A story of Vampire lust to dominate the world
THE BLOOD OF DRACON
"What an unusual house." Deacon Brasov smiled as he looked into the flashing, emerald eyes of the woman driving the car.
"Yes, the quirkiness of it appeals to my father." She tossed her long black hair off her face and took in his pale skin and blue mournful eyes. She was sorry for him. But soon all would change.
His and her father were both born vampires, but he didn't know. Both were lesser vampires. Born with the lamia gene, meant until they tasted human blood, they could live almost normal lives.
There have been no vampires of the 'Blood Royal' in untold millennia. Dracon was the last, and legend held that the new gods of Egypt tricked him into believing they venerated him. While he slept, unaware of their treachery, they decapitated him and burned his body. To deceive and avert the wrath of the all-knowing universal being; because gods were not allowed to kill other gods, they filled a phial with his blood and buried it before erecting a temple to themselves above it.
Both fathers scoured Egypt's ancient places, looking for the phial. Then they chanced on news that archaeologists had discovered the remains of an ancient temple while digging in a ruined Coptic church. When they arrived, it was to discover the phial of dried powdered blood was now in the care of the Egyptian Antiquities Police. That night, both men became full vampires; such was their desire for the phial.
The car coasted up the long tree lined drive winding around the building and Deacon Brasov returned to studying the ancient manor house. Like a sentinel to a bygone age, Dark Fen Hall, an Elizabethan building had a sombre air. In the September mist, its windows seemed to glower over the adjoining fenlands.
"An ancestor of mine who was an eccentric Elizabethan alchemist built it. Later they accused him of practising the black arts and killed him for his troubles. I suppose he must be one of your forebears too." Katrina Salizar fed the steering wheel of the big Bentley Tourer though her expert hands as the car traversed another tight bend in the drive.
From this new angle Deacon Brasov could see that the back of the house facing east had no windows. At the front, large pines shaded the west facing front of the building. "In your letter, you said we were second cousins." Katrina confirmed such was the case.
"I still don't understand how you found me." He shook his head in puzzlement.
"Research." Katrina lied. "We were doing a little family research and discovered your branch of the family. You were lucky they sent you to school in England before the accident occurred and the family house burnt to the ground."
"Accident!" His jaw firmed with anger. "It was no accident. It was those superstitious peasants. Because the rest of my family suffered from solar urticaria and could not go out in sunlight; they thought of us as vampires and burnt the house down. None survived."
Katrina knew what really happened, but she kept tight lips. The Dominicans in Rome had found out about the appearance and subsequent disappearance of the phial and set about trying to find and destroy it. Deacon's father understood for the blood of Dracon to give out its mighty powers; the receiver had to have the lamia gene and to have never drank human blood. He was also aware the Dominicans were onto him, so he and the rest of the family gave their lives, so Deacon, the only pure one could escape to England.
Katrina gave a secretive smile, secure in the knowledge they could no longer touch her or those she loved. Because of the phial, she was now of the 'Blood Royal' with all the powers it bestowed, and soon she would have a mate.
"My father believes he has a duty to give you the best start in life he can. That is why he invited you to stay with us." She smiled at him and he saw her pallor held the same milky quality as his own. He put it down to the wind racing past the open top car.
She held his gaze. "What is it you're thinking?" She asked.
He had been about to answer, but the car slowed and the great doors to the house came into view.
The doors opened wide and a tall, thin, angular man, flanked by two maids, walked out to greet them. Frederick Salizar looked nothing like Deacon Brasov had imagined. Far from appearing the aged seventy-five-year-old he knew him to be, he appeared fit and agile and in his early forties. He wore a long frock coat and his jet-black hair and moustache were pomaded. Across his shoes, he sported white spats.
"Welcome." Salizar gestured with his right arm for them to enter. "Please leave your luggage in the hall. The maids will take it to your bedroom, then lunch will be served." He kissed Katrina on the cheek before shaking hands with Deacon.
The meal was venison, cooked rare and served with a few vegetables. He wondered how they knew he liked his meat so rare that it ran with blood, but he noticed it was also the way they liked it. When they had finished the meal and left the room, the maids returned and fought over scraps of meat.
Since the death of the rest of his family Deacon had suffered night terrors. He would wake up bathed in sweat, fighting for his breath and trying to escape those who pursued him in his dreams.
Almost everybody had retired for the night and he was sitting alone in the library sampling Salizar's fine single malt whiskey, while he mulled over the day's events.
He was pouring a large measure when Katrina entered.
"Pour me one of those." She demanded.
