Blood Treasure Box Set

by Mac Flynn

  He pulled me away and his red eyes were now only black. The heat inside of me faded. My lust receded. I whimpered at the loss of the connection, and he grinned. He reached up and brushed a pale but pliable finger against my blushing cheek. "Not so soon, little one," he whispered to me. "The change takes many days. To kill you too quickly would be an eternal death, and I have other plans for you." He lowered me onto my cot and lay me down. I glanced up at him with my chest heaving, both from the heat and the loss of blood. He smiled down at me and stepped back. "Until tomorrow night," he told me.

  He stepped back and the shadow once more fell over his form, blotting out all details. The shadow fell to the floor and slipped out beneath the canvas of the tent. The strangeness of the situation, and my own physical exhaustion, forced me to close my eyes. In a moment I was asleep, or perhaps I had dreamed the whole small adventure.

  Chapter 5

  "Mary? Mary!" a voice beside my head yelled.

  My eyes shot open and I sat up in a daze. "What? Where?" I mumbled. Then I noticed Stacy kneeling beside my bed.

  "In your tent in the middle of nowhere, but the professor says he's going to take you and three other people to somewhere," she explained.

  "Somewhere?" I repeated. My mind was a muddled mess of dreams and reality, and I couldn't tell which was which.

  "To the village. He says we need some better supplies like flashlights, shovels, and some mirrors to reflect light into the place," she told me. "But you're not going to go if you don't get up and get something to eat soon. The group's leaving in twenty minutes."

  "I'm getting up. I'm hurrying," I murmured. I swung my legs over my cot and the action caused my head to spin. I clutched my head in one hand and grasped the edge of the cot with the other.

  Stacy scrutinized my face and frowned. "You look pale, are you feeling all right?" she wondered.

  "I'm fine, just had a strange dream," I replied.

  "All right. I'll get your bowl of gruel ready for you, and don't forget your hiking bag," she reminded me. She took my other empty bowl beside the cot and left me to dress.

  I hurried out of my tent five minutes later and found my bowl of gruel, otherwise known by civilized people as oatmeal, and shoveled it into my mouth. The group to go to the village stood at the far end of our campsite opposite my tent and the path to the dig site. The dirt road that wound around the mountains passed by there. It was a cart-wide trail with more rocks than a farmer's field and was more crooked than a politician. The others on the trip were readying their hiking bags for the five-mile walk to the village. I raced through breakfast, breaking a land-speed record, and rushed over to them hopping up and down trying to get my hiking backpack on my back.

  Van Sloan stood before the group and looked over their faces. "This is a short, easy hike, but be careful. If you'll recall the road has some steep drops and many rocks, and each footstep could mean a disaster," the professor was warning the group as I hurried up to them. "We'll take the walk two at a time and I'll lead." He noticed me and frowned. "You don't look too well, Mary, are you sure you're up for this?" he asked me.

  "I'm fine, just a bad dream," I assured him.

  "Very well, then off we go."

  The professor led us up the road. We passed through thick woods, over rickety old bridges with rushing springs beneath our feet, and along cliffs that had fifty yard drops to rocks below. I was fortunate to be in the back with a fellow student because the hike drained me of what little energy I had. My legs shuffled along step-by-step and by the time the five miles was over I was ready to collapse on a bench for a day of rest.

  We crested a short hill and reached the small village, a rustic place of stone houses with thatched roofs. The roads were pits of mud and the main mode of transportation was pedestrian. Outhouses dotted the backyards, if you could call the chicken pecking areas backyards, and the housewives and children suspiciously peeked out from behind the curtains in the windows. Suddenly civilization wasn't the fantastic progress we wanted to see, and the three other students and I unconsciously huddled close to the professor. So close that we stepped on his heals and nearly caused him to fall into the mud.

  "No crowding now, the road isn't that small," he teased us.

