Dark Rapture

by Hauf, Michele

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Gary Rose flipped his electric guitar over his back and stepped over a tangle of electrical cords that ran beneath his feet. He grabbed Vince by the arm.

  The singer shrugged. “Sorry man, I gotta run.” Vince’s body jittered as he swayed from foot to foot, unable as of late to keep still, and finding even to his own surprise his energy level was near uncontrollable at times. “I told you earlier I’m outta here at midnight.”

  “Yeah, I forgot.” Gary looked over Vince’s shoulder, seeing Sebastian stood next to his sister, Scarlet, off beyond the tangle of electrical wires and camera equipment. He gestured for him to join them.

  Sebastian nodded toward the tower door as he joined the men. “You go, Vince.” His voice was cool and buttered with the barest of a French accent. “There are some other shots we can do right now. Like Gary’s solo. Everything’s cool.”

  “I’m already gone.” Vince tossed the sweat-drenched towel over Gary’s shoulder. “Catch ya later, guys!” He waved to the filming crew and the other two band members. Scott, the drummer, did a ba-dum-da on the drums and Gary went back to his position beneath the red lights.

  Vince breezed past Scarlet, giving her cheek a quick stroke with the back of his hand as he did. A glance back toward the crew and he noticed the tension square Sebastian’s jaw as he witnessed him touching his girlfriend.

  Scarlet shrugged away Vince’s hand. “Leaving so soon?”

  “Got things to do. Hey, you read those diaries yet?”

  “Started last night. They begin in the thirteenth century. Fascinating stuff.”

  “Yeah, let me know if you discover anything about my father. See ya later.” Vince swung the tower door wide and stepped into the castle.

  “I will.” Scarlet waved to Vince’s retreating back.

  But she had no intention of skipping ahead in the ancient leather-bound diaries Vince had loaned her. Found in the family crypt in the basement of Vince’s house, and written in flowing French script, Vince had asked Scarlet to browse through them, knowing she was familiar with the language. He had hopes of finding clues to his father’s identity. A father he had never known, though he was aware the vampire nature had been passed on to him through his father’s blood.

  And while Scarlet was eager to help Vince, she also entertained her own secret hopes. Maybe somewhere in the history of Vince’s family the answers she sought would be revealed. Elusive answers, whose quest had haunted her for months.

  There had to be more to the vampire life she now led. Even after being transformed by Sebastian a year ago, Scarlet just felt so…mortal.

  “There is more,” she whispered. “And I will find out.”

  ***

  Stepping out of the tightly wound stairway that circled the north tower, Scarlet flicked the lighter she always carried in her jacket pocket and ignited a candle in one of the hallway sconces. The cherub holding the candle smiled gratefully as the warm flame caressed its face.

  Only the study, the kitchen and bathroom, and the studio Sebastian used to practice in had been electrically wired. Their home had been built at the turn of the century by a wealthy historian. An exact replica of a fourteenth century castle, though with modern plumbing. Sebastian was reluctant to electrically wire the rest of the castle, finding candlelight, as he stated so frequently, much more romantic. Always the romantic, Scarlet thought.

  I give you the moon and the stars. My blood runs through your veins and my life is yours...

  Words spoken a year ago by Sebastian as he promised to love her forever in their vampire eternity. And Scarlet loved him with every inch of her being.

  They were literally soul mates.

  But lately the desire to discover more had begun to make Scarlet question Sebastian’s lifestyle. He had seemed so normal when she first met him. A vampire? Suppose so. But not at all like the fictional vampires she had read about. He could endure the sun’s heat, look at crosses, even enter churches. As could she. Besides drinking blood they both led such normal, mundane lives.

  Where were the fantastic vampire powers? Could she fly? She’d yet to see Sebastian take to wing, or feel herself suddenly weightless come a gust of strong wind. What about changing into bats and all that Dracula stuff? Wasn’t any of it true?

  The fact she walked this earth as an immortal creature most believed only myth had to mean something. Scarlet was determined to find out what that something was. And until she did, she would not feel completely whole.

  “Scarlet?”

