I was not allowed to reply. The count captured my lips with his, and then he launched his tongue deeply into my mouth. At first I tried to struggle; my mind was telling me that was what I should do, but his unrelenting passion began to kindle a flame deep within my body. Soon I was wantonly answering his probing with my own.
The count drew the covers back. His hand reached to my gown, searching for buttons. There were none. I heard the material rip away, and then I felt the familiar firmness of his hand as it grasped my breast. My entire body began to writhe in anticipation of what it knew would follow. He tore the rest of the gown from my trembling body.
He stood on the bed, towering over my quivering flesh. Slowly he began to remove his own clothing, piece by piece, throwing them to the floor. He loomed over me like an omnipotent god preparing to claim his innocent victim; his well-muscled body resembled that of a twisting serpent about to feast upon its prey. He dropped to his knees, straddling my body. The closeness of his manliness called out to all the wild beasts within me. Goosebumps rose excitedly over every inch of my flesh.
“Come fly with me, little bird,” he murmured as he gently lowered himself onto my nakedness.
My back arched up to greet him. I groaned in ecstasy. He moved slowly, deliberately—teasing me, taunting me with every inch of his being. My arms encircled his neck, and my nails raked across his back, forming a trail all the way down to his buttocks. I had become like one possessed; a tigress in full heat! I begged recklessly for fulfilment.
“Now!” I screamed. “Now!”
The count raised himself slightly off my body. He gazed down into my pleading eyes. An unnatural howl filled the room. Lightning flashed through the curtained window. Thunder followed, rattling the thin panes to the point of breaking. He thrust his fullness into me. I opened to accept the momentum of his fury.
Oh God, how the fire burned, searing me deeper and deeper, pushing me into the flames of hell! I begged for more as he impaled deeper into unexplored depths. My head whirled in clouds of ecstasy and clouds shrouded in flames of lust, consuming me in volcanic moments of rapture. My body exploded, time after time, climaxing to the ultimate that I had never dreamed possible.
His breath came heavier and heavier on my neck. I could hear his desire mingled with mine. I detected his fulfilment as his final deliverance exploded into my body. The storm was spent. All was quiet, except for the rasping sound of breathing from the two exhausted bodies upon the bed.
The count lay still upon me for a moment. Then he rose, slowly. As he moved away from me, I could not help but notice the look of disdain, for the second time that night, inscribed on his face. Suddenly, I felt frightfully cold ... and so very used. He picked up a blanket and cast it across my sweating body.
“Did you enjoy the flight, Virginia darling?” His smile manifested evil.
What a cold-hearted question! How could he be so indifferent after such passionate lovemaking? What was the point to all of this? Now the storm was over, would the count drop the bomb? I waited silently for my sentence.
“I must inform you—regretfully, of course—that this was our final union and the last time I will see you. I leave with my father and the others for the old country tomorrow evening.” The count pronounced these facts casually as he dressed.
The bomb was being dropped. I was still shocked that it came so soon after the moments we had just shared. Had I been hoping for some sort of human compassion from this man? How many times had I been warned not to expect such?
“But what of Santan? What will happen to my baby? Who will care for him? Feed him?” I asked, desperate now that I realized my moment of fate had finally arrived.
“He has no further need for you,” was the cutting reply. “After tonight’s ceremony, his needs are the same as mine.”
“So what are your plans for me, my count?” I jumped up from the bed and grabbed at his arm as he swung his cape across his shoulders. “I have given you the son you wanted so much; I have done all that you asked of me! Please ...” I dropped to the floor, grovelling at his feet, begging for life itself—probably just as Lilly had done. How low I had stooped for the miserable existence I endured! “Please, I could give you another son—we talked of this ...”
The Count Basarab Musat regarded me, the cowering, naked figure at his feet. Disgust was still etched across his face. “You talked of that, Virginia darling. As for my plans for you—I have none. I am finished with you. I thought only to take one last moment of pleasure from your body, as well as to give you a moment of the same. It is my understanding, from having studied human behaviours for so many years, that they desire to leave this earth on a happy note. I trust you enjoyed the symphony I have just played for you?” His words were freezing my blood.
“You have given me a fine son. For this, perhaps I should thank you; but you see, if it had not been you, some other eager female would have happened along eventually to accomplish the same job. I do not really need you in particular to produce another son for me. Besides, I do not believe that anything you have done for me has been done with honest willingness, has it now, my darling Virginia? In fact, that is exactly what it has been for you, right, Virginia—a performance?” The count’s accusation destroyed any resistance I might have had left.
“I tire easily of insincerity,” he continued. “You comprehend, I am sure. You should never have allowed such a thing as trying to fool me cross your mind, not even for a moment!”
I reached out and clutched at his cloak. He plucked my fingers from it. “As for your fate, be sure you will know it before I depart this house.” With those searing words, he left me, a crumpled heap upon the floor in the room where moments before he had soared with me to the ultimate ecstasy a man and woman could ever ascend to.
