Bite Me: A Vampire Anthology

by Cain, Addison

  Without the help of the Hungarians or the Holy Roman Empire, they could not hope to defeat the Turks. They had pushed back the infidels’ half-hearted attempts to claim land along the border but could never survive a full-out war. The forces of their small kingdom were out-numbered three to one. No one knew that better than her husband, who as a child had been taken from his mother’s arms and forced to live in the Turkish empire as a blood tribute to the Ottomans.

  Vlad was beaten and mistreated, forced to worship their infidel god and trained in the skills of war. It had been the sultan’s hope that once Vlad was declared king, he would be loyal to the Turks.

  He was wrong.

  Vlad never truly converted, staying loyal to his Christian god.

  And for what?

  So, this same god could now reward his steadfastness with ignorance and contempt?

  Mirella saw her opportunity.

  Crumpling the sheep’s skin in her hand, she raised her fist to Vlad.

  “Your faith has abandoned you. Spit in your face.”

  Vlad turned to her, brow lowered.

  “See how Ladislaus refuses to come to your aid?”

  Mirella wrapped her body around his, her hand reaching under his armor to touch the warmth of his flat stomach.

  Leaning up on her toes, she whispered into his ear. “Where is your mighty god now? He has abandoned you. You who have been his faithful servant since you were a child.”

  Vlad threw her off. “Do not cling to me, woman, as you pour poisonous falsehoods in my ear.”

  “What is false? Has your Hungarian brother in faith not refused you aid? Has not the Holy Roman Empire turned its back on Wallachia and its faithful king?” she hissed, stalking toward him. Her eyes lit with unholy fire.

  Mirella slid her hands over his shoulders to grasp his neck. Pulling his head down to meet her lips, she said, “My prince should bow to no one, not even a heavenly king.”

  Her tongue swept his lower lip before slipping inside his mouth. Soon his arms wrapped around her middle, wrenching her body closer to his own, sinking into the deep kiss.

  Pulling free, he grasped her jaw. “My love speaks the truth. I will assemble my generals.”

  Mirella waited till he left the parapet.

  With casual grace, she strolled up to a sentry partially cast in shadows.

  “My lady,” he said with reverence. “How may I serve you?”

  Mirella smiled. Running a finger over his cheek, she placed the fingertip into her mouth and sucked, tasting his essence. “I will serve myself.”

  With animal prowess, she struck out. Launching her body at the frightened sentry, she knocked his larger frame to the ground. Straddling his hips, she sunk her teeth into his throat, tearing at the soft flesh till her sharp teeth hit bone.

  She could feel the pulse of his heartbeat on her tongue as the blood flowed into her body bringing nourishment and silencing the clawing need within her belly. When she had drunk her fill, she wiped her face on his tunic before lifting his body and tossing him over the castle walls.

  Mirella watched with detached amusement as the sentry’s lifeless frame bounced off the craggy rocks, smashing his face into pulp, beyond any recognition.

  Smoothing a hand over her braid, she cast her eyes across the great expanse of Wallachia territory, looking to the borderlands of the hated Ottoman Empire. The moon lit up the top of the trees and cast shadows over the mountains in the far distance, marking the fragile divide between the two kingdoms.

  If she could get Vlad to renounce his faith and fight the Turks alone, then perhaps he would accept her fate as a wanderer as his own.

  She could hear whispers on the wind.

  Vampyre.

  Chapter 6

  Mirella sat next to her husband on their wood-carved thrones as the sultan’s emissary entered. Her lip curled at the sight of his loose robes and large white turban.

  The emissary stopped before her and Vlad.

  “His Supreme Eminence Sultan Mehmed bin Murad sends his compliments.”

  Mirella leaned forward, linking her fingers as she looked the slight man up and down. “Does your sultan intentionally insult my prince?”

  The emissary looked from Mirella to Vlad in confusion.

  Waving a dismissive hand in his direction, she spoke to Vlad. “He does not bow nor does he remove his head dressing in your presence.”

