Dangerous Ties

by Devyn Quinn

  I raised the hammer and pushed out all thought. On Griselda’s brood alone I focused, honing in on the malignant feel of them imparted to the landscape. I smelled their lingering corruption in the air. My eyes skirted here and there as I proceeded, suspiciously scanning every obstacle I approached or passed along my way. My head jerked toward every uncertain sound, and my hands clenched firmer and firmer about the hammer’s handle.

  It was not until I had climbed the path out of the valley and stepped onto the dewy pastureland that I spotted the first ones: two lingerers, draped on their knees under the moonlight with their backs to me. Their cowls were thrown back, and they were devouring the entrails of the dog brought down on the ground before them. The animal’s face was turned toward me, but by the cloudy, unfocused look of its eyes I knew it was dead. A low, bestial growl emanated from the vampires as they gulped the entrails and slurped the blood.

  I did not breathe as I came up behind them. The first swoop of the hammer met the skull of the one to my left. He let out a shrill scream, and instantly the second literally flew up to his feet. As his immaculate white hands tore at me, I pivoted and struck. The hammer struck him in the shoulder. He screamed and tumbled away. Leaping back, I raised the hammer again and turned on the first, who was slithering toward me on the ground. For a second, I saw that the indention in his skull was minimal, but what appeared as a liquid smoke tendril trailed out of the flesh and bone of his tonsured head. Just as I was about to deliver my blow, the second grasped his arms about my own. The impact was halted, and I wrestled with him until my arms lowered. I thrust both back hard, and my elbows thudded into the creature’s robed solar plexus. He hissed balefully at my ear; his fingers gouged through my shirt into my flesh. With a roar I drove the hammer backward and felt the staked handle pierce his torso.

  At once I heard something like a heavy sigh. The first vampire let out a desolate wail. The next moment, I felt the weight on the handle dissipate and the soft rustle of a robe falling to the ground. I had no time to see what had happened; the first was clawing at my legs. Whether he was trying to raise himself or draw me down I did not know or care. I was blind to thought as I cast the hammer high. Aiming the staked end, I bore it down, straight between the vampire’s eyes. The same gasping sigh I had heard before issued from the punctured brow. Blackness veined rapidly over his features; smoke steamed out of the pores of his skin. His now dusk-lipped mouth gaped in disbelief, but no other sound did I hear. His form seeped into itself before my eyes. His robe sank over the earth. A silhouette haze winked where he had been. Then this, too, vanished.

  I stood panting and studied the robes lying on the grass. They had been Griselda’s real children, not vampires sired by other vampires, and the question as to whether they had souls crossed my mind. But only for a moment. I headed on in the direction of the monastery. As I neared the hedge of black blocks, the skin at the nape of my neck raised. I was urged by instinct to turn around, and just as I did, an oblique shadow swooped silently from the nearest tree. I dodged left, in time to see a figure in waving, voluminous cloth alight on the earth beside me.

  My arms raised with the hammer as he threw back his cowl. I looked up at the face of the vampire who had reproached Carina with the diseased voice the night before. The surprise in his face entailed nothing of what I expected; rather, he regarded me with only mild disgust.

  “You come now? After taking what does not belong to you! What demonstration of vain human fealty is this to our mother?”

  His question baffled me, but more so the conflict that rang in his tone. My ears detected others slithering closer through the brambles, but I also felt their hesitance as I did from the speaker. They encircled me, and as I spun in preparation to assail them all with the hammer, I saw they had no intention of attacking. An aura of discontent emanated from them. It stagnated the air with an uncertain madness, and yet, it seemed to stay the aggression I had fully expected. The condemnations of the others rifled sourly through the air.

  “Make him humble for pardon,” called another, “before presenting him!”

  “See, brother, how he struts even now with his precious human toy!”

  The one with the hideous voice gestured for silence, and their ranting subdued to only hoarse grumbling.

  Whatever it was I had done to displease them, I sensed it would work more readily to my advantage at the moment than wielding the hammer. I faced the disease-voiced one who was obviously the leader.

