by Lucas Thorn
“Lady,” he called. Turned and staggered toward her. “Lady, I’ve done it. Done what you asked. Please, Lady…”
He couldn’t bear to put it into words.
And, by the smile which crawled across her unearthly face, knew he didn’t need to.
“You did very good, John.”
Pride made him drop onto his knees in front of her. Stare up at her like a hound. Adoration making his eyes bulge. Begging her attention.
Pale hand.
Porcelain hand.
Finally reached out and touched his cheek.
Just like in the dream, it was icy cold. So cold he sucked a breath and exhaled mist.
It went right through bone. The cold. Contorted his body as the absolute pleasure of her frozen touch hit like lightning.
Hair standing on end, he lifted chin and saw her lips part.
Saw the fangs.
Heard the lids of the other coffins scrape open.
“Vasilja,” a voice called. “What’s going on?”
“It wasn’t my fault, Hailwic. You told them not to touch our coffins, didn’t you? You told them that?”
“I did.”
“Well, they obviously didn’t want to listen to you. They broke mine. Look at it. I’ll need a very good carpenter to fix it again. And there aren’t many of them out here, are there? I’m very cross right now.”
Another voice, cruel and youthful. Like slivered glass; “I want to bite them. But I don’t know which to bite first.”
“Well, that’s easy, Senka. This dull-looking young man here is for you.” She rubbed her fingers through George’s hair. “This is George. Look at him. He has eyes just like one of those cows.”
“They’re oxen,” Senka said. She hovered above the mud. Pale white dress falling below her feet “Not cows.”
“Well, I wasn’t to know. I was never a milkmaid.”
“I was not a milkmaid!” Senka flew across the mud, rearing in front of Vasilja. Whipped to a halt, eyes glowering bright. “I don’t know why you keep saying that.”
“Which one is mine?” Hailwic floated down from her wagon. Looking from man to man. “They all look miserable.”
“You can have the one on the ground. His name is Peter. He has a crucifix. You always like killing holy boys.”
“What about me? I want one with a crucifix.” Senka grabbed George and spun him around. Quick fingers delving. “You have one, don’t you? You must have one, George. Where’s your crucifix? Did you leave it in your other coat? Go get it.”
The young man looked to Vasilja, who nodded. “Answer her, George. She asked you a question. It’s rude not to answer.”
“Please, Miss, I don’t have one, Miss. My pa never believed in the Jesus.”
Senka tossed him aside. “It’s not fair, Vasilja. I want one with a crucifix.”
“Well, I’m afraid you can’t. Not just yet. There was only one of them here. And Hailwic has him now. Besides, I don’t think you want that one anyway. George hit him a little too hard on the head, I think. He’s not going to wake up again. He’ll be very boring for you, but Hailwic won’t mind.”
“George hit him too hard?” Senka rounded on the young man, who shrank back into the mud with a squeak. “So, it’s his fault I can’t have the one with the crucifix?”
“Well, you can look at it that way if it makes you feel any better.”
“I want to bite you, George.”
Peter stirred. Legs skidded in the mud as he looked up into Hailwic’s calm gaze.
Sucked a breath.
And screamed.
The vampire didn’t seem to notice. Planted one hand on his forehead and the other on his shoulder. Pinning him to the muddy ground as he thrashed and tried to work himself free.
She raised her head.
Looked to the dark clouds above.
Then brought her mouth down with a wolfish snap, tearing a hole in the side of his throat. Pulled with savage fangs, stripping back skin. Pushed his head down into the mud and wrapped her lips around the gaping wound.
Worked fangs deeper into flesh.
Chewing.
Back arching as she found the fountain within.
And drank.
Peter’s scream trailed into a wet gurgle.
Senka watched Hailwic and sighed. “I wanted to bite him.”
“You still have George.”
“But that leaves two for you. That’s still not fair.”
