Strigoi

by Tony-Paul de Vissage

  Reaching into the pocket of her wrapper, she produced a familiar elongated shape, placing it on the bedside table.

  “For your convenience.” She gave him a smile. “As well as your pleasure, should you wish.”

  At that particular moment, Marek’s body was engaging in a battle with his emotions. I understand Karl-Josef sent this female to distract my mind from my grief while she satisfied my body. My appetite’s been assuaged if not my carnality. I can send her away and not offend my uncle because he knows about Lily.

  The sensuality of the bath was still upon him, however. It’d take very little to arouse him, as deprived as he’d been of his woman for over a year.

  Will it be disloyal to my darling if I take my satisfaction? If I indulge my body, but keep the sensation from touching my heart? Feed the body but not the heart. He could salve any pricks to his conscience that way.

  “Remind me to give my host my gratitude.”

  He put a hand over hers, bringing her wrist to his mouth and licking away the welling blood so the wound began to heal. Dropping her hand, he placed his own on her shoulders and pushed her onto the bed. The feelings the bath had engendered became stronger, stimulated by the blood he’d consumed, as well as seeing the girl’s arousal. Tearing off the robe and flinging it to the floor, Marek climbed onto the bed, straddling her body. The nightshirt tangled at his knees, and he caught at the neck, ripping it downward, freeing his body from the confines of the fine white cloth. Lisl had time for one quick gasp of pleasure as he threw himself upon her.

  * * *

  “Lord Marek. Are you all right, sir?”

  The voice penetrated layers of sleep, ripping him to the surface from a deep, dense, unremembered dream. Marek rolled over, pulling the comforter away from his face.

  “Who’s asking?” he grunted, and covered his head again.

  “Herr Graf was worried,” someone answered. “It’s past midnight, sir, and you’re still abed.”

  “I just went to sleep,” he corrected thickly, “and I want to get back to it.”

  “That was twenty-four hours ago.”

  “You’re mad.” He rolled away from the speaker, burrowing his face into the pillow. “Go away.”

  “You’ve never been one to sleep late, sir,” someone else interjected.

  “Sandor?” Emerging from the comforter’s heavy warmth, Marek forced his eyes open, staring blearily at the two figures standing beside the bed. He blinked and shook his head.

  There were still two figures there. He wasn’t seeing double then.

  “I’m all right,” he mumbled. “Just tired. Been a long journey to this spot. Or don’t you remember that?”

  He forced himself to sit up. Slinging back the coverlet and sheets, he scrambled to his feet, wavering slightly as he tried to keep his balance.

  “Master Marek. If you didn’t want to wear the nightshirt, why didn’t you say so? There was no need to destroy it.”

  Marek’s right hand touched the front of the garment hanging off his shoulders. Fingers walked down the shredded front until they came to an odd, pocket-like appliqué barely holding the shirt together.

  “Apologies...Werner.” He shrugged and nearly lost his balance. “I-it was ’tween me and the female...couldn’t get it off.” He closed his eyes again.

  Why don’t they just go away and let me sleep? Gods, I’m so tired. At the moment he felt as if he’d walked the entire distance from the valley.

  “You didn’t have to do that, sir.” Werner’s faint laugh made him look at the butler again. “You could’ve used the glory-hole.”

  Glory-hole? What’s he yammering about? He must have said it aloud, for the butler caught the front of the nightshirt, pulling it width-wise so the slit in the appliqué parted. Werner slid one hand into the opening.

  “See, sir? You don’t even have to take it off. Your member can go right through.”

  “I say,” Sandor spoke up. “That’s an ingenuous little design.”

  Werner released the nightshirt. Marek looked dumbly at the tattered length of cloth, before thrusting his hand through it from the inside and waggling his fingers vigorously.

  “As you say, Sandor...brilliant...how very convenient...don’t even have to take it off.” He nodded, head moving up and down, not seeming to be able to stop. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  Then his eyes closed again and he was vaguely aware of the two servants rushing to catch him as he collapsed.

