Strigoi

by Tony-Paul de Vissage

  “Ruxanda,” he caught her hands, squeezing them tightly, “for fifteen years I was the prince’s taietor. For fifteen years, I executed those who broke the Principiu, and a good many were aventurieri daring to love deomi.”

  “I know what you did.” Her voice trembled. “I saw how affected you were afterward. Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you have to understand. When I carried out His Majesty’s command, I killed both men and women, and their lovers. Killed them and took their heads back to my prince as proof.”

  He dropped her hands, studying the carpet. For a moment, he couldn’t look at her. “

  I don’t give a damn about Joachim von Blitzensturm, but by the gods, I don’t want that to happen to you.”

  She stared at him, eyes huge, face losing its color.

  “Ruxanda, I don’t want to have to send you away so soon.” He spoke the words neither of them wanted to hear, knowing they sounded like a threat. “I thought to wait until you were older, but if you engage in such foolish behavior again, I’ll be forced to do it now.”

  The look she gave him was stricken.

  “I remember the night I brought you back to the castel. Everyone frightened you, making you cry so piteously. We couldn’t know you’d been abducted from your real family.” He smiled slightly. “Nevertheless, even in your fear, you came to me…held out your little arms and wanted me to take you. Perhaps I reminded you of your real father, I don’t know. All I do know is that I don’t want to let you go before I have to and I don’t want you to make a mistake costing you and that lovelorn young man his life.”

  “It might be your life, too, you know,” she reminded him.

  “I doubt that.” His answer was careless. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sorry, Marek. I guess I’m not as grown-up as I thought.”

  “You’re only seventeen, little sister. You’ve a great deal of growing-up to do, and I want you to live to do it.”

  “I’ll give up Joachim and not think of him again.” Blotting her eyes with the tiny handkerchief, she forced a smile. “If that’s what I’m must do.”

  “You could tell yourself you’re being noble,” he suggested. “And saving his life.”

  She looked as if she’d cry again.

  “It’s for the best, Xandi. Some day, when you fall in love with a deomi boy, and he with you, you’ll wonder how it could ever have been otherwise. You’ll see.”

  He wasn’t prepared for the way she flung herself at him, catching him around the waist and hugging him tightly.

  “Marek, I love you.”

  “Now, now. Enough of that.” He patted her shoulder. “You’ll embarrass me.” Wanting to steer the conversation away from Joachim and another spate of tears, he asked, “Will you come downstairs now? Céline’s ordered a light supper for everyone.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather rest.” She sat down again. “I really am tired, Marek. It was a long journey. Please give la Marquise my apologies.”

  “She’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Since she’s marrying you, we’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted, won’t we?” She leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes.

  “We’ve settled this now? Truly?”

  “Truly. I promise.”

  “I’ll explain to Céline. You rest.” He kissed her forehead and left her.

  On the stairs, he met Céline, with one of the house servants who carried a tray filled with covered dishes.

  “Perhaps your sister doesn’t feel like seeing anyone tonight. Dan explained about her little amour.” She gestured at the serving dishes. “I thought to send a tray to her room.”

  “That’s thoughtful of you, chérie.”

  “It’s because I understand how she feels. I, too, lost my first love. My father banished him from ever setting foot on our estate again, then married me to the late Marquis. I felt as if I’d never love again.”

  She looked up at him, and he saw that even now, those thoughts brought a suspicious gleam to her eyes.

  Do I look that way when I think of my Lily?

  “I never did…until I met you.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his cheek. A finger touched his mouth. “Go see your brothers. They’re in the dining room tucking into the meal as if someone told them we’d be under siege in a few moments. Quels appetites.”

  Turning, she went on up the stairs, followed by the servant, leaving Marek to go to the dining room alone.

  * * *

  In the sitting room of Diana’s bedchamber, Mircea Ravagiu placed the pearl and opal ring on his beloved’s finger. Unlike the bracelet of clan-gems on her arm, its stones were genuine.

  Being aware an aventurieri couldn’t touch another’s clan-gems, she’d questioned him about the bangle, assuming they were part of their disguise. He didn’t tell her he’d had a deomi servant—the same servant who made the false bracelet for the changeling Ruxanda to wear—remove it from her arm and cover the malachite part of the bangle with a thin coating of opal.

  “Your father was my kinsman, Diana. We share the same gems. The pearls are your mother’s, as they were Elsabeta’s.” That was the truth...in a way. The gems had been Elsabeta’s. “She was a distant cousin.”

  He’d also told her Elsabeta’s surname was her own. He had to admit he was surprised by the change coming over the girl after his revelations. Though she still stiffened slightly whenever he took her hand, Diana was struggling valiantly to accept him as a suitor and throw off her former regard of him as her parent—even one as distant as Ravagiu had been. Flinging herself wholeheartedly into attempting to run the château, she took over the household tasks Elsabeta had abandoned in recent months.

  Following his confession that their frequent moves from city to city hadn’t merely been to check on his holdings, but because they were running from their enemies, Mircea stressed that for himself he’d had stayed and fought but he was considering her welfare.