  “I will leave the hammer at the entrance to your home. It is not hers until I have inspected her to my satisfaction and am certain she is all that I traveled to this land to find, and certainly before giving my life for the cause.”

  This brought a round of seething contempt from the pack. But their leader summoned them to peace.

  His shoulders slumped as he pulled the cowl back over his skull.

  “Be prepared, Nocturne Liaison, to give your apology for your high-handedness. Our mother has spurned sorcerer kings of your race! I should think a simple schoolteacher would demonstrate at least humble gratitude.”

  The air congested with silence then. He approached me and gestured ahead. “But I see no reason she should wait any longer to at least welcome the one she has chosen.”

  The others stood back as I followed him through the brushed land to the passageway between the limestone archways. The vines that had touched me as unnatural before seemed nothing more than harmless flora as we passed through. As we entered the courtyard, two peahens flew before the vampire guide, and a peacock, standing near the shadowy thickets, raised his magnificent show of tail feathers. The hateful sarcophagus had been left with its lid moved partially aside, and a large, hairy spider skirted across the open frame. My chest tightened, but it was the only remnant of emotion that touched me. We continued into the dark grove on the other side of the courtyard, only a short distance this, and came out into a slender clearing.

  The eastern portal of the monastery was here, and torches lined the clearing. Their light illuminated a statue of a leonine angel that stood on a marble pedestal. His magnificent wings were caught in graceful flight, and his robes had been fashioned in such a way that the sculpted fabric appeared to cascade in ripples down his body. His face was beautiful, and his fine features were rendered with the severest of countenances. I was astonished to see the depicted fabric had been sculpted in such a method as to lend the impression of an immoderate phallus bulging beneath the robe. The angel’s right hand grasped at his hip the head of a female carven figure by its hair. The angel’s left hand wielded a sword. Its stylized rippling blade was aimed at heaven. The head’s mouth was frozen into a disfigured circle; its eyes sunken and open in shock.

  More surprising than this, however, was the door at the eastern facade. This was an unusual element, as most Christian buildings of cruciform design were absent of eastern portals. The door itself was made of the same stone as the black blocks that bordered the monastery property. The vampire monk pressed it in easily enough, and light from within the monastery seeped out as he stepped inside. This light glazed the clearing grass in luminous silver.

  “The pagan toy,” he spoke, “leave it at the doorway. I will present it to mother…after she has voiced satisfaction in you.”

  His evident fear of the thing tempted me to bring the hammer inside just to torment him. But I put aside the selfish notion and leaned the weapon upside down against the frieze casing before crossing the threshold.

  I blinked against the brilliant light, then saw that we had entered the eastern apse. The walls of the semicircular room were fashioned of pale wood, and the floor was tiled with ivory. Little ebony sconces set with wax candles protruded in at least a dozen places from the walls, producing the illumination that bounced off the walls and floor. A brazier sat in the center of the room. Some dried vegetation had recently been thrown over the flame. It gave off a rich, calming aroma along with its milky smoke. My eyes flashed to the ceiling only long enough to glimpse
the mural of a strutting peacock gazing down on us. As I followed the vampire monk toward the ambulatory, I detected a sour, putrid smell to the air that the incense could not completely mask.

  My guide was silent as we proceeded past the crowded cedar walls of the ambulatory. His shoulders slumped ever more with each passing step. At length we reached a wall of black stone. It was a curious obstacle; I would have thought this way led to the high altar, though I kept my musing to myself. A rounded marble lintel thrust out, and beneath this was a door of the pale wood as found in the apse. The vampire raised the knuckles of his right hand. With a flash of a repulsed glimpse to me, he knocked.

  Within a moment, the door opened, and he gestured me before him with an exaggerated bow. As I stepped into the room beyond, my nostrils were overcome with the invisible waves of a smell much like refined ambergris. The circular room was large, paneled in the costliest mahogany, and carpeted with thick indigo rugs. Black lace curtains sparkling with jewels hung haphazardly from ruby pegs on the ceiling, which, I noticed briefly, was muraled, too, with the titanic image of a masculine face. This face was beautiful, exotic, haloed by waves of black hair, and dominated by a pair of languid Aegean-blue eyes. It took only seconds to realize it was the same face from which the statue outside had been depicted.

