The King's Vampire

by Brenda Stinnett

  At first, he thought the wolves symbolized his own lust and fear paralyzed him, an unreasoning fear that made him groan aloud. He struggled against the racing of his heart, the shortness of his breath, reminding himself this must be the work of the psychic vampire demons, those forces of the damned made him doubt himself even as they fed on that fear and doubt.

  Insufferable arrogance had put him in this position of always trying to control his world through his own strength, and he had been paying for it for over eight hundred years. Even now, he remembered the day when his father had delivered him to the monastery in the woods near the Rhone River in France. He recalled the bare trees, iced-over and looking like skeletal hands reaching out to grasp him.

  He’d never forget the humiliation he’d felt when his father had told him he’d never live up to the strength and prowess of his three older warrior brothers, and how his father had personally taken him to the monastery. He’d been eight years old and still couldn’t forget those endless prayers he’d made on the cold, hard chapel floor, praying he’d be rescued some day.

  That memory passed, and suddenly, an image of the Byzantine-like castle at Aachen crossed his mind. An image of soaking in the hot thermal springs with his ancient heroic king blotted out the lingering visions of the wolves and monasteries. He felt the hot water and the strong sulfurous smell of the springs while Charlemagne laughed at some story he’d been told. Darius then drifted off into a dream of hot, dusty battles for useless past glories.

  He’d been alone until Elizabeth had come seeking asylum in London. He would not go on for another eight hundred years—he couldn’t exist without Elizabeth by his side. She had allowed him to drink of her vampire blood, and in his mind, uniting them forever.

  He opened his eyes when the sun went down. He felt the change in the very pores of his skin, his breathing felt deeper, cleaner. Sitting up, he tore open the thick curtains surrounding his bed, allowing the bruising shadows of dusk to enter the bedchamber.

  An image of Elizabeth entered his mind, and he felt the hot pulsing of her blood trickling down his throat, her pale full lips pressing against his, her nipples hardening at the touch of his palms. All these images created a desire in him and he felt a heat in his loins. This desire for her tormented his nonexistent soul.

  He needed to feed, and with a call to her, she’d permit him to draw the blood from her white, milky-smooth skin. But drinking her blood would leave her needs unmet and make her more vulnerable. Last time he drank from her, she’d been drawn to St. Paul’s where demons had threatened to suck her into the bowels of hell. Since she had no soul, they couldn’t pull her completely into the abyss, yet that threat must have been terrifying enough. She seemed to have a soul, a very old soul, richer and deeper than any living person he’d ever known.

  A scratching sound on the diamond pane glass window made him leap from the bed and reach for his sword on the oak chest. He grabbed a candelabrum on a side table, while keeping the sword by his side. He could see in the dark, but preferred to see his enemies by light.

  Hands raked against the window, hands made of old leather, frantically clawing at the pane. Disembodied faces appeared and disappeared in the glass. Realizing how impossible it was to ignore the psychic vampire demons, he unlatched the window and allowed the demons entrance.

  He maintained his composure while three of them slithered inside. He drew in a breath, refusing to allow them to suck up any of his energy. The largest of the demons reached out an elongated, leathery hand to touch him. His voice rasped when he spoke. “We have come to bargain with you, Darius.”

  He forced himself to look directly into those pus-filled sockets representing eyes. “What makes you think I’d be willing to make a deal with you? Why would I trust you?” He gripped his sword tighter.

  The demon tilted back his head and laughed until his rasping laughter turned into a glob-filled gurgle. He leaned closer. “Let us deal together as reasonable men might do. We will cease the killing of humans and placing the blame on your vampires, if you leave us to attend to our own affairs without interference.”

  Darius recoiled. “There’s nothing more dangerous than those who pretend to be men with reason, especially when they are neither men, nor possess any reason whatsoever. I know what you’re after.”

  The demon pulled his hollowed-out features downward into mock sympathy, but the effect was distorted and flat. “Tell me what you think I desire?”

  “You want to divide, conquer, and weaken the entire human race, drawing in as many people as possible into the abyss of hell to serve your demon master.”