Waiting for him just outside my door was Teresa. She laughed, throwing her head back to reveal the horrid fangs. The count joined in her mirth, both of them laughing at me and my exposure. They embraced. They fondled at each other’s necks. I lay upon the floor, staring disbelievingly out my open door at Basarab Musat and his chosen queen, Teresa. They lifted their heads and jeered at me; blood was trickling from the corners of their mouths. My eyes narrowed in on the fresh puncture wounds which dominated the flesh on both necks!
“Come, my queen, my chosen one,” the count guffawed, “from now until eternity you shall be forever mine!”
My head turned away. When I dared to look again, they were gone.
~
The realization that I had less than twenty-four hours to live weighed heavily on my mind. My fists pounded angrily on the wooden floor planks. There were only the walls and the furniture there to listen to my anguish, and they were helpless to assist me.
Tears of disappointment flowed freely from my eyes. My body shivered from the cold, and from the fear that encompassed me. I was being cheated out of a normal lifetime, just for the sake of one night of curiosity!
Where was the God my mother had spoken of? Why had He forsaken me?
I dragged myself to the edge of the bed and pulled myself up. My body sank into the mattress that had become cold. My eyes closed. It was over.
The Gift
Chapter Twenty-seven
Iawoke to the first rays of the morning as they crept through the cracks at the edges of my curtains. Grogginess still weighed heavily on my eyes, as well as my mind. I ran my fingers along the edge of the blanket. I could not remember how I had returned to bed, for my last memory was of my defeated self pounding upon the floor. I focused my mind on the moments I had spent in the count’s arms, but as the fogginess began to clear, the realization of what he had said upon taking his leave, the scene on the landing with Teresa, and the understanding that my fate would be sealed before another sun rose to its fullest height—all of that overpowered the storm that had consumed me last night.
He, the Count Basarab Musat, the lord of this place, had dismissed me as if I were nothing. He had confirmed what Max and Teresa had been tryi
ng to tell me all along—I was nothing more to him than a vessel to carry the child that Teresa was unable to bear him. My only chance to escape would be today, in the sunlight. That would have to be done as quickly as possible, and it would happen only if I could convince Max to help me. He was the only other person in this godforsaken place who could be out in the light of day. I had no choice but to gamble on his possible goodness, or perhaps his change of heart. Surely he would be along soon with some breakfast.
I climbed out of bed and walked over to the closet to select my clothing. It would have to be suitable for running because once I got outside that front door my life would depend on the swiftness of my feet and, as experience had taught me, the sharpness of my eyes. To my dismay, I discovered that all of my clothing had been removed!
I glanced frantically around the room. My eyes fell to the rumpled bed, searching desperately for the ripped gown that had been cast aside last night. It would be better than nothing. My reward peeked from beneath the blankets.
I grabbed up the remnants of the gown. It was in shreds. I had not realized, being so caught up in the moment, how the count had tore it from my body. Possibly, if I tried hard enough and used a little of that imagination I seemed to be gifted with, I could fashion the material in such a way to at least modestly cover me. Within minutes, I had the dress tied together well enough to cover most of me. I thought of using the blanket but then decided its heaviness would weigh me down.
I ventured over to my door, praying all the way to the God who appeared to have forsaken me—praying He would have seen fit to unlock this barrier for me and praying He would forgive me my transgressions with the count, albeit that they were ones beyond my control. My final prayer was that God would somehow soften just one heart in this house, allowing someone to assist me in what I knew would be my final escape attempt. If I failed again, I knew there would be no more chances.
I reached the door. I turned the handle. To my surprise, it opened!
God’s first grace!
I took another look around the room I was hoping to leave behind. My journals—I must take them with me! They were my proof that all here had actually happened. I prayed that they had not been removed along with my clothing. I moved quickly back into the room, lifted the bedskirt, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. I retrieved the box containing the ragged pages and then headed back to the open doorway.
God’s second grace!
I ventured onto the dimly lit landing at the top of the staircase. All the candles in the lower hall had been snuffed out, and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I hoped this was my first step toward the freedom I so longed for. I glanced around at the shadows, forever aware of Teresa’s cautioning words. The very echo of them haunted me constantly: Beware of the shadows! Was she laying a trap for me? Would she be lurking in the hall below, ready to stop me, once again, at the threshold of my freedom?
Maybe she had returned after her rendezvous with the count last night. Maybe it was she who had taken my clothing and placed me back in the bed. Perhaps she had left the door unlocked, knowing full well that I would attempt one final escape. Could that be her final gift to me—so she could watch the count’s wrath come down upon me as it had upon her and Max so many times, because of my game-playing? I could not blame her for her moment of revenge or say that I would not have done the same if I were in her shoes.
There was no more time to ponder the reason for an unlocked door or the complicated relationships within the household. I moved quickly down the steps, memory guiding my feet. My heart thumped loudly in my chest. Perspiration broke out on my forehead. I reached the bottom and began running toward the light that I knew was at the end of the hallway. My greatest fear was of what I might find there or, worse yet, who would discover me before I touched the doorknob of freedom.