“Oh, Dimiti isn’t for me. Someone needs to keep the wagons moving. And that’s you, isn’t it, Dimiti? You can get us to Vienna, can’t you? And then to Munich? You’ll look after our coffins from now on and you’ll guard us when we sleep. Won’t you?”
She ran slender white fingers across the old man’s bristled jaw.
And he nodded. “I will, Lady. I’ll protect you with my life.”
“You see, Senka? We need Dimiti.”
“Then, I can bite George? He’s all mine? I mean, I won’t have to share him or anything?”
“He’s all yours.”
Finally satisfied, Senka’s smile grew wide and impish. “Thank you, Vasilja!”
George whined like a frightened dog as the vampire turned. She danced through air and snatched his collar. Dragged him to his feet and hovered in front of him. Pushed her face close and breathed; “Hit me George. Hit me with all your strength.”
“I can’t, Miss!”
Senka frowned. “Of course you can’t. I’m right here in front of you.”
CHAPTER SIX
George blinked, frightened mouth numb. “I mean, I can’t hit you, Miss. It wouldn’t be right. Why, you’re a lady…”
Her hand lashed, slapping hard across face.
Long nails raked across nose, drawing thick red lines.
She twirled in front of him, a mad banshee wail let loose as she slapped him again.
Again.
And again.
He staggered back each time until pressed against a dead tree trunk. Unable to retreat any further. Blood slick down cheeks. Wild eyes rimmed white with terror.
She pressed against him. Pushing him hard against rough bark.
“Hit me, George.”
“Please, Miss…”
Hissed; “Fight!”
Mad sob tore loose as his arm lashed out on its own. A backhanded blow which connected across the side of her mouth and rocked her head back. Back so far, her eyes aimed to the sky where a flash of lightning peeled back the dark underbelly of cloud across the horizon.
Thunder quickly followed.
Thunder which rolled in the spaces between insane peals of laughter as she crashed against him. Eyes, ablaze with furious desire. Glorious red lips wide and open. Fangs drooling blood. Her own blood from the cut inside her cheek.
A cut he’d inflicted.
He cowered against the tree, curled arms up to protect himself.
“Miss,” he cried. “Forgive me, Miss. I didn’t mean to!”
She grabbed his coat. Pulled his mouth close to hers. Lust steaming breath. Moaned across his own; “Do it again.”
“I can’t!” Wracking sobs whipped him harder than a lash. “Please don’t make me.”
“You must fight me, George.” Snarling. A cat toying with its mouse. “You must!”
He made a half-hearted attempt to knock her off him.
The vampire’s hands seized his wrists and he wrestled, crazed mind unable to comprehend the torn emotion of not wanting to hurt her and the feeling of being completely and utterly overwhelmed by her inhuman strength.
Locked in her grip, he pulled.
Harder.
Jerked his weight to break free.
Couldn’t.
Her tongue wet lips. Smeared red which swirled inside her mouth and drooled down off chin. She let one hand loose and raked her nails across his face. Down the side of his neck. Not deep, but enough to peel more skin and let blood flow.
Head darted in.
Tongue licked rough skin benea
th jaw and she threw herself back in ecstasy as his blood burned into her mouth.
“George,” she said. Body undulating in a way which made him want to be sick. “George, if you don’t fight me, I will tear you into small pieces. You believe me, don’t you? You believe I’ll do it?”
“I believe you, Miss.” And he did. In the corners of her eyes, he saw the hatred there. The contempt for his weakness.
Tears blurred vision.
And she pounced as lightning flashed again.
Small fists beat at his chest. Unexpected strength pounding all air from his lungs.
He couldn’t breathe.
She came in quick, head snapping toward his cheek. He jerked aside, and her fangs latched onto his ear.
Just above the lobe.
Shook her head. Dog with a bone. Tore.
He felt his ear rip.
Felt cartilage snap and break.
Felt skin stretch.
Could feel the swollen heat as his blood spat loose.