  The psychic vampire demon leaned closer, so close Darius felt the heat of his rancid breath and smelled the putrefaction of his body. “What of you, Darius, do you flatter yourself into thinking that you are a man?”

  He remained silent.

  The demon slapped his leathered claw against the marble tabletop with a dull thud, before lifting his boney wrist to Darius’s mouth. “You seem weakened by hunger. Drink my blood. After all, we are a band of vampire brothers. It would be so much better if we worked together against the humans.”

  He shoved the demon’s wrist away, but whatever he’d started to say froze on his tongue when the door to his apartment opened and Elizabeth strolled in.

  “I heard your voice, and I wondered who you were speaking to.” She glanced around the room.

  With teeth gritted together, he said, “Get out of here, now!”

  She paused in the doorway, looking startled by the harsh sound of his voice. Then she saw the three demons slithering and hissing.

  Darius sensed the fear surge through her body, and with his preternatural hearing, he heard her heart pumping wildly, and his own heartbeat matched hers. He knew her first impulse was to slam the door shut and run away fast as her trembling legs would carry her, so he encouraged her. “Run!”

  A shroud of grayish-black fog, thicker than a wall, surrounded her, leaving her imprisoned in a mystic cell. He felt helpless watching her frantically trying to escape, her arms plunging through the fog, flailing outside the cell, while the rest of her body remained invisible to him.

  Astounded, he heard no noise, nor saw anything but mist. Elizabeth had been swallowed alive, only arms and hands silently reaching out. He rushed over and tried to grab her arms, but his hands couldn’t grasp hold because she had no substance. It was like dealing with an invisible ghost, one without shape or form, like someone from another world. “Give her back to me.” He drew his sword and attempted to lop off the head of the lead demon.

  But when the steel of his blade sliced through the demon’s chest, the head demon smiled a hideous, jagged, bloody smile that resembled the gaping wound across his chest. Darius felt helpless while the demon laughed his gurgling laugh.

  The psychic vampire demon taunted him. “We’re not like you immortal vampires. We can’t be killed. Unlike you, we’re invulnerable.”

  Darius shook his head. The psychic vampires were not all-powerful. They must have their weaknesses. It was up to him to find out what those weaknesses were. “Release her. We can make a deal.” But the fog-enshrouded cell disappeared. “Elizabeth!” he screamed.

  The demon sneered. “In your foolishness, did you think you could have human emotions? That you would form a relationship with this woman? Did you forget you’ve been part of the undead for centuries now? Did you dare dream of the possibility of love?”

  Each word the demon spoke battered at Darius’s heart like nails in a coffin.

  Outside, a wild wind swirled up and a sheet of lightning streaked across the sky just before a rumble of thunder caused the walls to tremble. With an inhuman scream that made gooseflesh prickle down Darius’s arms, the demon drew his forces together and the demons bubbled and hissed before withdrawing through the high windows.

  He ran toward the windows to watch where they went, but the snarling, red-fanged wolves surrounded him, keeping him at a distance from the disappearing demons. In
frustration, he dropped back down onto his bed, throwing his arm across his eyes, allowing the rain to lash at him through the open window. He’d been a fool. How had he imagined that he might capture Elizabeth’s love?

  For his entire life as a vampire, he’d been alone. Life was occupied by trying to avoid bright sunlight, feeding in the night, and attempting not to draw the unwanted attention of the humans. Feeding on her had weakened his ability to reason, and now these emotions blocked his ability to protect her. He felt the forces of evil building, and the groaning appeared to come more from a swelling below the ground rather than from the storm outside. A blast of lightning lit up his room. He must harness his fear in order to rescue Elizabeth.

  His mind raced back to the time when he’d first turned vampire and he’d had dreams of heroically serving his king and defeating the Saracens and the Saxons. He hadn’t reckoned on the doubt and suspicion of his comrades-in-arms. After that, he’d turned into nothing more than a soldier of darkness, spying on the enemy and reporting back to Charlemagne. Even that great king had held him at arms’ length once he’d become a vampire. How that had cut him to the core.