  Sebastian’s leather boots clicked across the stone floor. Her lover’s dark eyes searched hers as he drew her into his arms. She pressed tight against his body, divining his growing desires in the form of an uncontrollable moan from Sebastian. “Finished already?”

  “Just taking a break. Thought I’d take advantage of Gary’s broken guitar string and come find you.” He stepped backward, guiding them both through their opened bedroom door.

  The harsh lights they used for filming Wild Child’s video seeped over the battlements and crept into the room by way of the wide bay window set into the alcove. They cast a hazy glow across the stone floor and shimmered across the mica-flecked stone walls.

  “Can’t keep your hands off me, eh DelaCourte?” Scarlet turned in Sebastian’s embrace and let her chin drop to her chest as the comforting touch of his hands smoothed over her shoulders.

  “Any objections?”

  “No, it has been more than an hour since you last touched me. I was beginning to feel neglected.”

  She pressed her back against his body, and from behind he floated his fingers down her flowered silk dress and to her waist, producing a tingling thrill inside her blood. Streams of midnight hair fell away from her neck as she tilted her head to the side. His hands encircled her waist, slipping back and away every so often, as if he was losing hold, or maybe, just teasing.

  Exhaling deeply, Scarlet closed her eyes as he cupped her breasts. His touch, so delicate, almost invisible, always rendered her helpless. No man had ever such power over her senses. She dropped her hands to her sides, allowing Sebastian free reign over her shivering flesh.

  The fine feathery softness of his hair whispered across her cheek as his lips touched the exposed vein on her neck, teasing and granting promises of divine passion. They hovered, and then pressed, then disappeared, and touched.

  A prick of sharpness touched her neck. Scarlet flashed her eyes open to meet her lover’s gaze. The vanity mirror reflected her image, her dress unbuttoned to reveal the firm mounds of her breasts, her hair flipped to the side and Sebastian’s devilish-little-boy smile.

  “You think so?” she teased.

  “Just a taste?” He drew his fangs across her skin.

  Her body flamed with a thousand tiny sparks. Deny Sebastian a thing? Never. Scarlet pressed her palms over his hands, squeezing his fingers around her breasts. “If you insist—”

  “Baz!”

  The red slash of the searchlight crossed back and forth before the window. Gary stood above on the roof, Scarlet knew.

  “He’s on to me,” Sebastian said with a heavy sigh. “We’re going to have to find a girlfriend for your brother. The man has too much time on his hands.”

  “Sebastian!”

  Scarlet reluctantly left Sebastian’s embrace and leaned out the open window. “He’s coming! Keep your undies on!”

  “Keep your undies on?” Sebastian served her a questioning lift of his brow.

  “Yep.” She sashayed toward him, and planted a kiss on his thick lower lip. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll be keeping mine on for very long.”

  “Cheríe, you vixen. You think I’ll be able to work now with that image in my mind?”

  She pushed him toward the door, loving every minute she could tease her lover. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Chapter Two

  Cantabria Mountains, Spain - 13th Century

  “She’s arrived! By the saints, hurry, we must ready her for the master.
”

  Paquita tucked her apron ties into the back of her skirt and brushed her floured hands across the coarse wool. “Put the gooseberry pies into the hearth and run below and bring up the elderberry wine. I must have a look over the child before we feed her to the beast.”

  ***

  Esmarelda’s eyes followed the outside walls of the massive castle up to the battlements, fortified with spiked timbers and wedges of broken glass. She’d seen one other castle in her lifetime, in Palencia on her way to the farm with Papa. Castle Trastamara put the other to shame. Its fortress walls stretched far down the treacherous mountainside they had traveled and was surrounded by a wide moat on the south side; the north side, set on a cliff, plunged straight to hell, as Rogero had so eloquently put it.

  “Rogero!” A friendly shout tunneled out one of the murder holes set into the castle portico. Slowly the crossed iron gate rose and Esmarelda was delivered into the inner walls.