Agony washed his brain. Cleansed the fear. And turned it into desperation.
He had to escape.
Had to get away.
She was going to kill him. Vasilja’s fog loosened its grip as the need for survival pulsed through his body.
And his fist came up without thinking.
Cracked against Senka’s chin. His other ploughed into her chest, above her breast. Sent her cartwheeling backward. Drew a surprised yelp from fanged mouth.
“What are you?” Clutched at his ear. Felt blood flowing quick. Hot between fingers. Swelling flesh. Pain.
Senka grinned at him.
Showed fangs. Eyes wicked.
“That’s it, George. Fight!”
She flung herself at him again. A rabid ball of tooth and nail.
And he used fist and foot. Kicking. Punching.
Shoving himself away.
Felt a spark of hope as air whistled between them.
Released!
Headed toward the forest. Running.
Could hear her laughter behind him.
Hear her breath, soiling air.
Horror beat holes in his heart as he ran. Could remember seeing a farm not far from the road. It had looked deserted. Maybe he could break inside. Maybe he could hide in there.
Or find a weapon.
Something he could use to keep her away.
“George,” she called. “Don’t run, George. Stand and fight. Fight me. I’m just a girl, remember? Just a girl. You can beat me, George. You want to beat me, don’t you? I know you do. You want to push me to the ground, George. Push me there and hold me down. You want to taste me. Why are you running? I don’t want you to run. I want you to fight me.”
“You’re not a girl at all,” he flung back at her. “You’re a vampire!”
He felt a flash of pain as her claws cut through his coat and into his back.
Let out a scream and launched himself harder through the twisting path of trees.
It was hard to see.
There was such little light.
His eyes were as wide as they could ever be, but it was dark. Too dark.
Hit an overhanging branch. It cracked across his temple. Knocked him down.
Had to scramble to make it to his feet. Managed just as she hit him from behind. Tumbled inside her cruel embrace.
The vampire’s clawed hands drew him close. Legs wrapped around his torso.
Gripping him.
He writhed, but couldn’t get free.
Pushed against her with everything he had, but she only pulled him closer until her mouth was against his cheek.
Lips pressed against his bleeding ear. Tongue flicked out.
Tasting him.
She rolled them across mud until he was on top of her. His face buried in the crook of her shoulder.
Her tongue lapping at his ravaged ear.
He could hear each wet rasp.
Feel her breath. Cold against his ruined skin.
He tried pushing again. Tried to lift himself.
But her grip was beyond mortal strength to resist.
As he was about to give up, he felt a sharp pain and then his arm popped free of her embrace. He choked a cry of hope.
Raised it high, fist clenched.
Satisfied of her demonic origin. Content to pound her face. Pound it and pound it until there was nothing left of her skull.
His fist came down.
Her arm flashed, fingers wrapping merciless around his wrist. Holding him there. Frozen in motion of attack.
“It’s too late, George,” she said. Softly now. So soft it seemed she was someone else. “You had your chance. I gave you that. And you disappointed me. Look at you. You’re weak. You’re pathetic. And I’m going to do to you what you deserve. I’m going to tear you apart, George. And, while I do that, I’m going to bite you. Bite you so deep. I will taste every last drop of your blood. It’s mine now. All of it. I don’t have to share you.”
“Please don’t. Please, Miss. Let me live.”
“It’s alright, George.” Fangs flashed by lightning. “You can scream now if you want. At least you do that well enough.”
He did.
He screamed.
And screamed.
Even as she began stripping the cloth so she could bite into his chest. Bite into his shoulder.
Even as she tore his arm from its socket. Wet crunch of bone, pop of cartilage, and slippery tear of meat combining into one long awful crunch.
As she drilled clawed fingers into his belly and ripped him open.
He screamed.
Until there was nothing left of him to scream.
CHAPTER SEVEN
John watched Hailwic’s jaws work on Peter’s throat.
