Once Upon A Midnight

by Stephanie Rowe

  She shuddered, feeling revulsion and unable to lift her arms to slap his hand away.

  “When he stripped you down and bared your bounty to the sun, I wept.” His hand absently kneaded her breast. “And when you spread your legs to invite him inside, I wanted to tear him apart!” Fingers gripped her soft flesh painfully.

  Meghan whimpered, desperate for him to stop. “But what happened the night Mihaela disappeared?”

  Her question brought him back to the present and his hand relaxed, but did not budge from where it rested. Instead, he caressed her over her shirt.

  “After you both went at it like animals, the two of you began to plan. I listened from the weeds. You were going to leave with him, to run off and marry that night. I could not allow that to happen. When you left the glen, I followed you. I remember it all so clearly, Mihaela,” he whispered, drawing closer again. His face was hovering over her own and a mad zeal lit his dark, deep-set eyes. “You looked so glorious in the last light of the sun, like a gypsy goddess as you skipped back to our camp. I wanted to see you like this always, but for me, not for him! I could not let you go, you understand, yes?” His face contorted with remembered pain and his expression begged her forgiveness.

  His lips were less than an inch from her own, and Meghan, feeling extreme alarm, nodded. The look in her eyes showed her own mounting horror, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just kept rambling.

  “I came upon you fast. You never stood a chance. I was too strong. I had to have you. I had to make you mine, to show you how I…” He sucked in a breath, staring down at her mouth, and then his thin lips descended. He kissed Meghan who protested, turning her head this way and that, but he locked his large hands around either side of her face and held her still. “Do not fight me again, Mihaela. Do not!” He plundered her mouth and it made her feel sick. When she tried to bite his tongue, he pulled back, laughing before kissing a trail down her neck to her chest. He let his hands roam freely touching her everywhere, dipping inside of her thighs as his fingers dug into her, pressing hard. Panicked, she screamed.

  “Stop! You killed her, didn’t you? You fucking rapist! She didn’t love you! I don’t love you! Stop it, stop it, stop it!” Meghan shouted her words and thrashed as much as she could manage in her bindings. The cot shook with the force of it all, and the shrill tone of her voice finally seeped into his sick, passion-addled brain.

  Petre stopped and looked at her. He appeared confused. “Don’t say that, Mihaela. Please, don’t deny me. I’m so sorry I was too rough. So sorry I broke your…your beautiful neck.” He was breaking down. A tear fell from his eye landing on her chest. He caressed her neck absently.

  Meghan knew this man was cracking up before her eyes, and the danger of that was very real. She had to keep him talking. Someone would come for her, wouldn’t they? Mark! Mark said they were psychically connected. She concentrated on him in her mind. Mark! Are you there? Can you hear me? Petrescu has me. I’m in his house, down in the basement. He’s going to kill me. Help me, please!” Inside her head, she was beyond panicked, but outwardly, she tried for calm. If she stayed cool, Petrescu might stay calm too. It was her only chance.

  “What happened after…you killed her?”

  He wouldn’t look at her then. He sat back quietly, breathing slowly. Finally, “I carried your body to the witch.” Petre began absently turning the ring on his finger around and around. “I begged her to bring you back, but she said even she was not powerful enough to restore life to the dead. I lost my mind. I attacked the crazy old woman, but she stopped me with her magic.” He laughed. “Tossed me across the room like a rag doll, like I was nothing. I begged her to find a way, any way to bring you back to me. She said there was only one way, and it would only happen if the powers that be granted it.” He looked at Meghan. “She said I must wait for your soul to come back in the form of another. She said I would know it was you.”

  Shaking her head, Meghan held her breath, afraid of what he would say next.

  I hear you! Meghan? Are you still with me?

  Meghan’s eyes grew wide as she heard the voice inside her head. She caught herself reacting and shut it down. The last thing she wanted was for Petrescu to realize she was communicating with Mark. Yes, I’m here. Please hurry, Mark. He’s out of his mind!

