Enttu collapsed out of exhaustion and blood loss, allowing his body to recover and heal. He lay semi-conscious, with his face buried in the pasture. It took about a good five minutes before the wound in his calf had coagulated on its own, and then began to fade away into nothing but a nasty plum-colored bruise. His two companions came to his side and assisted him back on his feet.
“What the fuck was that?!” Marc shook him by his arm. The last dregs of pain were subsiding in his lower leg.
“That thing, the last time I had seen something even akin to it, was back in 1894, when I had to kill an underground beast that resided in the deep subterranean caves of where Meytros Estates are now built upon. The second creature like that was in the catacombs a good hundred feet underneath the still-standing Magalesti cathedral. Even I still don’t have a clue how they reached my land, but apparently that bastard, Magalesti himself, was aware of it,”
Vittorio noticed how his companion’s voice seethed whenever he mentioned the infamous priest, whose history was now annotated in textbooks, and taught in classrooms to Romanian youth.
“I take it you must have known the Great Imposter himself, Tepes?” he inquired, lighting up a post-battle cigarette, offering the dhampir and Marc one.
“Indeed. He murdered my wife, his own daughter, after he murdered me. I should have stayed dead. I would have died at the ripe early age of 29 years.”
“But you are a vampire, aren’t you immortal?”
“I was staked through the heart. That can kill any one of our kind, besides decapitation and sunlight. I wouldn’t say we are immortal, save for in the sense of a longevity where one never experiences violence. As a dhampir, I should have aged faster than normal vampires. I have remained the same way now as when I should have died,”
“I wish I could stay looking like Fabio forever,” said Marc, who was then making smoke rings with his mouth.
The three men smoked silently, when Marc noticed a flash of light from over a hill up ahead.
“You guys noticed that, right?”
“I did, it looked like lightning,” said Enttu. He stamped out his cigarette.
They followed the intermittent flashing, and hiked up the hill, careful to be as quiet as possible. Enttu put a finger to his mouth to signal silence.
Up ahead in an open meadow, there were catatonic people limping around in circles and loops, there had to be around thirty or forty, and they were being herded into a single file line by a short female figure, fully cloaked in a black robe of thick linen. She wore no shoes, and appeared to just barely hover above the air, motioning and grabbing each of the people by the arm, to fall into one moving ran. Where the flash came from, there was a black slit in the air, and beside it, an attractive man with an angular face, stark white skin, and wavy black hair that fell to his neck. His eyes were crystalline emeralds, and his body language hinted that he was up to some nefarious business. Enttu realized that the people roaming aimlessly were actually the same reanimated corpses from the previous closed case. They each possessed the same long frontal fangs, and the meadow began to reek of bloated decay and fermented blood. There were too many of them to dare to attempt a violent engagement with, against the three detectives, two of them mortal, and one weakened dhampir.
“We need to retreat,” he whispered to his friends. His strength always shocked them both, and he did so again when he grabbed them both and carried them in each arm, whilst protecting them with his cape.
“What the fuck, Tepes, that’s so gay!” Vittorio protested, as Enttu set them both down next to their motorbikes by the side of the road.
“As opposed to becoming the next meal for Narciso Tepes over there?” Enttu came back, with a raised brow of disapproval.
Drowsiness from loss of blood was creeping up on him soon. Blood ran down the side of his face, and some of it stained his white button down from where his battle wounds had healed on their own. Him and Vittorio were disheveled from the fight and desperately needed to wash off the stench of demonic bug juice.
Back in the wooded residence where she assumed she was now being held prisoner by the vampire, Regina stepped outside into an empty hallway, with a polished marble floor, the walls made of sculpted cinder, illuminated by candelabras every ten feet or so. She wore the robe Enttu/Stefan had given her, even though anxiety bubbled up in waves of nausea inside of her. The bedroom she stayed at was directly down the hall, and she tip-toed her way back inside. She had immediately walked over to retrieve her phone and purse, but much to her displeasure, she had no bars for signal, and it was 10 PM.
