Vlad Tepes, Vigilante Vampire
by Lillie J Roberts
Copyright © 2014 by Crimson Frost Books
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
Copyright © 2014
Cover Art Designed: Designs by Suzan
Edited By: Lacey Wolfe and Lisa Hahn
Dedication
For all the authors who've helped me along my way. Thanks for all your help and support. I am forever in your debt.
Prologue
Old Chicago, that's what I liked to call this part of the city with its old neighborhoods, the Italians, Irish, Asians, Germans...and the new additions, Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, and Middle Eastern born people. It didn't make any difference to me, a mass of human population boiling over with need, want, and violence, the same as it always was...but it was also a hunting grounds and that was important to me. You see, injustice never set well with me, and this latest gig as an enforcer, well, it was right up my alley.
Two days had been spent tracking the latest problem that worked his way across our domain. Another being, happy with violence and sickness, unable or unwilling to contain himself. If he wasn't stopped, how many more would he torture, maim, or kill to satisfy those sick needs?
The night surrounded me and I drew it in tighter, virtually invisible to the human eye, waiting, watching, prowling... What was taking him so long? I had other things to do besides waiting for him to make his move. My patience was wearing thin, and my shoulders rolled with tightness. The night was becoming longer than it needed to be.
Finally, traces of his foul wonderings greeted my mind as he mused about his next victim, hoping she'd scream and beg, hoping she'd plead for her life. Then after a few promises and sure knowledge her life was forfeit, she'd beg for the lives of her husband and daughter. He got a self-induced high off what he planned to do. It disgusted me, reviled me, and yet, it was I who was the monster. He pondered it all as he came closer, and I promised myself, he'd have a taste of his own fear.
There he was! Jaunting down the sidewalk, keys jiggling nervously in his pocket, anxiousness in his footsteps, and eagerness in his dull-brown eyes. He glanced up at the pretty blonde in front of him, his smile widened, his dull eyes lit up. His sharpened pointy canines peeked below his upper lip, but they were only for show. He wasn't one of my kind but he liked to pretend. It was all about invoking fear and he liked the powerful feeling. So did I.
His footsteps quickened and mine followed his. He was closer now to the object of his desire, almost within touching distance. Almost. He licked his pale thin lips, greasy hair flopped on his forehead, sweat gathered on his brow. Now, his thoughts rang in my ears, his hand lifted, grab her now! With a crumpled up ball of dirty white fabric clutched in his hand, he reached out as he crossed the darkened threshold of the alley. The shadows slipped away from me, and I stepped further back, sliding my sunglasses into place. No need for my eyes to give me away.
There was a muffled scream. I heard her heels scrape along the rough concrete, then his slump against the crumbling brick of the adjoining building. Damn, his thoughts spoke loudly, she's already passed out. Fun and games'll have to wait. He kissed the top of her head almost tenderly before he dragged her further into the alley and ran straight into my chest. My arms swallowed both of them, lifting them from the pavement.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Get off of me!” Anger rolled off of him in waves. It filled the air, and I felt my beast roll, just a little, inside of me.
My arms opened and they tumbled to the ground. The woman, now a dead weight, landing on top of him. “My apologies.” I offered my icy hand, and he looked at it and shivered.
“Get away from me!” he threatened, brandishing a razor sharp blade that was wide at the base and narrow at the tip. But blades no longer frightened me.
My eyes closed, my nose twitched with the scent of the night air. Pheromones rolled off his body: fear, lust, and one I preferred not to think of, death, all mixed together with the heady floral fragrance of the young woman. It made me greedy to take what he was offering.
He tried to lift himself and the woman up off the ground, all the time with me watching, a grin spread across my face.
“I said to get the fuck away from me!” He shoved the knife closer, so close it nicked the pale flesh of my arm. A frown broke across my features and his face lost its color. The wound opened and a bead of black blood oozed for a moment before sealing itself closed.
“What the fuck are you?” he shouted, now the woman was forgotten. She lay in the dirt of the alley, moans coming from her lips.
As fast as a blink, I was on him. My nose inhaled the air next to his throbbing carotid artery. “Your worst nightmare.” Real fangs blossomed into sight and sank deep into the sallow skin of his throat. My beast had been denied for so long, new moans joined those of the woman, still unconscious on the ground.
He struggled and I purred closer to his ear. “Please?”
He fought harder to break from my grip, which only tightened.
Finally, his body sagged against mine, his heartbeat a flutter, and I sealed the wound, letting him drop to the ground.
His would-be victim lay at my feet, my gaze swept over her. She appeared to be in her late twenties probably. I bent over and shifted her slight weight in my arms to carry her across the street to the bus stop. The bench was empty. I eased her onto it and stepped back.
“Wh... what happened?” She came to slowly and shook her head.
“You stumbled on the sidewalk and hit your head pretty hard. I helped you across the street. Are you okay? Can I call someone for you?” My Ray Bans fell back into place, a shadow of a smile creased my lips.
