by Of Night
Richelle fought, struggling as the three Vampyres converged, their mouths gaping open. Their fangs descended to chafe her neck but before they could draw any blood, they were stilled by a booming voice that shook the castle’s stone walls.
“Stop!”
Cringing in fear, they slunk away to hide in the shadows, and Richelle warily eyed the figure approaching her. His face was unknown, still hidden by the shadows, but the silhouette of his form was familiar. With confidence, he strode about the room, his long hair swaying with each step. His broad chest and shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist and hips. His masculine saunter kindled a forgotten memory, which in turn sparked a hidden desire in her womb as she peered into the shadows trying to recognize who was approaching.
As he emerged from the shadows, the dim lighting illuminated his image. His golden blond hair and light blue eyes were highlighted by the candlelight. But it added no warmth. She could fell the chilly air emanating from him even at the distance separating them. The air grew icier with every step he took until he stood over her, his presence enveloping her in an arctic embrace.
He was not what she expected. The right size, the right build, but it wasn’t golden lights and blue eyes that warmed her. It was the haunting dreams of a dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger, but not a stranger, that made her face grow hot with an intimate familiarity, beguiling her.
“Did you sleep well, Richelle?”
“You know me,” she stammered. She started to fidget, uncomfortable with his presence. She searched her fragmented memories for some hint of recollection but could find none.
He chuckled sardonically as he came closer, taking a loose tendril of her hair and wrapping it around his finger to pull her face toward him. Richelle jerked her head, attempting to pull her curl free, but all she accomplished was to pull her hair. Winding the curl around his finger one more time, he yanked on it to pull her face up, meeting his gaze.
“You are mine,” he stated coldly.
You are mine…you are mine…you are mine. The words echoed in her mind as she recalled abrupt flashes of scattered memories, images of unspeakable brutality and bloody carnage. And Jonathon…gone. Her eyes welled with tears at the loss of her friend. She had known him for such a short time, and he had given his life for her.
Another life gone. Because of her. Her heart ached in anguish.
“Why did you kill him? Jonathon was no threat to you.”
“He stood in my way. He dared to keep from me what was mine.”
Richelle stuck her chin out defiantly. “I am not yours.”
She prayed to the Goddess for help as she strained to fill in the missing pieces in her memories. Her prayer was answered when the stirring visage of a man with dark hair permeated her mind. She felt his dark eyes enter and burrow into her soul. Valya’s dark eyes.
Luka had said Valya was dead. But in her heart she knew he wasn’t. She could still feel his life’s energy. It was weak and distant. But she felt it growing in strength. He was alive! And he would come for her. Until then, she would need to find a way to get away from Luka.
As she was drawn into Luka’s circle of malevolent wickedness poisoning her mind, the memory of her Guardian wrapped her in security and comfort. Even as this immoral spirit drew closer, his thoughts an open book revealing the insidious plans he had for her and for all mankind, she felt no pain. She felt no fear. His rancid breath blew into her face as he spoke to her.
“I am Luka cel Rau, master of Tower of the Red Dragon. And you are mine.”
“I belong to no one but myself,” she asserted calmly, although she trembled inside as she spoke the words. “Release me.”
Luka threw his head back and laughed. When he lowered his gaze to meet hers, his eyes were filled with such hate he nearly broke through the wall of composure encompassing her. Fisting his hand in her hair, he yanked her head back to bare her throat to him.
Luka stroked her throat. Richelle closed her eyes to fight back the revulsion, shivering slightly from his icy touch. He leaned in and licked her wound, his tongue leaving trails of frostbite along her tender, sensitive skin. She balled her hands into fists as the sheet slipped away to reveal her nakedness, displaying her like a sacred sacrifice to Luka’s avaricious and marauding needs.
“You are divine, aren’t you, Richelle?” he ground out hoarsely. He continued to lick and taste her skin as his hand came up and crudely grasped her breast. She twisted away from his touch. He just snickered at her discomfort.
“Please,” she moaned softly. “Release me. If there is anything good left within you, anything Immortal left, then please release me.”
