Prologue (Adam Novus Chronicles - Book 1)

I was always good at killing.

That is not something one should normally brag about, but it is just an undeniable fact, a gift if you will.

I usually don’t even think about such things, as these moments of deep introspection bums the hell out of me—every single time. Although, I am right now standing above a dead body, with a knife in my hand, and yes, those are drops of blood falling from the tip of the blade. Therefore, thoughts related to contemplation on one’s existential nature are not so strange in these kinds of situations.

If a cop saw me now, no explanation, no matter how creative, could possibly justify this scene in some positive light. I cannot imagine him not pulling out his gun and arresting me on the spot for murder, or more likely, considering this neighborhood—putting a bullet in my head, just to be on the safe side. Then again, technically, I would be guilty as charged, since the dead guy was very much alive a few minutes ago. That is, before I struck the knife through his heart. A thing like that tends to completely ruin your day.

In my defense, he had it coming; seriously, he was way too rude and uncompromising. I did ask him nicely not to sell any more drugs to school kids, I even said please. Punk’s response was to pull a gun on me, holding it sideways… which makes no sense whatsoever. The idiot did not even unlock the safety; it just goes to show how our educational system had failed him. As my grandfather used to say, never pull a gun unless you intend to use it, and I always listened to my grandfather; he was a wise man. Anyway, a few seconds after our unproductive conversation, there was one less drug dealer in this world.

One may think about the entire situation as a civil service on my part, something similar to a citizen's arrest, only this was a citizen's… execution? No matter how you look at it—you are welcome.

I gazed into his eyes as his soul left his body and felt that familiar rush of energy infusing me, making me stronger. I know I shouldn't, but part of me grew to like that feeling, it is the ultimate rush. As a side benefit—it is keeping me alive.

All the shrinks agree that there should be some feeling of guilt when you kill; permanently ending one's existence in this world. On the other hand, how many shrinks are experienced killers? I had my share of them in obligatory after-mission sessions while I was in the military. If you are simply repeating what you read in some school books, then that does not really make you an expert on a subject, more of a very intelligent parrot.

Everyone's reaction to the same set of circumstances differentiates to a certain degree, so what may be a traumatic event for one person, can at the same time be inconsequential for another. Shrinks—what a crazy bunch of people. A couple of beers will get you better results with a friendly and perceptive bartender and will cost you a hell of a lot less.

I don't feel any guilt about killing, not anymore. Maybe I did in the beginning when I was still in the regular army. There was an adjustment period when you were still burdened by the fact that you just took the life of someone’s son, a brother, a husband. Combat quickly teaches you not to think about such things; a moment of hesitation could be the death of you or your men. Since I've been on my own, ending lives has become a frequent occurrence, I’ve grown anesthetized to it. Besides, one way or another—everybody dies. Well, everybody except me… but I’ll get to that later.

No, I am not a sociopath, but I will have to take the fifth on a serial killer charge… it's complicated. They all had it coming, innocents never suffer my judgment, and I am extremely particular about that.

Human, vampire, Were, or a witch, I don’t care, far from me to be a racist. If I am coming for you, there is a good reason for it. Trust me when I say that you deserved it somehow.

I want to make one point clear, not all those stories going around about me being a monster are true, at least I never saw myself as such. Just because vampires and Weres are generally afraid of me, is not a good reason for villainous labeling.

OK, I may have drained the soul of a high-ranking vampire before his entire clan, but he was being a jerk and attacked me first. Let me state that I have nothing against vampires, my best friend is one. So there—entirely circumstantial. Also, the chairman of the ‘Were-Council’… he too attacked me first. I’ll admit, he was understandably upset over me killing his son a day earlier, but he didn't have to go all big bad wolf on me. In my opinion, his death was totally justified, as was his son’s. Again, nothing against Weres, my secretary happens to be a werecat.

To be honest, I wish I didn’t have to kill, my dream is to buy myself a cabin somewhere in the mountains and enjoy the solitude. Somehow, I do not see that life ever being possible, not with the cards I've been dealt.

You see, I have this curse hanging over my head, and it’s a nasty one; I would go even so far to say it’s one of a kind. There isn't so much as a mention of anything similar in all the secret histories my friend Julius has collected over the centuries, and he happens to be a half-demon librarian of the supernatural world.

For all intents and purposes… I’m pretty much screwed.

I will always remember my Gramps telling me, “Adam, life will always throw obstacles in your path; you need to persevere and deal with them.” However, not once did he imply that they could be the size of god-damned mountains.

So, let me explain myself, how I became what I am. The events that led me to be in this dark alley, with the body of a punk I just killed, lying dead at my feet.