Edouard felt her innermost emotions of turmoil, love and fear all jumbled up, all fighting to be set free. “Do you see demons everywhere?”
“Of course not, Edouard ... if they were legion I would not survive for very long.” She continued her vigil at the window.
“You said Nurse Collette was free of such things but was hiding the truth about them. What did you mean by that?”
“Demons reside in the dark place ... Oblivion ... once sealed beneath the Great Pyramid but the seal was deliberately broken and now they are free to roam the land where they wait for the right moment to be invited in ... they cannot exist without a willing host.”
Edouard tried his best to assimilate this incredible information. He gasped, seeing an Egyptian High Priest smash through a stone door. Demons of swirling smoke escaped. His mind raced with dark thoughts of demons feasting on their prey.
“Do you have a demon within you right now?” He dreaded the answer with baited breath.
Eternal whirled around and snarled. “Demons are hate, greed and cruelty ... would you be attracted to me if I were a demon?”
Edouard was sorry he had asked. “No ... I guess I would not ... but ....?”
“Fear not my true love ... but be warned, there are at least two hiding within these walls as workers. What a perfect place to inflict their evil upon such helpless fools.”
An image of Nurse Marteau confirmed she must be one. “You mentioned the full moon earlier today ... does the cycle of the moon govern your life?” He had to think of something to get off this disturbing subject.
Eternal nodded her head, swishing her hair about her shoulders. “Yes ... Yes ... Yes!” She simmered down. “But all will be lost if I am not able to complete my destiny.”
He was taken aback by her unexpected outburst. “Go on ... what is your destiny?”
Without warning, she grabbed hold of the bars with white-knuckled hands and screamed in terror. “He’s coming ... he’ll take me back and use me until he’s had his fill.” She pulled with all her strength but the bars were unforgiving, as was her fear of Him.
He reached out and touched her hair. “Please understand ... you’re safe here. Tell me who he is ... who is this Count?” He tried to reach out to her but withdrew his hand for fear of a stronger reaction. He got one anyway.
Eternal shook her head no and started to scream, “Eternal ... Eternal ... Eternal.”
Edouard’s heart was crushed with the realization this session was over. He watched her with a helpless feeling of encroaching dread. His soul ached to help her but the use of hypnotherapy on such a volatile patient could have catastrophic results.
He tapped the door and flinched at Nurse Marteau’s wicked glare. Once beyond Eternal’s influence, he shuddered. Were there such things as demons? In the dark ages perhaps, but now? If they do exist then who was the other one hiding in this lair of madness – he could only think of Bonbon? A frown creased his brow, wondering what fate awaited him beyond this sanctuary.
Chapter 37
Jean Busson guided his cart along the country lane with a distracted frown. He recalled rescuing that poor woman covered in blood and her terrible treatment at the hands of that wicked orderly at the asylum. He thought of that hideous birth in the barn, the violent death of his father and wondered if they were connected to the woman he rescued. His mind rambled along with the cart. He pondered whether Inspector Gerard had made any progress with the murder investigation.
Busson whistled merrily towards the tiny hamlet of Douvrey, a place he loved with all his soul. Everything seemed new now that his heart had opened up to Lisette. He whipped his horse into a canter for his eagerness to see her had aroused him. Late evening sunshine split the gloom asunder, bathing Douvrey with the joys of summer, cheerfully bringing the sleepy village to life once more. The ancient buildings nestled in the heart of a verdant valley of fresh young barley and vines.
He recognized the ridge of crumbling limestone with pine forests that hemmed in the fine weather needed to ripen the grapes to their required sweetness. The valley community was actually nestled in the crater of a volcano, long extinct. His sweet Lisette had shown him a book on the geology of the area at the Auxerre library.
The church steeple rose above the scattered grey slate rooftops. Busson steered his horse across the square.
He looked around at medieval cottages huddled like old men around the square. His heart thumped at the sight of Lisette’s patisserie but his moment was soured when he glanced at the Gothic church of Saint Madeleine brooding for all to see and obey. Keeping his secret affair from Father Papineau was wearing him down.
