Crimson, Volume 1

by Sax Alexander

  The hand in his hair tightened painfully. “That’s none of your concern.”

  “Did you order him to kill me? That didn’t turn out too well for you, it seems. Did your pet run off? Shouldn’t you know that’s what happens when you neglect and mistreat them?”

  The points of the teeth dug deeper, dimpling the skin but not breaking it, and William inhaled deeply, unable to stop his body tensing. Kader pulled back and laughed in William’s face.

  “Did you really think I would drink from you? That I learned nothing from my time in your family’s labs? They pumped their human cattle full of their foul concoctions and waited until I was too starved to resist. It’s how they caught me in the beginning in their nasty little trap.”

  Kader reached for his wrist, extended William’s arm, and with a dark glee, slowly drew one fingernail down the inner side of his lower arm, ripping through the fabric of his shirt and opening the long vein in one stroke.

  William hissed, his muscles bunching, but his arm was held motionless in Kader’s implacable grip. Then he did it to the other side.

  “Let that dirty, modified sludge you call blood drain out, Maxwell,” Kader sneered. “And don’t think that whatever you polluted Alec with will last forever. He’ll be back. He won’t be able to help himself.”

  William watched, a cold flush spreading down his cheeks, his eyes and shoulders drooping as the blood flowed freely from the gaping wounds. “You’re wrong about that.”

  “Then,” Kader smiled almost tenderly, “I will destroy him.”

  “Chas?”

  William’s heavy lids fought his efforts to raise them, but he managed one blink, two; Alec’s blurry silhouette filling his vision until it was blocked by Kader’s victorious smile.

  “Pet.” William’s eyes closed, and he heard Kader shift. His eyelids fluttered once again to the sight of Kader’s spread arms and Alec moving into his embrace.

  “Master, I’m sorry.”

  Kader chuckled and William’s eyes slid shut.

  “Don’t worry, my sweet Alec. It’s nothing a little punishment won’t fix.”

  A sharp cry of pain of unnatural timbre made his ears ache and sent sharp tingles racing up and down his spine. It jolted him from the edge of unconsciousness, and his eyes flew wide. Another cry, furious and keening, set his nerves alight. William’s head rolled feebly.

  “Alec...go...”

  Alec’s smaller body clung to Kader’s thrashing frame. Kader tore at the boy, nails like knives, flaying fabric and flesh and filling the air with the heavy, coppery scent of fresh blood. Alec’s tenacious hold only seemed to tighten, his legs wrapping around Kader’s waist, and the thick, wet sucking sounds grew even louder.

  Kader cursed and spun, slamming Alec with brutal, spine-shattering force against the glass doors that opened onto the terrace. An explosion of glass sprayed like confetti, blood spattering to the floors. A horrifying, hitching cry sounded as they hit the floor, and William realized it had come from Alec.

  Pulling from some hidden reserve, William managed to push off the chair, a wave of overwhelming dizziness whitening his vision as he collapsed against the bloody tiles. He watched helplessly as Kader furrowed his nails across Alec’s contorted face, fresh tracks of blood marring the fine skin, but they rolled, and suddenly Alec was straddling Kader, his eyes burning with undisguised hate. For just a moment, his head rose and he met William’s clouded gaze, and then Alec struck again.

  Kader wailed as Alec latched on with ferocious intent. He thrashed like a headless snake, slowly getting weaker and weaker, until his once-flailing limbs fell inert to the floor. Grim satisfaction surged bright in William’s chest, and the last thing he saw before succumbing to the overwhelming tug of oblivion was impossibly bright eyes and a blood-red smile drawing near.

  Epilogue

  William rose up soundlessly, the white sheet covering him slipping down to his waist. The light came on and Alec grinned at him from the doorway of the tiny room.

  “You know, if you weren’t such a show-off with those wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows in your bedroom, we could have slept in a much more comfortable bed.”

  William didn’t move. He didn’t need to. He was operating on sensory overload as it was. The intoxicating scent of Alec’s skin, the fainter, yet pungent aroma of the rooftop flowers, the taste of salt in the air, the brush of tiny cotton threads, the sound of the cars far below, even conversations on the street, were all his to experience with the barest extension of his senses.