  Chapter 26

  When Marek awoke again, it was to find Karl-Josef watching him intently. The Graf had drawn a chair up to the bedside and was sitting there fully-dressed, one expensively-stockinged calf thrown over the other, hands clasped around his knee.

  “Well, my boy. Welcome back.” In Marek’s opinion, he sounded much too jovial. “I was beginning to think you were going to make sleeping your life’s work.”

  Blinking, Marek sat up, discovering Sandor had removed the ragged nightshirt and let him continue his sleep as a ghidaj should, in his bare skin. Tucking the comforter around his waist he rubbed his eyes like a child awakening from a nap, and looked at his uncle.

  “How…how long have I been asleep?” He had to cough several times to clear his throat before the words came out.

  “Two nights and two days. You were exhausted. A combination of too little sleep and too much vigorous exercise.” He cocked his head to one side and smiled. “May I assume it was fairly vigorous?”

  Marek frowned trying to think.

  It had been vigorous, all right. Gods, they’d rolled all over the bed, even going up against the headboard and one of the posters. He’d plumbed Lisl as deeply as he could. His blood had raced and for a few brief moments, spurred on by her bitten-off gasps, he almost convinced himself it was as enjoyable as being with his Lily. He’d been satisfied, to be sure, and barely managed to peel off the condom before falling asleep, with a pang of conscience stabbing into that satisfaction.

  Remembering, he glanced at the bedside table. Nothing there. Someone had removed the evidence of his disloyalty to his lost love.

  “You could say that,” he answered cautiously. “A little.”

  “More than a little, I think,” Karl-Josef replied. “You used the lambskin?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Thanks for that, lad. I’d hoped I wasn’t insulting you by sending you a female in cycle. I wanted you to have someone special, and a female ready to breed is the most passionate.”

  “I appreciated it, uncle. Truly.”

  “Gods, you must be a wonder.” There was a rueful shake of the blond head, and a stern look melting into another smile. “Lisl’s given me notice. She wants to leave my bed and come to yours from now on.”

  “You sent me your own mistress?” Wings of the Oracle. I thought her merely a servant. “Sir, if I’d known, I wouldn’t…”

  “No, my boy.” The Graf still smiled. “Don’t apologize. I assure you I don’t usually do that sort of thing—loaning out a favorite, I mean—but you needed something extraordinary. I talked it over with Lisl, and she agreed. She suggested it, in fact, though I never expected her to react that way.” He shrugged. “Guess I should be jealous, slap you with my glove, pistols at twenty paces and all that, but if you want the girl you may have her. Perhaps it’s time for me to try a deomi again. Variety, you know.”

  “Uh…let me think on that, sir.”

  That was the safest answer for the present. Marek wasn’t certain he wanted another mistress just now, or if he ever would again. He found it difficult to believe Karl-Josef was letting such an exquisite creature go so easily. Was the Graf as callous as he sounded or simply generous in the extreme?

  Lily will always hold my heart. He’d proven last night another woman could give him pleasure, but the sweet intimacy he and Lily had shared was missing, and he doubted it would ever be regained. From now on perhaps he should keep the thoughts of last night foremost when dealing with any female…

  Alwa
ys with my body, but never with my heart. What was gone forever could never be restored. I’ll give them my lust, Lily, but never my love.

  “Well.” The Graf stood up, returning the chair to its place by the fireside. “Since you’re now awake I suggest you get up and greet the night. I’ve had a bath drawn for you.” He gestured behind him to the refilled tub. “If you wish it, breakfast awaits.”

  Marek didn’t move.

  “Come, come! We’ve much to do tonight.” Karl-Josef went to the door as he spoke. “I’ve had Werner lay out one of my suits for you. When you’re presentable, come downstairs. I’ll be waiting.”

  Marek let the door shut before he threw back the covers and got out of bed. This time, he didn’t stagger as he stood up. Taking a deep breath, he realized he felt better than he had for a long time. The sleep, and Lisl, had done him a world of good.

