Hunger Pangs

by Joy Demorra

  Nathan self-consciously touched the gleam of gold wire over the inner helix of his ear. Dr. Allan had spent a lot of time over the last three months fiddling with them to achieve a securer fit, but they still felt odd at times—like he was wearing precious jewelry that might pop off if he moved too quickly.

  “They’re good. The brace is still a little stiff.” He flexed his arm, rotating his shoulder as far as he could until the leather brace under his shirt pulled him up short. Designed to hold the injured limb in place without the immobility of the sling in order to allow the muscles to heal better, it had been inordinately painful the first few weeks, but gradually Nathan’s muscles had remembered where they were supposed to be and stopped fighting it.

  “Well, let me know if you need anything adjusted,” Vlad said. “I’m no Dr. Allan, but I have my uses.”

  “I’m sure you have many talents.” Nathan hadn’t meant to inflect his tone with so much fondness. But he was also unable to help himself if it meant watching the vampire flush. Watching Vlad was rapidly becoming one of Nathan’s favorite pastimes.

  The chess wasn’t bad either.

  “Thank you, Swithin,” Vlad called absently as the thrall entered on silent feet, deposited a tray of refreshments on a nearby table, and exited through a hidden side door in the library wall.

  There were several images that came to mind when one uttered the phrase ‘vampire castle library.’ One, that it should be suitably gothic and imposing. Two, that it possess enough rare first volumes to keep even the pluckiest of heroines entertained for several winters. And three, secret passages that led all through the castle.

  Castle Eyrie was replete in all three.

  “Who’s that up there?” Nathan indicated the portrait of a slender blonde woman in her late thirties with a scowl that seemed to follow you around the room, her thin face framed by an ornate lace ruff.

  Vlad twisted in his seat. “Oh, that was Lady Eleanor. She was the Count’s second wife.”

  “What happened to her? I mean, I presume something happened to her,” Nathan said. “What with Lady Margarete and all.”

  Giving him a sidelong glance, Vlad rapped his knuckles on the table. “She was killed. By a mob.”

  A wave of horror washed over Nathan. “Oh, Gods, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Vlad laughed, a short, bitter sound. “She was a terrible person. The Count put the chains on her and handed her over to the peasants himself.”

  “Wow.” Nathan wasn’t sure how to respond to something like that. He couldn’t imagine doing that to a member of your family, let alone your spouse.

  “Not our finest family moment.” Vlad toyed idly with a pawn. “But it was her or us, and the Count always makes sure he comes out on top. That was back in the old country. I honestly don’t know why the Count keeps her portrait. I’d say guilt, but I’m not sure that’s an emotion he’s capable of.”

  “Why do you call him that? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call him your father.”

  Vlad blinked at him. “Because he is ‘The Count.’ And he prefers it that way.”

  “I can’t imagine calling my father by his titles,” Nathan thought aloud, his gaze turning inward. “I’m not sure I’d like it.”

  “It’s not about liking it. It’s just the way it is. He’s my sire first, my liege second, and my father third. It’s the way it’s always been. It was the same with my grandfather.”

  “You don’t really talk about him either.” Nathan made the first move on the board. “Or, well, any of your family. Other than Riya, I mean.”

  “My, you’re just full of interest today, aren’t you? And there’s an excellent reason for my silence.” Vlad took his turn before Nathan had even had a chance to sit back. “They’re all awful.”

  “They can’t be that bad,” Nathan argued. His fingers hovered over another pawn before twitching to the knight instead.

  Vlad snorted, a loud incredulous noise. “I would love to hear your reasoning for that.”

  “They made you.”

  Vlad paused mid-move, turning wide eyes up to Nathan. They narrowed a moment later, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “If you’re trying to distract me from the game, you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

  Nathan countered Vlad’s move and swiped one of his pawns. “Trust me, I don’t need to try.”

  Vlad sighed as he stared at the board. “I’m surprised you don’t know our history already, to be honest. The Blutstein name used to be infamous.”

  “I was a poor history student.” Leaning back, Nathan stretched his legs out. The hour was late, but he wasn’t ready to call it a night yet. “I can guess it has something to do with the Lich Wars. Mrs. Collins mentioned something about the Count adopting the other remaining vampire covens.”

