Hotel of Death: the chosen one by Cynthia Fridsma

April 01, 2015

Title of book: Hotel of Death: the chosen one

Official genre of book: horror/thriller/fantasy
Publication Date: January 12, 2015

Richard McKenna is the renowned author of two bestsellers, but now he is suffering from writer's block. However, he must write his book within three weeks, if he is to marry beautiful Glory Maryland. Unfortunately, Glory's husband wants to prevent this and starts a cat and mouse game of life and death. In order to survive Richard flees to Boston, but he discovers his life is still at stake when an assassin waits for him in his hotel room. Saved by the feds, he discovers that one of them is a vampire and they seem to have their own agenda. They claim to help him, but can they be trusted? Or are they using him for their own purposes? And since when can any vampire be trusted? More importantly: will he survive? And what is all this talk about an ancient curse and the book of the dead?

With a razor-sharp knife, the Reaper cut his hand. He caught his blood in a test tube and stared at the woman whom he had tied down on the table, she had a gag in her mouth to keep her quiet. She tried to pull at her bindings, which only excited him even more. The woman would be his dinner, but first he needs to have some of her blood while she was still intact.

“It’s all okay,” he almost tenderly rubbed his hands through her hair, and then he used his knife to cut in her neck. A tortured groan came from her mouth, despite the gag. A few tears flowed down her cheeks while he gathered her blood in a new test tube. Then he gently wiped her tears and put a plaster on the wound. The Reaper turned his back to her and mingled her blood with his own. Through the microscope, he observed a small blood sample to see how his blood corrupted hers. For a moment, a few cells colored black. To him, it was the signal for a new ingredient: silver powder. The cells were now all pretty red, with a silvery sheen. Satisfied, he created five pills and a cream from the rest. The pills were for Harry. The cream was for him. He gently removed the plaster that he had put on his left cheek. His skin felt soft and smooth, like it is supposed to. The drug apparently not only stopped the growth of a tumor, but when used as a cream it restored damaged skin. He could earn lots of money in the cosmetics. He smeared the cream over his face and looked at the woman who looked back at him with bright, frightened eyes – the eyes of a deer, a very frightened deer. His stomach growled a bit. He walked over to her and untied the gag.

“Please, let me go,” she pleaded. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

He just laughed. “Let you go? But if I let you go, then I’ll starve to death.”

“What?” she asked with wide, startled eyes. She couldn’t say much more because he leaned forward and plunged his teeth into her neck. She struggled to get away while he felt the hot, sticky liquid in his mouth. Her struggle excited him as he pushed his teeth deeper into her flesh; he heard her scream. It sounded like a love song in his ears while he started to suck the wound and felt the life slipping out of her. Her struggle began to weaken – it’s time to stop drinking; he realized. He looked down at her, as she lay weakened on the table, and she was more dead than alive. He never felt so good as he wiped off his bloody mouth – she’s going to be a great partner.

“I have a present for you,” he smiled and bit his own wrist. The woman shook her head and moaned weakly. With an almost devilish pleasure, he pressed his bloody wrist in her mouth. “Drink,” he ordered her. At first, she kept her mouth closed. With his thumb, he forced her mouth open and pressed his bloody wrist on her mouth again. The blood trickled down her throat and finally she started to suck his wound. He felt himself getting all excited again; she brought him in ecstasy while she sucked his wound. The blood flowed through his veins into her mouth – enough!

He pulled his hand back. Again, he bit into her neck and he kept drinking until she stopped moving. Until he was sure she was dead. However, he knew she would soon be reborn as a vampire. For a moment, his thoughts wandered off to Sybil. She saved his life by turning him into a vampire, but she also betrayed him!

“Very soon we will stand face to face Sybil, and then we’ll see who the loser is!” He cut the rope that he used to tie up his victim and went to bed. The exchange would take place in a few hours, and he wanted to be there. He expected that by the time he got up, that his skin would be fully recovered. Then he could mingle between the day-trippers once again without drawing too much attention on himself and the cream itches, which annoyed him, but he saw it as a part of the healing process.