I suppose I should start at the beginning. Or at least by introducing myself. I am what some would refer to as a Supernatural. I have gone by many names. Liderc, Asmodeus, Azazel, Agni, Xolotl and, my personal favorite, the mad Roman God Vulcan, just to name a few. My golden eyes have inspired both fear and adoration. I have gorged myself on human lives, both willingly given and forcibly taken, and reveled in the power they gave me. I have also fallen into starvation, killing only when this terrible, insatiable need became too much to bear.

During such a period of starvation a man approached me.  He called himself Michael and he belonged to a group called The Sacred Order of the Dragon. I knew it, of course.  Built on the ruins of an old Christian society founded to fight the enemies of Christianity, it now devoted itself to destroying or subduing demons for the protection of God's people. Pillagers of temples turned noble protectors. Give me a break.

He found me on a dark road in London stalking a prostitute as she stumbled home from the pub. She was....not beautiful. Downright ugly, in fact. But her smell, that sweet, musty smell only a woman can make, intoxicated me. The hunger churned and gnawed at me until I was almost doubled over in pain. She flashed a skinny leg at a passerby, nearly throwing me into a frenzy. I pulled my floppy traveler's hat lower over my eyes to hide their unnatural glow as I drew steadily closer.

Finally, I could stand it no more. I closed the distance in less than a second, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her into an alleyway. “Relax, honey,” she whispered, blowing her stinking breath in my ear, “you wanna ride, all you had to do was ask.”

I pushed her against the wall and she wrapped a leg around me, letting loose a peal of girlish laughter. She pulled my hat off and gasped. My eyes burned with the fire inside of me. I could wait no longer.

My lips locked onto hers. She tried to pull away, but I held her tight and it wasn't long before my spell began to work on her. A small moan escaped her as all resistance faded and she pressed her body to mine. My internal fire burned hotter as it sought out the power inside of her. I could feel it, taste it. I breathed it in in great gasps. Even as her body gave in, her soul resisted. My mind became lost in sex and struggle until, with a great convulsion of release, her life was mine.

Suddenly, I was struck by a force that dropped me to my knees. It felt like being hit between the shoulder blades by a two-by-four. My heart pounding and head reeling from the swoon, I struggled to focus on the man who'd struck me.

He was tall for the time, just under six feet, and built like a boxer. In his mitt he held a silver medallion engraved with a six pointed star. Around the star were engravings in Hebrew. This, no doubt, was what he hit me with.

“Do I have your attention?” he said in a soft voice.