  The professor led us to the one bright spot in the village, a small grocery store hewn from wood. Inside the grocery the wares hung on the walls or sat on the shelves. The professor grabbed what we needed, shovels, large mirrors and the like, plopped the items in our hands, and stepped over to the counter. Behind the counter stood a short man who wore a perpetual frown on his face.

  The professor conversed in the native language. From the man's flickering eyes on our purchases and the way he gestured to them I got the gist he was curious why we needed the supplies. The professor replied, and the man's eyes widened. The shopkeeper spoke in a clipped, angry tone. The professor frowned and took out the money he intended to use to purchase the tools. The man shook his head and angrily pointed a finger at the door. The professor threw down the money and turned to us.

  Van Sloan's voice was tense. "It's time to leave," he told us.

  We marched out of the building, but one of my peers asked the professor what was on all our minds. "What was that about, professor?"

  "It seems the shopkeeper is a little superstitious about our find," he grumbled.

  Speaking of the devil, I heard a door slam behind the grocery and noticed the shopkeeper scurry to a house not far from his business. He disappeared inside. We stuffed our new supplies on our bags, and just as we were leaving the village the grocer came up to us with an ancient-looking fellow. The man wore the traditional, colorful garb of the village folk, and he held an intricately-carved staff in one hand. His wrinkled face and hands showed his age on the better side of Methuselah. The professor turned to him with a bright smile and a respectful bow of his head. He spoke a few words in the native language, but the man interrupted him when he raised his free hand.

  "There is no need for that," the old man replied in English. "I have learned your language over these past ten years should this time come, and I am sorry to see it is here."

  "What has come? You mean the discovery?" the professor guessed.

  The old man nodded. "Yes. The tomb was never meant to be found. It is a cursed place full of evil, blasphemous deeds." The shopkeeper at his side crossed himself and mumbled something that sounded like a prayer.

  "But wasn't it your own ancestor who had the tomb carved for the prince?" Van Sloan wondered.

  The old man scowled. "My ancestor was a very foolish man. He sought to control life and death, and because of his blasphemy the people of my village sealed him in with the prince. We couldn't undo the spell he had cast, but we hid the tomb and forgot its location so none would know the shame of my ancestor," he explained to us.

  The professor chuckled. "Well, we're in a more enlightened age and we'll be very careful with all the artifacts," he promised.

  "We would rather they be left where they lie and your small group leave here, never to return," the old man insisted.

  Our teacher frowned. "But all those treasures! All that history that awaits us! We can't, and won't, rebury it and leave because of a few superstitions. Surely you must see that," he argued.

  The old man closed his eyes and forlornly shook his head. "I only see grief in your future, and a long, terrible future in store for one of those whom you are entrusted to protect." He turned his old eyes on me and the blood in my veins stopped running, though my heart beat faster. "Can you not see that this woman is ill? The horror of that tomb has already begun its terrible curse and will leave you with nothing but regret," he warned us.

  The professor stepped in front of me so the old man couldn't see me. "I think that's enough, sir. I thank you for your concern, but I don't believe in curses or horrors that rise from a tomb. A tomb is a place of the dead and nothing more."

  "Or for the undead," the old man argued.

  The professor bristled at the ol
d man's superstition and stubbornness. "If you will excuse us," he snapped. He turned and ushered us from the village.

  I glanced over my shoulder at the old man and shopkeeper. They stood in the middle of the road, and the old man hung his head while the shopkeeper patted him on the back. Then the road dipped below the village and I lost sight of them, but I didn't lose the foreboding feeling inside me. The others in the group were equally quiet and downcast. Only our professor was upbeat with talking excitedly about the dig, though there was a dark cloud over his brow and he kept glancing at me.

  "You're sure you're feeling all right, Mary?" he asked me.

  "I'm fine," I wheezed. I hadn't had enough rest at the village and was still tired. That strange dream real drained me.

  "Perhaps when we return to camp you should lie down for the day," he suggested.

  I wasn't going to argue. Going back down into the tomb to have a reunion with my lover skeleton wasn't what I wanted on my agenda.