  I only regarded it a second, maybe two; but as my attention returned to the room, I saw a lithe figure moving toward us from out of the curtains of black lace. The vampire guide bowed low as a pair of gold-sandaled feet glided into view.

  She was more statuesque than I remembered, an inch or so taller than myself. The perfume of her body was so potent that my brain was momentarily addled. Her high-throated gown was of peacock blue silk, and her hair was piled in soft waves atop her head, and pinned with pearled and silver-leafed combs.

  The moment I looked into her face, my chest panged with desire. The lashes of her long hazel eyes were naturally thick and dark. I noticed for the first time the beauty mark at the left corner of her wide, sensual mouth, and how perfectly sculpted were her subtly arched eyebrows. She regarded me with a strange pout as she laid one hand upon a hip and tapped the fabric of her gown there with her long, ruby-hued nails.

  My every masculine sensibility felt lulled, tempted, drugged, aroused. It was not only her incomparable beauty and flawless physique, but the smell of her, and the unseen and confident aura that clung to her as uniquely and surely as her own skin. I knew she had every right to be so proud. Perfect in every physical detail, highlight, curve, and abstraction.

  Not like Carina, with her short-lived mortal beauty and limited human potentials.

  If this thought had come from my own mind, or was offered by Griselda herself, I did not want to know.

  All my desire for Carina was welcomingly cast away. I spoke with the voice of the intoxicated lover, the impassioned challenger, the constant worshipper.

  I fell to one knee and lowered my head before Griselda. “I have been mistaken,” I said humbly. “In your presence, I have found all that I have sought. I am yours, Griselda—and willingly surrender the secrets that will free you.”

  She stepped toward me and placed a sandaled foot upon my thrust knee. My eyes swept up her ankle and to the hem of her gown. I relished the image of well-proportioned legs that were inevitably veiled beneath the fabric.

  “You come without weapon. Do you truly believe it so simple to make amends for the insult of chasing after that female?” Even with the underlying displeasure, her husky voice was sweeter than the best tuned harp. “I should take you now, reap the fruits of thy knowledge, and be done with you!”

  I looked up and saw the tight purse of her mouth. She was as insulted as she was needy for my knowledge.

  “I am a fool,” I declared. “Take my knowledge now—quickly—for what I have done! I do not deserve a moment to worship you.”

  “Yes,” spoke up the son dryly, “even unto tonight has he proved his faithlessness.”

  Griselda’s eyes narrowed and she lowered her foot again. I expected her to question him on what he meant; there was no denial I could give to excuse my actions. But to my surprise, she turned on her son.

  “It was your duty to curb the beast,” she said. “I told you of the poison she was capable of plying into his heart. If there is any to be held accountable here, it is you.”

  The vampire flinched. His head lowered humbly, though I caught the dimmest glint of exasperation in his voice as he said slowly, “Yes, my lady. But you were not there; you did not feel what we felt at his windows when—”

  His words were cut off abruptly by a release in her snug aura. It spilled over us both, a half-visible vapor that in its fury vied to snatch my breath away. It turned on the son and knocked him backward from where he stood. As I struggled to inhale the thin oxygen, her unspoken wrath reverberated through the room. “We have had this discussion before! You will not accuse me, ever! It was insulting enough to have to follow the bitch mortal once. It is not for me to roam these lands unless I choose to roam! You would have me go into mortal land without proper procession like some unrefined peasant? Perhaps it is time I turn you over to these pagan peasants and let them deal with you to the full measure of their boorish delight!”

  The son regarded her inanimate body dispassionately. His eyes were two hollow, wounded black orbs. “No, mother, that is not what I wish. All I meant—”

  A gust of unseen energy knocked him back again, this time so rudely he was pushed to his backside on the floor.

