'What was I?'
He studied his arm, and recognized the similarity between it and the limbs of the two humans he'd just fed on. The skin, instead of being dull and marked, was perfectly smooth, bulging with subtle musculature. The surface of the skin itself glittered weakly in the fading sunlight. As he took in the rest of his body that he could see, he easily came to the answer of his second question – he had been human, before.
As he followed that passage of thought, he realized with some surprise that he couldn't remember anything about his human life. It didn't disturb him – ultimately, it was unimportant – but it was mysterious. He tried to at least remember his name, and couldn't. It wasn't in his mind for him to find. Some instinct, subtler than the one to feed, told him that maybe it was better that he didn't remember the before. After all, it might cause him to feel pity for the humans he would feed on – and if there were only one thing in life that he was certain of, it was that he would feed again, soon and often.
The only thing that slightly bothered him was the fact that he no longer had a name. He was obviously superior to humans in every way, but this one tiny detail made him feel sub-human, worth less than they were. Animals didn't have names, and he was not an animal. Not a human, either – he was something above and beyond both. Without consciously making the decision, he bolted back to the clearing where he'd had his first meal.
The scavengers hadn't started moving in on the corpses yet. The meat was still warm, and he tried in vain to consume any trace of the blood that he'd missed. He reminded himself that wasn't his purpose for coming back, and forced himself to focus. It wasn't as hard, without the signs of life and blood to distract him. He reached into one of his victim's back pockets, and pulled out a leather wallet. He shook it out, found the document he wanted, and smiled.
"Andrew," he read the first name off of the identification card out loud, and smiled. There was no one around to see it, but even through the bloodstains, it was beautiful. He liked the name – it was simple, non-descript. "I'll take it," he decided, again out loud.
He knew that the discovery of his new life had only just begun, but Andrew was again flooded with the desire to feed as his eyes moved across his first victims. He made the decision to hunt again, to give himself to his instincts until they told him he could stop, or at least slow down.