Emelia threw a questioning look toward Basarab. I wondered if I had stepped over the limit this time, but my fears were cast aside when she looked at me and said, “That would be nice, Virginia. I would love to chat with you. But it must be soon; we are departing immediately after the baby’s naming ceremony.”
“I shall look forward to your enlightenments, dear aunt,” I said. “And of course, the sooner the better,” I added.
“Look forward to what?” Teresa’s voice cut through the tranquil moments I was having with Emelia. Time froze as she stood in the doorway, glaring angrily at me. There was no beauty in her countenance, only a cloak of diabolic ugliness.
I held my head high and stared back at her. “Aunt Emelia was just saying that she would love to come and tell me some family stories,” I replied to Teresa’s demand. “Maybe I shall hear some of the stories that you have not told and ones that were not recorded in Count Atilla’s diaries.”
Teresa shrieked, “Aunt Emelia? How could you? How could you divulge any more of our family stories to her? She already knows much more than she should, much more than any other of her kind has ever been allowed!” She stepped angrily over to the count’s chair and confronted him.
“What games are we playing, my dear Count, my husband? She,” Teresa continued her assault, “is not of our family—she is not one of us! She need know nothing more of our family history. You have divulged things to her that it would be better she did not know—that she has no right to know! I listened many nights, outside the study door, to your conversations. Have you forgotten the dangers that can beset us when her kind is too well-informed? They become head-hunters, vicious in their desire to eradicate us! Do you so soon forget our torment, our hiding, the scattering of our families?
“Do you forget how difficult it was to get you safely out of the country—how close you came to losing your head? How it was I who came to your aid, just as the hunter was ready to sever it? How I sent that man to hell for you? How I pulled the stake from your heart, lay down beside you, and breathed life back into you? Do you forget so soon, husband?”
The room had gone silent again. Everyone was staring at Teresa, including me. What a revelation! I looked at the count. His eyes were blacker than I had ever seen them—was it anger, or distress at having had a vulnerable moment in his life exposed in front of me—a moment that informed me he was not as invincible as he would have had me believe!
Teresa allowed her glance to take in everyone at the table before she continued. “Do you forget so quickly, my dear Basarab, the escape attempts she has already made? She is deceiving you, all of you.” Teresa made a sweeping motion with her arm.
“She has you all entranced with her provocative beauty, her unending wit, and last, but certainly not least, the baby. Yes, I know that we have all waited a long time for such an event, the birth of a healthy child to our fold—but I warn you, she is only using your son, Basarab, to try to win a place in our world. This child was meant for my arms, our arms. He is to be nourished in our ways, not hers! Cannot one of you in this room see what she is trying to do?” Tears of torment and frustration streaked down Teresa’s cheeks. Her fist smashed down on the dining table, rattling the silverware and crystal with its fury.
The count rose slowly from his chair. He grabbed Teresa’s wrist in a firm grip. I noticed the look in his eyes as he contemplated the shrew in front of him. For a brief moment, I almost felt pity for her. The moment passed. Even though her face no longer carried the scars and bruises from the beating of the night before, she had become an exact replica of the living dead portrayed on the Hollywood screens. The count’s hold on her wrist drained the beauty from her, leaving her flesh a dull, lifeless grey.
“My dear Teresa,” he spoke slowly and emphatically. “Must you always cause such scenes as this? You are acting like a jealous vixen, and jealousy is one of the traits you know I cannot, will not tolerate, especially in front of my family. You have divulged something here that should not have been spoken of again, and in doing so, you have caused me the pain of remembering that dark moment in my existence. You have also embarrassed me. I will not excuse such demeaning outbursts from my wife again! You were given the honour of being my queen, but I must warn you, my dear Teresa, even though you saved me on that day, you are replaceable if this outrageous resentment persists. It is a show of weakness that is most unbecoming of your position, and I demand you desist from this sort of conduct in the future!”