  Bitterness welled up inside him at the thought that he’d been unable to protect the woman he loved against the demons. Maybe his father had been correct and he was still an unworthy warrior.

  His mind flashed even farther back when he recalled the thrill he’d felt when still mortal and he’d gone through the ceremony of commendation and submitted himself to Charlemagne. He’d clasped his hands before his lord, and Charlemagne had put his hands on the outside of his own and squeezed hard. With hands still stinging, Darius swore his oath of fealty over the holy Bible, swearing never to betray Charlemagne’s trust. At the time, it had been the most moving experience of his life.

  His vanity had allowed him to become a vampire because he thought he’d be an eternal warrior for the Carolingian dynasty. He discovered all empires passed away into dust and there was a pathetic futility in fighting for any particular dynasty. Every single thing changed in the world, even while he remained the same. Most vampires grew tired of eternal existence and eternal change, allowing themselves to be captured, or merely turned to dust by the light of sun. He was the oldest vampire in existence, and perhaps that was part of his vanity, still believing he could make a difference in the world. Now his beloved Elizabeth was in danger, and it was his responsibility to rescue her.

  With his eyes shut, he felt a plunge in the temperature of the room. When he opened his eyes, he saw a vision of his old liege looming before him. His keen, powerful eyes locked onto Darius’s own so he dared not speak. Charlemagne wore a white linen shirt and breeches with a tunic fringed with purple silk, his fine hose clung to his powerful calves, his blue cloak was fastened with a gold broach, while the sword he wore around his ample waist was encrusted with jewels.

  Could it be a spirit or a dream? All he heard was his own ragged breathing. “My lord, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” he managed to blurt out.

  High-pitched laughter that ended in a snort came from Charlemagne. “You look less than pleased to see me, Darius.”

  “Emperor, it’s an unexpected honor to be in your presence. Forgive me, but I’ve never spoken with the dead before.”

  “Yes. You’ve only conversed with the undead, as I know too well. You’ve been wallowing in doubt and regret for too long. My warning is that you remember we’re always judged by our actions, and not by empty words. Faith must precede actions. Remember when you struck the demons with lightning bolts in St. Paul’s Cathedral?”

  “Was that caused by my actions or by my faith?”

  Before the spirit or dream could answer, there was a sharp rap at the door, and the voices of the Duke and Duchess of Denham whispering came to him from the hallway. The duke called out, “Is everything all right in there?”

  Charlemagne reached out and touched Darius with his sword. A brief surge of power rushed through Darius before the spirit disappeared.

  Darius dashed to the door and threw it wide open. “John . . . Amelia, come in, please.” He motioned for them to sit on the brocade couch that stood in the corner of the room. He noticed Amelia staring at his chest with more than casual interest, and he glanced down, only to realize he was just wearing his breeches. Embarrassed, Darius reached for a wide-sleeved shirt. After slipping it on, he took the time to tie his cravat and put on his boots in an effort to appear more presentable.

  “Where’s Elizabeth? John asked. “I thought we were taking her to the king’s dinner reception tonight.”

  “The psychic vampires have stolen her. I’m going to fetch her back.”

  Amelia gripped Darius by the shoulder. “Where have they taken her? How did they get to her? When did they take her?”

  He lifted one hand. “Please stay calm, Your Grace. Your husband and I will find her. I can have someone escort you to the king’s reception.”

  Amelia widened her china-blue eyes and placed her hands on her hips. “Are you mad? You’re not leaving me behind. I’m going with you.”

  “It’s not safe. I suspect they’ve taken her to the ruins of St. Paul’s Cathedral.”

  “What makes you think so?” John shook Darius’s arm.

  “The other night Elizabeth was there and that’s where she discovered the demons’ abyss. That’s why I don’t think Amelia should come with us.”

  “Try and stop me.”

  Darius looked pointedly at her formal gown. “You’re hardly dressed appropriately for the ruins.”