Familiar villagers sat outside the quaint café at pretty cane tables, adorned with lace cloths, drinking coffee and gossiping. More people milled about the square on their daily business. They all waved to Busson and he waved back.
Jean Busson’s cart rattled across the cobblestones with its load of hay, leaving a trail of ochre strands. He stopped at the central fountain and Great War monument to water his horse. The old girl needed more watering with each day.
Old timers smoking pipes sat outside his lover’s patisserie, playing chess and watching the village life slowly flow and ebb. The old men tipped their caps to Busson while he tethered his horse to a rail.
“Stay, Papillon!” His black and white sheepdog obediently whined and fidgeted.
Busson paused to check that interfering busybody, Father Papineau, was not spying on him. He entered the patisserie.
Busson rushed behind the counter and kissed Lisette, an attractive, plump woman with her raven hair tied in a tight bun. His heart hammered and his hands groped her ample curves. She returned the passion with the same vigor. Their lips parted.
“Oh, Jean ... when are you going to make an honest woman of me?”
“Come home with me, my little cupcake and I will tell you.”
Lisette squealed and hugged him. She undid her flour-smudged apron and dropped it. She called out, “Monique, lock up for me.”
“Yes Mama,” came the reply from another room.
Busson called out, “Don’t be too late, Annette.” Don’t be too early, either, he mused.
“Oui Papa,” came another reply from somewhere in the patisserie.
In a rush of passion, Busson and Lisette exited the shop. She giggled like a schoolgirl when Busson helped her onto his cart with a pat to her behind. He dashed around and hopped on. He whipped his horse and cantered off.
Busson tipped his cap to the old men giving him lecherous smirks. He hurriedly steered his cart across the square. Papillon, gave the old men a bark. Busson grimaced when he saw his old friend exit the church. Merde! Now all was revealed.
Father Papineau marched across the square shaking an angry fist. “Busson, you shame your Natalie’s memory.”
“Good day, Father,” he said, tipping his cap. Inside he wanted to cry for Natalie. Outside he was proud of his Lisette who concealed her face with both hands. Busson pulled her hands free to reveal her beauty.
Chapter 38
Lucien stretched aching muscles and sat up in his car. His dreams told him he was close to his Delicate Rose but without her blood to calm his thoughts he could not think coherently enough. Confusion and insanity now reigned supreme in his fractured mind and he hated her for that. He snapped out of it for something was wrong. Danger signals alerted his senses. Someone was searching the barn. He sat rigid and used his inner eye to flush out the intruder. He heard a rustling sound. Lucien turned to stare into the startled face of a flic. Baise!
Lucien kicked the door open, knocking the Gendarme on his back. He removed his sword and attacked. The flic rolled away and sprang to his feet and to Lucien’s amazement the flic tackled him to the ground. They tussled and rolled about, each trying to gain the upper hand.
Lucien took a wicked knee to the groin. He doubled up and was kicked in the stomach. Gasping for air, he looked up at the revolver aimed at him.
He smirked t
o see the flic’s throat become a second mouth by Jacques’ switchblade. He nodded thanks to Jacques, picked up his short sword and casually watched the massive Haitian clean his knife on the flic’s tunic. He put on his dark glasses and left the barn.
Lucien returned a moment later. “He was alone.”
Jacques swished the hay from the car and drove it out of its nest. He dragged the body against a wall and covered it with straw. He used dirt to camouflage the blood splashed here and there.
~~~~
Lucien’s chic sunglasses reflected the valley scenery hugging the narrow country lane towards Douvrey. Bright flashes of infuriating light reflected off the windscreen, almost completely obscuring the tunnel of trees enveloping the lane.
His gloved hand directed the black Mercedes Edwardian Tourer through the crossroads and on towards the hamlet of Douvrey straight ahead without slowing down to the possibility of traffic.
Lucien was in a foul mood to say the least, indicative of his murderous scowl. He wore his black Fedora to match his black mood. His hate was evident in his clenched fists. Blood trickled where his fingernails dug deep. A cruel smile etched his face, now covered with chalky-white makeup to ward of the last rays of sunset.