“Why is it you do not see what she is trying to do, Basarab?” Teresa continued pleading. “She is playing a game with you! Why am I the only one seeing through her?”
“You still wish to play the jealous wife, Teresa? Do you forget that I am no fool, and I am not so easily fooled with one such as her? I will deal with our little bird when the time comes. She should be of no concern to you. She is only the biological mother of the child. You are my wife, and I must repeat, if you wish to remain so, stop this petty display of jealousy at once! You are boring me to no end!”
Teresa raised her head, threw back her shoulders, and wrested her wrist from the count’s grip. “I have no desire to dine here tonight. I apologize for my outburst, for embarrassing and upsetting you in front of your family.”
She glanced at the guests, and when her eyes met mine, I noted the boiling hatred. “As I have said before, Virginia, your moment will come. Watch closely the shadows. Beware of your moves, because all it will take will be just one tiny slip in your little game. For now, I shall relish the vision of seeing you wandering aimlessly in hell one day!” Teresa warned before she strode angrily from the room.
Despite the fact that Teresa had been disgraced in front of the entire family, I was smart enough to realize she had actually won this round. I could no longer bask in my own assumed acceptance by these creatures. I kept hearing the count’s words to Teresa, words uttered only moments earlier: She is only the biological mother of my child. You are my wife. I will deal with our little bird when the time comes. How much clearer could things have been pointed out to me?
Yet, he had said that if she continued with her jealous ways she could lose her lofty position as his queen. Was there a way I could continue irritating her, thus forcing her from the imperial perch? How could I win this game? Did I truly aspire to win? Was there any chance that I could win? What would I do if I did? And the final question I needed to ask myself was—what would I become if I won?
Would I be saner to take my chances and attempt another flight before my usefulness as a mother was finished? Questions, questions, but no answers—only a mixed-up muddle of unknowns. I was so consumed by this role I was acting out that I was having difficulty separating reality from fantasy. That was a dangerous line to walk!
I also had to seriously consider that I might have to leave my son behind. If and when it came down to it, could I do that? He was, after all, still very much a part of me. He was my baby—that made him half human. I had nurtured him within my womb: singing to him, telling him my stories, caressing his tiny body as it had formed within the heart of my body. Surely those intimate moments within the womb would assure some human tendencies. “Oh, God above, why can You not give me an easy answer or, better yet, a blessed deliverer?”
“Virginia,” the count’s voice broke into my thoughts. “I hope Teresa’s little scene has not unsettled you. She is just upset at the extra attention you have been receiving of late, because of the baby, of course. You have nothing to fear, for now.” He studied me for a moment as he paused, and then he added, “Nothing to fear as long as you are being truthful.”
If all the words he had just said had been bricks, I could have built a house. His statements confirmed that I had not gained his trust. How foolish I was to assume I had, or ever would. I had not even dented its exterior. Maybe that was impossible to do. Even in my room, he had stated that he would like to believe me, but he felt there was something amiss. He was such a difficult man to read. The fact that he had survived as long
as he had should have told me how difficult he would be to fool!
Once again, I was faced with the sinking feeling that I was no match for him. I began to think I should have been more receptive to Teresa’s recent offer of freedom. Now that I had angered and embarrassed her in front of him and his family, the thought of reopening such a bargain with her was a speck on the far horizon. She hated me more than ever now, probably with a fiery passion greater than the furnaces of hell itself!
Count Atilla Musat broke the silence that had enveloped the room. “Basarab, was Virginia happy with our choice of a name for the child?” The elder count smoothly changed the subject.
“Yes. Yes, she was, Father.” Basarab still had his eyes glued on me. “She liked it very much.”
I wondered at their pretences when I was in their company. I felt, as I had many times before, it did not truly matter what I thought. My end, even after all my trials and well-laid plans of deception, would be no different now than what had been decided for me from the beginning. I was no match for the kinds of games these men played. Their ruthlessness was of sinister dimensions. Of that reality, I was more assured now than ever before!
