Princess Dracula

by John Patrick Kennedy

  He hadn’t fed since waking. He needed blood, like she had. Given a chance, he would take human blood above any other.

  Then why did he come after me first? I’m not human. Unless the smell of my blood attracts him even more.

  Or his hatred is stronger than his hunger.

  Both were possibilities, but neither mattered, because Neculai ran past his cabin and out toward the main road—the one leading to his town.

  I cannot allow him to start feeding on people.

  I will not allow him.

  Ruxandra took off running, moving far quicker than he had. It would still be two hours at least before she caught him. But she knew which way she had come. She could get back before he found his way to the town.

  At least she hoped so.

  The woods went by in a blur. She weaved in and out of the trees faster than any deer had ever moved. Miles vanished under her feet in minutes. She didn’t hit a single branch along the way. She jumped the underbrush when it was too thick to run through. At one point, she left the ground, jumping from branch to branch to get through the thickest part of the forest.

  It was an hour before sunrise when she reached her den. Ten minutes later, she was on the road to the village. She breathed deep, trying to catch the scent of dead flesh and rot that had become Neculai’s scent.

  A woman nearby screamed, loud and long. Ruxandra raced down the road toward the sound. It was a small house on the edge of the town. The door had been bashed open and lay splintered and ruined on the floor inside.

  It wasn’t a large house—three rooms if including the ladder going upstairs to the attic. The place was complete chaos. The big table that had once stood in the center of the room had been overturned. One of the chairs lay broken and splintered against the wall. Another lay half in, half out of the fireplace. Mugs and bowls lay smashed all around the room.

  A middle-aged woman lay on the floor in a circle of blood and guts. Her face had been shredded with claws, leaving one eyeball hanging out of the ruins of the socket. The other was gone. Her dress had been shredded, exposing gouged, bloody pendulous breasts. Her stomach had been ripped open by claws, and her guts spread around the room. Her throat was torn out, and a spray of blood lay all around her.

  Ruxandra took in all of it in less than a second.

  Another scream—higher and younger—came from the loft above.

  Ruxandra reached the center of the room in two steps and jumped. She hit the roof beam above the loft with both hands, found her target while in the air, and pushed off the beam toward it.

  Neculai was covered in blood and held a young girl by the arm. His nails had torn rents through her chemise, leaving her almost naked. She screamed and struggled, but she couldn’t stop him. He opened his great fanged mouth wide and pulled her toward him.

  “Stop it!” Ruxandra’s voice rang through the room, loud enough to shake insects from the thatch roof above. She hit the floor beside Neculai, her talons ready to tear into his face.

  Except that he had already dropped the girl.

  He obeys me?

  “Step back from her,” Ruxandra growled.

  Neculai snarled at her and didn’t move.

  “Now!”

  He stepped back from the girl. Then he turned to the small window. Before Ruxandra could stop him, he smashed through the shutters and jumped. Ruxandra snarled and grabbed the girl. Then she, too, jumped through the window and let the little girl go as soon as they landed. The girl’s legs gave out, and she fell in a heap.

  “Go to a neighbor’s house,” Ruxandra said. “Quickly. Do not go back inside.”

  Ruxandra turned and ran after Neculai. He was headed to the village at high speed, but Ruxandra was quicker. She caught him in less than a hundred yards, tackling him to the ground. He struggled and fought, scoring at her skin with his nails.

  “Enough!” she screamed. “Stop!”

  He obeyed.

  “Do not run away. Get up and return with me to the den. Now.”

  He stood and waited, still snarling. She got to her feet a second later. He watched as she started backing way, then began following. She turned, then ran, moving slowly enough that he could follow. To the east, the sky lightened. It wouldn’t be long before the sun came out. Not long after, the villagers would come looking for them.

  They must not find me. I don’t want to kill any of them.

  But if they’re coming . . .

  She slowed, her body ready to fight and feed. She grabbed hold of her will and moved. No.

