In The Depths: A Novel (DeSai Trilogy) Vampire legends

by RWK Clark

  Now they walked up a long hallway, the elevator waiting for them at the end. “How do you like it, Rasia?” asked DeSai.

  “It’s the most wonderful place I have ever seen,” she replied.

  They got on the elevator, and as soon as the doors closed she wrapped her arms around his neck and looked him in the eye. “I know I haven’t been the most pleasant during our time together, and I apologize for that. My history has established many of my moods, you see. I am apprehensive with all that I meet.”

  He lowered his head quickly and covered her mouth with his; she let him do this, and reveled in his taste, as he did hers. They explored each other’s mouths with great hunger, and for the first time in her life Rasia felt the powerful tingle between her legs. This was no longer only about her own agenda. She knew she wanted to be with him, enjoying his company and ruling the most powerful country in the world.

  But Cyril was thinking about other things. He tasted something in her he had never tasted in a woman before: evil, pure and simple. She had a heart as black as his. The only thing separating them was that he would live forever, and until he had her and bit her as he planned, she would not. Otherwise, he learned one thing of major importance from that kiss: she had no defect in her except for her black, black soul.

  To Cyril DeSai, that made her perfect.

  The next place they ventured into was floors below. They had spent ten full minutes kissing in the elevator before he was able to push the button, and now she stood wondering where they were going. Cyril knew that this was the ultimate test, her visiting his office. It was on the lowest floor of the winery, a full four stories underground. It was very morbid in décor, and it was dark and foreboding to most. If she could handle it down there, she could handle him.

  “Are you going to show me your office?” she asked him, eager like a child.

  He smiled. “Yes,” he replied. “I thought we could have some wine and talk for a while, Rasia. How does that sound to you?”

  “Perfect,” she purred. “I have so looked forward to seeing it since you told me about it.”

  The elevator came to a stop and the doors slowly opened.

  Rasia sucked air into her lungs sharply, and DeSai looked over at her to read her face. He was pleased to see her eyes were alight and her smile was broad.

  “Yes,” she said. “It is amazing. Even better than I could have possibly imagined.”

  She stepped out of the elevator as if in a daze; she had never seen a place so beautiful in all her life. They were only in a hallway, but that hallway was Rasia herself, her very depths and soul. It was astounding.

  The walls were done in black and red. The background, which was black, was covered with red skulls. From the distance they looked to be spattered with blood, and it was only with attention one could see the gorgeous details within. They were almost three-dimensional, and they took her breath away as they seemed to move and dance.

  There were sconces with black candles spaced in even increments all down the walls. The candles were lit, and they flickered brilliantly, adding to the effect. The flames themselves appeared to be blood-red.

  There were also sculptures on pedestals down the length of the corridor. These were nothing one could view at a typical museum; they were of murder and death. One depicted a demon eating the heart directly from the chest of a lifeless damsel; another showed a gargoyle-like creature on his hands and knees, his head thrown back as he screamed in the direction of the sky. He was as angry as Rasia herself had been her entire life.

  “Oh, Cyril,” was all she could say. “You have read my heart.”

  Yes, he thought to himself. She was perfect. The black heart within her beckoned loudly to his own.

  Now she took notice of the black double doors at the very end of the hall. She turned to him and asked, “Is that it?”

  “Yes.”

  She turned to him fully. “Cyril, I need to tell you something.”

  She had left that morning with the full intent of never sleeping with this man. Even now she felt nothing more than intrigue for the man standing before her, but she felt something else pulling at her, and it was powerful. She felt it at her breasts and between her legs.

  It was lust.

  “Rasia, my darling, there is nothing you cannot tell me,” Cyril replied.

  She lowered her eyes. “I am a virgin,” she told him.

  Now he was overcome. He thought he had been given everything, but he discovered that he had been wrong. He wouldn’t have dared ask for a mate who had never been touched by another, not in this day and age. But here she was. She would be his entirely. His hunger piqued.

  “We will not rush, my beautiful Rasia. Don’t be nervous or afraid; we will talk, we will become more familiar with each other.”

  She looked up at him. “I am not afraid, Cyril. I simply have no… experience.”

  “That is not for you to worry about, my Rasia,” he said in a husky voice. “You leave that all up to me.”

  He took her by the hand and they began toward the double-doors of the office. When they reached it he let go of her hand long enough to put his key in the lock and open the doors; he thrust them both inward at the same time.

  What she saw with her eyes won her soul.

  The walls of his office’s interior were even more dark and sinister than those in the hall. They told an entire story, from beginning to end, of someone whose life was stolen from him in a single night. She could see the story with her eyes. It too was red on black, and she suddenly realized that all the red she saw was blood.

  The walls were decorated in blood. As sure as she was standing in Cyril DeSai’s private office at Cliffside, she knew that what she saw was blood.

  He had antique mahogany furniture, hand carved, all over the office. A black long-haired cat sat perched on an ancient ottoman of mahogany and black leather. The light of the fireplace danced off its green eyes.