  She pulled at the dress she wore. It was of balding crimson velvet with slashed sleeves to reveal beneath her threadbare silver gown. Once her mother’s wedding dress, she had preserved it in hopes Esmarelda would some day wear it. “I wish you were here, Mama.”

  A plump red face appeared to help Esmarelda down from Rogero’s horse. “Step down, missy, and let me have a look over ye. Don’t fright, dear. I’m quite harmless.”

  The woman brushed her swollen hands over her flour dusted apron and tossed a wink to Rogero. Taking a deep breath and drawing on the inner strength that had been planted by her father, Esmarelda stepped onto the grounds.

  “You’ll be takin’ the girl inside.” A scrawny young man in wilted olive hose appeared as Esmarelda was about to speak. “The master wishes to see her.”

  Esmarelda looked to the old woman who rolled her eyes and huffed. She threaded an arm through hers and led her inside.

  “Very well. We’ll be in a hurry this fine evening, are we? Don’t worry, child, he may scare ye a bit, but ‘tis just his way. You look to be a strong young lass.” She squeezed Esmarelda’s upper arm gently which was taut with a layer of muscle from farm work. “I lay bets Rogero won’t be matching his wager this time.”

  Not having the slightest clue as to what the woman spoke about, Esmarelda was quickly led through the entry hall and down a spiraling stair. She barely had time to find her breath when the woman stopped beneath a torch and gestured to the door beyond.

  “My name is Paquita,” she said and squeezed Esmarelda’s hand. “I am the castle chatelaine. I do the cooking and the cleaning and keep the entire castle in order. If you need something you come to me. Except…” She swallowed and the entire bag of flesh beneath her chin jiggled. “…if ye have concerns regarding the master. I can be of no help to ye there.”

  ***

  The thick iron-banded door swung open and Paquita led Esmarelda down another set of stairs into a circular chamber lighted with six hissing torches. There were a handful of men, possibly servants, one with a ledger and quill, others holding weapons and armor and three women, all of them older, each bearing water jugs and wearing dull colors.

  As her eyes adjusted to the light, Esmarelda looked around, smiling to each person she saw. They immediately looked to the floor and she in turn glanced away. She thought it very strange the things Paquita had said about her future husband. And with the general way things had gone so far she wondered what, exactly, her father had gotten her into.

  She wondered no longer as she heard a husky baritone voice behind her. She spun around to see a thin, elegant young man seated on a throne set high upon four steps.

  “Step forward,” he said in a voice serrated and syrupy at the same time. He remained quiet as his deep black eyes looked her over.

  Too intrigued to feel on display, Esmarelda took two steps forward. He sat with one leg propped over the arm of his carved mahogany throne, chin in hand, his elbow resting on the other chair arm. Dressed entirely in black, he appeared quite gaunt. He wore a short black doublet striped in gray leather, his leather chausses were studded with silver rivets. A shower of smooth raven hair spilled across his shoulders and down to his elbows, matching perfectly the darkness in his eyes. A half-grin fixed on his pale face and a glint of scarlet flashed as the ring on his finger caught the torchlight.

  At first glance one would never think to call him attractive, Esmarelda mused. But with a second and perhaps even third glance she began to feel the intrigue, the curiosity to learn more about this elegant and enticing stranger.

  “Turn around,” he said, motioning with his fingers.

  With all eyes in the room on her, Esmarelda reluctantly turned. The women’s heads remained bowed so she could not see their eyes. The men, on the other hand, boldly looked her over as she turned. Faltering only once, she came back face to face with the prince. It was unnerving, this inspection of sorts, but she held her head high, hoping to impress upon the prince and all watching she was not afraid.

  Though, she was, just a bit.

  Her father had once told her all men are the same. The kings and queens, the dukes and knights, they were all born into the world the same as the common man. Each came naked and not knowing more than to suckle from their mother and to piss when they pleased.

  Esmarelda smiled to imagine the stout lackey who stood directly behind the prince as a naked babe in his mother’s arms.

  “Quite a lovely smile.”

  The prince’s words brought her back to reality. She felt an embarrassing blush heat her cheeks.