Luka pulled back. His brow creased in confusion, in uncertainty. It was only a moment before it faded to be replaced by an unsympathetic scowl. He growled pulling her head back farther, raising himself to loom over her restrained position.
He sneered at the tears escaping from the corners of her eyes to trail down her cheeks.
“Release me!” she screamed. “Never!”
“Valya will come for me and he will stop you.”
He snorted. “I told you…Valya is dead! There is no one to save you! There is no one to defeat me!”
“Then I will defeat you!”
He gripped her hair forcefully, painfully, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain she knew was about to come.
“I am Luka cel Rau, Master of Tower of the Red Dragon, and I will claim you as my life mate. You are mine!”
Rapid as the crack of a whip he drew back and lunged, sinking his fangs into her already despoiled neck, creating a new wound as he took second blood.
And Richelle held herself motionless steeling herself against the revulsion and blinding lights behind her eyelids. She descended into a black pit of despair clinging to only one thought to retain her sanity.
Valya will come for me.
* * * *
Preacher watched in trepidation as Luka descended the staircase, his smug expression evidence that he had taken second blood from Richelle. While he had chosen his path, freely pledging his allegiance to Luka, his fear of the wrath of the Immortals intensified every day. And every night Luka delayed in completing the ritual put them all at risk. He needed Luka to put aside his petty scheme of revenge against the Immortals who had judged and condemned him to death.
Luka was dressed in only his black pants as he came down the stairs. Uncaring of his half-naked state or the drops of blood that marred his bared chest, he reveled in the admiring stares from his paramours hidden in the shadows of his mansion. As Luka reached the foot of the stairs, Preacher held out an ornate red and gold cape and draped it over Luka’s shoulders, leaving the front open.
Luka crossed to the dining room as Preacher followed behind.
“Pour me a nightcap, Preacher,” Luka commanded. He took his seat in the throne-like chair at the head of the table, and a bevy of exotic and beauteous women materialized and flocked to his side, each fawning and touching him. Luka ignored them.
Preacher turned and poured him a glass; the crystal decanter twinkled in the soft glow of candlelight from the chandelier, disguising the ugliness of the vile liquid it held. Luka was close to achieving his goal of domination, and Preacher’s increasing doubts troubled him. Luka had made no mention of how he and the Believers would fit in this new world order.
Preacher knew he had damned his own immortal soul by imparting his allegiance to Luka. After losing his faith in a benevolent God and mankind, he had turned to Luka and his promise of a new and better world. Later, he willingly continued to serve Luka under the delusion it was better to rule in hell than serve in heaven. And fear of retribution in purgatory was a poor substitute for entreating God for forgiveness as he realized his mistake too late.
If Luka claimed Richelle and destroyed the Immortals, he would be omnipotent, with no one powerful enough to stop him. He could wipe away the Believers for knowing too much. If Luka was stopped and Richelle escaped, he could destroy them all in his
rage. No matter what happened, no matter what he did, he was facing his demise.
There was only one way to leave the service of Luka cel Rau—death. While he was afraid of what the Immortals might do for his part in Richelle’s abduction and the death of Valya the Guardian, he was more afraid of his master’s displeasure if he failed to serve him, or tried to leave.
Not knowing what to do, Preacher handed Luka the glass and stood to the left, awaiting his next commands.
* * * *
Swirling the red liquid, inhaling the pungent bouquet much as a sommelier would do when sampling a fine wine, Luka congratulated himself on his triumph over Nicolae and the rest of the Immortals. Valya was dead! Richelle was in his power. When he took her as his bride, he would send out his soldiers to capture the world. He would reign supreme with Richelle by his side to satisfy his every desire and bear him strong sons to perpetuate his legacy.
He would father a new race, destroy the Immortals, and enslave mankind to serve his descendants, with body and blood. He toasted his brilliant plan as he finished his drink.