  Chapter 6

  We reached camp a few hours later exhausted by the long hike and from carrying the heavy and breakable equipment. The others unloaded us and the professor, spry and eager to start the excavation, walked towards the path leading to the dig site. "All right, everyone who went for the hike can rest, but everyone else come with me!" he gleefully ordered his chain-gang students.

  I was glad to hear I could take a break. My legs wobbled beneath my body weight, my head felt woozy, and I hungered for human flesh. Just kidding, I was only hungry for red meat, or anything that would give me a good jolt of energy. Smoothies were not an option when one was in the middle of nowhere.

  The professor led the sprightly, rested students onward to the work of digging out more of the tomb and inventorying its treasures. Stacy came up to me and looked at my face. "You look awful. Are you sure you're not sick?" she wondered. She put a hand on my forehead, but I weakly swatted it away. "Hmm, no fever. Do you have any aches and pains anywhere?" she asked me.

  I shook my head. "No, I'm fine, just tired," I insisted.

  She leaned toward me and squinted her eyes. "What are those marks on your neck? Did a bug bite you?" she wondered.

  I blinked at her and pressed a hand against my throat. My fingers found two small puncture marks where the man in my dream had bit me. "I have to go," I told her, and hurried into my tent.

  I firmly closed the flaps behind me and dug through my belongings until I found what I needed; a mirror. I tilted the tool until my reflection showed the two distinct wounds on my neck. There they were loudly proclaiming that my dream wasn't a dream. My legs collapsed and dropped me onto my cot. I sat for a full ten minutes with my mouth agape and my eyes wide. This wasn't happening. I wasn't a victim of an undead fiend who'd been slumbering for nearly two millenia. My mind did what any sensible, modern feminine brain would do; it shut down and I fainted onto my cot.

  I woke up some hours later with a sore neck and stiff legs from their being over the edge of the cot the entire time I was unconscious. I sat up and glanced around the room. It was dark outside and I could hear the faint sounds of my peers and Professor Van Sloan around the campfire. Their voices lifted my spirits and I struggled to my feet so I could join them.

  Someone had other plans as a shadow appeared in front of my doorway. My legs turned to jello and I fell back onto my cot. "G-go away!" I squeaked at the dark figure.

  The man stepped out again, but he was no longer the skeletal creature from the night before. His face was supple and handsome, with dark eyes and long, wavy black hair a girl would kill to have. Jewels glittered on his thin but ample fingers, and the cloak was now dusted and repaired. He smiled at me, and his fangs protruded from beneath the top lip. "A good evening to you as well, my lady," he returned.

  My voice was hoarse and hardly above a whisper. "G-go away or I'll scream!" I warned him.

  He chuckled and moved to stand over my quivering body. "You have not enough will to fight me even if you truly wished it, which I do not believe is the case." He knelt before me and I cringed away from his unnaturalness. "Do not be afraid, little one. I bring a new world for you to embrace. It merely waits for you to accept my love, and my blood." He unhooked his cloak and the cloth slid gracefully to the flow. All his movements were slow and fluid. It was like watching a dark, gentle brook winding its way through ancient rocks. I was entranced by his flow, but the deep, dark pools scared me. He paused. "I frighten you that much?" he wondered.

  I felt some of the magic over me lift and knew I could speak, but only in a whisper. "What are you going to do to me?" I asked him.

  He chuckled and brushed a hand against my cheek. His flesh was cold, but his touch warmed me. "I have seen your thoughts, your memories, and your dreams. I know you better than you know yourself, and I see potential."

  "Potential?" I repeated.

  "Yes, potential to surpass the mortal coil in which you reside and aspire for a greater, longer life. You feel trapped and frustrated in your current life. You long for adventure and a taste of what was and what will be. I offer you that taste, and the incalculable nights that go with it. Will you come with me on this journey willingly, or will you refuse my gift?" he wondered.

  My hazy mind swirled with his promise and the consequences each decision held. To say yes was an eternity of damnation, but one he described with such beauty and promise that my heart quickened with excitement. The other choice was to reject him and let slip from my fingers the chance of a lifetime.