There was a nightstand next to the bed made of black wood, draped over with a red taffeta, and there was an oval mirror with a silver frame above the nightstand. She looked at herself for the first time in forever and noticed how gaunt she looked. Her face was pale, and she checked the severity of her injuries. Surely enough, she had a plum bruise on the left side of her neck that looked like a singular puncture wound, but it had since closed. On her stomach, she peeled back the gauze bandage to reveal another healing puncture wound, and on the right side of her upper thigh, she noticed a deep incision that ran down its entire length. It had since healed up, and dried to a purple scab, with no pus or infection forming anywhere.
For the rest of the night she could not sleep and got up again to explore the residence of the vampire. The physical lack of work made her feel inadequate and stir-crazy. She went downstairs to a hall that had four doors on either side and walked into an open door of a Victorian-era library and office area. She had picked a few random books to skim through to pass the time, hoping that reading would put her to sleep. But since almost every text was in Romanian except for a copy of the Declaration of Independence, and a mundane English textbook, she grew bored after almost two hours.
Around the desk, she noticed the blonde vampire had left his wallet. and out of curiosity, she checked his classified information. Indeed, he had a driver’s license that read his full name, and as her instinctive guess would have it, indeed his name was Enttu Stefan Montpelier Tepes. His date of birth was 11-OCT-1865, a fairly-balanced Libra man with expensive taste. He had one Visa debit and credit card, and an old photograph of the long-haired woman she had recognized from her dream in the Alucard Room. She slid open the pull-out drawer under the table of the desk. In here, he had his badge, his duty handcuffs, and his unit-issued pistol, an M-9 Beretta. She grabbed it, and went back into the bedroom, where she would eventually linger off the sleep with it under her pillow. If Enttu were to come back, and it did turn out that he had an ulterior motive, at least she stood a fighting chance. Much to her chagrin, the bedroom door possessed no lock, so all she could do was pray for her own strength and her life. She curled up in silent tears, uncertain of the near future, completely at the mercy of this real, touchable, existing vampire.
It was almost 1 in the morning when Enttu had made it back after the events of the night, and he was really worried about leaving Regina all by herself for that duration of time. She was now in danger, more than ever, and he had driven as fast as he could to ensure he got back to her in a justifiable time. He conducted a quick rove of the perimeter of his home to make sure there were no signs of forced visible entry. Weakness of loss of blood was overcoming him, and he resigned to go back inside. He undid his bandana hair tie, and his hair gracefully fell over his shoulders. His legs were growing weak and tingling with increasing numbness.
Upon breaching the threshold, he stumbled forward on his knees onto the marble floor and supported himself on his palms. He panted audibly, and his hyper aural hearing was intensified by his hunger and provoked an excruciating migraine. With glowing eyes, and palpitating veins bulging in his neck and forehead, he painfully trudged down to the cellar, and reached the cold pantry in time. He grabbed a cold pack of blood that was donated to him via the police department’s deal they struck with the blood bank. Essentially, this was his form of p
ayment for his labor and patrol.
He poured the cold blood into a wine glass, and thirstily drank the substance down in one gulp. A bit of color returned to his cheeks and he relished in the euphoric tingling in his veins as the blood was absorbed inside of him. All his five senses were enlivened, and his sixth sense, his supernatural powers were replenished to their fullest potential. The cellar smelled of aged wood, and the temperature down here was stagnant and dank. Other than the moonlight pouring in the slit of the window, illuminating the rest of the tools and antiques he kept in storage collecting dust, he kept it dark in here. After recovery and the high of the liquid drug wearing off, he went to rinse off the filth of battle, letting the hot waters rinse away the dried blood from his fit, athletic naked body, and it swirled red down the drain. When he was done, and dried off, he went to check on the girl he assumed asleep, feeling so inclined to protect even though he had to remain stoic about it.