  “You’ll get a little more used to it after a while.” Alec moved forward, putting one knee on the bed and sitting sideways to watch him with a curious sort of self-contained excitement.

  William stared at Alec in fascination. He had never known how truly magnificent the boy was. “How did this happen?”

  Alec looked more uncertain now, scared, almost as if he feared William would be angry.

  “You were dying. When Chas let me close, I bit him. That serum you gave me—it never faded. I stayed strong, and somehow it let me fight the compulsion a little—the one that forced me to obey him. I couldn’t fight him directly at first, so I left, and I watched.”

  William watched Alec with undisguised wonder. “You overpowered him?”

  “When I saw what he’d done to you, I was so afraid that I was too late. I bit him, drained him dry.” Alec laughed. “You should have seen his face when he figured out he couldn’t stop me. And then...” Alec grew serious again, an almost vicious light in his eyes. “I shoved his withered husk out on the terrace and let him burn as the sun came up.”

  “Quite a night.”

  “Do you hate me?” Alec asked abruptly, looking up with worried, guilty eyes.

  “You saved my life.” William moved carefully, carding his hand in Alec’s hair. “And I could never hate you.”

  “Really? Because I missed you, and it’s been really lonely, and—”

  William stopped him with a slow kiss. A low, warm heat bloomed instantly low in his groin, his senses alive in a way beyond anything he’d ever felt, and he laughed against Alec’s lips. “If this is what it’s like, I’m more than happy with the turn of events.”

  Alec laughed, too, relief and delight evident in the sound. He seemed bursting with excitement.

  “I’ve got so much to show you!”

  “Does this mean I have to call you Master?”

  The wide eyes quickly disappeared as Alec’s head ducked. Too bad, but his adorable blush wouldn’t happen on an empty stomach anyway. And that reminded him...

  “I’m hungry.”

  Alec’s cheeky, irrepressible smile spread over his face. He stood up and beckoned, holding out his hand to William. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

  Daryn’s Slayer

  by

  Leona Bushman

  Author’s Notes:

  Thank you to all my friends and fans who have encouraged my writing process and have continued with me on my journey. But my biggest thanks goes to my mother-in-law. Love you!

  This world, where vampires and werewolves are symbiotic, serves as a major brainchild with many stories waiting for me to write them. It’s my first historical. Enjoy it!

  Chapter One

  Early thirteenth century

  Death polluted the air. In the damp cavern, among the stalagmites, a bloody, ragged body lay, with sunken cheeks, and hair dark with sticky masses clumped against the scalp. His black eyes revealed not a soul, but infinite evil. He clenched his teeth and curled his body into the fetal position, wanting to stop the pain clawing at him. The other master vampires had taken most of his magical and physical power by draining his blood.

  He tried to staunch the flow still oozing out of his abdomen, but failed. Sharp points of pain stabbed against his forehead from inside his skull. He’d used the last of his physical strength to materialize at this place. He’d visited once, years ago, and hoped it had remained undiscovered by humans.

  The fight
against the other master vampires had been brutal and bloody, but nothing hurt more than the betrayal of the woman who’d lain by his side for centuries. She’d hidden her intent until it had nearly been too late for him to stop her plan from succeeding. Still, she’d managed to slice his jugular, the only wound that he’d managed to heal before having to leave the coven. Now he had to find a way to survive. To avenge himself against her and the others who’d dared to stand against him.

  With renewed determination, he sat back up and leaned against the cold wall, the fetid water seeping through his cloak. He gasped for breath and held one hand over his abdomen as another wave of pain enveloped him. He had to act soon. With a last desperate attempt at escape, he’d instantaneously traveled to the cave. Doing so had sapped his magic and energy more than he’d expected. Loud expletives echoed back at him as he cursed the ones who’d done this. He used his waning powers to mentally call all creatures with blood in their veins to him. Those closest could not resist the compulsion.