  “But what of the rest of you?” The prince clapped his hands together and gestured to the lackey standing to Esmarelda’s right. He approached and before she knew what was happening, Esmarelda felt the cool rush of air as the man ripped the bodice of her dress away, revealing her naked breasts to the entire room. Quickly she clutched her arms to her chest. But then she noticed the prince’s look. He was pleased.

  Embarrassed as she was, Esmarelda forced herself to put her arms down. He was testing her. And she would not fail. She stood proud before the prince, feeling her nipples pucker to rigid alertness under the discomforting scrutiny.

  The prince leaned forward in his chair, his hand going to his chin as his eyebrow rose in an elegant arch. “Excellent. Paquita, prepare her. We shall wed at the stroke of midnight.”

  Paquita came up behind Esmarelda and slipped an arm around her, pulling her torn bodice over her breasts. As they made way back up the stairs, Esmarelda heard the chatelaine mutter, “Always at midnight.”

  ***

  Los Angeles - Present day

  A longing resided deep within her. An emptiness that needed fulfillment. She was determined to discover the truth about herself. How that would happen though, she wasn’t sure.

  “Maybe in here,” Scarlet said a she set the diary aside. “I hope.”

  Though she and Sebastian were not in-born vampires like Vince—a vampire sired by a vampire and born of a mortal woman—she prayed Vince’s family history would provide clues to her own vampirism. As it was, she knew nothing of her kind other than what Sebastian had taught her. Which was very little.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, Scarlet strode down the hallway and into her bedroom and was immediately overtaken by the music that filled the air. Sebastian sat on the bed practicing one of the many flamenco selections he had chosen for his new album. She knelt on the floor before him, resting her cheek on his suede-covered knee. He didn’t stop playing, only smiled, and closed his eyes in satisfaction as his hands danced swiftly over the strings and his head nodded to the beat.

  Scarlet closed her eyes, allowing herself to be transported by his magic. A magic that spun her into a dream world of Spanish senoritas dressed in ruffled dresses with long trains and elegant senores, their dark eyes shaded beneath their black Cordoban hats, serenading their ladies from below an opened window.

  Sebastian’s music never failed to seduce. It seeped through Scarlet’s flesh and traveled her veins on a one-way collision course to her heart. He w
as an exquisite lover, gentle and fierce, giving and masterful. But the physical love he gave her could never match the feeling of unbounded freedom she experienced when caught in the sensuous rhythm of his music.

  He began a rapid rasgueado with successive flicks of his fingers across the strings and Scarlet stood, her mind tangled in a dream. She took his long raven hair into her fingers. It slipped over her skin like an elusive black seal skimming just beneath the surface of a wishing pool. She ran her lips across the silken strands, taking in the sweet, cinnamon spice that cloaked his body like a gentle mist.

  Sebastian tilted his head back to receive her kiss, all the while, never missing a single stroke. His lips opened to Scarlet’s demands. Music and passion intertwined and Scarlet was unable to fight the commands Sebastian’s guitar demanded of her body. She danced around in front of him and knelt on the bed, cupping his face in her hands and kissed him deeply, bringing his music to a halt.

  “Chèrie,” he spoke into her mouth as she teased her tongue across his thick lower lip. “I will never get this song perfected if you do that.”

  “Mmm, that’s all right. You’ve plenty time to work on it later.” She ground her hips forward, but the guitar prevented her from feeling her lover’s excitement. “What do you call that one? It’s so sensuous. It makes me want to kiss you, and to think of things better said only in whispers.” She demonstrated by blowing gently in his ear.

  “Dançar com a Imortalidade.”

  Scarlet sat on her knees and pulled a finger across the strings of Sebastian’s guitar, which he affectionately called, Lucia. Lucia meaning Bringer of Light, as he had once explained to her. “Even sounds sensuous. Is that Spanish?”

  “Portuguese, my love. It means; To Dance With Immortality.”

  “Portuguese?” She wrinkled her nose. “Where did you pick that up?”

  He shrugged. “I spent some time in Portugal many years ago. It’s not so strange. I am half Portuguese, you know that.”