  Neculai kept pace, his face filled with rage, eyes wide. Snarls escaped his lips every few seconds. But he stayed with her all the way back to the den.

  She ducked inside first, and he followed. She pointed at the bed. “Sit.”

  He sat. She watched him, waiting for him to attack. He didn’t. He blinked, and a look of panic came over his face. He reached out to her, and for a brief second, Ruxandra thought she saw a spark of intelligence—of recognition even—in his eyes.

  Then he toppled over and was dead.

  Ruxandra slumped against the side of the den. They were a good five miles from the pond, farther from the village. The chances of them being found were slim, but there was still a chance. And if the villagers managed to drag them out into the sunlight, she did not know what her body would do to keep her alive..

  Murder them all, most likely.

  She sat on the floor. The earth and stones were rough and gouged her skin. She ignored them and stared at Neculai’s corpse on the bed.

  What will I do with him when he awakens?

  He obeyed her, and that was something. She could take him deep into the woods and make him live off animal blood like she did. It would probably keep him satisfied.

  I hope anyway.

  She stayed awake the entire day, watching out the door for any signs of the villagers. No one came. When night fell, she stepped outside and sniffed the air. There was no scent of humans nearby. Nor could she hear any sound other than the usual ones—the sough of wind, the rustle of leaves, rabbits moving in the underbrush.

  She caught two rabbits without losing sight of the den. She drained the first, then brought the second back. Inside, Neculai growled and snarled. Then he stumbled out the door.

  She held the rabbit out to him. “Drink this.”

  He snarled at her and shook like an animal, readying to fight.

  “Drink it!” She shoved the rabbit at his face. He opened his mouth and sank his teeth through its body. Then he gagged and spluttered and spat the beast to the side. He hacked and spat and gagged again and again. And between each bout, he glared at her with hatred so strong it made her dizzy. She sighed and sank to her haunches, remembering him alive—his boldness, his shyness, his kisses. His blood.

  And now there was only hatred.

  What am I supposed to do?

  Kill him again?

  It was a terrible thought. But looking at him—at the monster he’d become, that she’d made—it made the most sense. He sniffed the ground and started to circle the den. His eyes stayed on her the entire time. And every time she blinked, he edged closer.

  Tears filled her eyes. She tried to speak and couldn’t. She swallowed and tried again. She managed a whisper this time, but it was enough. “Come here.”

  His eyes glowed. He came close, snarling and drooling. She swallowed again and managed to say, “Stand still and do not fight me.”

  Back at the convent, Sister Andrea had been in charge of the geese. She would feed them, care for them and, when the time came, kill them. She never used an axe or any other weapon. Instead, she would grab the goose’s neck and twist as hard as she could. There would be a cracking sound, and the goose would flap for a few seconds. Then it would be dead, and the novices would pluck it.

  Ruxandra had hated plucking them.

  She stepped close to Neculai and reached out with both hands. He stayed still while she put them on either side of his head. His hair, once so soft, was coar
se. Even the shape of his skull felt different, though she couldn’t have said how. She looked him in the eyes. Nothing human stared back at her. Full of dread, she whispered, “I am so, so sorry.”

  He snarled at her.

  Then she twisted his head back so he was looking at his own spine. The crack was much louder than it had been with the geese. He convulsed and fell into her arms, his head flopping onto her shoulders.

  She fell with him, wrapping her arms tight around his body. She wept again.

  This time I’ll bury him. He will not come back. Not after that.

  Unless it’s not his body bringing him back.

  The realization was horrifying and made perfect sense. As long as she had his soul trapped, his body could not die. She had to release him. Otherwise—

  The thought came too late.

  Neculai’s neck popped and crunched, and his teeth sank deep into Ruxandra’s throat.

  RUXANDRA SCREAMED in pain.

  Neculai’s teeth dug deep into her neck, ripping open the vein. Blood poured into his mouth as Ruxandra grabbed at his head, trying to pull him off. His grip was strong and tight. He sucked the blood out of her as hard as she had sucked it out of him.