  “Our turbans are a sign of respect to God. We never remove them.”

  Mirella raised an eyebrow as she turned her head to Vlad. Using the back of her long fingers, she stroked his cheek. “He places his infidel god above your honor and in your own court.”

  “Sultan Mehmed bin Murad advises Vlad that he will return with a hundred thousand men and take his tribute in blood if you do not bow to his demands of tribute. You will not win the next battle, my lord.” The emissary smirked with the confidence of a man who knew the power of his master.

  Vlad placed his palms on the arms of his throne and slowly rose. He had only to flick his eyes in the direction of his guards for them to nod their assent and move silently behind the impudent emissary.

  “You will address me as Vlad Dracul, Voivode of Wallachia. As it pleases you to disrespect me, I will assist you in honoring your infidel god.”

  With a nod from Vlad, his guards seized the emissary by the arms.

  At that moment, Mirella called a servant over and whispered in his ear.

  “How shall we repay your disrespect?” asked Vlad as he stood before the struggling man, hands on his hips.

  Mirella approached with the servant a step behind. “If I may, my prince.”

  She motioned for the servant to present the silver platter she had ordered. On its polished surface rested a hammer and large iron nail. “Might I suggest you help him keep his turban on his head… indefinitely.”

  Vlad picked up the hammer and tested its weight on his palm. Giving his wife an appreciative smile, he turned to the now screaming emissary.

  “The sultan will hear of this!”

  “Yes, but not from you.”

  His guards forced the man to kneel before Vlad. Another guard wrapped his arm around the man’s throat, steadying him.

  Vlad placed the sharp point of the nail on the top center of the man’s head. Raising his arm, he brought the hammer down with a jarring force.

  The man screeched in terror and pain as the first portion of the nail sunk into his skull, splitting the bone.

  Vlad raised his arm and again and struck down on the nail.

  Blood began to trickle over the straining man’s eyes as the nail impaled his head. His eyes became white as they rolled back. Soon his struggles and screams ceased.

  Mirella ran the tip of her tongue over her teeth as the fresh scent of blood reached her nostrils. The clawing hunger which had only just been abated returned. Her eyes gleamed at the crimson sight.

  Servants rushed into the hall with flagons of ale as Vlad began to celebrate his declaration of all-out war against the Ottoman Empire, defying the wishes of Hungary and the Holy Roman Empire.

  Mirella slipped out of the throne room and hurried down the dark passage to the servants’ hall.

  She needed to feed without drawing even more suspicion.

  Her plan was in place.

  Soon her husband would renounce his god and join her.

  Their fate as vampyres would be shared as they feasted on the corpses of the dead Turks beneath their feet.

  Chapter 7

  The carved oak table was resplendent. The polished wood surface was covered with expensive lace, peacock feathers and large beeswax candles. Massive gold and silver platters were laden with roast beasts, savory pies and sugared fruits.

  Although she no longer felt the cold, Vlad had thoughtfully draped her in soft fur wraps as she took her seat of honor next to him.

  He poured her a goblet of wine.

  As he raised his arm to present a toast to the return of his beautiful wife, the screams o
f the damned drowned out his words.

  Their banquet was positioned in the middle of a field. Surrounding the table were countless wooden stakes driven into the ground with flailing bodies crying out in their final death throes.

  Mirella looked over at her husband.

  He was attired in the crimson cloak of their enemy the Janissary, the sultan’s elite guard. The Janissary filled their ranks with the kidnapped children from around Europe as blood tributes to keep the other kingdoms submissive to the Ottomans. Vlad himself had been one of those unfortunate children. They were broken down through threats and violence till all that was left was blind allegiance to their own captor, the sultan.

  Now, Vlad used their own elite guard against them.

  The subterfuge had worked.

  They had snaked deep into Ottoman territory under the guise of being a scouting corp of Janissary. With his guards dressed in the enemy’s traditional uniform, they could easily approach an unsuspecting camp of real Janissary and slaughter them.

