Crimson Knight
CRIMSON KNIGHT
The Crimson Series
The Prequel
K.L.O Johnson
THE CRIMSON SERIES
Crimson Knight
the Prequel
A Novel
K.L.O Johnson
K.L.O Johnson (Kelvia-Lee Odette Johnson)
© Copyright K.L.O Johnson 2016
© 2016 by K.L.O Johnson
This is a work of fiction.
The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely and purely coincidental.
All rights are reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission from the author. Stunts and scenes and any replication of scenes will result in severe injury or death.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the author. Hence, reproducing ideas, characters, storyline or works itself is prohibited.
First published in December 2016
Typeset Athelas
PRELUDE
A VAMPIRE’S DANCE
It was inevitable that we grew weary in a form that was able to mimic the genetic makeup of any and every species—something which allowed us to survive for so long. I took down one mortuss only to have it rise up again, from the dead. As I watched the tall mortuss approach me, with an oversized hammer. I heard the grinding of the metal as it dragged its oversized hammer along the ground behind it. I knew then and there; I was in trouble. The monster brought the hammer over its head ready to swing and I was too stunned to move. I knew I wouldn’t be able to move in time, as I was certain without a doubt, that the metal he carried wasn’t of Earth.
As he was ready to strike, something leaped through my vision and a vampiere attacked the mortuss that threatened to destroy me. The vampiere bit into the mortuss and not before long I heard the sound of the vampiere’s gargling scream before I noted its foaming mouth. It screeched and leaped from the large mortuss and the vampiere clawed at its tongue. Blood pooled and squirted everywhere and I unexpectedly feared he’d bleed out. He trilled and I watched as the wound on the mortuss healed as did the vampiere. Those two monsters locked onto each other and within a heartbeat, they leaped towards each other, as I remained glued to the sidelines, frozen in shock.
ONE
MORTEM ACADEMY
Aware of the difference in my life, made me think back on all those times when I was younger, I never knew of the dangers that would face me.
Not until I was ready.
This future we have in our time is dark and deadly, it was a future that my many foes desired more than blood, as the world that we now lived in was nothing more than a point in time. Soon, I learnt that, that specific point in my life, where it all began, proved to be my awakening . . .
I was a teenager when it all began and when it did, big changes were on the horizon, “But I don’t want to go!” I firmly, declared. Planting my hands resolutely upon my hips; standing tall. I knew without a doubt I represented a proud, determined young woman. Regardless of my maturity. My sudden demand, doesn’t falter my father’s decision.
“Too bad, the money has been paid and you’ve been accepted,” he evenly stated. Strangely enough, he doesn’t mind talking about what it would be like when I end up there and not how I feel about it. Obliviously, he refused to see the major problem I faced and this, was being stranded on a five-hundred-acre block of land with a bunch of night students.
Something, I never expected.
I’ve always gone to school during the day, so this is new to me. According to my stubborn Father, “It’s not only adults who study at night in order to complete or further their education.” I glared at the annoying memory and perceived my father’s voice ripple through my involuntary flash back. “Now, what’s the matter?” I courtly examined him, as he scrutinised me from over his thick newspaper of yesterday’s events.
“What makes you think that?” I asked, not entirely confident I could hide my surprise. My father sighed and placed the paper softly in his lap. As usual, the tabloid was stealthy silent as he viewed me from behind his thinly framed glasses, which guarded those black eye—eyes that were as dark as mine. I couldn’t tear my gaze away as his eyes intellectually pierced mine. Motivated to examine, every aspect of my movement, my tone and above all—my posture.
The annoying power of psychology.
“That scowl on your face, says it all dear.” Turning away from him, I noisily exhaled while wondering why my father chose to be a psychiatrist. Storming to the kitchen, down the hall, I faintly heard the sound of my father’s muffled laughter as I pushed open the kitchen door that swung back in place as a form of privacy for the chef within—in this case, my mother. There she stood, bent over our oven. Searching for the cooked desert, with her poker dot mitten that covered protectively her right hand.
The steaming batter of her brownies was welcoming as it made its way to my nose in a calming and all too acquainted routine. I slipped into a bench stool tucked beneath a single stretch of island, there was within this modern day Russian household and patiently waited for my mother to finish. Reluctantly she did, as she placed the sterling silver tray on our pearly white benchtop.
“Hello, sweetie, care for a Brownie?” I nodded. “They just came out of the oven, I’ll be sure to place it in your cooler bag once ready,” she declared as I shifted myself into a more comfortable position.
“Mum, can you tell dad?”
“Tell your father what?” she asked, interested. Her black hair fell in wavy curtains down to her narrow waist which contrasted nicely against her pearly pale skin and deep black eyes.
“That I don’t want to go to Mortem Academy!” I exclaimed. My sudden outburst caused my mother to freeze in place, with the same exact motivation my father had previously—to examine me with that same intellectual gaze.