The elderly Count Musat continued: “Good. There is something else I would like to discuss with you later, Basarab. I need you to return home. There is some urgent business that must be attended to. I am in need of your advice and, more than likely, your assistance, as well. Your leadership will be welcomed on the home front.”
“What business is of such urgency, Father, that it requires my return home?” Did I detect hesitation in the count’s voice at the possibility of having to revisit the land of his birth? Did it have something to do with the recent revelation I had just heard—with his mortality?
“Later, my son. We do not need to bother the others with these trivialities. It is our duty as the elected leaders of our people, to decide the best course of action for the preservation of our kind.” Count Atilla waved his hand aimlessly around the room, but somehow I felt his eyes remained fixed upon me.
He continued: “The outcome of our decisions will profoundly affect all our families, at home and abroad. There are also some of our own who have been quite careless with our secrets. They, too, must be dealt with accordingly.” He paused a moment, as though considering how much more to say. “Let me just say this much—it has a great deal to do with Elizabeth and Jack, and whoever is pulling their strings.”
The two names shook me! They were still around! Of course, I should have known it was possible after what the count had disclosed to me. He had never mentioned the name of whomever it was that was creating all the rogues, though; I wondered why not. Was it someone too close to him—maybe even Dracula? After all, he was not here!
The elder count clapped his hands. “Enough idle chatter. Let us partake of our nourishment. Max, serve us please; we are ready.” He smiled, and I caught a brief glimpse of his fangs. Pure evil—definitely not the picture of the grandfatherly type I was familiar with or would have hoped to have for my children!
I let my mind wander to what mysterious business could be going on that would affect the whole family. Were they being threatened? Were the rogues becoming more powerful than the original family members? Was there a difference between the two? I wondered if the statement about some of their own being careless with the family secrets was meant to indirectly warn me about the knowledge I had been allowed to glean. What was the fate of one who dared to expose such knowledge? Were the rogues, or whoever it was who led them, trying to usurp Basarab from his role as leader? If the family was in danger and they took my son with them, what would happen to him? And if they left me behind, alive, what could I do to get him back?
Silence reigned as Max served the evening meal, if you could call it a meal. I still could not bring myself to call what they consumed a true dinner delight. I ate meals—they drank blood!
Teresa’s accusations had left me uneasy. Her words kept swirling around my head. His words were doing the same. My game and my pretences were but child’s play to what these creatures were capable of. How could my meagre life experiences even compare, let alone compete?
I felt as though every eye in the room was studying me, penetrating and infiltrating my mind. Had they already unearthed the awful truth I was attempting to hide? I was no longer sure how long I could withstand such microscopic scrutiny without losing my composure. I laid my napkin on the table.
“Count Basarab,” I bowed my head in a humble show of respect: “I am afraid this entire horrid scene with Teresa has tired me considerably more than I expected. May I please have your permission to retire?”
“Of course, Virginia. If you are fatigued, you may be excused. Shall I have Max accompany you to your room?” The count raised his eyebrows.
“Thank you, but no; I shall find my own way. The baby will be waking soon, anyway; I am sure he will be hungry.” I rose from my chair. “I would appreciate it if Max would bring me some supper later.”
I allowed my eyes to drift around the table, settling momentarily upon each one of the guests. “Good night, everyone. I sincerely hope you will enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“Good night, Virginia,” the countess Emelia returned. “Would you mind if I stopped by later to see you and the child? Maybe we could have that little chat we were discussing earlier. I shall save Max a trip by bringing your supper with me when I come.”
“That would give me great pleasure, Aunt Emelia,” I answered as I leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Once again, everyone, I bid you all a good night.” I slipped quickly out of the room.