  She walked around the room, which was lit only by candles, and touched everything, stroking paintings and sculptures as though they were lovers. Rasia stared at the contents of the office, taking her time with each and every one, soaking up as much of the beautiful information as each piece would give her. Finally, after a long time, she turned to DeSai and spoke.

  “Who are you, Cyril DeSai?” she asked him, a look of wide-eyed wonder on her face. “What are you?”

  He had no idea she already knew.

  He stepped fully into the room and closed the doors behind him, locking them securely. “Let’s have a glass of wine, my Rasia, and we will talk about that. Does that sound okay to you?”

  She sat on one of two chaise lounges which were situated before the fireplace and allowed herself to recline. She kicked her shoes to the floor and stretched out her long legs. She knew she had arrived; this is where she belonged.

  So why did she feel so much emotion for this perfect man?

  He poured two glasses of the aged Shiraz she had loved so much and walked to her. He handed her one glass, then took his place on the other chaise lounge. He would not overwhelm her, at least not right away. He would wait until she knew his truth.

  “I want to tell you the story of my life, but before I do I want to tell you that I do not expect you to accept what you are going to hear. The truth is no one could. It is my hope you will be the first, and willingly share my life with me,” DeSai began.

  Rasia held his gaze steadily. She knew, as she knew her own name, that what he was going to tell her was going to change life as she knew it forever, and she was completely prepared. She had her suspicions. All the revelation would do was solidify her resolve.

  “I want you to be willing to share it with me,” Cyril continued. “That is what will make you different from all the rest in the end. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. “I am ready to hear anything you have to say, Cyril. I am listening.”

  The Master nodded and began.

  First he told her about his childhood in France, and hi
s father, a winemaker. He told her every detail, leaving out only the year of his birth. Next he related to her the story of meeting his beloved Cecile. He shared how they danced and made love in the moonlight, and how he never expected to find another who made him feel the way Cecile had.

  Now he moved on to his children. This was difficult for him to share, simply for the fact that he had buried their memory so deeply in his mind that he recalling it was like slicing himself wide open. He shed no tears as he talked, however; his body no longer made them.

  Finally he began to tell her about the fateful night when he had been turned. He told her about the damaged row of grapes and the pile of dead dogs. He told her about Marquis, Cecile, and the bloody mess that had been made of his children.

  Rasia listened intently and did not interrupt him once, but her mind was moving a thousand miles an hour. She knew. She figured out within the first five minutes of him talking who and what he was. She nailed it when he slipped up and mentioned riding into the vineyards with his father on a wagon.

  This man was a vampire. Yes, it would have been the only explanation.

  This was why they all loved and catered to him; he was literally in control of the entire country, no, the world. This was how he won the Presidential election by a landslide; this was why he was so… perfect.

  By the time he had finished telling her his story she knew she was right, and he confirmed it with his own words. “I will never die, Rasia. I am destined to walk this forsaken planet forever, without love, without sadness, without ever feeling true joy. I am eternal, and I am alone.”

  “You are a vampire, Cyril,” Rasia said quietly.

  “Yes…”

  She sat up on the lounge. “All of the photos in the museum, they were all you…?”

  “Yes.”

  Rasia then lowered her voice. “You will live forever?”

  “Eternity.”

  She stood and crossed over to him, sitting beside him on the lounge. She touched his face gently with her fingers, stroking his cheek. He was a beautiful man, and she knew that she was in love with him, at least as much as a woman like her could be. No, she would not settle for less; she would have what he had.

  “Now it’s my turn,” she said. “I will tell you the truth about myself.”

  And, as Cyril had, she told him her own story. She told him of killing the man at eleven, and how it had filled her with ecstasy. She told him of every evil she had ever done, and there were many. She also related to him the truth about her career, and the secret desires of her heart regarding power and success. She told him of her mother, who she was pleased to hear had died when she did.

  She did omit some of the more important details, details which explained her ancestry. Details that justified her hardness and distance from others. Very important details.

  Details which may have made Cyril reconsider his choice to make Rasia Engres his queen.

  Now she looked at Cyril DeSai and spoke with an honesty that was terribly brutal. “I don’t know if I love you, but I want to be yours. I must say that my motive is less than pure. I don’t want to be mastered, I want to master. If you want to share your life with me I will willingly give you mine.”

  What she said no longer mattered to his choice. He would take her regardless, but having her willingness was nothing short of miraculous to him. He wanted it all to be perfect, and thus far it was. He could only imagine what their future together would hold for the both of them, for the family, and for the world.

  Cyril listened to her words closely. His heart sank a bit when she told him she thought she lacked love for him, but he knew that in the end that didn’t matter at all. What he wanted she longed to give him. He would give her what she wished for: eternal life, riches, and power.

  “Do you understand you will spend eternity completely empty? You will be only a shell?” Cyril asked her.

  She smiled at him. “Do you understand that I am empty already? You would only be filling me up.”

  With cat-like speed and grace he grabbed her by the back of her head and pulled her mouth to his. He then began to run his hands over her entire body, and he was just a bit rough as he did, testing the waters with this woman. She pushed him away, smiling, and let the rest of her hair down. It fell all around her head in long jumbled curls. He was going to have so much fun with Rasia, his breathtaking virgin.