“No, no, I'm fine. Damn, maybe I shouldn't have had that last margarita.” Shesucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I must be late. It's my husband's night with the baby.” She stood and wobbled, my hand shot out to steady her. “Thanks again.”
I grinned my best smile and shook my head. “Just glad I was passing by.” My watch dinged, signally the lateness of the hour. “Are you sure you're okay? I really need to be going.”
“I'm fine. Thanks for your help.”
“My pleasure.”
She pulled out her iPhone from her purse and began hurriedly dialing, a dazed look on her face as she slipped away.
A scream echoed through the darkness. My gazed found the alley where a small group clustered around a body. I lowered my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose, a ghost of a frown creased my brow.
I only allowed myself to stop after rounding the corner. My shoulders rolled and I climbed inside the jet black Mustang, gravel flew as the engine gunned. Untamed power roiled, feeding my beast's other needs. This is why I was made a vampire, not that my life started out this way, or how I imagined my fate to be all those years ago—centuries before I became what I was today. Before my rebirth and new beginning.
Chapter One
I am vampire, born of death and of blood.
Being alive for a very long time has its ups and downs, six hundred years of experiences and questions. I've been asked, “Would you have done things differently?” Of course, but would I change what I was? Probably not, at least upon reflection.
For more
years than I cared to remember, I allowed myself to be guided by baser instincts, hunting where, when, and whom I desired. No one was safe. Pity to the human who stumbled into my path. Bloodlust is powerful when you're lost in its grip, heroin to the addicted. It feels like good sex to let the beast run wild, lustful, carefree, and without regard. The violence, the blood, the seduction of the hunt are potent aphrodisiacs when your beast roars to life. At times, I still miss the old days. Not that I would go back, life is hard when death is your only friend.
The hardest part is the missing pieces of my humanity, the piece between death and rebirth, not so much lost as changed. Life and death hold a different meaning to the undead. Do we covet what we no longer have? Long for it in the deepest, darkest part of our undead heart? Surely it’s human nature to want what has been lost. But would we give up life, even the undead of the vampire, for the endless sleep? Not likely. Life is prized in all of its forms. No one returns from the unending death, the sleep without end, and with my sins, it would be of nightmarish proportions. I've watched enough vampires meet their grizzly ends, to dissolve into ash, a husk of what once was... No, my preference for my undead existence is well founded.
Companionship, on the other hand, seldom lacked. Vampirism is kind this way—the perfect predator. There’s always a willing body to share my bed, along with their life sustaining fluids, and I've had my share. It’s a fine art learned through many years of practice to know when enough life has been taken to sustain one's self and yet, enough left for my human meal to continue unharmed.
As I came to terms with my unchangeable state, I began to relish my existence of feasting, fantasizing, and pretending to be alive. Until one day, my conscience reasserted itself, and it all happened quite unexpectedly when injustice was served harsh and cold, right in my face.
*****
My life as the vampire began during the age of the Black Death—the year is unknown to me. Peasants worked hard to support our Lord in the manner he was accustomed. Our lives were harsh, the land and climate harsher, with little relief. It was never warm anymore. Snow covered the ground, even in summer. Years mattered little to our lives, death from exposure, starvation, or disease came soon enough. But the Black Death was beyond anything Lord or peasant had ever seen. There was no discrimination, no reason. It just killed.
Death came to our village in the form of Holy Crusaders who laid waste to much of our farmland, killing and maiming. My memory refuses to lie to itself, it was a day painted in crimson and colored by death. They brought their sick and dying with them, whoever survived their murderous hands was granted the grace of mere hours. The Black Death was a tireless master.
*****
On the last day of the fifteen summers in my life, the Roman happened upon our home. My father, mother, and two younger sisters lay beside me, cold and dead, and I awaited my turn. Fever chills shook my body, each breath torturous, creaking like a rusty spindle. The rats crept ever closer as I became weaker, sneaking in to break my skin. I gave up trying to frighten them away. Pus oozed from the pox dotting my arms and legs, blood gathered beneath my flesh, and soon it would blacken. My lungs burned as blood coated my lips. I was slowly bleeding to death from the inside out. Tending my family had brought sure knowledge, there would be no return. Not for me, not for all of civilization.
Without the strength to cry, I begged for death so I could leave this life, oblivion became my hope. The old preacher said to pray to the Christian God, whom the good Father claimed to offer peace, and I did, that he would hurry and take my damned soul.
The Roman had not come expecting to find his next meal or anyone alive in our village for that matter. The last band of survivors told him no one was left and to enter at the cost of his own life. Little did they know, he'd faced his death long ago and the Black Death would not take residence in his body. Death and the Roman were well acquainted.
He heard my groans as he stole through the village during the darkest part of the night, made even darker by the death that surrounded him. He entered the now squalid little home my mother had once been so proud of and knelt down beside me. Pity and regret filled his voice as he whispered in my ear, “Boy, do you want to live?”
Though I was dying, my senses told me there was something different about this man. Fear bubbled up inside me. Death might be preferable to this man's touch, but it was a fleeting feeling, frightened of the man who travelled by night.