Katrina downed her drink in one gulp and turned to him. "I think we should retire for the night." She stopped on seeing a hint of amusement in those pale blue eyes. She soon saw the reason, her night-dress had fallen open, revealing part of her right breast. Drawing the parting together in a hurried manner, she glanced again at Deacon, who was now draining his glass, and felt a hungriness course through her body.
Tomorrow she would tell him everything and until then she would avoid him. Tomorrow he would discover who he was and of his lineage, which stretched back to a time when Egypt was so young, the pyramids had yet to be built.
Katrina found it stuffy and airless in her room. She threw open the large windows, hoping the night breeze would cool her hot body. The warm damp wind coming in off the boggy fenland did little to cool her, so she removed her night-dress. The diffused light from the waning moon, caused shadows to ripple across her firm body and she had a sudden urge of wantonness. She stifled the lust building up inside, rebuking herself for her unaccustomed wild impulse. The purity of Deacon was having an extraordinary effect on her. She could not deny the urgent appetite her body was experiencing. Determined to put him from her mind, she retired for the night.
Sometime later, she came awake, hearing distressed sobbing coming from further down the corridor. slipping into her dressing gown, she set out to investigate.
Because of his fear of the night terrors, Deacon often lay sleepless for a long time before slipping into a troubled slumber. But, because of the alcohol he'd consumed throughout the evening, he fell into a dead sleep. Then as happened a lot of late, he awoke with a muffled scream on his lips.
It was always the same dream and as always it had ended unfinished. Turning over, he steeled himself for sleep where he hoped for forgetfulness.
He was surrendering again to slumber when he sensed rather than heard the bedroom door open. He lay still, looking through half closed eyes into the dressing table mirror. It was Katrina Salizar who had entered the room.
He lay still, scared she might be sleepwalking. As he watched her, he realised she was awake. She stood looking at him, doing nothing, just looking. Her face was a mask of shadow, so he had no way of knowing what she was thinking.
Katrina contemplated his pale, sweat streaked face as a shaft of moonlight from a chink in the heavy curtains speckled across it. His eyes opened, and he gazed at her featureless face with fear filled apathetic eyes.
She moved out of his range of vision, and he heard a soft rustling sound as she removed her dressing gown. Before he knew what was happening, her warm body lay next to his. The fullness of her breasts pressed into his back as she placed her arms around him. She lay quiet by his side, saying nothing, just holding him.
The warmth of her body and soft hands enfolding him had the opposite effect to what Deacon would have expected. Feeling secure and safe from the apparitions stalking his dreams, he fell into a deep slumber.
He awoke with a start, pulse racing and breath coming in great crucifying sobs. Katrina's arms enfolded him, as she shushed him like she would a baby.
Deacon calmed, realising it was the dream. But of late, it had become so frightful and real. This time was different. This time he had followed the dream to its conclusion, and it frightened him even more. Men in black robes decapitated him.
"Shush, shush." Katrina's voice crooned to him, as she bathed his hot forehead in gentle wet kisses.
As he lay in her arms, her calming influence working, something almost incorporeal crept over him. It was so exquisite, his blood seemed to tingle. A thrill coursed through his body as he gazed into her shadowy features. He moved toward her, but she stopped him. She knew now he would not wait until tomorrow.
"You hunger for my blood. It's what you want isn't it."
It was not what she said, but his own unthinking desire to sink his teeth into the nape of her white, almost translucent neck that shocked Deacon.
Then, in a trance, he slurped greedily at her lifeblood and she had to push him away.
One of his hands slid down her belly, and she looked into his eyes. So much hunger there, raw and burning in his eyes. She caught her breath and pulled his hand away.
"Just lie quiet. Let my strength return. There will be time for everything."
With her hushed words, he let drowsiness seep into his troubled mind. Somewhere outside in the obscurity of the night, or perhaps it was in the room, he fancied he heard the cry of someone in rapture, but it did not stop him falling into a deep, untroubled sleep.
The light grey streaks of dawn were invading the room when he next awoke. Turning to Katrina, he watched as her bare breasts rose and fell in a rhythmic fashion. Her breath came in faint whispers. Fascinated, he reached out and drew small imaginary circles around the areolas of the pink, semi-erect nipples.
She awoke with a sleepy smile and came into his arms, her firm body fitting snug against his. Her eyes widened as his excitement pressed against her.
Their coupling was brief and frenzied, with no endearments or whispered love promises. After, as they lay once more in each other's arms with passion sated, their lovemaking became slow and more demonstrative. Caressing and whispering, they made lazy unhurried love. From this moment, they had an eternity to show each other, and an unbelieving world how strong their love was.
That, which the Book of Revelations had prophesied, was now, and terror would stalk the world. All the nations of the world would kneel before them, or they would perish.