  Now she stood and rid her body of the dress she wore. Beneath she had white panties and a white bra. The sight of this female in pure white drove him nearly mad. She reached behind her and unhooked her bra and threw it into the fire; it burned up almost instantly.

  Now she walked back to him and straddled him, sitting herself right on top of his groin. He was as hard as a rock. She reached down and began to unbutton his shirt. When she was done, she flung it open and looked at his chest. He was well muscled, and his chest was free of hair. That pleased her, as hairy men were disgusting in her sight.

  Now she stood again and began to remove her panties. He rose like a flash and rid himself of all his clothing. They looked at each other in the firelight. She was perfect; her stomach was flat, her bottom well-rounded. Her breasts were the perfect size for her form, and they were topped with hard, pink nipples that he wanted to taste.

  He was physical perfection from head to toe, and she realized her crotch was growing wet. Virgin or not, this man would have her this night. She knew she had won before they even began; the world was hers for the taking, literally.

  When their eyes met Rasia smiled, and suddenly she rushed toward him. She kissed him with passion, running her tongue over his teeth. She bit at his lips and ran her long nails down his back. He groaned loudly with great pleasure, and he melted in her arms.

  After letting her go mad on him for a bit he lifted her off the ground and threw her down on the lounge. He spread her legs forcefully, and she laughed at him, pleased with his roughness. He smiled before putting his head between her legs.

  He held nothing back there, except he did not penetrate her with his fingers or tongue; he would save that.

  He made her come over and over again; she had never experienced anything like it. She responded violently to his touch, thrusting herself against his face, clawing and scratching, demanding more and more… and more.

  Finally, Cyril mounted her, and put the head of his penis against her wetness. He did not intend to be gentle, and she did not want him to. They looked at each other in the firelight, and both of them smiled evil, lustful smiles.

  With one quick thrust he was inside of her. She cried out at first, but then her laughter began. She took hold of his rear and drove him deeper into her as she ground herself against him. The sound of their sweating skin slapping together filled the room, and he knew he could not hold back any longer.

  He buried his face in her neck, and just as she reached yet another climax, he bit down. He let his venom enter her bloodstream, and then he pulled away, his own orgasm upon him, wracking his body.

  They both began to shake, Cyril with great pleasure, Rasia with the turning. They lay trembling, DeSai on top of his new queen, feeling her womanhood clenching down on him. He held her tightly as her body convulsed as the venom took over.

  It was happening very, very quickly. He had never given this bite, and now he knew it was something that took complete control in only minutes. He was thrilled.

  When she stopped trembling she was completely still. He raised himself and looked into her eyes. “Are you okay, my Rasia?” feeling the closest thing to love he had felt in centuries.

  “Yes, Cyril. I couldn’t be more perfect,” she said with an eerie calmness. Rasia looked him in the eye.

  Something in her voice was different, it was sinister. His heart began to pound, and he watched her closely.

  She leaned forward, and putting her hands in his hair, she kissed him with great passion. Then, she wound his hair around her fingers tightly and ripped his head from his body. It happened in only seconds.

&nbs
p; His body fell lifeless to the rug between the lounges, blood leaking from his neck. She looked down at the head in her hands and reveled in the look of surprise that was forever plastered on the dead Master’s face. His eyes were wide open, staring back.

  Epilogue

  Rasia DeSai sat at the desk in the Oval Office at the White House in Washington, DC. She was the first female president of the United States of America, having come into power by succeeding her dead husband, who had been the Master of the world.

  Now they catered to her; there were no arguments, there was no confusion. As soon as she had turned every vampire in the world knew it. They had a new queen, and the Master was gone. She was merciless and drove them all like slaves. She had a very bright future indeed. Her dreams had all come true.

  So, in her selfishness, she had Cyril, she took advantage of his hollow love for her. She seduced him and she let him have her, and then she took not only his power, but she stole his very life, if that could truly be done. Then the black hearted witch reveled in all he had earned, all of his power and possessions, acting as though she were entitled.

  She realized she adored and missed him, Cyril DeSai, her kindred spirit. Oh, how they had been alike! Oh, how she had ruined her own future in only the passing of a second after their heated, and only, moment of passion.

  But he would not leave the Earth without leaving some of himself. No, that would be far too easy now, wouldn’t it?

  Even as I record these words in the pages of this precious Book I can hear the anger and hatred in them. She worked so long and so hard for what she thought to be her destiny, only to discover that she, like Cyril, and like the puppets that were her ‘family’, were being used. There was so much more to the story than she, or anyone before her, had ever known or understood.

  I sit in the greatest house on the planet, the White House in the United States of America, as I write these sacred words. I think about how vital this portion of history is to record; it must be done with great care, and with great caution. For the first time in my life tears fall from my eyes, for in retrospect I clearly see what a puppet I myself truly am, that Cyril was, that the entire population of the world has always been. I am sickened and terrified by this truth. But regardless of the truth, the end will remain the same.