I felt my body tense. “It’s one of Russia’s most prestigious academies. I believe it made it last year into the top ten in the world. Why wouldn’t you want to go? It appears to have all the clubs and facilities you need to accomplish your dream,” articulated mother in a smooth mature voice. “Even Curt thinks it’s a great idea.”
So our family friend was against me too, figured as much.
Not before long my mother wrapped the batter in cling wrap and tucked it away into our large commercial fridge to cool. I didn’t notice how fast time had flown by, until I saw my father advance confidently and elegantly, into the kitchen. Unbeknownst to him, he was the last person I wanted to see.
“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” my father greeted my mother. I contorted my features into revulsion as he strode to his wife.
“Ew! Dad! I’m right here!” I called as mother returned dad’s peck on the lips. Wrapping my arms around my head. I fiercely buried it into the bench, only to note it had very little effect, as the sound of my parent’s light pecks bounded around me.
“Honey, Cecelia doesn’t want to go,” my mother purred against my father.
Silence filled the room and I held my breath as my father unnecessarily noisily sighed. “Cecelia?” he demanded in a deep brusque voice.
I knew that tone. That was the “I’m serious” tone. Knowing this, I snapp
ed my head up and curled my fingers together concluding I would pathetically resort to begging. Something I knew my level headed father had difficulty handling.
Pros of being daddy’s little girl.
“Please! Dad! I’ll do my chores without pay for a whole month.” I pleaded—knowing that, that suggestion was a bit much, as I pulled my lips up into a pout. An underhanded move I knew he couldn’t handle. My mother gave him that all too familiar “be careful” glance as he regarded me with both fear and concern. “Please don’t make me go to some desolated place that I don’t even know!” I begged. My father transcended a blank expression, managing to firmly fold a single arm around my mother. Pulling her beside him as his eyes remained analytic as ever and I knew he was sorting through his mind attempting to find some way to convince me.
“This isn’t about Ryan, is it?” he asked with a curious but grim tone, I froze.
I gulped. He repeated once again, this time removing his hand from my mother. I watched as he sternly crossed his arms firmly over his chest. His eyes clouded with such suppressed rage that I was fearfully aware if Ryan were here, he’d probably kill him on the spot for being one of my many reasons for wanting to stay. “This isn’t about Ryan.”
I remembered the previous night where he managed to set me down and talk about my future plans and what he wanted for me. He even played the whole mother will be proud card. Wasn’t she already? I was top of the class in my year and have excelled in all my extracurricular activities. As a result, I was presented an award for my hard work.
“I know that.” I quickly added.
“It better not be. I don’t like you dating at a young age.” he warned in a deathly tone, “Regardless of the peer pressure or what others tell you. You’re still my daughter and you’re still getting a future. Even if it means having you travel across the opposite end of this vast country than you will.” He did it. He put his foot down. I deflated in defeat. I often get what I want so why not now?
The doorbell rang. Jumping from my seat I headed straight towards the front door. I knew who it was. Ryan! He’s here to see me, I happily mused, as I fixed my hair in the hallway mirror. Once satisfied, I continued en route for the ingress, attempting to calm my racing heart. The bell rang again and I slowly opened the door. There he stood, tall, proud and beautiful as ever. His black hair cascaded around his features, emphasising his pale skin like mine but with piercing bright green eyes, I wish I had, rather than my parent’s dark ones. Those green eyes I had heard were the rarest of them all. “Morning.” he greeted.
“Morning,” I replied.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“Wait one moment, I left my bag in the kitchen.” I confessed, opening the door wide enough for him to enter. As I knew it would be one: rude to leave your boyfriend waiting for you and two: I knew I desired his company whilst in the cluster of my parents’. With my father there, I was certain, we both needed to support each other in his deadly presence.
As we roamed the halls, slowly. He gently whispered in my ear, plans of our dinner date tonight, something I predicted would be as romantic as he was. I could feel his warm breath against my skin, this only made me question if we were taking our time and hoped not, I didn’t want to give my father any more reason to despise Ryan.
Pushing open the kitchen door revealed, my mother and father. My parents were fixed in place, immediately, their attention turned wholly on us. The benchtop I noticed was cleared and wiped by the cloth under my father’s taught fist and whitened knuckles, something that often occurred when my father laid his eyes on Ryan. “Hi Mr. and Mrs. Rusakova,” Ryan greeted.
My father relaxed, soon after my mother cleared her throat and moved around the bench and over to us. Her features morphed into a pleasurable yet calm mask but I knew it was a lie. She was known to be a good actress especially when she was forcing kindness for my sake.
Both of my parents trusted Ryan to a degree but felt as though he may be a distraction. I understood their reasons but it was my life. The only reason why they allowed him to see me was because I was still a virgin and according to mother they prefer to keep it that way until I was twenty-one. Something I wondered how, they’d keep tabs on.
“Hello Ryan,” welcomed my mother in a gentle tone. My father moved to my mother’s side his eyes never leaving my romantic interest. So I aimed to keep Ryan by mine. “You’re here to take Cecelia to school?” she warmly sung.