From the far side of the dim room, Terezia approached, her voluptuous body draped in white silk silhouetted by the darkness. She exuded sex with every step, every movement she made. The silky fabric drifted around her, an obscene homage to innocence in direct contrast to her image of wantonness. Her exotic eyes, vacant of life and love, held assurance of decadent sins to be found in her willing bed. But the bed he wanted was Richelle’s, willing or not. His lips curled in a vindictive smile.
At the feast, I will take what is mine. Then she will come to me of her own volition, to do my bidding. I will take her as I please. And often. He felt his cock harden, his bestial imagination running wild in the ways he planned on taking her. There was no remorse or guilt in his lustful thoughts other than Valya would not be there to watch as Richelle became his sex slave.
Luka watched as his sometime lover came closer, her hips swaying in promise of pleasures that could be found as he thrust his steely length into her welcoming pussy. Fucking her hard and long until he spewed his seed into her, filling her, until it dripped from her cunt and she was begging for his bite. And all the while, he would picture Richelle beneath him, writhing in ecstasy as he feasted on her blood.
“What is it that you want, Terezia?” he questioned, idly swirling the liquid in his glass.
“You know very well what I want.” She circled behind his chair and placed her hands upon his shoulders. She leaned down to whisper in his ear. “You know what I offer.” She ran her hands down his shoulders, over his triceps, and back up again. “You remember the pleasure, the ecstasy, only I can give you.” She came out from behind his chair to stand before him.
His gaze transfixed on her mouth as she ran her tongue over her blood red lips in practiced seduction. She cupped her large breasts in her hands, forcing them together. As she trailed her hands down her torso to rest on her hips, her hardened nipples strained against the fabric stretched across her well-endowed chest.
She took a step forward, her hands roaming over her hips, lower, until she was able to fondle her crotch. She released a throaty moan as her hand rubbed over her mound. She took another two steps until she was able to settle in his lap, her hands resting upon his chest. Dispassionately, he placed his arm over her legs, drawing her soft backside against his aching cock, hardening with thoughts of Richelle.
“Come with me, my love. Let me take you to my chambers and show you the pleasures you have forgotten.” Twining her arms around his neck, she leaned in and kissed him passionately. He responded, but not with the rapacious hunger Terezia was trying to incite.
Kissing him harder, her sharp incisors nicked his lower lip. In fury, he shoved her off his lap, leaving her to cower on the floor as he rose to stand over her. His rage bubbling to the surface, he backhanded her. Her head reeled to one side and then he slapped her the other way.
A trickle of blood formed in the corner of her mouth, staining the death white pallor of her chin. She wiped it away and stared at him in disbelief.
“Why, Luka? What did I do wrong?”
“You dare take my blood?” He did not mask the vehemence in his voice.
“I love you. Your blood is meant for me. I should become your bride.”
“I do not want your love!” he spat. “You are here to serve my needs, not to question and disobey my commands! Richelle is to become my queen.”
“Why Richelle?” she whined, rising to her feet. “I have given you everything, never denying your wishes.”
“She is who I have chosen. Do not question my decision!” he said, pushing her away.
She rolled her shoulders back, thrusting her ample breasts up as an open invitation. “Richelle is a child who knows nothing of the world. She knows nothing of the corporeal delights derived from pleasure, or from pain.” She stepped toward him, placing her hands upon his chest.
“I remember the nights of ecstasy as you took me to your chamber.” Terezia leaned in and licked his ear, murmuring low, continuing her litany of sadistic debauchery, of torture and pain. Luka was inflamed by her words, but in his fantasies, it was Richelle who became the recipient of his demonic affection.
Terezia smiled as she crushed her breasts against him, letting her silk-covered nipples caress his bare chest.
“Take me as your bride, Luka. Together, we will rule the world.”
He grabbed her wrists, exerting pressure to make her wince as he held her away at arm’s length. The condescension as he spoke to her was abrading. “I will rule the world. With Richelle as my bride. And you will serve Richelle.”
Enraged at being cast aside, Terezia made no attempt to hide her resentment.
“I refuse,” she bit out, her voice laced with bitterness. Luka’s fingernails grew longer, cutting into her wrists and drawing blood.