  “I decide what is of consequence. Leave now—inform your brothers I am not to be disturbed. And then you, my presumptuous son, are to wander the province until the approach of sunrise.”

  He looked as crestfallen as a deserted child as he got to his feet.

  At his silence, her voice thundered again, “Go, now!”

  He bowed deeply, then turned and fled out the door. It shut heavily behind him, and looking up at her stony hands, I saw the fingers quicken and felt her contained aura draw itself back into her body.

  But as I dared to meet her eyes, the white-heat anger that had marked her face disappeared. A smile came to her lips, so elegantly severe that my mouth watered to kiss them.

  “Remember this, Marcel Rolant,” she said, “it is I alone who determines what is of consequence. And I alone who determines how my requirements are carried out, and when.”

  Her fine chin raised and she regarded me indifferently. “There will be no easy amends for you. Now, onto your knees, Nocturne Liaison.”

  I went to all fours and languidly kissed her feet. The feel of her toes against my mouth sent a pleasurable ripple down my spine. I readily welcomed it, and envisioned the calves above my brow, the portal of her womanhood between her legs. My desire plummeted and centered into my loins, taking my willed conscious thoughts with it to color my aura. I felt her vampire eyes pore over my pulsing aura, so boldly presented that her narcissistic regard was silently pacified.

  Griselda displayed no reaction as she scrutinized me, but at length she turned and snapped her fingers. I crawled after her clicking soles past half a dozen more black lace hangings, through a door that opened into a smaller compartment. There was a great fireplace here, burning low with scented herbs, and upon a marble dais, a huge bed covered with a rich blue coverlet and quilted over with peacock feathers.

  She sat primly on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs. My eyes lowered as I waited for her to speak or act. And when she reached to my head and stroked my hair, my manhood grew erect and inflamed.

  Griselda leaned close to my face. Her mouth was the scent of roses and ambergris. “Why did it take so long for you to present yourself to me, handsome Marcel?”

  I did not answer at first. At last I thought the truth was sufficient, “I did not understand at first that it was for this moment that destiny led me to this valley.”

  She laughed softly. “And I am not so anxious as to allow myself approached easily. Unlike your mortal slut, schoolmaster.”
>
  The words were meant to barb me, test me. But there was no taunt that could dismantle my aspired lust.

  I replied in words she could appreciate, “You cannot deny there is a sublime satisfaction in the claiming of another.”

  Her smile turned languorous, and the flick of her tongue across her bottom lip heightened my passion to an uncomfortable level. “My forgiveness for the fleeting indulgence of vanity will be my gift to you. But you belong to me now, Nocturne Liaison—body, soul, and mind.”

  “Yes.” I bowed my head to kiss her feet again, but her fingers clutched the roots of my hair and held me back.

  “Do you know that Solomon himself could not approach me so close?”

  I shook my head, and her mouth swept over my face. Her cool, poised lips scorched my flesh. I trembled with heat and hindered desire.

  “Up to your knees,” she breathed. I raised humbly to my knees, and she fell back on her elbows to the mattress and lifted a foot to my shoulder. She drew up the hem of her gown just enough that she could caress my cheek with one of those calves I had so earnestly imagined. Silken alabaster was her skin. I did not grasp it as I suffered to do so, but turned my face and kissed her leg. She gave a throaty note of approval.

  “Worship me,” she commanded. “Demonstrate your fidelity is to me, and not only to the cause of my father.”

  “You are my only cause,” I sighed.

  She fell back completely, raised her feet to the edge of the bed, and pulled her gown back over her knees. Her milky thighs parted and I looked greedily upon her brunette pelted sex. As my knees padded closer, she coddled the front of her gown, pulling her breasts over the bodice and groping her large areolae. Reverently, I parted her thighs and kissed the inner flesh. My face lowered to her fount. The ivory lips were swollen and dewed, perfumed with a musk more tantalizing than a cabalist passage, more potent than any pagan incantation. Her damp pubic curls tickled my face, luring the passion into a torment. A proud temple of unsurpassable promises was this portal my lips touched.