He unclenched his hands, sensing he was close to Delicate Rose. He could feel her presence filling his black soul with the darkness he craved so much, infecting him with its brooding power. He gave Jacques a look to stop dawdling. “Do I need to remind you of our cover story?”
Claudette sat up and moaned. “We’re not stupid, you know!”
Something kicked Lucien’s vampire senses into another gear. He gasped, snatching a fragmented vision of his Delicate Rose covered in gore being chased by a monstrous black horse. He concentrated but the image of his destiny dissipated like blood in a river.
Lucien watched the village sign pass him by. He sat more upright in anticipation of being reunited with his mistress. The thought of becoming Eternal sent shivers down his spine. Another strong whiff of his destiny evaporated in his mind’s eye. He was very close now, so close he could sense her fear of him. His scattered thoughts insisted she was in the village, possibly being tended to by Doctor Colbert.
Jacques drove sedately across the village square. He slowed down, the car billowing acrid fumes from its sputtering exhaust, to reverse into a side street next to the café.
Lucien listened to the unintelligible chatter bouncing around the square and was instantly aggravated. He needed silence to feel his mistress’ fear. All went silent. That’s better. Lucien chuckled at his affect on the villagers. Everyone stopped gossiping, chess games faltered, cups of coffee clattered.
Lucien could clearly feel the disgust coming from that interfering sack of shit, Father Papineau, who was caught in mid-sentence while playing chess. Disapproving gasps escaped when Jacques and Claudette stepped from the car into the final rays of sunlight. Both wore fashionable dark glasses but Claudette’s face was painted unnaturally white, contrasting with her short black hair, somewhat tousled.
Jacques’ tall, robust frame towered over her. His dark skin gleamed in the feeble light and his rat-tail hair stood spiked with a few strands of straw stuck to it.
The Vampire Sucklings waited for their master.
Lucien was the last to exit the car. His expensive black boots, long legs covered in black leather and his black leather coat created a macabre effect. He stretched his aching muscles and stood next to his vampire kin with a grimace, curling his upper lip, painted black as were his lacquered nails. He surveyed the familiar surroundings with eyes shielded from the light.
Lucien tipped his black hat to the old timers and the damned priest. He received cold stares for a reply and smiled with amusement. The place hadn’t changed at all. The few cottages, and fewer shops, were just as he had left them. Time had stagnated here in Douvrey.
Claudette walked up to Lucien and hooked her arm around his. She looked up to him with a brief smile. Her filthy fur coat flapped open revealing her barely-concealed body in the tight, slinky black dress now stained with blood and scuffs of mud. Her pale legs were streaked with reddish-black filth. She grimaced at the unsavory glares from the villagers and could not resist poking her tongue at the old men playing chess with the priest.
“Filthy fucking peasants,” she whispered to Lucien.
Lucien gave her a nudge. “Remember ... be respectful ... we don’t want to alarm them more than we already have.”
The old chess players quickly looked away to resume their games.
Father Papineau gave Lucien a long, curious glance, only to be met by a troublesome smirk. He shuddered and kissed the cross hanging around his neck.
Lucien laughed out loud, thinking how easy it would be to defile this pathetic lot. He whirled around at a new source of entertainment to see two more familiar faces from his past.
Monique Rousseau and Annette Busson looked on with growing excitement from the doorway of the patisserie. They giggled, giving each other knowing glances, stepping into the square. The attractive teenagers deliberately showed off what they had to offer, walking past the three strangers towards the café.
Jacques ogled the sultry pair of beauties, each wearing a homemade version of a slinky black Chanel dress with a string of pearls around their inviting necks.
Lucien smirked, picking up Jacques’ lascivious thoughts. He pictured in his mind’s eye Jacques pleasuring both girls simultaneously while sampling their sweet essence. Lucien was interrupted by Claudette’s lustful meanderings.
