He ran his tongue over her jugular, his primal instincts coming to the fore. Her words did not filter through to him. When she tried to move, intent on using her tongue to restore him to full size, he held her down. Before she could react, he pressed his fangs into her soft skin. They opened two holes straight into the artery.
She gasped in horror, her whole body tensing as the first drops of her blood passed through his lips. The notion gripped her that she was about to die. Her eyes widened with the terror of that prospect. She made a feeble attempt to fight him off, but he held her down with ease and continued to drink.
Varkal felt a murmur in her heart. When her body fell limp against him, he withdrew at once, afraid he had drunk too much from her. He looked down at her as she lay still on the bed with her eyes closed. A slight panic tugged at his heart when he noticed her chest heaved no longer. Have I gone too far?
She was comatose, and Death had her within its grasp. Varkal cut his wrist and pressed it to her lips. He waited anxiously for his blood to run into her mouth. The repercussions of his actions weighed on his mind. Yet he felt alive with an excitement greater than any he had ever known.
Her eyelids flickered. His heart raced when her tongue slowly licked the blood from her lips. She moaned in pain and clutched at her stomach with both hands. Bringing her knees up, she curled into the foetal position.
He held his wrist over her face as she turned onto her side. His blood dripped into her hair and down her back. He grabbed her chin and yanked her head sideways. Pressing his wrist up against her mouth, he forced her to drink.
Anya needed no further prompting. Once his wrist touched against her tongue, she could not get enough. She drank with the same fervour as he when his father had changed him. In the end, he had to pull away. He knew of the insatiable need of the first thirst. If he did not stop it there, she could kill him.
She fell back on the bed. Weak and near death, she slowly opened her eyes. “Give me more,” she begged. “I beseech you.”
He stepped away from the bed. In desperation, she found the strength to drag herself up. She got onto all fours to face him, every fibre in her body in need of his blood. Gasping for breath, while trying to cope with the intense jolts of pain ripping through her entire being, she reached out to him. “Help me,” she pleaded. “The pain is more than I can bear, my love. Oh God, but it hurts.”
Even for one as cold and as heartless as him, it was hard to stand there and do nothing. He knew he had to remain firm, and allow events to take their course. Memories of his own change flashed before his eyes as clearly as if it were the day before. He remembered the agony, and the desperation, as death approached. Her pain was no different and no less than his, as her soul tried in vain to cling onto its last shreds of humanity.
Then another jolt of pain ran through her, this one so severe that it lifted her off her knees and dumped her down onto the bed. She cried out for it to end as wave after wave rippled through her stomach and coursed to every nerve ending in her body. He could no longer bear to look and turned away, knowing the stomach cramps had hit her. The very memory of it made him shudder.
“Varkal!” she cried out. “Do not leave me this way! Help me!”
“It shall not last,” he said, wanting to intervene. “Try to be strong. You must endure it, as I had to.”
Anya fought hard for breath. Choking, she leaned over the edge of the bed. She cried out again and writhed about, her insides beginning to dissolve. The sounds coming from her made Varkal drop his head in anguish, each one like a blade cutting through him.
He longed for it to end, and tugged at his hair in frustration. Where he had initially thought he would enjoy this spectacle, he felt almost sick to his stomach. She then fell silent, and it seemed her ordeal had come to an end at last. When he looked at her again, she lay still. He waited, pitying her, knowing there was more to come.
It was then that he heard the footsteps on the stairs. Still, he did not take his eyes from her. Even when Gales and two of his men burst into the room, he kept his focus. He moved away and took a position around the bed, closer to her.
Gales just stood there. He put a hand to his mouth, overcome with shock at the image of his wife. She lay there as a corpse with her legs splayed wide, her body smeared with blood and vomit.
Her open crotch showed the evidence of her sexual encounter with the stranger stood over her. Gales’s focus turned to him. The beast has raped and killed her. His blood boiled inside.
Varkal waited for the moment. Standing there naked, it was obvious Gales would draw the conclusion running through his mind.
“You bastard!” Gales cried, drawing his sword. “I shall gut you like a fish!”
Varkal reacted faster than the eye. The boyar could do nothing to fend off the punch that struck him full in the mouth. He fell down to the floor, spitting out blood and a few dislodged teeth.
His men moved quickly to defend him. With swords drawn, they closed in on the intruder. They did not get near him. Varkal deftly dodged their lunges and struck them both down. They fell close to Gales, too stunned to get back up. He stood over the three of them, ready to strike again the moment any of them moved.
Gales looked up at him. The face looked very familiar. When he realised the identity of the stranger, he recoiled in horror. “Varkal Gabrul?”
Varkal grimaced at him. “Be quiet, Gales.”
Gales recalled the stories about the women Varkal had killed. He looked towards the bed, tears welling in his eyes, unable to believe his wife had endured the same fate. It crushed him, and he made no attempt to reach again for his sword.
Varkal forgot him for a moment, and looked again to Anya. She still did not move. He worried about the delay as she had not yet suffered her mortal death.
Gales had lost the will to live. “Why not kill me too?” he said, dropping his head between his knees.