  “Yes.” Vlad hesitated. “Do you really want to know?”

  Nathan nodded.

  Mimicking Nathan’s stance, Vlad’s fingers tapped against the arm of the chair. “You’re right, our history spans back to the Lich Wars. Before that, even. I can remember…” He trailed off, his eyes focused on some distant horizon. “I remember the castle. It was dark… and there were all these weapons on the walls. My mother wouldn’t let me touch them. I thought they’d burn from the fuss she made. But they were just cold. Of course, I was still human then. Even if Grandfather wasn’t.”

  “They were silver?” Nathan’s hand automatically went to the brace over his shoulder. Silver wouldn’t kill a vampire, but it could certainly make them uncomfortable.

  Vlad nodded. “He was a hunter, you see, before his transformation. That’s how he became a count. He hunted the lycanthropes that plagued Blutveria. Awful creatures…” Vlad trailed off.

  Nathan suppressed a shudder of his own. Lycanthropes were mad, bloodthirsty creatures. Devoid of sense and reason, they were the result of heinous blood magic rituals gone awry; men who wanted the strength and agility of werewolves but at none of the cost. The results were bipedal monstrosities that roamed the Wastes, feeding on carrion and preying on the weak. Werewolves hated them almost as much as humans feared them, and rightfully so. A bite from a werewolf might kill you, but a bite from a lycanthrope turned you into one of them.

  Feeling he ought to contribute something to the conversation, Nathan said, “I saw one, once. Out in Fortdrüben. It had wandered down from the Wastes…” He shuddered again at the memory of the dead, soulless look in its eyes. It had been the only time he’d been glad the Empire tipped all their bullets with silver.

  “Yes, well, this was before bullets,” Vlad said. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his foot on the edge of the table. “Grandfather used to hunt them with spears. He’d bring the pelts home. But then one time he went out into the wilderness, and he never came back. Everyone thought he’d been bitten…”

  “But, he hadn’t?” Nathan prompted.

  Vlad’s lips lifted into a sickly smile. “Not by a lycanthrope. There was a war happening with… someone. I forget who. I couldn’t have been any older than ten. But war was coming, and Grandfather was afraid. I think he knew we couldn’t win. My father was his right hand. But even he didn’t know where Grandfather had gone until it was too late.”

  “Where did he go?”

  Vlad hesitated again and licked his lips before carrying on. “He made a deal. With Dridan.”

  Nathan’s blood ran cold. That was a name best relegated to whispers. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. “Dridan. The Dridan?”

  Vlad nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

  Dridan was the stuff of both myth and nightmare. A fallen god, he was rumored to be the first necromancer to walk the earth, raising the dead and blighting the land with his unholy corruption. It had taken a miracle to end his reign of tyranny—a miracle and untold sacrifices that had bled nearly all the wild magic from the earth. But even now his mark remained on the planet: the barren Wastes of the West, a ruined testament to the follies of greed and desp
air.

  Even now, mothers used his name to frighten wayward children into obedience. ‘Eat your vegetables, or Dridan will get you.’ ‘Go to sleep, or Dridan will get you.’ ‘Comb your face, or Dridan will get you.’ It was almost laughable.

  Almost.

  “But, wait.” Nathan leaned forward, fully invested in the story. “I thought he was caged. Trapped between worlds—”

  “He is,” Vlad replied. “But… I don’t know. Not for certain. Grandfather never told me the full story. He found a ritual, I guess. Used it to summon him. He asked Dridan for the power to outlive his enemies. And was granted it.”

  “By becoming immortal.”

  “By turning into a monster. When he returned, he was… different. He tried to hide it. I remember being made to sit on his knee while they told stories around the fire, him and all his generals. But I knew it wasn’t wine in his cup. My mother tried to shield me from the worst of it.”

  “What was she like?” Nathan was suddenly desperate to know if Vlad had known some kindness and warmth before the inevitability of what he knew came next.