  Keep him talking. I’m trying to find a way out myself. Your damn gypsy family have me caged in the barn. Wait! I hear them coming. Keep him talking. Try not to do anything to anger him. He enjoys causing pain, specifically, hurting you. Mark’s words weren’t anything she didn’t already know.

  Meghan kept her eyes on Petrescu, but in her mind said ‘He’s telling me what happened then. He killed Mihaela, Mark. He killed her…me. Said he did it after she left you in the glen, after you..we made our plans. This is damn confusing! He took her body to the old clan witch, Magdalena.

  Meghan could almost picture Mark shaking his head, and she certainly felt his anger. As soon as I get out of here, I’m coming to get you. And Meghan?

  Yes?

  I’m going to kill him.

  She couldn’t think of anything else to say to that. Meghan didn’t advocate killing anyone, but if it came down to her life or Petrescu’s, she chose her own. He’d killed her once already, and once was enough!

  Petre continued talking. “Little did I know you would look exactly like yourself. I waited for a sign, and with each passing year, lost faith. That damned old woman. I fell for her tricks. She demanded payment from me. She demanded my soul. In return, she gave me this ring,” he held out his hand, “and said I must never remove it. It would give me the longevity I needed to wait for your soul to reincarnate.”

  Meghan looked at it. Now she knew why is seemed delicate. It was a woman’s ring. “What will happen if you remove it?”

  He pulled his hand back to his side and stared at Meghan. “I will age again and die, I believe.”

  “But aren’t you sort of dead already? I mean, you have no soul or so you say.” Her innocent question incensed him.

  “I have no soul because I gave it up for you, woman! Don’t you understand? I have given up ever living a normal life, of ever knowing peace in death, all for you!”

  She gasped. “I didn’t ask you to do that, and neither did Mihaela. You made that choice. Why did she want your soul? What did she do with it?”

  A sadness entered his troubled eyes. “She absorbed it. Claimed it as her own. I think my soul gave her greater power.”

  “But if she had a longevity ring, didn’t she already have great power? She could have lived forever.’

  “Yes, she could have, but you see, the old witch had no soul of her own. I didn’t realize it until after I made the bargain. She’d already lived for centuries. None of us knew exactly how old Magdalena really was. She was an old woman when I was child, and she looked exactly the same when I was a grown man. So you see, I was convenient in my desperation. She needed a willing soul, and I was more than willing. She needed a soul because to die without one means the person burns in hell for all eternity with no chance for redemption. And we all, even the worst of us, have a chance for redemption. That is why souls reincarnate. It’s another chance to get things right.”

  Meghan thought about that. It was so metaphysical, so strangely Zoroastrian and new age that it blew her mind. “So after you completed this deal…”

  “She removed the ring, put it on my finger, and that was that.” He looked down at the piece of jewelry with disgust. “Except for the other part.”

  “What other part? What else did you do?”

  The sly glance he tossed her way sent chills down her spine. “My grief was not assuaged as you can imagine. I had just doomed myself to waiting for God knew how long before you showed up again. It was all his fault. Had Anghelescu not interfered in our family’s arrangement, none of this ever would have happened. The old woman told me I must be the one to kill her. That is how she obtained the ring and the power, and so it should follow, that is what I m
ust do. She was desperate to die. I didn’t understand that then, but I do now. Centuries of living alone, never having family or love or friends is a torment all its own. I told her I wouldn’t do it, not unless she granted me one last favor.”

  “Mark…” Meghan knew it would be bad.