Regina had managed to get a bar of signal, and she had texted her friend Cassandra of what had happened. It was made known that her shift was covered down until her recovery, and that the company knew about what happened to her.
“Wait, who told you about it? I thought no one knew or even noticed that I disappeared!”
Of course, without need of explanation, the vampire did or had affiliation with whomever divulged the details of her absence.
“Some guy name Vittorio,” read the message that she got back in return.
The air that fell around her was frigid, and she could see her breath in it with what little illumination the moonlight offered. Her feet slipped into a pair of outdated, austere loafers that she found in the corner of the bedroom, before she pried the window of the room open, and snuck out into the unknown, infinite depths of the obscure forest. She crossed her arms to preserve warmth, and continued, away from the vampire’s domain, hoping that soon, she’d come across a road and be able to get assistance as a hitchhiker. The leaves crunched beneath her shoes, as she tip-toed nervously through the wooden terrain that rose with the aroma of humus and chlorophyll. She only brought along her phone and the Beretta and escaped with only that, and her precious life. Subtle breezes fragranced with lavender reached the tip of her nose, and she inhaled the sweet perfume with gratefulness. It piqued her curiosity as to where the lavender came from. The silence in the deep came to her as a low hum that drew her closer and closer where the fragrance became stronger. The leaves under her feet became click-clacks when she reached a beautifully arched bridge made of wood and stone, that suspended over a gentle but dark, glistening brook.
The bridge was adorned with canopies of hanging vines of berries, and the most gorgeous blooms of hydrangea, lavender, and shrubs of hanging red roses. Beyond the bridge, there was a lilac glow that she decided to follow, and once she had crossed over, she found herself in a circular court surrounded by glowing lavender blooms overhead, all around, and petals covering the ground. Here, there was a sculpture of a weeping angel, and two gargoyles on either side about ten feet away. She touched the weeping angel, feeling the cool stone under her delicate touch, and the coldness licked the tips of her fingers. The nostalgic smell of the purple blooms brought her back to her bygone reverie that she had had when within her first days of arrival. Could this have been the field that she got lost amongst? If it was, then so much would be making sense at this moment.
It was then that the glowing lavender dimmed, and a blue oppressive darkness ebbed around her. Rising fear assailed her and arrested her judgment. Her eyes darted nervously to either side, anticipating the evil lurking in her imaginative premonitions. When she shifted back away from the statue, she then felt her back crashing against an entity that had crept up behind her. Before she could scream bloody murder, a cold hand cupped over her mouth to stifle any sound she’d make, and another arm slid under her breasts, keeping her pressed against the assailant.
“Don’t move if you value your life,” the low familiar voice of the vampire slipped into her ear.
His breath was hot with rage, and his nails dug along the side of her jugular, threatening to break her skin. Her breaths became irregular and heavy, moistening his palm with humid warmth. Her phone had dropped and shattered from her hand, but she was still holding the weapon inconspicuously in front of her thigh, invisible from his vantage point.
“I told you that you were in danger. You must have a death wish. I should just drink your blood and make it happen for you, shouldn’t I?” Enttu hissed through extended fangs.
Betrayal surfaced the blackest anger he kept away from the world, for its safety. She violated his trust and had no regard at the fact he had saved her life, and the inner duel of finishing her off or sparing her contorted his judgment. Regina was well-aware of the risk she ran but was determined that she wasn’t going to be his victim, nor anyone’s. She pulled the trigger to fire a warning shot, and it ricocheted from the ground, and zipped by, grazing the vampire’s cheekbone. He released the girl, and she spun around, and pressed the barrel of the gun against his heart. Her hands trembled as her fingers laced around the trigger.
“Don’t fucking move, or you and I both die!” she screamed with red-hot anger fueling the gravel in her voice.
“Ha, I wish you would. Silly girl,” the dhampir scoffed, before he vanished and then reappeared again with blurring speed, and he slapped the pistol out of her hand.