  “She was…” Vlad’s expression lifted briefly, softening as he laughed. “Do you know, I don’t remember. It’s been so long.” He laughed again. This time Nathan heard the bitterness and the sorrow underneath. “She was sad. Always sad. We had the same color eyes. Green. I think.”

  Nathan blinked. “You think?”

  Vlad shrugged. “When you get to my age, there’s a lot you don’t remember. Not that it matters now. The vampirism, this disease, ate away at them. It happens to us all, eventually. The black eyes. I dread the day it happens to Riya.”

  “I like your eyes,” Nathan said without thinking, wanting now more than ever to reach out and caress those sharp cheekbones and offer some form of reassurance to combat the visible self-loathing he saw in front of him.

  Vlad shook his head, but Nathan thought his smile was perhaps a little less vicious. “It makes the light hurt. I can’t tell you how much I hate quartz lamps, but they give the steadiest light, so.” He shrugged minutely.

  Nathan noticed for the first time in all his nights coming here that the library was only lit by candles. “Can’t you do anything about it?”

  Vlad shrugged again, his limbs loosening with the gesture as he slouched, propping one foot against the table. “I have dark glasses, but that would require me to find the damn things. I just put up with the headaches. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Grandfather selling his immortal soul for power and turning the war into an unholy crusade. I can’t begin to tell you how much I hate sharing a first name with him.”

  Nathan frowned. A moment later, his eyes grew wide. “Wait. Your grandfather was Uladzimir the Impaler—”

  “Yes,” Vlad cut him off quickly. “He was. I won’t try to defend him or say he did what he had to do because it was war. Because he didn’t. Even in war, there are choices. And he chose blood. He chose it even before he was turned.”

  “What happened to him?” Nathan asked, morbidly curious. “Sorry if that’s too personal, it’s just… I know some of it from books, but they all just said he vanished…”

  Vlad pulled himself out of his lazy slouch and let his feet hit the floor. “Dridan. He wanted more—something the Count, my sire, didn’t want to give. I never found out what it was. But it had to be bad for him to refuse. Grandfather wouldn’t listen to reason. He said if we wouldn’t follow him willingly, he’d make us. So, the Count killed him. Well, I say killed… more like buried his body parts six feet apart to make sure he’d never be able to rise again. He drove a stake through all of them except the heart.” He shivered. “I still have nightmares about being buried unalive.”

  “Gods…” That was something Nathan had never thought of as a possibility, but he knew he’d share Vlad’s nightmare tonight.

  “Told you. We’re awful. But it did end the Lich Wars. With Grandfather gone, that left the Count in control. He switched sides in the middle of a battle and declared allegiance to Nevrond.”

  “That must have been a surprise.”

  “It certainly was for the lich whose head he offered up as tribute.”

  Nathan was suddenly glad he’d yet to meet the Count. “What happened after that?”

  “We couldn’t stay in the Wastes anymore, not with all the liches Grandfather had helped raise. We like to pretend we’re above zombies and ghouls, but really, we’re undead the same as them. So, we fled to Nevrond, where necromancy is outlawed.”

  “And they welcomed you in?”

  “Oh, Gods, no.” Vlad laughed. “They locked us away in the Tower for nearly four decades. It was only when King Roland died in 1508, and his daughter became Empress, were we let out. She was a smart one, too smart. I remember she used to come visit us, spend hours talking strategy and politics with the Count. I think he thought he could manipulate her, but she had a will of iron, that one.” He smiled fondly. “Good old Empress Matilda. She was the one that pushed the Wastes back and reclaimed Fortdrüben. They named a fort after her.”

  “Fort Tilda,” Nathan supplied, recalling the redbrick building set against the gray landscape and snowcapped mountains. There had been a statue inside, a towering shape of a woman holding a trident. Soldiers threw pennies at her feet for luck, Nathan among them. He told Vlad as much.

  The vampire chuckled dryly and shook his head. “It’s funny. We killed the Gods, but we still find rituals to cling to. Well, I suppose werewolves didn’t kill theirs. They just vanished.”

  “Sleeping, not yet dead,” Nathan repeated the words he’d learned by rote at his mother’s feet. Sometimes he wished he had her faith. There was a certain comfort in believing in things beyond the mortal ken. But then again, when you looked at the crimes of Gods like Dridan, perhaps not.