  I looked him in the eyes and tried not to show the fear and eagerness I felt. "What must I do to join you?" I asked him.

  The prince smiled and opened the dark shirt he wore to show me his pale chest. He pressed a finger to his cool flesh and dragged a long, sharp fingernail across his skin. The flesh parted and a thin stream of blood slipped from the wound. He opened his arms to me. "You must drink of me, and tomorrow I will call for you," he told me.

  I sat up and licked my lips. One tiny part of me still hesitated. Perhaps it was my soul or my mind, but either way I fought against that small part and slipped onto my knees in front of the prince. He enveloped me in his arms and pressed me close to his bleeding chest. I hovered over the wound for a second before I tentatively licked a small drop. He chuckled and I snorted. I'd tickled him.

  I licked my lips and tasted the blood. It was like ambrosia meant for the gods. The silky, sweet liquid slipped down my throat and warmed my flesh. I grasped his shirt and shuddered. My flesh was aflame with a sensual need for more, and yet I feared what more would bring. I feared I would be consumed by the fire burning inside me.

  "Don't hesitate. There will be no pain," he assured me.

  I took a shaky breath and raised my eyes to the wound. The blood still flowed, but slower. The wound was already healing. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my lips against the wound. The blood flowed into my mouth and down my throat. The warm sensation inside of me was set ablaze by his blood. My body was consumed by a sensual flame of lust that made me ache for more. It was as though dozens of hands stroked every part of my flesh, pleasing me to where I was consumed by the pleasure and lost my sense of person. There was only my prince and his blood, and they became one with me.

  I pressed closer to him, forcing my tongue into the narrow wound. More blood flowed into me, but my body still ached for more. I pushed closer. My hands grasped his back and dug into his skin. He clutched my shoulders and his breathing came out in short, harsh gasps. He, too, felt the beauty of our union, the ache of a mortal coil wishing to find fulfillment in immortality. His hands shook against my shoulders and he pressed me still closer.

  My disappointment was indescribable when his blood stopped flowing. He pulled me away and I whimpered as I watched his wound close. There was no trace on his chest that it had ever been there. He chuckled and stroked my chin with his thumb. "You are a very messy eater," he commented. He pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against my chin. When he pulled it away I saw it was no
longer white, but red. "Clean yourself and prepare for bed. My blood will flow through your body for a day and begin your transformation. Tomorrow night it will be completed," he promised.

  I took the handkerchief from his hand and shakily rose to plop myself on my cot. My body was a bundle of tight, quivering nerves, and together with my weariness I desired only sleep. The prince took his cloak in hand and stood over me. His pale face was even paler, and he stood not straight and erect as before but unsteady, and he swayed a little. He noticed my eyes on him and smiled. "I will be fine. The discomfort will not last, not after I have eaten and rested," he assured me. My eyes widened. I'd forgotten about the worst consequence of being a vampire. The craving and need for blood. The voices outside the tent grew louder as the campfire gathering finished for the night. He frowned and hurriedly knelt beside me. His hands grasped mine and he met my scared eyes with his own unwavering ones. "Do not regret your choice. You do not need to kill to feed," he whispered to me.

  The sounds outside grew louder. The prince looked over his shoulder and growled as a light appeared at the front of my tent. He stood and stepped into the shadows against the canvas. The flaps were pulled aside and the professor shown a flashlight into my tent. The beam of the flashlight shone on the canvas walls, but no one was there. My prince had vanished. The light paused on my eyes, and I winced and looked away.

  "Ah good, you're awake," the professor commented. He stepped inside and lit the small propane lamp on my nightstand. In his other hand was a small plate. "I thought you might want something to eat," he suggested.

  "Not hungry," I murmured. I rolled over and faced away from him. The glare from the lamp was too bright. It hurt my eyes and irritated me like the professor. I just wanted to be left alone to mull over my rash decision.