  It was she who convinced Vlad that mere slaughter would not be enough.

  They needed to instill fear and loathing.

  It would be the only way to terrify the Ottomans into not invading their kingdom.

  And the further they got away from godly deeds the better.

  She watched as another Janissary soldier was brought before them.

  He was stripped of his uniform before his wrists were bound with coarse rope.

  Mirella watched as the man was forced to his knees before a large tree stump. The rope securing his wrists was pulled taut and wrapped around a stake in the ground, forcing his body to lie prone over the stump. Like an offering of a sacrificial lamb, except this man was far from innocent.

  Using a knife, a slit was cut in the soldier’s linen undergarments, exposing his back and ass.

  One of Vlad’s soldiers approached with a recently prepared stake. The young tree was at least three inches thick and taller than a man’s height. The branches were cut away and the top formed into a jagged point.

  The Janissary soldier screamed as two men lifted his legs high by the ankles, pulling them wide apart. The point of the stake was pushed between the crack in the man’s ass till it pressed against his nether hole. Using the blunt edge of an ax, another soldier began to hammer the stake into the soldier’s body.

  With each strike, the sharpened wood drove deeper into the enemy’s unwilling body. The man’s screams for mercy went ignored. Finally, after several minutes, the jagged edge struck the man’s lungs, puncturing them and silencing his screams.

  Mirella rose from her seat and crossed to the front of the table. Careful to lift her skirts so the long train did not drag in the gore of shit, intestines and blood, she strode to the stump to gaze upon the infidel’s face. She wanted to see the very moment the stake drove through his mouth.

  The man’s wide, frightened eyes were trained on her. She could taste his terror. A horrible gurgling sound broke from his soon-to-be corpse before she could see the tip of the spike emerge from deep in his throat.

  “Hand me a goblet,” she demanded of the nearest servant.

  Cradling the heavy gold cup in her hand, she leaned down before the doomed man and collected the blood which poured forth from his slack mouth.

  She could feel the metal begin to warm from its crimson contents.

  Striding toward Vlad, she bowed her head before offering the cup to him. “My prince, I offer you this sacrifice. The blood of your most hated enemy. Drink of it.”

  Vlad took the blood cup from her hands. After a short hesitation, he drank. Then raising the cup high, he vowed, “This is a chalice of our enemy’s blood. May it be an eternal covenant to my people, that your prince will die protecting you.”

  His men cheered.

  After taking her seat, Mirella broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in the still warm blood wine before placing it between Vlad’s lips. His white teeth were tinged pink as he sunk them into the saturated bite.

  Mirella took the cup from his hand and drank deeply, silently proclaiming her own death and resurrection.

  Her covenant with the undead, the wanderers, the vampyres.

  The mass of their own macabre eucharist was complete.

  It wouldn’t be by the cross of which they were saved… but by the stake.

  Chapter 8

  “Did your god save you?”

  “No.”

  “Did your god save your people?”

  “No.”

  “Did your god abandon you?”

  “Yes. Damn you, god. Yes.”

  With that proclamation, Vlad grabbed her around the waist and forced her body back till she hit the cold hard stone of their chamber wall.

  They were celebrating their defeat of the Turks. Upon viewing a battlefield filled with their own elite soldiers, dying a slow horrible death, the Ottoman army was demoralized and refused to advance deeper into Wallachia, proclaiming that the devil himself sat on its throne.

  “My prince, my Dracul,” moaned Mirella as he tore at the fastenings of her gown.

  Baring her breasts, Vlad laved at her nipples as he reached for the fastenings of his breeches.

  Mirella broke away and ran to the other side of the room. Turning she bent over, knowing the move would crush her full breasts together and enflame him even more.

  “Come here, woman,” he growled.

  Grabbing the hem of her gown, she slowly lifted it to her waist, baring her cunt to his gaze.