  “Don’t you have a young footman’s suit of clothing that I can wear?”

  John spoke with a kind of exasperated admiration. “You’d do best to find her a suit of clothes rather than waste time arguing with her.”

  Darius shrugged and went in search of a footman’s uniform. Once he brought it to her, Amelia went behind the dressing room screen, and in a few short minutes, she stepped out wearing a snug-fitting blue suit, with a flaxen periwig and a tri-cornered hat upon her head, a gold-hilted sword resting on her left hip, and a short cloak tossed across her shoulders. Both men laughed when she strutted across the room in her costume.

  Darius grabbed up his sword, as did John, and the three friends left the apartment in search of Elizabeth. Darius prayed they weren’t too late. He couldn’t imagine what his life would be like if anything happened to her. He ignored the tightness in his chest when instructing his coachman, “To St. Paul’s, and be quick about it.” He knew they’d move faster on their own, but using the carriage the way proper humans would drew less attention to them, and right now, that’s what they most needed.

  Chapter 4

  Inside the fog of the demon cell, Elizabeth remained trapped. She kicked and pounded against the cell until she realized physical strength wasn’t the answer. The invisible shroud surrounding her was beyond this world. It was a world of torture, of abstract evil, of brutalized thought, and of unholy imaginings. Struggling against the cell, she felt it thicken, making her realize her fear controlled her captivity and the greater her fear, the more impenetrable the cell became.

  What must she do to control her fear so it wouldn’t become the barrier to her freedom? She pondered this puzzle until exhaustion set in and she could no longer think in a logical fashion. She fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of freedom from her prison. She jerked awake to discover the cell had vanished. Had it been that easy, simply allowing the power of the universe to unleash her from her fears? Did the strands of her dreams hold the essence of reality, or were the dreams an illusion of reality?

  Had the fear created the cell, or had the cell created the fear? She struggled to readjust her thinking now that the paralyzing terror of the unexpected no longer controlled her. It was a start, although she knew she had a long way to go in vanquishing her fears permanently. She saw that, even though the cell had vanished, she was still imprisoned. Her wrists were bound to the arms of a stone death skeleton, which decorated a sarcophagus.

 
The stench of putrefaction she’d come to associate with the psychic vampire demons nearly overwhelmed her. She commanded herself not to panic again, and she spoke aloud to the head demon. “Julian, release me.” With a quick glance around, she realized he’d brought her back to St. Paul’s.

  The demon appeared at her feet, and gazed up at her. “How did you know my name?”

  She forced back a shudder at the sight of the demon’s rotting skin and the sound of his voice, trying hard to ignore the bloody gurgle. “I know your name because it is legion.”

  Four other demons crept from crumbling tombs, but they kept at a respectable distance. They stood at attention, appearing alert for the command of their leader. The purple light emitted from their wings created a strange glow in the church’s fire-charred ruins, causing their bodies to blur around the edges.

  She rattled the chains that held her wrists above her head. “My arms are tired. Please unchain me.”

  “Only if you promise not to escape like you did last time.”

  “What is it you want from me?” She forced herself to stare into those horrifying eye sockets, which glowed bright crimson.

  It was Julian who looked away. “I’m a reasonable creature.”

  He loosened the chains and her arms dropped to her sides.

  “All I ask is that you and your other immortal vampires leave us to our plans, and then we promise to leave you alone. Collecting souls is our task. Don’t interfere with our efforts at court.”

  “What harm can we do?” she asked, shaking her arms to release the stiffness.

  “I suspect you might do much harm. It’s come to my attention you plan to take up residence at the king’s court.”

  “Where did you hear such a rumor? I couldn’t reside in the king’s palace without his permission.”

  “Rumor has informed me your meddlesome friends, the Duke and Duchess of Denham, are trying to get permission for you to have access to apartments at Whitehall.”

  The four demons hanging about the tombs crept closer, until Elizabeth stopped them with a thralling look. She froze them in their path, even though moss grew rapidly along the stones and the cement crumbled faster than before, allowing the abyss to form.