  Insects clacked their way across stalagmites and skittered through sand. The snakes slithered to him, and rats scurried across the stones and out dank crevices. All crawled over his body, eager to answer the master’s command. He ignored the insects. The rats he sucked dry, their bodies depressed until skin and bone met, one side to the other, small pockets of dirty fur he dropped when finished. Snakes looked like dried twigs of shed skin. He left nothing. He sucked and drank until finally, his body started repairing the wounds releasing his life force. It would keep him alive temporarily. But he needed more. He wanted to regain his vigor and his magic.

  Along with the nourishment soaking into his pores, came strength, alertness. Not full power, but a beginning. He sat up straighter, keeping his hands on his still-healing abdomen. Pain seared him, and desperation clawed at his belly. There had to be more blood close by. He needed more to heal his wounds enough so he could rest until the next moonrise.

  Concentrating harder, he listened intently for a heartbeat, for blood coursing through veins. There. Near the cave, holed up in a thicket, was a family of brown hares, five kits, the buck and the doe. He commanded them to come to him in the cavern. The kits came, despite the adults maneuvering to keep their young ones from leaving the burrowed nest. He pushed harder. His mouth watered as their heartbeats played in his mind, beating fast in fear against the thing in their minds. At last, they gave in and quit resisting his call. The fear left them as they obediently came into the cave.

  He sunk his teeth in deep to the first young hare’s neck, and savored the spurt of blood that followed. Not as good as fear and adrenalin-laced human blood, or as powerful as werewolf blood, but by far more delectable than rat blood. By the time he’d drunk the five kits’ blood, his will had become stronger, and the brown-haired buck and doe hares sat by his legs, watching him drink the lifeblood of their young ones without a twitch.

  After he had finished draining the rabbits, he picked up the furry cadavers and wiped some of the blood from his injuries and the water from the cave off him. His external bleeding had stopped. With the infusion of rabbit blood, his body had started to heal internally as well, but his wounds were still jagged-edged cuts.

  Over the next two days, he dozed and awoke, each time bringing larger game to him. By the end of the second night, he’d gained enough strength to walk. But already, the combination of blood loss and lack of werewolf blood had made him sensitive to even the morning light, limiting his ability to roam, especially with the long summer days.

  During the third day, the crunch of rocks and sand disturbed his uneasy slumber. He held still, hoping whatever it was would come close enough for him to catch, to reveal what he was to them. He wanted the taste of fear-enriched blood. Craved the headiness and buzz it gave him.

  “Hey, mister! What happened to you?” The child’s voice sent shivers down his spine. Oh, the best of humans. If he were to be denied sanctioned werewolf blood, this was the next best thing.

  “Help me,” the master vampire said, careful to hide his incisors. He reached an arm up in supplication, feigning weakness. “I was attacked by a bear,” he added pitifully.

  The child, maybe eleven or twelve, rushed to his side. “My father and older brothers are nearby. I’ll call for help.”

  He crushed his hand around the child’s wrist. “Nay, do not leave me,” he said, trying to get the boy to look into his eyes. But the boy glanced at the hand on his wrist and started screaming.

  “Help! Father! Help me!”

  He’d wanted fear, but not the child’s yells. With a curse, he yanked the child to him and tried to bite the neck. The child fought him off, and he ended up sinking his teeth in near the heart. Blood rushed into his mouth, an exquisite pouring of fluid over his tongue. The boy continued to kick and scream.

  Then, he felt a sharp pang in his wrist and opened his eyes to see what had hurt him. The boy had bitten him, the child’s incisors sinking in easily where his wounds still struggled to heal. The damned human was currently sucking and swallowing the blood, more because the child didn’t unclamp his jaw than anything else. This boy’s strength amazed him. Most humans would have spit out the blood.

  The vampire sucked a moment more, then let go to deal with the child. He tried to unclamp the jaws, but the little beast sucked harder. Soon, the vampire began to feel his life force ebbing. It was as if the child had realized the vampire’s need for blood meant he couldn’t afford to lose it. With a ferocious heave, he threw the irritating meal that fought back against the large stalagmite near the center of the cavern.