Lucien leapt inside Claudette’s filthy thoughts to feel her heart skipping a beat when she focused on the young male waiter handing glasses of red wine to the two girls. Perhaps this pathetic village does have something to offer besides old farts and stinking farmers, she mused. He also became intrigued by the young waiter’s long, thin body. He had the look and bearing of a dancer. How exquisitely delicious, Claudette thought, her heart skipping another beat. She wondered what he tasted like. An image of cherries steeped in sweet red wine filled Lucien’s inner sense along with her wetness between the legs.
Jacques wasted no time at all, sitting at a table next to the vibrant living vintages, begging to be uncorked at the throat. “Tasty beverages ... very tasty indeed,” Jacques said a little too loudly. His stray hand massaged his massive erection.
Lucien and Claudette joined Jacques and he clicked his fingers for attention. He idly scanned around the square for signs of Delicate Rose but the torrent of revulsion from the priest distracted him.
The holy one could not take his eyes off the three strangers. He watched them closely, fumbling with his rosary, perpetually crossing himself and muttering for help from The Lord with eyes raised to the heavens.
Lucien soon became bored and was drawn like a moth to a flame to the adorable young waiter with wavy black hair approaching their table. Oh such sweet innocence and ripe for the taking.
The waiter jotted down their orders of Pernod and water for Claudette and beer for Lucien and Jacques.
Jacques winked to Lucien and copped a feel of the waiter’s pert behind. “Mmm, perfect ... just how you like it, Claudette.”
The young man jumped with surprise. He slapped the offending hand away and hurried off.
Jacques laughed at his effete reaction. “But I don’t even know your name, sweetheart.”
Claudette scanned the village square with a discerning eye. “Hmm, looks a little too rustic for our tastes. Are you sure she’s here, Luc ....?” She stopped when Lucien kicked her shin. “Ouch.”
“No names ... not with that one listening.” Lucien nodded at the priest and to the girls sitting within earshot. He could sense Claudette’s petty rage about to overflow. “I disagree ... this will do nicely for Soo-Soo’s next film.” He spoke loud enough for the girls to hear.
They gasped with excitement at the mention of the famous French actress.
Claudette winked at Lucien. “Hey Jacques, what do you think of this angle with the chur
ch as a backdrop?” She squared her hands and aimed them at the church like a camera.
Jacques shrugged and said, “Perhaps ... Soo-Soo would look great up there in the steeple ... his hands at her throat ... the bell ringing ... what a Hugo climax.”
Lucien was momentarily lost in thought, glancing around the ancient village square. His need for her was now a deep emptiness. All the blood this pathetic shithole had to offer could not satisfy his lust for blood. And there would be blood, of that he was certain.
Claudette eyed up Monique and Annette. “Perhaps these two would make passable extras ... although their taste in clothes would need a drastic change.”
“Wardrobe would take care of that, darling,” Jacques said, eyeing the girls through a square of hands.
Lucien’s black heart pounded like a sledgehammer at the thought of his Delicate Rose begging for mercy. He grew a hard on with the image of her offering herself in reconciliation for their abrupt separation, before he drank every drop of her ancient essence to be Eternal. As for Jacques and Claudette – well, so what if they needed Eternal’s blood as badly as he did. They could suffer the consequences. Let their addiction burn their blood dry and fry their brains. Her blood was his alone, no more sharing.
The waiter returned with their drinks on a silver platter.
Claudette elegantly smoked her cigarette and eyed the delicious waiter up and down. “You’ll do quite nicely,” she thought out loud. “So young and fresh ... full of joie de vivre.”
She giggled and nudged Jacques, whispering loud enough for the waiter to hear. “I haven’t had a virgin in so long, Jacques. I’d like to fuck him hard before sucking him dry.” She laughed. “Perhaps this pathetic shithole has something to offer after all.”
The waiter obviously heard everything. His face turned beetroot red when she winked at him. He smiled sweetly back at her. The nervous young man hovered at their table, waiting for a tip whilst holding the empty tray in one hand. His eyes bulged when Claudette opened her coat to reveal her flimsy low-cut dress, her nipples reaching for freedom from the scant fabric.
Voracious Vixens, 13 Novels of Sexy Horror and Hot Paranormal Romance Page 34