  He walked over to the tub remembering how hot the water had been and how good it had

  felt. He’d remove the sex scent from his body, get dressed, and learn his uncle’s plans.

  He felt very optimistic. Coming to Vienna had been the right choice.

  Chapter 27

  “Werner, have the town coach brought ’round,” Karl-Josef ordered, gesturing with his walking stick. It was a fine object, extra long to suit his height, fashioned of ebony with a gold head studded with brilliants. “Marek, my boy, there are a couple of things I’ve been thinking about.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “First, your title. Ghidaj won’t mean much to Austrian deomi, so I suggest we make you a Graf. That should impress anyone, I think.”

  “Graf Strigoi,” It sounded odd, but he bowed to Karl-Josef’s knowledge of the Viennese. “Very well, sir. What’s the other thing?”

  “Take this.” Karl-Josef held out a strip of leather with a widened center.

  “What is it?” Marek turned the strip over in his hands.

  “It came to me soon after I awoke this evening,” the Graf went on. “Though I told you Mircea Ravagiu isn’t here in Vienna, he might possibly be…in disguise. If that’s so, and it’s announced I’ve taken under my shield a black-haired aventurieri with bi-colored eyes, he’ll have no problem knowing who, and may try to attack you again.”

  “How will this help?” Marek held up the leather, thinking of what Karl-Josef wasn’t saying…that if Ravagiu attacked him, the Graf’s household would suffer, also.

  Karl-Josef’s position might protect him from the prince’s wrath, but he had no doubt Mircea Ravagiu wouldn’t hesitate to attack even the most powerful aventurieri in Vienna to get to an enemy.

  “I think you should hide one of your eyes. That way, no one will know of their dual nature.”

  “But…if I wear an eye patch,” Mamrek protested, “Won’t that bring me to everyone’s attention?”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Haven’t you heard of playing the peacock? Drawing attention to one thing and making all forget the rest? If questioned, no one will remember anything but the patch, not even how you look. If anyone asks how it happened? You’re a warrior and you lost an eye in battle. I’ll introduce you as my foster son and not volunteer your place of birth. That should give you some protection.”

  Marek was willing to give his uncle’s suggestion a try. He’d always respected his elders’ wisdom.

  Placing the strip against his left eye, he tied it around his head. Immediately, half his sight was gone and as he started down the stairs, he nearly ran into the wall.

  “Damn, this may take a little getting used to, sir. I’ve seen some of the old generals with eye patches. How did they ever fight with only half-sight?”

  “It takes great skill,” Karl-Josef agreed. “You don’t have to wear it around here, however. Only when you go in public. As now.”

  “…and a man who can’t see any better than this is supposed to be our savior?” Marek muttered, shaking his head. If that was the case, the aventurieri truly were in danger..

  “The coach’s here, sir,” The kellermeister called to them.

  “Are you planning to show me some of Vienna’s sights tonight, uncle?” Marek seized the newel post in a tight grip, stepping carefully as they started down the stairs. It wouldn’t do to trip and break his neck. “I had thought to ask among our people if there might be any news of Ravagiu passing through.”

  “Later,” the Graf replied. “I think you need to get oriented before you start a search. First, I’m taking you to my tailor. You need clothes of your own.”

  He indicated the garments Marek was wearing, a green-brocaded coat with a gold waistcoat embroidered with scarlet and emerald thread, its mother-of-pearl buttons gleaming in the candlelight. They fit him fairly well, though the trousers were a little large. Under the waistcoat, he was wearing a belt cinched tightly to hold them up.

  “So do we.”

  The twins waited at the bottom of the staircase, dressed in identical suits of sombre blue, snowy white shirts with thick lacy falls at throats and wrists. Their blond hair was combed and clubbed and held in place by satin ribands, and they looked nothing like the bedraggled young men who staggered into the Graf’s kitchen three nights before.

  “Brother, what’s that wrapped around your head?” Andrei asked.

  Briefly, Marek explained.

  “It certainly makes you look forbidding,” Vlad commented, and shrugged. “Guess we can get used to it.”