To my utter surprise, I reached the door without mishap. Everything was happening much too easily. I kept waiting for the axe to drop on my head, for someone to drag me back into the house—but this time I was sure I would not be returned to my room. Most likely I was destined for that dark cell in the dungeon of this horrid place, the cell where I would be left to rot, unnoticed, until a day when someone might happen upon my bones while exploring an abandoned old house. Or worse, I would become the next Lilly, cursed to wander in a lifeless existence for eternity, constantly being hounded by the human race to which I had once belonged, and never being able to explain that I could not help what I was—that I was undoubtedly one of them and had been cursed to such an existence by some evil creatures! How could I explain that I had no control over the urges that I would probably be left to deal with? Why would anyone believe someone who was a murdering criminal in their eyes—a serial killer, like the ones the count and I had talked about so often? Unlike Lilly, I had no Max in my life who would bargain for the peace of my soul. And it would not matter anyway because they would likely wipe out any memories of my time with them that I might have been able to retain.
I thought I detected a noise behind me. I peeped nervously over my shoulder. I could see nothing. I turned back to the door. It opened easily, and I stepped out into the foyer. One more door to get through, and then I would just have to get across the gardens and through those trees. I would be free! I would try to come back later for my son. Perhaps I could even bring the police in time to prevent the count from taking Santan out of the country. Of course, even if they did come to arrest the count, what kind of power could they wield over one such as him?
My hand reached for the other door handle. It froze in mid-air as words ripped through the silence. “Wait, Virginia.” The voice was low and husky. I knew it was a woman, but at that moment I could not decipher whether it was Teresa or Aunt Emelia. I turned to face the voice that had stopped me on the threshold of escape. I tried to prepare a speech in my mind, one that would plead convincingly for my life. I was ready to do whatever was necessary to save my life—even more than I had already done over the past months!
“Please—” I began.
The figure stepped out of the shadowy corridor. “Hush, child.”
It was Aunt Emelia, and from the sound of her voice and the look of her attire, I sensed she was there to help me. She was totally robed in black, and a black silk veil covered her face. Under the veil, I detected a pair of dark glasses that I assumed were meant to give even more protection to her sensitive eyes. I sent fervent thanks to God.
God’s third grace!
“There is a better, less conspicuous, way out of here,” Emelia whispered. “Follow me.”
I had no choice but to trust her. She led me through the den and opened a small wooden door that was hidden behind a thick red curtain. We stepped through into a musty-smelling tunnel. The ground was hard-packed earth. Cobwebs hung everywhere. Spiders were busily repairing their webs from what must have been a recent intrusion. Flies buzzed around, trying to dodge the webs. Piles of boxes, broken furniture, and antique relics were scattered randomly around. I turned to speak to Emelia, but she raised her finger to her lips.
“This tunnel will take you out into what once was used as a schoolroom. I have released all the locks for you. From there, you will find your way to the street, and your freedom.
“I have left a large basket in the schoolroom. Take it with you. Inside the basket are some gifts from me to you, my dear. Go quickly now, before you are found out, and before I am discovered assisting you!”
I was totally baffled. “Why are you doing this for me, Aunt Emelia?”
Worried frustration was beginning to show on Emelia’s face. “There is no time for explanations right now, dear. I have left you a letter in the basket, which will make everything clear to you, plus give you further instructions. Now hurry; you must go before Max discovers you are missing. You are both lucky it was I who hid in your room that day when you begged him to help you escape. Max still does not know for sure that it was I, but he suspects so because damnation has not rained down upon him
yet. You were very foolish to think that he would help you—he will never challenge the count’s authority.”
“But why?” I continued to plead for an explanation from Emelia, but she shoved me gently down the passage.
“Go!” she whispered huskily. “Go! No, wait just a moment.” Emelia removed her cape, placed it around my shoulders, and then sent me on my way again with these final words: “There. You will need a proper covering; your dress is so torn. Go quickly. Use your hands on the walls to feel your way along. The passage will become exceedingly narrow further down, and it is dimly lit, but your eyes should adjust soon to the darkness. Do not stop to read my note until you are far from this place.”
I still hesitated.
“Go!” she ordered nervously as she glanced back over her shoulder. “There is no time to explain anything now!” And with those words, she disappeared back into the den and shut the door. I was left alone in the corridor to freedom.
I stumbled forward, tripping over something on the ground. I almost dropped the box with my diary notes. I regained my footing, clutched the box to my chest, and pushed on, thoughts of my impending freedom guiding my nervous feet.
As I worked my way along, my heart beat anxiously. Would this passageway ever end? When would I reach the room Emelia had spoken of? Or was she sending me to my death? That was one thing I had not had time to think of because everything had happened so quickly. After all, why would she cross Basarab, the nephew she loved so dearly?
Without warning, I bumped into a wooden door. My fingers fumbled in the dim light. I found the latch. It opened easily. The door swung open noiselessly, as though someone had recently oiled the rusty hinges. I entered a small, cluttered room.
An antique wood stove, looking much like the one I had seen in pictures of my grandmother’s old farmhouse, sat in the front part of the room. Long pine tables, with hard, backless benches, filled the area beyond the old heating relic. On one of the back tables, close to another door, was a large wicker basket, just as Emelia had promised.
Night's Gift: Book One of the Night's Vampire Trilogy Page 28