  He cut short his instinctive scream of rage and pain, and looked down at the slash where the child had been sucking. The small tear that had nearly healed was now a large ragged gash the width of his wrist. Some of the skin hung loose again, and the blood still dripped. It wasn’t healing fast enough. He would start to improve as soon as the blood he’d taken began to penetrate his body, but until then, he had to stop the flow. The child lay dying, the heartbeat weak. Good. But then, as he put his hand over the open wound, he remembered.

  The child had called for father and brothers. In his current state, he wasn’t sure he could fight multiple humans. Damn the covens which had turned their back on him and weakened his powers. They had done near-mortal damage that would take longer than normal to heal. Even longer without the benefit of werewolf blood to speed the process. He could have hidden himself from their sight with simple mind tricks. Or could kill them all while holding them in his thrall. But now, he definitely would have a problem if the humans were of the few who knew how to fight his kind, which seemed likely given the way the child had immediately bitten and sucked his blood. After another moment of anger directed toward those who had drained him of his power, and glaring at the nearly dead child who’d dared take his blood, he used the last of his magic gained from the blood he’d taken and disappeared.

  Chapter Two

  Nineteenth century

  The large four-poster bed, draped with heavy decorative fabric, with large flowers boldly shown in contrast against the deep blue background, loomed over Daryn Lancaster, the Third. Its dark wood finish and intricate carvings of men and women in sexual positions were just another testament to the ton’s current proclivities. He couldn’t find the energy to be turned on by the sensual figures sculpted into the bedposts.

  The giggle of the woman next to him did nothing to dispel the ennui. A pleasant night of sex, enough blood to keep him alive, a simple mind wipe, and all she remembered was her lover, and not the bite he’d healed with his tongue after taking his requirement.

  His forearm lay over his forehead, hiding his eyes from the bright sunlight coming through the window. It stung more than usual, but he gritted his teeth. He would be damned if he would go back to her and beg for sanctioned werewolf blood. He’d been lucky and found a renegade werewolf who’d been happy to give him blood a few months ago, but the effects were wearing thin.

  He lazily rolled off to his side, pulled
on his breeches. The woman’s breasts came uncovered when she turned to smile at him. He threw on his shirt, waistcoat, and frockcoat, leaving them unfastened. She rolled back over drowsily, her breath evening as she fell asleep.

  He grabbed his gloves and top hat, bent over, and snagged his boots. But left his crimson cravat tied to the post. It would be her talisman. He left one with all the women he slept with. His calling card.

  Daryn had barely stepped out of the luxurious room when a voice from his right startled him.

  “Do you always creep out like a thief, the morning after? You used to have better manners than that.” The seductive voice pierced him, with longing and hatred. His whole body quivered in remembered pleasure and torture.

  Her body looked stunning, as always, encased in the latest fashions. Her dark gold, silk dress had a three-foot trail, ruffled along the bottom, with blood-red trim woven through the ruffles. Lace, with real gold threads worked in a leaf pattern, lined the seam of the ruffles, as well as her jacket and collar.

  More gold-and-cream lace lined two sides of the red trim and splashed across her thighs. The corset, barely needed for her hourglass figure, only served to emphasize the delicacy of the fabrics used for her jacket and the ruffled lace that trimmed the inside of her collar, and flowed in folds from her cleavage to just below her waist. He noted all this in the quick, practiced look he’d perfected over the last few hundred years.

  “Good morning, Cassandra. So good to see you.” The sarcasm dripping from his tones, his first line of defense with her couldn’t possibly have been missed, but she apparently chose to ignore it.

  “Good morning, Daryn. Ready to come home? Tired of your little rebellion?” He’d had centuries of practice, schooling his face into the impassive lines hiding his real emotions. She enjoyed her tortures too much to let her see how deeply she affected him.

  “Tired, yes. The little minx whose home we’re in kept me busy all night,” he replied, and walked down the hall. He could have evaporated in mist and gone somewhere else, but, unless he planned on feeding again, which was significantly harder for him in daylight, he could only do it once. And she would follow. He had no intentions of showing her where he lived.