My fevered eyes found his face and my fear flew away as my heart hammered. My family had begun to whisper to me, inviting me to partake in death. I could hear the laughter of my younger sisters. I could feel their hands upon me, pulling me down to them.
“Come, brother,” they called, “join us.”
It would be a relief to let go of this life. I wanted to go to them, but the will to survive was stronger and this Godling gave me a choice.
“Yes, Godling, I want to live.” Maybe he was a figment of my fevered imagination, come to save me from the reality of my life's ending.
“I am not one of your gods, but you can survive.” He glanced at the bodies, his nose wrinkled. It would be later that I appreciated how the scent of death must have affected him. He shifted me into his arms as if I was nothing more than a feather, carrying me into the forest to rest upon a pine needle bed. Then, he lifted his arm to his lips, pierced his flesh, and brought his freshly bloodied wrist to my cracked lips. “If you want to live, boy, this is the price. Drink so you may draw breath tomorrow.”
His blood dripped, slickly coating my lips. As if my tongue had a mind of its own, it licked the sticky stuff to find it was nectar to my parched and dying body. When again he held his arm to my lips, I opened my mouth greedily, swallowing with zest. As dawn approached, a great weariness settled over me, exhaustion like I'd never known. Maybe death was there to take me after all. The Roman leaned in one more time and uttered, “Sleep.” My eyes fluttered closed into a trancelike slumber.
*****
When I awoke to the next evening's dusk, the Roman was gone. I cautiously stretched my arms and legs to find health was returning. The pox had healed, my cracked lips felt supple, yet I was still too weak to sit up. Then I thought of the Roman's blood dripping into my open mouth and wondered if it had been a dream. Did I really drink his blood? The image persisted when there was a rustling of leaves on the path to our village. The Roman stood before me, silent as death, bolder than life.
“Are you better this evening, boy? Well enough to tell me your name?” He smiled down at me, the tips of his canines peeked below his upper lip. Pink stuff clung to one, his tongue deftly flicked out to capture the droplet.
“Vlad, sir, Vladimir Wisegood, after the Lord of our village. Milord, what is it you wish to be called?”
“Vanic Tepes.” The Roman scrutinized me. “Young Vladimir, if we are going to travel together, it would be safer and wiser if you were known as my son Vladimir Tepes. I can offer protection, but it has to be your choice. What do you say?”
Realizing there really wasn't any choice at all, I agreed. A boy alone in the countryside was asking for trouble that I did not need. Vanic Tepes remained a mystery. I still didn't know what he was, except that he was my savior. I owed him my life, a blood debt I was happy to fulfill.
That night before the dawn, he pierced his flesh and again I drank.
“With tomorrow's evening, we'll have to leave this place. The scent of death is heavy in the air. It will draw others.” He gazed over his shoulder, as if trying to see what wasn't there.
“Yes, milord.” Leaving my home would be hard, but the stench from the decaying bodies penetrated the air around us. “Milord, if I may ask one thing before we leave?” I was going to have to ask another to perform a duty that was mine alone.
“And that would be?” He peered at me with his black stare.
Leaving my village behind would be hard, desecrating it, harder. “My family is some of those dead, sir.” Swallowing, I closed my eyes. “Sir, put the dead t
o rest, set the village ablaze.” Life brought hard lessons to the young, I couldn't leave the dead unattended for scavengers.
Before the dawn broke across the starless nighttime sky, Vanic leaned in once more offering his wrist, then commanded slumber. My thoughts drifted into a dreamless sleep, one where my parents and sisters didn't invade, inviting me to join them.
When I awoke again, the acrid scent of smoke encompassed the forest. The village was gone. He had moved us while I'd slept to outside the mouth of a small cave. A young rabbit roasted over burning coals.
“At nightfall tomorrow, we start our journey away from here. Eat, Vlad, you'll need your strength. The meat is for you.”
The smell of the roasting animal roiled my stomach, but I found if I wanted to survive, the meal would make me stronger. Walking through the forest was hard on healthy legs, mine felt lame and unsteady. There wasn't much choice other than to relax into my pine needle bed and wait for Vanic to decide which path to follow because he was my destiny.
Chapter Two
Following Vanic brought a peace I'd never known. Over time, he told me of his long life, how he came to be, and what he was. Loupgarin, his maker, was an ancient, cruel vampire who planned to build an army, turning those he held as slaves. Vanic claimed Loupgarin was an original vampire, created by the Earth Mother to keep her Fae and Mankind from fighting over the night. Vampires were born to become the masters of the darkness and like all hunters of the night, their senses were enhanced, their strength increased. The night became forbidding, frightening to others as vampires came to life with a parasitic plight. Their downfall was the sun. It became the enemy, bringing burning pain and death with no awakening.
Amazed by his story, I asked, “How did you become free from such a cruel master, milord?”
He leaned close and whispered, “Vlad, I'm going to tell you a secret. One, the Vampire Hierarchy likes to keep to itself. In the wrong hands, it could disable my race, make us vulnerable to mortal hands.”
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