“That’s the plan,” he joked. I fought the urge to face palm myself.
It was the start of a new school year and I was required to go to school for this whole week. To hand in assignments that I never really had a chance to finish as well as clean out my locker on top of that. I was also required to inform the SRC (Student Representative Council) that I was no longer available for the position. After, I finally managed to receive a decent amount of votes, once, nominated by the student body.
“Well drive safe, you know how some drivers and pedestrians are in Moscow,” my mother stated in a gentle tone—she only said that because a man tried to pull compensation out of us when my father didn’t really hit him, he jumped.
My mother’s plump red lips were pulled into a convincingly gentle small smile upon her youthful model like features, that hauntingly reminded me of her fear for me.
“Will do Mrs. Rusakova,” confirmed a relaxed Ryan.
Ryan was a year older than me but in the same year something about him not being born before the cut off month, to be pushed into year eleven. We were finally seniors and I was proud. But before Ryan could begin another courteous conversation with my mother. I paced over to my bag and slipped it over my shoulder. Turning around, I grasped his hand and dragged him out of the kitchen. I called out my “byes” to my parents fast enough for them to not thread another word, into my silenced sentence and feverously raced out the door with Ryan in tow.
Down the winding, wet streets of Moscow. Ryan drove and remained quiet. I thought he would continue to do so until . . . “You didn’t have to yank me out of the house like that,” he complained whilst guiding the 2045 silver Volkswagen along the ice sheen highway.
There were cars ahead of us and behind us as well as on our right racing to and fro us. Luckily, there weren’t any traffic jams. Normally, around this time of day there were; buses, cars and road-trains bulking up the thick boulevards with citizens who wanted to go to work or with students on their way to school. “I know but we need to go to school.” I reminded.
“No. I need to go to school. You need to enjoy your time out.” I regarded him with a lost expression. “What now?” he asked, as he peeked at me from the corner of his eyes whilst attempting to keep his perception on the road ahead. With his left hand on the wheel, his free hand was linked amid mine and I felt his lukewarm fingers gently trace along the crook of my knuckles.
“Just because it’s my last week it doesn’t mean I won’t learn anything.” I retorted.
“True, but you have what? Two days left of this week. Relax.”
“Do you want me to leave?” I demanded. He turned from me, pulling his hand away. He glanced out at the highway ahead of us, his face was hard and I wondered what he was thinking at that moment as silence stretched between us.
“I don’t want you to leave but I figured it’s for the best.” When he said those words, it made me slightly wonder what exactly he had meant by that. Even though I knew I couldn’t question what goes on in his head but I knew there was something off about him.
“Fine. I’ll go.” I said after some time. We pulled into the school parking lot and I forced my way out of the car and through the crowd of busy students. I heard Ryan calling my name but I ignored him. I guess what everyone told me about him was true.
Typical high school.
The bell rang and I was off to my first class. As I walked down the bleached halls packed with students in their own unique style of clothing. I decided then and there it would be best to avoid people I knew as I really didn�
��t want to talk. The energy I suddenly had disappeared like a cloud of mist—slowly it seeped through my pores and all I wanted to do was make my way to English alone—silently.
I sat down in my regular spot as I didn’t seem to understand why everything needed to be done so slowly let alone at all. Like me heading to a school I knew nothing of. Just because you read a brochure doesn’t mean that it wasn’t dangerous. That was what I kept telling my parents as a false excuse to not go. There was no place safe in Russia let alone the world. I knew that for a fact but somehow I didn’t know why, I just always knew that danger lurked around every corner.
“Cecelia Rusakova . . .” ordered a voice. I glanced up. My teacher stood staring at me, from behind his large frame square glasses. Mr. McGrath was an old round short man with a quick temper, he, I have to say was someone that didn’t get along with both the staff of this school and its students. “Miss Rusakova, I expect you to answer when I address you.” he added, coldly.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Open your book, I would like you to read Act One Scene One of Othello.”
A please would be nice. I bitterly, thought. Suppressing my annoyance, I stood as it was custom to and flipped to the required page and cleared my throat. I repeated the black inked marked words on the page. I loved Othello and his devotion to his people. Imagine being in a world where you were not surrounded by people of your own heritage you wouldn’t be exactly comfortable. Explaining why I related to this play of all Shakespeare’s works. By the time my turn was done, we analysed the text while Mr. McGrath began to write down the important contextual aspects that Shakespeare successfully displayed.
Like that class ended and I was off to second period. Though, as I walked down the eastern hall, something felt strange and out of place. It was silent and I felt as though I was being watched, I wouldn’t be surprised though, maybe father told Mrs. Maguire to keep an eye on both Ryan and I. I quickened my steps and entered another adjacent hall where other students began to dash to and from their period one class. I sighed and squeezed my way through the crowd, elbowing anyone who held me up.
Crimson Knight (Crimson Series Book 0) Page 1