  “Anyway, Matilda used the Count for his tactical knowledge, then banished us to Eyrie. We’ve been here ever since.”

  “That’s quite the family story. I’m almost embarrassed how normal mine is.”

  “Normalcy is underrated.” Vlad made his move. “Checkmate.”

  “What?!”

  Vlad grinned at him with gleaming fangs. “Now who’s distracted?”

  Nathan grumbled and shook his head. It wasn’t quite a Fool’s Mate, but it was close. He began to reset the board for their third match. “Tell me something else about vampires.”

  “Only if I can ask something about werewolves first.”

  Nathan inclined his head. “That’s fair.”

  “What does the Change feel like?”

  Nathan thought about it. It was an incredibly intimate question, but given how much he’d asked of Vlad, it felt only fair to give something in return. “You know that feeling, when a sneeze gets stuck behind your nose and you just keep drawing in breath trying to get it out and you think you’re going to die? It’s like that, only in reverse.”

  “Sounds abrupt. Does it hurt? The bones and muscles, I mean…”

  Nathan thought about it some more. “It’s more like when you stretch, and your back pops. At least for me; I can’t speak for anyone else. It’s not something we really talk about, even among ourselves.”

  “Huh.” Vlad tapped a finger thoughtfully against his fang. “Interesting. Being revived hurts like the dickens. But I suppose your transition is natural and ours is…”

  “Different?”

  “I was going to say demonic, but sure, let’s go with that. All right, your turn. What else do you want to know, while we’re trading secrets?”

  Nathan cocked his head to the side. “Is it true garlic is deadly?”

  Vlad let out a sharp crack of laughter. “Ha, no. That’s a common misconception. The plant that kills us is toxicoscordion venenosum, or death camas if you prefer. The flowers look just like garlic. Peasants would watch the hunters using it and mistook the two things. You’d see them walking around the streets of Blutveria wearing garlands around their necks.”

  “Didn’t anyone correct them?”

/>   Vlad looked up, quirking an eyebrow at him, his fangs bared in a rare, full smile. “Would you stop your food from seasoning itself?”

  Nathan chuckled as he shook his head. It was hard to think of vampires feeding on people, especially Vlad. But he supposed those fangs had to exist for a reason. He wasn’t sure what it said about him that the thought of those sharp teeth skimming his throat made his stomach swoop pleasantly.

  “Do those ever get in the way?” He nodded toward Vlad. He had to force himself to breathe when the vampire ran his tongue over the length of one sharp, gleaming fang.

  “You get used to them after a while. It’s easier if you keep them filed short. Less chance of them snapping off or breaking.”

  “They do that?”

  “Only the top ones. They’re designed to break off during fights. Sort of like elephant tusks, I suppose. Nightmare when they grow back in. The bottom ones are much sturdier.” He cocked his head to the side, smiling wide to reveal sharp lower cuspids. Or at least, one lower cuspid.

  “What happened there?”

  “Oh, that.” The vampire pressed his tongue against the gap. “I pulled it out.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “To see if it would grow back. It didn’t. Everyone thinks it’s the top fangs you need to feed, but really, it’s the bottom ones. Same with turning people. Well, one’s enough for feeding, but you need both for turning. They’re connected to,” he made an aborted gesture toward his jaw, “what used to be my salivary glands.” He tapped his chin. “I want to call it a venom, but that’s not quite what it is. Anyway, long story short, if you destroy the lower fangs, you can’t make any new vampires. A lot of the younger ones grind them down, to make it seem like they’re not dangerous. Much easier than pulling them out. Safer too.” Vlad tapped his remaining lower fang. “I’ve still got it if you’d like to see.”

  What was Nathan supposed to say to that? He followed the chattering vampire through the depths of the library toward one of the glass cases that lined the walls. He peered through the glass, admiring the anatomical drawing of a vampire skull framed in the background. In front of the drawing was a small vial containing a long pointed tooth floating in some sort of preservative. The ink on the drawing had faded from black to brown with age, and the date at the bottom read ‘1658 – VB’. Nathan stared at it, frowning.