  She saved him from further false debasement by being completely understanding. Further, she astonished him when she demanded to be privy to whatever information he had on her family’s killers.

  Mircea was pleased with Diana’s acceptance of his cause and more than a little startled by her fervor. He’d expected her to show some initial reticence to killing but he soon discovered he’d tapped into a primitive well of warrior blood existing within this sweet child. Apparently a Strigoi by any other name was still a potent force of violence when awakened, even in a female.

  Perhaps I should’ve told her sooner.

  “I wish I were a male aventurieri,” she declared, fists clenched as her eyes met his, blazing with anger at the prince’s injustice in exiling him after he fled for his life. “I’d have fought beside you. Together we’d have destroyed the Strigoisti.”

  “You’re quite the little warrior, aren’t you?” Mircea replied, pressing a kiss on her cheek.

  She responded by leaning against him briefly before pulling away as if remembering they weren’t yet wed.

  Too bad Elsabeta didn’t provoke me sooner. If I’d married Diana earlier, I might’ve gotten her with child. Wouldn’t that destroy Strigoi, to learn his sister carried the whelp of his enemy?

  That made him laugh out loud, then turn the sound into a quieter chuckle as he kissed Diana again.

  There may still be time for that...and kill her while she’s heavy with the brat and drink its blood and hers.

  Why did that thought make such an uncomfortable, almost painful, twist in his vitals? Wasn’t that what he wanted? To hurt that odd-eyed freak?

  Two Strigoi for the price of one.

  He forced his attention away from the pain in his gut, refusing to think of its meaning, wondering how the gods would react to his destruction of the gift they’d bestowed upon him—even if that gift had been wildly unexpected. Did they in their omniscience already know? Were they already planning his punishment?

  He quelled those thought
s and gave attention to what Diana was saying.

  Incensed by his description of the way his own vanjosi had been killed and their bodies burned by the marauding Strigoisti, she was asking him to promise he’d bring her Marek Strigoi’s head when his death was an accomplished fact.

  My little Diana’s truly a marvelous female, Mircea reflected.

  With that thought he’d commissioned the creation of the wedding band embracing her finger. She blushed as she realized what it signified, then gave him a calculating stare as if assessing his capability. Mircea had never had a female look at him so passionlessly. It gave him the oddest sensation, as well as a tremor of the most delicious anticipation.

  “It shall be as you wish, Pa—Mircea.” She gave him a soft little smile.

  Minor slip.

  She called by his given name more and more. He caught her looking at him less and less filially lately. And just now... Though there was no formal betrothal and no ceremony, the moment that ring went on her finger, and he whispered, “I, Mircea Ravagiu, declare you, Diana Suvoi my lawful mate,” they were married as legally as if the Domnitor himself presided over the ceremony.

  It was done. She was his. Pulling her toward him, he whispered the words he’d rehearsed until he had their cadence and meaning perfect to further convince her of his love.

  “Diana, I’ve tried to be patient. You can’t imagine the stress of the past days...Elsabeta leaving and sparing me what would’ve been a most emotional scene...knowing you were at last mature enough for me to speak. You know I desire you. Let me show you how much this very night.”

  She protested slightly but it seemed a token objection. He sensed she was as eager in her own way as he. Her heart had begun racing as he took her hand. Once the ring was on her finger, the blood thudded through her veins so loudly it was almost deafening, brightening her cheeks, flooding her bosom with color. The thought of that bright crimson rushing through the girl’s body was enough to give him total arousal.

  She stared at him.

  Damn, if she doesn’t say something…

  In a moment that blood-sound, her young body with its fresh flower-like scent… He’d forget himself and all his well-meaning intentions. A man could restrain himself only so long.

  Her hands went to his face, pulling his head down to hers. Diana kissed him.

  He let her lips linger on his for a moment before crushing his own mouth against hers, tongue forcing inside, demanding and claiming her. She stiffened, then relaxed, hands sliding from his face to his shoulders, holding his body tightly against hers, his cockstand captured between them. She moved her hips awkwardly, swaying back and forth against him, the firmness of her belly grinding against his cock, crushing its rigidity into her softness, arousing him even more.

  In that moment, he realized Diana had the inborn ability all women possess…that she—the innocent, the virginal—was using it on him. Instead of being the seducer, he was the one being ensnared. With a ferocity he hadn’t unleashed in years, Mircea surrendered.

  Seizing the neck of the Grecian gown, he ripped it from her bosom. He pressed his lips against her breast, springing his fangs, allowing them to rake across the gentle rise, leaving little red bruises on its pale softness. With a harsh gasp Diana threw back her head and let her inhibitions dissolve.

  He cupped her breasts in both hands, thumbs bruising virgin nipples, feeling them tighten. Her body writhed against his, meeting his desire with her own as yet untested lust. When he pressed the points of his teeth against the throbbing vein in the side of her neck, she became perfectly still…didn’t even breathe, just clung to him as if she could no longer stand under her own power.

  He plunged his teeth into the vein, and her blood splashed into his mouth, his cry as passion-filled as Diana’s own. Mircea drank deeply, giving a liquid sigh as he tasted that sweet, unsullied flow. Only as Diana made a soft sound and went limp in his arms did he force himself to stop.