He wanted to cross himself. But his arms wouldn’t move. They felt like dead weights at his side.
Hailwic, blonde hair matted with mud. Face streaked with Peter’s fountaining blood. Stared back at John across the twitching corpse. Eyes blank and expressionless.
Like a snake, he thought. A reptile’s cold unfeeling gaze.
As she drained the life from a boy who’d never harmed a single living thing for as long as John could remember.
He could feel Vasilja floating behind him, her arms around his neck. Hands draping his sternum but not quite touching skin.
She’d taken his coat and thrown it away. Thrown the rest of his clothes into the wagon. Left him to shiver naked in the cold.
He knew he should be afraid.
Knew he should be screaming. He could hear George screaming from somewhere in the forest. Screaming like the crazy one was tearing him apart.
And a distant part of him knew that’s exactly what was happening.
Vasilja rested her head on top of his and sighed.
“Senka’s having so much fun,” she whispered. “Don’t you think, John? Do you think she’s enjoying herself with your friend? With George?”
John swallowed. A dry swallow.
Nodded. “Yes.”
“Hmm.” She stroked his cheek, fingers seeming to feel each bristle one by one. “She’s very impulsive, you know. She hasn’t got much patience. I don’t think it will be long before George stops screaming. He didn’t look like he was very strong, and she does need someone strong to keep her interest.”
Pop of something pulled from its socket. Sharp crack. Splinter of bone.
Wet tear of flesh.
Arm?
Shudder.
Or leg.
Visions of unholy butchery danced through his mind on vivid sprays of crimson blood.
He heaved, wanting to vomit.
But Vasilja held him upright. “Now, John. Be calm. Be still. There’s no need to feel anything at all for your friend, is there? I know you were jealous of him anyway, weren’t you? He was getting between us, wasn’t he? Between you and I?”
He remembered the flash of hate he’d felt.
And that hate seemed to burn inside his chest again. A bright fire
which made him draw his own lips into a snarl. “I wanted to kill him!”
“Well. Now he’s dead. And that means there’s more time for us to play together, isn’t there?”
There was a fog threading his mind.
He could feel it thickening.
Haunting him.
He knew it shouldn’t be there. Knew he should fight it.
But her voice was honey. And she was so beautiful. He wanted to turn around. Look at her. Wanted it more than anything in the world.
Hailwic’s baleful stare remained on him. Unblinking.
He nodded. “I’m yours, Lady.”
“Are you?” Purring of a giant cat. “Are you really, John? What is it you want? Do you want to please me? Is that what you want?”
Strangled gasp; “Yes!”
“I like when people want to please me, John.”
She slid arms free and he felt an aching sense of loss.
But then she drifted around like smoke, sliding in front of him. Bright red lips curving perfection.
His heart hammered its crippled rhythm and he wanted more than anything to fling himself at her. Wrap his arms around and squeeze.
Squeeze himself into her.
Pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth as her eyes slid up and down his naked body.
Mocking eyes shamed him deep as she said; “Well, I can see you at least want to please yourself.”
Then she turned away and glided to where Hailwic lay across Peter. The blonde vampire watched Vasilja’s approach the same way a wolf might watch its rival.
Took another long leeching inhale and opened her jaws.
Lifted her head, drooling thick lines of red from her chin.
“How does he taste, Hailwic?”
Hailwic wiped the blood from her mouth. “It will do until we reach Vienna.”
Sound of flesh striking flesh.
Both vampires turned to the sound. Vasilja sighed. “It’s probably a good thing they broke my coffin. She was becoming unbearable. She really needed to bite someone, and we haven’t been through any decent villages in at least a week.”
“What are you doing with these two?”
“John and Dimiti? Well, I haven’t finished with John. I think it’s only fair that I get to bite someone, too, isn’t it?”
Hailwic grunted. “You’re wasting time, then.”
“Am I? I like to think I have patience, sister. I sometimes think I’m the only one who does.”