  In desperation, Ruxandra slammed him against the nearest tree. His ribs crunched and broke, but still he wouldn’t let go. She brought out her talons and rammed them down hard from above. His cheek ripped open, and one eye burst as her claws found purchase in his face. She pulled with all her might, and he ripped away from her, taking flesh and muscle and silver blood with him. She kicked hard at him, and he flew against another tree, his spine snapping as he wrapped around the trunk.

  Then she fell to the ground, all her strength gone. Neculai’s soul took the opportunity to break out of her grip. She tried to hold it—she couldn’t have said why except that it was all she had—but she didn’t have enough energy. The soul bounded free of her and flew.

  She felt it vanish from the world and started to cry. If I don’t have his soul, then he cannot love me. Not even a little bit.

  Neculai’s body screamed and convulsed.

  The sound was more human than any he had made since he changed. Arms and legs flung out and spasmed so hard that Ruxandra was sure they would snap.

  Instead, his flesh changed.

  It had been gray and pasty and loose before, an image of fresh death, still moving. Now it was tight and white and firm. His ragged fingernails sank back into his flesh and were replaced by silver talons that grew long and sharp from the tips of his fingers. His eyes rolled back into his head. His spine, bent and twisted from the impact, snapped and popped itself back together. His broken ribs slid back into their proper places.

  Oh God.

  Then he rose from the ground. He stayed crouched over, like an ape. His head swung back and forth, and he sniffed the air.

  When he opened his eyes, they were pale blue.

  There was nothing behind them.

  He doesn’t have a soul.

  Ruxandra’s covered her mouth with both hands as if blocking her screams could change what had happened.

  Neculai roared, his mouth opening wide. Fangs, as strong and as large as Ruxandra’s, filled his mouth. He snarled like an animal, yet much louder and much, much more powerful.

  “Stop!” she shouted. “You must stop and you must stay back!”

  He didn’t obey.

  He still doesn’t have a soul. It’s gone.

  Neculai moved as fast as she did, and Ruxandra was unprepared for it. His claws slashed open her abdomen and breasts, and his teeth buried themselves in her face. She screamed and slashed back, tearing holes in his back, sending silver blood spurting. He jumped off her, his wounds healing as he landed.

  He spat and coughed, sending her blood spewing to the ground. He howled at her again, then he took off running.

  He can’t drink my blood. Not anymore. But he still wants to feed. He needs to feed on human blood. Just like I did. He’ll drink until he’s full.

  Will he know when he’s full? He couldn’t think, as near as Ruxandra could tell. He was an unreasoning killing machine. What if he cannot tell? What if he kills until there’s no one left?

  She wanted to run. More than anything, she wanted to run as far away as she could and never look back. She wanted to disappear into the forest. She could live off animal blood and hide from all humans. That was the easiest thing.

  I’m responsible for everyone that creature kills.

  I’ve made things so much worse.

  Everything she tried to do made things worse—either for herself or for others. Every time she came near people, she hurt them. She had found someone she might love, and she’d killed him. And she had unleashed a monster even more terrifying than herself.

  She remembered the feel of Neculai’s flesh against hers, his warmth and his wonderful smell. She remembered his hopeful smile and his kisses and the way he held her, wanting to protect her, to care for her.

  Neculai didn’t deserve to be this thing.

  I must stop him. Even if it kills me. Perhaps then God will grant me absolution for what I have become.

  Perhaps Neculai will forgive me.

  She rose on shaking, unsteady legs, still feeling weak from blood loss. She forced her legs to walk, then into a stumbling run. She soon had them moving at top speed. Neculai was far ahead of her. He was outpacing her, his longer legs eating up the ground faster than hers. Ruxandra sobbed and tried to run faster.

  He left fresh prints in the mud by the pond. She followed them down the path to Neculai’s cabin.

  The door had been torn off its hinges. The inside was a mess of destruction from the night Neculai had fought his way out. The place smelled of many people, not just Neculai.

  She ran past it and down the path to the village.