  “Yes. Marku. I denied the biddy her peace lest she help me get my revenge. She gave me a weapon, one she cursed with death. All I had to do was drive it into his flesh. With her help, he never saw me coming, and I must say, it was very satisfying to stab him in the heart. When I left him, he was dead, just as she told me he would be, but wouldn’t you know it, that wicked bat cursed him not to permanent death, but living death. I returned to our village and Magdalena asked for one day to get her affairs in order. I was happy to grant the wish since part of me was satisfied. I didn’t have you, but Anghelescu was dead. I didn’t have you, Mihaela,” he reached out to hold Meghan’s hand, “but I knew I would one day. She promised. Still, like all deals made with the devil, mine backfired. Imagine my surprise the next night when I was supposed to take Magdalena’s life, your lover showed up. He tore through our camp killing everyone. He killed my mother, my father, your family, our friends. He was a monster! I ran and never came back. For the first hundred years, I kept my eyes upon his family, always from the shadows. No one would admit it, but it was clear something wasn’t right. When old Dragos Anghelescu died twenty years later, a young ‘nephew’ showed up to lay claim to the land. I caught sight of him, and sure enough, it was him. The estate kept getting passed down to a descendant, always a young man who came around after thirty to fifty years. By then, no one remembered him. He was just a relative. He stayed on or near the land, never straying far. I’ve known he was out here for some time, a walking dead man like myself, and yet not like me.”

  In her mind, Meghan relayed everything Petrescu was telling her. She felt the rage rolling off of Mark, but he kept his composure.

  Don’t lose faith, Meghan. Do you trust me?

  Meghan thought about it, and she realized she did trust him. Nowhere in their story, then or now, had he harmed her. He could have, but he never did. Certainly not when they were human eight hundred years ago, and not now when he was cursed to be a vampire. All he’d done was love her. She smiled. Yes, I trust you.

  “Nothing to say? I killed your lover, cursed him to vampirism forever, and you go quiet. Why?” Petre studied her face.

  Meghan looked at him. “I’m tired, and thirsty.” She licked her lips.

  Petrescu watched the motion, smirking. “Well, you’ve had quite the night, haven’t you?” He twirled a lock of her hair. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re here!” He swooped down, dropping a hard, fast kiss on her lips. “I will get you some water, and then we have plans to make.” He stood up.

  “Plans?”

  He smiled down at her. “Yes, we are to be married finally.” Petrescu’s smiled widened to a self-satisfied grin.

  Meghan panicked. What if Mark didn’t make it in time? She couldn’t marry this lunatic. “Mark will come for you, Petre.” She threw out the only threat she could think of.

  His smile disappeared as he shook his head. “No, Mihaela, he won’t. The sun will be up in a few hours and there will be nothing left of Anghelescu. I left him unconscious. Undisturbed. The powder will keep him that way until it is too late for him to escape the dawn. Accept your fate. You are mine.” He walked to the stairs and took them two at a time up to the first floor.

  Alone in the basement, Meghan prayed Mark would find a way to rescue her before it was too late. If, indeed, the sun was going to be an impediment, she would need to figure something else out. Her father taught her to think and to be independent. The gears in her mind began to spin. The answer lay somewhere in his story.

  Chapter Twelve

  A SMALL ARMY of angry gypsies walked into the barn and surrounded the wagon. Each stared at Mark as if he were some alien creature. He’d already met a few of them, but he was now confronted by what he detected was a very powerful old witch, and a new development, a powerful new witch. He eyed Meghan’s little gypsy friend. When he first laid eyes on her inside the tavern, she appeared so small, frightened, and easily intimidated. He could smell her blood and knew her for what she was then, but this woman who now stood before him seemed taller, stronger, and perhaps, wiser. The telling white streak in her hair marked her in the old ways. As a child, Mark remembered his own mother telling tales of travelers imbued with the power of the elements. That was where witches drew their strength, from nature. Most were unrecognizable as witches or shaman because they possessed the power of only one element. But those blessed with command over all of nature, they were marked with a lock of white hair.

  The old woman next to her gave off power, but all of her hair was a dark gray, so Mark couldn’t quite tell if she was a witch of one element or all, but Dana Veleru clearly inherited all, and recently.

  The old woman stepped forward. “You will tell me what I want to know, Strigoi!”