The weapon went flying in the air and landed by one of the gargoyles. She looked at him bewilderingly, but he picked up on her thoughts, and blocked the way for her as she ran toward the weapon.
“Retreat,” he ordered sternly, wearing his trademark mask of stoicism. Blonde hair waved epically in the gusts behind his shoulder, and he covered his face with his forearm, draping his flowing black cape in front of him, in a very time-honored manner of cinematic vampires. He levitated toward and loomed over her to intimidate her enough to surrender.
“I told you I wasn’t going to hurt you, and you doubt me?” said the dhampir.
“You just threatened to drink my blood! Are you fucking bipolar?!” she cried.
Her lips trembled, and she fired a lightning bolt from her palms of her hands towards him. This caught him completely off guard, but he was able to dodge it, and the bolt missed him and hit a gargoyle statue instead, breaking off one of its bat-like wings. He spun behind her, and then he seized her in a deathly tight embrace, which made her melt into his chest like a candle wicking away. His fangs were still extended, though the red glow in his eyes faded away, into sapphire gems of deep hurt and disappointment. He didn’t let her go, until she calmed down under his harsh scrutiny and slight hypnotic charm he was utilizing on her. Her body betrayed her open hostility toward him, and her heart rate increased as his soft breath ran down the front of her chest.
“Come home with me. I will explain. I admit that I owe you that,” he prudently convinced her.
She obeyed in reluctant silence, and he covered her from the cold with his cape as they marched back to the domicile. His grip on her waist hinted that perhaps he felt more affection for her than he admitted. Those cool fingers twined around her, and even carelessly grazed her hip bone, and with a man of his maturity, Regina had a tough time believing that he didn’t know what he was doing. He led her into his office and pulled up a chair for her to sit across from him. She sat primly, with her back against the chair and her hands on her knees, so ladylike. He sat across from her and shook his head as he looked at her with disapproval, before parting his sensuous mouth to speak.
“Before that asinine shit that could’ve gotten you killed, I had to respond to a call from my friends. Whether you want to believe it or not, you are in danger, and I already told you why. There is evil out here, the kind of evil I have dealt with and fought for centuries now. And you can blow me off, do whatever your free will have you do. But you know that you’re a witch, don’t you?”
Regina glanced sideways, unc
onfident in his affirmation.
“I mean, I have messed with tarot cards, and have read plenty of books about the occult,”
“Good for you, but that’s not what I mean. Anyone can do that. What I refer to is in your bloodline. Same as it was in my wife’s maternal bloodline. If witches are real, then best believe, that vampires are real. You have one right in front of you. And if vampires are real, then anything else that you have ever regarded as creatures from fairytales and storybooks are absolutely existing in our dimension. You can thank religion and your governments that dominate the West for keeping you people blinded and herded like sheep. You coming to Romania was no coincidence,”
“You’ve told me that over and over. But the real question is, what is the true motive why you’re making sure I stay alive if this danger is threatening to gobble me up? Why the trouble?”
“Because I respect human life. Don’t go overboard and flatter yourself,” Enttu told her, squinting at her, getting frustrated with her inquiries, and her underlying character of a warrior. She is more of a challenge than I thought. Not easily deceived.
She rose up, to go back to bed and resigned trying to keep arguing or make another attempt to run off. He followed her to ensure she was fine to move on her own, and to open doors for her, through his disgruntled chivalry, evocative of the elegant 19th century Romania.
“Thank you,” she told him, as he opened the bedroom door for her and then escorted her to bed. She blinked at him multiple times in annoyance.
“I don’t need a body guard, I’m not made of glass,” she stated through exasperated sighs and eye rolls.
Without a word and disregarding her complaints, he got close to her, and his fingertips gently shoved her face to one side. He drew in uncomfortably closer, and gently pressed on the site of her puncture wound. She flinched, not at the pain of the wound, but the pressure he applied.
The Dhampir Dimension Page 15