  “I’m grateful for that,” Marek answered, drily.

  “About those new clothes, Uncle Karl. I don’t know who these belong to.” Vlad ignored his brother, raising the skirts of his coat and doing a turn about the floor. “But he’s certainly not going to want Andrei and me continuing to wear them.”

  “Wait. We haven’t any money,” Marek protested. “You may be giving us refuge, but I can’t expect you to clothe us also.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Karl-Josef told him, placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Your cousin Bogdan gave me the jewel box from one of those miserable little bags. At his urging, I took out several pieces and sent them along to my jeweler.”

  Dan was still keeping a firm grasp on the family purse-strings, meager as they were.

  Marek nodded silently. Good.

  “An account has been opened in your name at my banking house. According to the jeweler, with the current rate of exchange, those pretty trinkets will give you enough Viennese marks to buy a residence here, completely outfit it, clothe everyone in it, and live on the interest for many, many years.” He laughed and waved a hand. “What I don’t understand is why you let yourselves suffer so when you had a small treasure chest with you.”

  “They were Ruxanda’s mother’s,” Marek explained.

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t have wanted her daughter to starve.”

  “Quite frankly, sir, I didn’t think of it,” Marek confessed. “Perhaps I didn’t want to, I don’t know. The thought never entered my head to sell Anike’s jewels.” He looked thoughtful. “I suppose I did quite a few things incorrectly.”

  “No matter.” Karl-Josef shrugged away Marek’s mental vagaries and any embarrassment it caused him. “I kept back a few pieces for the child and sold the rest. Now you and your brothers, and Mistress Ruxanda also, can have decent clothing.”

  “What about Dan?” Andrei asked. “Won’t he need something to wear, too?”

  “Yes,” agreed Andrei. “He really isn’t the sort to run around mother-naked.”

  “I invited your cousin to accompany us but he felt he should stay behind with your sister. He asked that I have copies of your clothing also made for him.” The Markgraf turned a bright gaze on Marek. “He says you and he are of a size.”

  “I suppose that means you two are coming with us.” Marek gave the twins a stern look.

  “Oh, may we, kind sir?” Vlad mocked him with a high-pitched simper. “You’re so generous to your baby brothers.” He nudged his twin in the ribs. “Come on, Andri, race you to the coach.”

  They w
ere at the door and reaching for the handle when Werner, arms laded with coats and hats, swept in and pulled it open.

  “The coach is waiting, my lord.” He directed the words at the Graf, and smiled indulgently as the twins snatched outerware and bounded down the steps, taking them two-at-a-time.

  Karl-Josef didn’t move except to put on his own coat. He began to pull on his gloves.

  “Fetch Lord Strigoi a pair of gloves, Werner, and some for the boys, too.” He gestured at his left hand. “Always keep your hands covered in public. Take your gloves off only in the privacy of your home or when you’re in some place catering to our kind.”

  “Are there such, sir?”

  “You’d be surprised.” Karl-Josef nodded.

  By now, Werner was back. Marek took the gloves from him, pulling them on and smoothing the fingers as he followed Karl-Josef down the steps to the coach.

  Outside, a fine drizzle of rain fell weightlessly on them, shining in the lamplight and dotting Vlad’s fair hair and Andrei’ shoulders with damp pseudo-pearls. Appreciative of the protection of coat and hat, Marek walked behind Karl-Josef at a more sedate pace.

  Waiting until the footman opened the door, he climbed into the coach and settled himself beside his uncle as the twins slouched on the opposite seat, long legs asprawl.

  “Sit up,” he admonished. “You’re supposed to be young gentlemen, even if my plan for hiring someone to teach you manners was diverted.”

  There was a slight jerk as the coach began to move.

  “That can be arranged,” the Graf put in. “I can put the word about you’re seeking a tutor for these two.”

  “No, please,” Andrei groaned, straightening and sitting primly, knees together, hands folded in his lap. “It was bad enough we had to learn to read, do ciphers, and endure university. No tutors, I beg you.”