  “Diana?”

  Her eyes were closed, the delicate blue-veined lids nearly white. Fear thudded through him, shaming him even as he worried…had he let his desire overcome his good sense?

  No, damn it, I need her! She can’t be...

  Abruptly, she moved, blinked, and regarded him with passion-drugged eyes.

  “Mircea, my lord.” She raised one hand, entwining it in his hair. “Let us go to bed, my love.”

  It’s done. She’s mine.

  Or…was he hers?

  Lifting her, he carried her to the bed, tearing the remainder of the gown from her body. Her fingers were busy with his own clothes and soon they were naked on the duvet. Diana’s hands slid down his back as he lay against her.

  “I want you inside me.”

  With one hand, he pushed her legs apart, rolling between them, with the other, seized his cock, guiding it into the bare little cleft. She screamed as he thrust, overcoming pain to met his lust-filled movements with ones as enthused, nails lengthening to claws ripping across his back in rhythm to the plunges driving him so deeply their bodies struck together.

  The pain spurred him to further heights of desire. With lust overcoming his regret, Mircea could only marvel how ironic it was that he’d finally found a female matching his own passion, and she was the blood-kin of his worn enemy.

  Chapter 45

  Instead of taking his brandy and cigaritos in the drawing room to which Dan and the twins retired nightly, it became Marek’s habit after dinner to withdraw to the library and read a few chapters from one of its many books. Céline had been delighted to discover he shared her love of literature, though he admitted he’d had little chance to read in recent months.

  “I once wanted to be a scholar,” he confessed. “When my father was killed, I had to discontinue my studies and return home.”

  “The moment I saw you I was certain there was an inquiring mind within that handsome head. Now it’s been confirmed for me.”

  At the moment, he was filling his inquiring mind with the onstage adventures of Tartuffe. Though it was a play and not a book, he found it entertaining and hoped he might some day see a stage version of the story.

  “Marek, may I speak with you?” Ruxanda spoke from the doorway.

  “Of course, Xandi. Come in.” Slipping a satin riband between the pages, he set the book on the table next to his glass of brandy. He took a final puff from his cigarito, then flipped it into the fireplace. “Is something the matter?”

  He thought she appeared slightly flushed.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “That sounds confusing. Come.” He gestured with one hand. “Sit.”

  “May I shut the door?”

  “If you wish.”

  “I di. What I say perhaps shojld be overheard.”

  Marek frowned. That sounded ominous.

  She seated herself in the chair opposite him. Pressing her hands together, she began twisting her fingers. “It’s about that class with Céline’s debutantes.”

  Céline had explained how annually she hosted a gala for the daughters of the nobles under her authority, presenting them to aventurieri société. Those living in Paris attended a class beforehand for instruction on deportment during the presentation. Thinking it’d be a pleasant way for Ruxanda to meet other young aventurieri females and make some friends, she invited her to attend.

  “I thought I heard you say earlier you were looking forward to it.”

  “I was.” She let her eyes wander, one hand going to her mouth. “Now I’m having second thoughts.”

  “What kind of thoughts?”

  “I’m wondering if I should be there.”

  “Céline invited you, Xandi. It’d be rude to back out after you accepted.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Is it proper for a deomi to attend?” She shook her head as if it were difficult for her to explain, and avoided his gaze. “I mean, this is to introduce young aventurieri women to society, so everyone may decide who is marriage material and who isn’t. What if some young ma
n sees me… I don’t want another problem like Joachim.”

  “Don’t you trust yourself?”

  “Of course, I do. Now that I’ve at last realized how dangerous it could be. But it seems a waste of time, and slightly hypocritical if I’m not there for the right reason. Doesn’t it?”

  “You can’t hide from society. That’d seem terribly odd. You need to participate, if for no other reason than to be with youngsters your own age. Both males and females. If someone enquires, I’ll tell him I think you too young to be considering courting, or if you like, you can tell him.”

  “Marek.” The hand she placed on his arm was startlingly gentle, perhaps even a little ironic. “If I tell a young man I think myself too young to be courted, that’ll immediately mark me as being more than mature enough. As my brother, you should speak for me.”

  “A good point,” he acknowledged. “In that case, I say you’ll go to Céline’s classes, make friends with these likable young ladies, attend the ball and have a good time. And not worry about courting or anything of that nature. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” The smile she gave him was more like the old Ruxanda than any expression he’d seen from her in quite some time.

  “It’s all part of the masquerade,” he went on, squeezing her hand. “Tiring, I know, but one day, it’ll be over.”

  Ruxanda’s expression told him she wasn’t looking forward to its termination.

  * * *

  “My dear, do you know what this is?” Mircea held up the elaborately decorated fold of cream-colored paper.

  “At first guess, I’d say it’s a letter of some kind,” Diana replied, leaning over to press a kiss against his mouth. “But from your expression I’m certain it’s something more.”

  “Very much more.” Pulling the girl onto his lap, he proceeded to break the seal in which the duCharne crest was embedded. She toyed with his hair, brushing it back from his face.