Once in the hallway, I leaned against the wall for a moment. My breath gurgled in my throat. I gasped frantically, trying to free it. “Calm yourself,” I whispered. “Stay calm, and all will be well. Lose your nerve, and you will lose everything!” I took in a couple of deep, shuddering breaths and then released them slowly in order to still my frayed nerves.
I stared into the shadows that always seemed to lurk in this long corridor. Teresa had warned me to watch the shadows. Was she there in the midst of them? Skulking somewhere, watching my every move; waiting for the moment to strike me down?
Damn her! Damn her to hell! But was there a worse hell than the one she was already in? What kept me playing these games? I was no match for them; I must be out of my mind! Why did I continue to fool myself time and time again?
It was him. It was the Count Basarab Musat, so outrageously intriguing! He was my downfall, the fiery grate of my passion that would not relinquish its flame. He was so inviting, so enticing! As much as I detested what was happening to me, I desired it, too. It was probably the most excitement I had ever experienced or, for that matter, would ever experience again—if I ever managed to get out alive!
My body ached for him. It anticipated the moment when he would run his hands along my neck and over my breasts, pausing for unending seconds to tease my nipples before proceeding down, down to explore the depths of my escalating lust. I could feel the tingling in my loins as though he were with me at that moment, stroking me into wanting him above all else!
I shook my head, drawing myself back to reality. I started up the winding stairway to my room on the top floor. I heard the baby stirring in his bed as I entered. I walked slowly to the cradle, gathered him into my arms, and held him close to my heart.
“What are you going to be, my little son?” I whispered in his ear. “You are half mine, half his. If I were to take you away from here, surely I could save you from becoming like your father and the rest of his kind.” I rocked the child in my arms as I voiced the thoughts that raced through my mind.
The child did not care about the distant future; his next meal was occupying his mind. He looked and acted like any other normal human baby as he began to wail loudly for the meal that was not as quickly forthcoming as he desired it to be.
“Okay, okay, little one. I shall feed you.”
I snuggled down into the chair near the window and ex
posed my overflowing breast from its hiding place. Santan latched on quickly and began sucking greedily. I watched for a moment as the reddish liquid overflowed his tiny lips. Was that a smile I noticed at the corners of his lips? Tonight, for some odd reason, I discovered I was once again repulsed by this sight. I looked away, staring at the heavily curtained window, searching and praying for a sign of freedom. I reached over with my free arm and pulled the curtains aside. The night was gloomy.
I noticed how the wind was whipping at the leaves of the ever-guarding trees. There was no rain yet, but the darkness of the night suggested to me that we were in for a storm. This evening had turned into a nightmare. Each time I gained ground, or thought I had, my mind was thrown into turmoil worse than before. The game I was trying to play had slowly become my master. It cracked its whip. It told me when to jump. It told me how high. And I, the one who thought she was so smart, continued to ask for more!
I started to weep. The tears poured, falling like a relentless waterfall with no direction. My frustrations oozed out with my tears as they fell down onto the face of my infant son, blending with the overflow of his supper, creating miniature pinkish-coloured runaway rivers on his constantly sucking cheeks. No matter how hard I tried, I could not prevent the torrent from bursting forth. The months of being cooped up in this place were again taking their toll. I was tired of the game I was trying to play—ever so tired. I feared its ending now more than I ever had before. And I damned myself for having tried to stay in it!
This was the condition the countess Emelia found me in when she came to my room that night. The sight that greeted her was a young woman rocking in a chair, staring blankly, clutching her baby tightly to her chest, and sobbing her heart’s pain away.
“There, there, my dear. This has all been too much for you. Teresa should be ashamed of herself for trying to upset you so soon after the birthing. A woman’s emotions are fragile enough with the trauma of delivery. It just isn’t good for you, or the baby. Of course she would not know of these things, would she, never having had the gratification of birthing a child herself.” Emelia rambled on, pausing just long enough every once in a while to wipe the tears from my eyes.
Night's Gift: Book One of the Night's Vampire Trilogy Page 23