“You will serve Richelle. Or you will answer to me!”
“I will not!” she screeched, trying to pull her wrist away. “I refuse to serve a woman beneath me! You may banish me from your bed, take that pathetic pretext as your bride and make her your queen, but I will never serve her! By all the demons of hell, I will see her burn first!”
* * * *
The moment the words left her mouth, Terezia realized her mistake. But by then, it was too late and her eyes grew large in panic. In the blink of an eye, Luka’s face became black as night with his eyes becoming burnished orbs of red fire. Blazing at her. She could feel an unforeseen hand encompassing her throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, like a boa constricts its prey.
Luka released his grip on her wrists, resting his arms at his side as he took three steps away from her. He watched her with a morbid fascination. No words were spoken as he cocked his head to one side and watched as she staggered, gasping for air.
Terezia clawed at her bare throat, trying to get free from the crushing hold. She felt her talon-like fingernails shredding her skin and her blood oozing between her fingers while she tried to pry away the invisible fingers. Her eyes were bulging as her fingernails sliced her carotid artery and blood squirted down her chest to stain the lily white of her gown. She bled until her entire bodice was stained scarlet red, depicting her true licentious nature as her sisters of the night wailed from the dark corners bemoaning the suffering of she who had trained them.
Stumbling forward, straining to stay on her feet, she took a step toward Luka. Stretching her arms as if reaching out to him, she opened her mouth, gurgling her broken, impassioned plea.
“Lukaaaa, mercyyyy. Pleease! I looove youuu!”
He cocked his head to the other side and gave her a derisive smile.
“I will give you mercy,” he answered, raising his hand and pointing his finger at her. “And bestow upon you the death you wished for my bride.”
Terror gripped her heart as the hem of her gown caught fire. With her bloody hands, she began to beat at the flames that lapped at her gown until her entire body was aflame.
* * * *
Preacher turned his face away, not able to bear the ghastly image of Terezia’s porcelain white flesh being charred from her bones as her bloodcurdling screams rent the turbulent night.
And then there was silence.
Preacher turned back. Where Terezia once stood, only of pile of glowing embers remained. The bloodcurdling screams were replaced with muted moans and whispers, fading away from the shadows. Standing beside the banquet table, sipping from his wineglass, was Luka. He drained his glass and set it on the table. His satisfied visage was that of a satiated lover after a night of carnal pleasure.
Preacher was sickened by what he had seen. For as long as he had served the Tower of the Red Dragon, Terezia had been its mistress, as Luka’s intended. Yet Luka had destroyed her without a moment’s thought, with no more regard than a pebble in a shoe to be removed and tossed aside. His heart filled with a stomach-turning dread at the merciless method of Terezia’s demise and of his awaiting rendezvous with death when he’d outlived his usefulness.
“Preacher, have one of your followers dispose of that mess.” Without so much as a glance, Luka waved at Terezia’s remains.
“As you command, master.”
With a flourish of his cape, Luka turned and headed toward the staircase.
“I want you to personally oversee the preparations for the Beltane Feast and the Bonding. I will not have one of Terezia’s harlots harming my bride. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, master. But…”
Luka stopped short. Preacher felt icy cold fingers settle on his shoulder, chilling him to the bone.
“But what, Preacher?”
He regretted second-guessing Luka’s command, but there was no backing out now.
“You have already taken second blood from Richelle. Wouldn’t it be simpler and quicker to take her now and make her your queen?”
Luka spun in anger; his eyes were blood red as he raised his fist to the preacher, backing him against a wall while he ranted. Saliva dripped from his canines, stained with blood from his recent feeding.
He glared at Preacher. He could take Richelle now and complete the bonding, but then he would lose the magic of Beltane, when the planets would be aligned heralding the birth of powerful paranormal child that would change the course of the world. He would wait until he claimed her as his bride to consummate their union. And he would thoroughly enjoy consummating their union. He would fuck her as the Immortals watched on helplessly, watching the creation of a new order as she became impregnated with his son.