“I said, be quiet!”
“You have taken everything from me,” he whined. “Put me out of my misery. I beseech you.”
Varkal walked up to him and kicked him hard in the stomach. Gales groaned and doubled over in pain. He coughed and choked, all the wind knocked out of him.
“She was never yours to begin with.”
Varkal moved away from him and returned to the side of the bed. He gazed down at the object of his affection, hoping she would soon resume the process.
Gales recovered, and got to his feet. Anya began to stir once more. When she did, Varkal grabbed ahold of her husband.
He dragged Gales by the hair and forced the boyar to stand at the foot of the bed. “I want you to witness this.”
With tears in his eyes, Gales looked on as his wife began to show signs of life again. “She is not dead?” he gasped with relief. “She is not dead.”
Anya started to shake and convulse in the most violent manner. Her nose erupted moments later, and an avalanche of blood gushed down over her breasts and stomach. Gales watched it all. He shrank in horror when she threw her head back and screamed.
The last of the internal organs she did not need dissolved to liquid, leaving her in unimaginable pain. Gales broke down in tears. He could not bear to watch for another moment.
Varkal held him firm. “If you look away, I shall carve you up one piece at a time.”
“Why do you not kill her? And me! It is what you do best. Put us both out of our misery.”
The fluids from Anya’s body flowed out of every orifice. The smell was nauseating. A grisly mixture of blood, fluid, and human waste formed a pool around her on the bed. Her cries deafened them both. Soon she lay still once more.
Gales passed out, though Varkal continued to hold him there. His eyes remained fixed on Anya. “Come on, my love,” he whispered. “Wake up and come to me.”
Her eyes slowly opened. They glowed a bright green and hinted at the wonders she felt inside. Varkal slapped Gales hard about the face. He wanted the boyar to witness his wife’s re-birth as one of the living dead.
Gales came around to see her on all fours on the bed, the murky pool covering her hands and knees. She glared at her husband, oblivious to the mess around her. Eyeing him up as her first meal, she hissed to show her evil intent.
Two long fangs protruded from her mouth. They dripped with the mucous that had forced its way out during her change.
The image of her terrified him. He knew she was no longer his wife. Trembling, he looked to Varkal. “Dear God, what have you done to her?”
Varkal grinned, though his eyes were stone cold. “Who did you say?”
Anya looked at Gales with hate in her eyes. She felt all the years of resentment and discontent building inside. When she was seventeen, she never had much choice. She was a Craioveanu. Her father wanted the union with the Gales family.
Everything had changed now, and she was in total control. Never again would she have to share a bed with this pitiable man. Never again would she feel the sharp end of his tongue, or his fist. The memories festered inside her. He was going to pay for it all. She intended to tear him limb from limb.
“Anya?” he said, seeing the look in her eyes.
In an instant, she was upon him. She bit hard into his throat, his blood pumping fast into her veins and through her body. Every muscle and sinew in her small frame tightened. Her breasts swelled larger than they had ever been before. She groaned as her nipples grew large, and firm, and erect. Highly aroused, juices leaked from between her legs.
Varkal bit into the inside of one of his thighs. They drank Gales dry in quick time. His bones crunched and broke from the strength of their grip on him.
The other men watched the gruesome spectacle. Instinct told them to run, but their fear paralysed them. In a moment, the vampires turned on them too. The two men endured the same agonising end as the monsters relieved them of every drop of blood in their bodies.
When they finished, Anya pulled Varkal down to the floor. Her first kills left her in a state of high arousal, and she eyed his fresh erection. Taking him in her mouth, she expertly manipulated him to orgasm. The sensation was so exquisite he almost passed out. He sighed and closed his eyes, fully contented.
Though she hinted she wanted the same from him, he sat up rigidly, hearing the call from his father. She heard it, too, and shot him a fearful glance. They had to go. It was time to pay the piper.
Chapter 32
WALLACHIA. THE ROOFTOPS OF
THE PALACE AT TIRGOVISTE.
MARCH, 1503.
A SHORT TIME LATER THE SAME NIGHT.
Varkal had dreaded this moment. Even before he changed Anya, he feared the reaction of his father. She sensed his fear, and it prompted the same in her. It was not all that scared her. So many new sights, sounds, and smells were hitting her all at once, and she did not know how to deal with it. She needed her lover’s guidance and help, but it would not be forthcoming. He had far more pressing matters on his mind. She caught bare glimpses of these and held onto his hand for the short journey to the palace. The power of flight was new to her, and scared her as much as the prospect of meeting Dracula, a prospect she had suddenly become only too aware of.
He and Ilona waited on the rooftops at the palace. She had answered his call at once and arrived before the others. So far, her husband had not spoken. He looked out into the darkness of the night and seethed with anger.
Varkal felt this the closer he got to the palace. His father knew well what he had done. He worried now that Dracula was about to vent his anger on him. “Do not be afraid,” he whispered to Anya. “This is not your doing.”
“What might he do?” she asked.
“We shall know soon enough.”