  Mark suppressed a smile. She actually reminded him of his old nanny who was also Curarya. Angelina raised him until he was twelve, and from then on, he was sent to train with his father’s men in arms, and to ride the land learning the family business. Angelina had been tough on him, but always with a loving hand.

  “What do you want to know?” A small curl of his lip escaped him making his cheek dimple.

  “What have you done with Meghan Hartley?” She pointed a bony finger at him.

  “Nothing.”

  Her eyes widened at his reply. “You lie! She was taken from her bed inside my home!”

  Mark sat up and looked her straight in the eye. “I did not take her. She came willingly. And I have not harmed her. She was taken from me by an old enemy, one of your own as a matter of fact. His name is Petre Petrescu.”

  “You dare to talk back--” she began.

  “Grandmamma, hold.” Dana stepped forward. “How do you know of Petrescu?” Although Cosmin had already relayed the story, she wanted to hear it from his lips. He could not lie to her. She knew this. The pendant sent assurance through her that it would know if he lied.

  “Petre Petrescu is a filthy, gypsy dog--”

  “Watch yourself, vampire!” Cosmin raised his shotgun and aimed.

  Mark toned down his rhetoric. “Petrescu is of the Lovarya. They lived on this land eight hundred years ago. He is as old as I am, but he is not Strigoi. He is human. I couldn’t believe it either when I saw him. He is the same man responsible for the death of my beloved,” he looked at Dana. “She is the young woman you know as your friend, little gypsy. Meghan Hartley is the reincarnation of my Mihaela. We were to be married when I was still human. In all honesty, I did take her from him, but only because he was an abusive bastard, and it was her choice, too. We fell in love. It is as simple as that. Now, I have her back, and damned if he didn’t take her again.” He gripped the bars, smoke sizzling as the iron and silver burned his hands. “And he will kill her again if you don’t let me out of here!”

  No one spoke. Stefan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head seeing the smoke. He crossed himself, stepping back. Sorin aimed his rifle at the vampire from the opposite side. They weren’t taking any chances.

  “How did you become Strigoi?” Again, the old woman addressed him.

  Mark sighed. It seemed they would grill him and waste time. “I don’t know, Adina Lazar Veleru.”

  She sucked in a breath and narrowed her eyes. “Parlor tricks! You will not enter my head again or I will crush you!” She made a fist and squeezed.

  Mark felt his neck tighten painfully cutting off his airway. It was a good thing he didn’t actually need to breathe, but he did need his throat opened to speak. He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.” He composed himself. “I answered you honestly. I don’t know. I was riding my horse to Mihaela’s camp. She’d gone missing and I was determined to find her. I had suspicions that Petrescu had taken her. I never made it, not that ni
ght, at least. Something happened. I was riding along, and then I was down, and all went black. When I woke again, it was the next night, and the transformation was under way. I slaughtered my own horse. My thirst was so great that I continued to kill, drinking in the blood of my victims. I took out nearly her whole tribe, and through my red haze, I still searched for her. I never found her. I never found Petrescu, either.”

  “And you never met your maker, the one who turned you?” She asked, clearly astonished.

  “No, never. I was on my own from that night on. I couldn’t return to my own family. I feared I would kill them, kill my own mother and father.” He sat back on his heels careful to avoid the bars of his cage.

  Adina looked at Dana. “You see? This is not normal. This is not the usual way.”

  “No, it’s not, and I finally know why.” Mark pulled their attention to him.

  “What do you mean?” Dana asked.

  “Meghan,” he began, “she and I are connected, here.” He pointed to his head. “Don’t hate me, but I did bite her. I have partaken of her blood.”

  “I knew it!” Adina shouted.

  “It’s not what you think, old woman. I love her! I could easily kill her, and yet I have done no such thing. I invited her to join me tonight, to show her the place where we used to meet once upon a time hoping it might somehow unleash ancient memories. I don’t know.” He looked lost, disgusted with himself. “Anyhow, my link to her has built up over the last few weeks between entering her dreams to get to know her again, and sharing our bodies tonight.”