  She found the first corpses by the road. A young man and woman, their clothes askew. They looked as if they had been about to start making love when Neculai found them. Their throats were torn open. Blood had sprayed in a circle around each.

  Then a dozen voices erupted in screams of horror and fear, and Ruxandra ran toward them.

  They came from the inn on the edge of the road. People poured out of it like rats from a burning granary. Inside, there were shrieks and the sounds of metal and wood striking flesh. As she ran forward, one of the voices was cut off, replaced by gurgling. Ruxandra shoved past those outside and ran in.

  Neculai was draining a big man wearing an apron. A stout woman stabbed at him again and again with a long-bladed knife, but Neculai didn’t stop. Ruxandra charged, smashing into him as hard as she could, sending him flying. The big man in the apron fell lifeless to the floor. Ruxandra jumped over him and slammed into Neculai again. Her claws flashed out, scoring hits on his chest and face. He screamed at her and began slashing with his own claws, tearing away her flesh. Ruxandra tried to ignore the pain, but it hurt so much. Neculai didn’t seem to care about his own wounds or even feel them. In desperation, Ruxandra shoved her face at his neck and tore into his throat.

  Silver blood filled her mouth. It burned like acid. She yanked her head back and spat. The taste, acrid and vile, stayed in her mouth, but she didn’t have time to do anything about it. Neculai grabbed both her arms and slammed her against the wall, then against the floor. Then he jumped on her again and again, smashing through ribs while he raked down at her with his claws over and over. She tried to fight back, but the onslaught was too much. He opened up her face, opened up her belly. She twisted onto her stomach and his feet came down hard on her spine. She heard a crack, and she couldn’t feel her legs. He jumped again and landed on her neck. The crack was louder than the first, and she couldn’t move at all. The next time he landed on her head.

  Everything went black.

  When she opened her eyes again, he was gone. The dead man was on the floor in front of her. The woman lay against the fireplace, her neck at an odd angle. She was still breathing.

  Ruxandra’s lower spine crunched
and shifted, though she couldn’t feel it. Then something twisted in her neck, and agony shot through her entire body. She could move again, but every twitch hurt. She pushed against the floor with her hands and managed to sit. There were more screams and shouts and the sounds of fighting. Above it all, Neculai snarled and howled. Ruxandra slid her feet under her then staggered upright. She managed three steps, then fell. She was in so much pain.

  “Please,” the woman on the floor whispered. “Help me.”

  “Please…”

  Ruxandra crawled to her. The woman’s neck was broken, and from her shallow breathing, Ruxandra guessed she had broken ribs as well. She wouldn’t live through the night.

  Which made it easier.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Ruxandra before she sank her fangs into the woman’s neck.

  The woman couldn’t struggle. She was broken. All she could do was gasp until her life faded away.

  When Ruxandra stood, she was healed.

  She climbed to her feet then went out into the street. Neculai was out of sight but still in the town. She could hear his snarls mixing with the screams of the men and women he attacked. She ran straight toward the noise.

  Neculai was surrounded when she reached the main square. Seven men with spears and swords moved in a circle around him, thrusting and stabbing. He slashed through one of the spears. Then he spun, faster than the men could ever move, and jumped. One man screamed as Neculai’s teeth sank into his throat. The other men descended on him, stabbing and hacking into him with their blades. He dropped the first man as the man’s blood spray into the air. He swung out with claws, and another man fell to the ground, howling.

  Ruxandra let out a scream of her own, forcing all her fear and anger into it. The noise rang through the square, louder than the screams of the dying. She sprinted forward, catching Neculai in the middle of his own howl. She hit him hard, smashing him against a wall. His howl turned to a yelp of pain. She slashed with her claws, opening up one of his arms. It started healing at once, but it got his attention. He swiped at her, but she was already jumping back.

  She slammed the pointed fingers of one hand into his chest, the talons tearing through flesh and bone far more easier than the men’s swords. She raked down the side of his body with her other hand, then back up the center.