  Vlad unbuttoned his doublet and shrugged out of it before tearing off his linen shirt, exposing the expanse of his firmly muscled chest. The thick swirls of dark hair could not obscure the deep gashes and wounds he had received over the years. Each red slash, each white puckered hole was a badge of honor. A testament to his bravery and manhood.

  Holding her skirts with one hand, Mirella reached between her legs and began to stroke her cunt.

  “Force me.” Her words were a challenge as her bright eyes took in the sight of his engorged cock pressing against his linen undergarments.

  Vlad charged.

  Grasping her by the shoulders, his head dipped as his mouth claimed her own. His tongue fought with hers as the edge of her sharp teeth scraped and cut his lips. The tang of blood only spurred her on further.

  Mirella shrieked as her nails clawed at his back. If she could, she would have splayed open his ribs and clasped his warm, beating heart to her chest. Relishing in the feel of his blood as it dripped over her breasts and stomach.

  His large hands slipped around her waist, turning Mirella around and pushing her down onto the hard-oak table.

  Her arms stretched out as she swiped at the remnants of his meal, sending metal platters and goblets crashing to the floor.

  Seizing the loose collar around her shoulders, Vlad wrenched it downwards to her waist, exposing the bare skin of her back before he shoved it over her hips. Grabbing a tipped over flagon of wine, he poured the remnants over her prone body and began to lap and lick at her wine-soaked skin. She could feel the press of his cock against the seam of her ass.

  “Fuck me, Vlad. Fuck me where your seed will be laid to waste. Fuck me against your god.”

  His only response was a feral growl as she could feel the press of his cock against her anus. His hands splayed her narrow hips, and with a hard push, the head slipped inside.

  Mirella clawed at the table, leaving deep grooves in the polished wood.

  Vlad’s hips pulled back and then thrust forward again. His cock forced its way deeper into her tight hole.

  “Who is your master?” he asked breathlessly as he began to fuck her in earnest.

  “You are, my prince,” she moaned as the pain made her feel as if she were alive again.

  Her body rocked against the sharp edge of the table as he pushed and plundered. Each stroke going deeper, forcing her body open.

  Vlad pulled free.

  Before Mirella could react, he had turned her around. He pushed
her onto the tabletop, and lifting her legs high, he splayed them wide with her ass hanging over the edge. He positioned his hips between her open legs and pushed. His thick shaft drove once more deeply inside her tight, forbidden hole.

  “Harder, harder,” she screamed, needing to feel the bite of pain.

  Vlad’s hips pistoned into her body, each stroke more brutal than the last.

  Leaning over her prone body, his teeth scraped at her nipples.

  “Bite me,” she rasped.

  Vlad’s eye met her frenzied gaze.

  “Bite me. Join me, my love.”

  Opening his mouth, he sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of her breast. Dark red drops formed around his teeth marks.

  “Harder,” she commanded.

  With a growl, Vlad sunk his teeth in deeper. Blood poured from the wound.

  “Suckle my breast. Drink from me.”

  Vlad obeyed, sucking the blood from her breast as his cock continued to thrust into her ass.

  With his jaw smeared with blood, he reared back. His hands grasping her thighs, he pushed in deep one last time before his seed poured into infertile ground.

  “As your seed dies within me, you are reborn from my blood,” vowed Mirella.

  * * *

  Vlad writhed in pain as his body died.

  Mirella watched as his skin turned a purplish pale, each vein visible. The scars slowly disappeared, leaving smooth, unblemished skin. His arms thrown wide, his hands clasped into fists, her prince accepted his fate.

  Soon, he looked at her with bright awakened eyes.

  Mirella stepped into his arms and stroked his jaw. “My love. You chose me.”

  Vlad caressed her hair. “Did you doubt I would not follow you to the end of time? Damn the gods; you are my religion now.”

  Mirella smiled.

  Vlad stroked her lip. “Summon a servant. I am hungry.”

  Chapter 9

  Germany, Seventeenth Century