Dracula listened to them talk. Varkal did not realise the extent of his father’s wrath. That only became clear when he touched down beside him. Dracula launched at him and dealt his son a powerful blow to the jaw. Varkal crashed down against the tiles. Some of them broke loose and dropped to the courtyard below. Dracula then turned his attention to Anya. He grabbed her by the hair and dangled her over the edge. Anya cried out at the sudden shock. She knew he intended to kill her.
He drew his sword and raised it high above his head. Varkal scrambled to his feet. In a moment, his father was going to behead the woman he loved.
“No, Father! Do not harm her!”
Dracula turned his head to look at his son. “Why should I spare her life?”
“For the reason I need and want her at my side. I have always wanted her.”
“Once more, you have defied me.”
“Father, I beg you. Do not harm her. Vent your anger on me.”
“Oh, I shall. Perhaps this is the lesson you are in need of.”
Varkal threw himself down at his father’s feet. “Do not take her from me,” he pleaded. “You have Ilona. I have no one, save Anya.”
If Dracula cared, he did not show it.
“I beseech you to allow her to remain with us. I need her by my side.”
“The power to convert a mortal lies with me,” Dracula said. “I have stated this.”
“I understand,” Varkal replied, lowering his head.
“Then why have you such little regard for what I command?”
“I needed a companion. I cannot bear to be alone another night.”
“The only way I can punish this act, is to kill her. It is what I must do.”
Anya cried out again as the roots of her hair started to come loose. She looked down at Varkal as he pleaded for her life. In a moment, her time as a vampire seemed doomed to end as soon as it had begun.
“Then you should kill me, too,” Varkal said. “For without her, I have no desire to live on.”
Dracula sighed hard. He could see how much this woman meant to his son. “What am I to do?”
“I beg you, My Lord,” Anya gasped. “Allow me to remain with Varkal. He is my man.”
Dracula glared at her. Ilona sent her a quick message to remain quiet.
“If I allow this, I am giving you all license to go against my word any occasion you choose.”
“It shall not happen, Father. That I swear.”
Dracula looked to his wife. “What do you feel over this?”
It shocked Ilona that he might consult her for an opinion. He had never done so before. She looked down at Varkal, and then at Anya. “It ails me that your son does not heed your words.”
Varkal looked at her, still on hands and knees. He sensed she was about to use this as a chance to wound him for all the times he had vexed her.
“The choice is yours,” Dracula told her. “Does she live, or die?”
A stony silence followed. Ilona heard Varkal’s voice calling out to her. He begged her to allow Anya to remain.
“Be quiet, Varkal,” his father warned. He turned to his wife. “Well?”
Ilona took a deep breath. “Allow her to remain with us.”
“Very well.” He threw Anya down against the wet slate. She slid at first, but Varkal reached out and pulled her into his arms.
“This had best not happen again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” Varkal said, nodding. “I swear it.”
“It applies to you all,” he warned. “I shall not be so lenient the next occasion this happens. Unless I grant my permission, only I shall add to our number.”
The two women nodded their heads.
“You have an opportunity to prove your worth,” Dracula said to Anya.
“You have something on your mind, Husband?” Ilona asked him.
“Yes, we leave at once for Tinganu.”
“What is there for us?” Varkal wondered.
“It is where your father’s brother is buried,” Ilona said.
Dracula nodded that it was true. “This night, Radu shall walk once more among the living.”
Later that night, the four of them gathered at Radu’s grave. Dracula stood there in silence for a time, looking down at the headstone. Seeing Radu’s name chiselled in the stone brought back many me
mories of his brother, none of which were good. Even as children sharing a cell in a Turkish prison—held there to ensure their father’s allegiance to the sultan—he had not liked Radu. He grimaced at the very thought of those days.
The others waited in total silence. The only sound, other than the breeze, was the low whining of the thirteen girls. They all lived in the litter of villages nearby. The vampires had dragged them from their beds. Not a single soul knew of their plight.
They bit each of the girls, leaving them all half-conscious and subdued, but sickly and in need of the vampire’s blood. Some had already begun to sweat and showed signs of the virus from the saliva in the bites they had received. The vampires bound them together on their knees, six each side of the grave. The thirteenth and last knelt by herself, facing the headstone. Ilona stood behind her. Varkal and Anya took their place on the right side, with Dracula stood opposite.
“It is time,” he said to the night breeze.
The vampires waited. In a moment, Lucifer appeared before them. Only Dracula had ever had contact with him prior to this occasion, and his appearance terrified the others. They had all imagined this moment, but it had not prepared them for the reality of seeing him for real. Each of them battled their fears, knowing it would not be too wise to irritate him.
Lucifer took a position behind the headstone where he towered over the rest of the group. He felt the fear in the other three vampires, but thought little of it. They were right to fear him. It pleased him to see the girls on their knees all around. Dracula had met his price.
“Let us begin,” he said.
He began the ritual. At his behest, Ilona cut the throat of the girl she stood behind. Blood gushed from the wound and down over the girl’s simple white slip. The cut was deep and clean and brought instant death. With her knee, Ilona pushed the girl forward. She fell face-down onto the grave, her legs twitching for a moment before her body fell still.
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 169