by N. M. Howell
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Moonlit Harem
Part 1
N.M. Howell
Dungeon Media Corp.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission.
Copyright © 2017 Dungeon Media Corp.
All rights reserved.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Author
Also By N.M. Howell
Chapter One
Memories flooded my mind as I lay on the edge of the wooden bench near the fire, my stomach churning in painful knots. The memories sickened me. They rose and fell in my vision, and I closed my eyes to chase them away with the darkness behind my lids. My frail chest rose and fell as I tried to focus my attention on the here and now, practicing the self-hypnosis techniques I had read in a book that were meant to help block painful memories. They weren’t working. I sighed and glanced over at the machine that hummed next to me. I could taste the dry patch of saline hit my bloodstream and looked down at the IV poking into my arm. Draven leaned back in his chair as he observed, his brows furrowed together in worry.
“You're starting to reject this serum, Riley,” he said.
I pushed myself up on the bench, my eyes flicking from the IV drip to my mentor. I didn’t like the edge of panic in his voice. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you're going to have to give in one of these days,” he replied.
I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “I'll never give in,” I reminded him as he withdrew the needle. He hadn’t been looking, and I repeated the gesture when we made eye contact, just to prove a point.
“Cotton,” he commanded.
I placed the ball of cotton over the wound to hold the blood and heaved another sigh as I folded my arm, looking over at the flames dancing in the fireplace. It smelled like burning wood and spices, that familiar sweet and smoky smell that used to stay in my hair and clothes for weeks when I was younger.
Every summer I would go on a month-long yoga retreat in India. It was a chance to connect with other people who shared the same spiritual and vegan lifestyle as I did. We would spend our nights around the campfire, the smells still so familiar and vivid in my mind. My parents were hippies and I grew up in a vegetarian household. We believed animals has every right to be on this Earth as we did, and we had no business killing them for food. It was something that stayed with me until my adult life. The vivid memory crossed my vision, and I shut my eyes until it passed, shuddering against the cold that crept up the back of my spine.
“Not only are you losing weight, but you're losing your touch,” Draven continued.
“I'm not losing anything,” I spat stubbornly.
Draven eyed me over his specks, the wire glasses sliding down the lengthy bridge of his nose. He frowned.
“You can't argue with the results, you know,” he said in a husky voice. “As much as your willpower carries you, it can't save you from what you really are. You can’t fight this forever.”
“I am nothing more than an injured human. Nothing will change that,” I argued. It was so plainly obvious to me, why couldn’t anyone else understand that?
“Nothing will change the fact that you drank the Master's blood,” he said pointedly.
His eyes didn't waver. They remained fixed over his glasses, eying me curiously as my own eyes defiantly met his gaze. Another memory flashed over my vision. I shook it away and looked back to the flames, disregarding the hand that met my shoulder.
“I know you don't want to do this, Riley, but you must,” Draven explained. “You have to face the fact that you are a vampling and that you must kill a human on your twenty-first birthday to complete the ritual.”
“I hate that,” I growled. “I hate that I wasn't given the choice.” I hated even more how easy it was for him to say it, as if taking a human life were the most natural thing in the world. What the hell was wrong with these people?
“Most of us weren't,” he replied.
“You were,” I spat.
Draven sighed. The bench squeaked as he sat down next to me, his hand still fixed to my shoulder.
“I was told that my work would be destroyed unless I joined the coven,” he said. His voice was slow, calculated.
“That sounds like blackmail to me,” I said.
“It was blackmail. That's not choice, Riley. That's survival,” he explained.
“Why didn't you fight back? Why didn't you make him work for you?”
“Because Sirus is a petulant man. He will always get what he wants because he's used to being treated like royalty,” he replied. “That includes getting you to submit.”
“I can't submit. I won't,” I said, my eyes beginning to brim with unshed tears. “I refuse to give him what he wants, and I won't be coerced into this.”
“I'm afraid it's no longer up to you,” he said.
I shook his hand from my shoulder and stood, tossing the little cotton ball into the trash can next to the desk. I studied the contents of the room. A small bench sat near the fire with a desk adjacent to it. There was a collection of flasks, jars, and a stack of papers sitting in the corner, some of them strewn about over the wood. I turned to find Draven watching me curiously from the bench with his hands relaxed on his lap, looking as youthful as ever.
“Why does he get to decide what we do?” I asked. “It's not like he's really done anything particularly fantastic for this coven as of late.”
“You speak as if you're a part of us,” he said. “I thought you weren't.”
A playful smile crept over his lips, and I grunted while turning away to hide my grin.
“I suppose I've become rather sympathetic,” I lied.
“I think you've become more than that,” he said.
“Only for you,” I said quickly. “You've been more of a father to me than Sirus could ever hope to be.”
“Don't say that. Sirus gave you a home and a proper place among our ranks, whether it was chosen or not. He protects you from the others, and he understands the important role you will play as the twelfth and final member of this coven. He wouldn’t have wasted his time if he didn’t think you were worth the effort. If you weren’t the right fit for our family,” he said.
His words made me laugh, the sound bitter as it left my tongue. The whole concept of family here boggled my mind. I wasn’t part of Sirus’s family, I was his prisoner. “Then, why do I feel so alone?” I finally asked, choosing my words wisely.
I looked down at the cobblestone floor and heaved a heavier sigh than before, feeling lightheaded from my transfusion. I eyed the little dot on my skin. The area around it was a slight purple, bruised from the needle penetrating my arm. I traced my finger along the bruise, on
e of the remaining indications of my human past. Once I completed the ritual to become a full vampire, I would no longer bruise. I would no longer breathe or bleed, or God knows what other human characteristics I’ve managed to hang on to since I was first turned. It was such a tease, the two-stage process of becoming a vampire. An excruciating and awful tease. I still felt human, despite the fact that I could no longer eat food for sustenance. My chest still rose and fell when I breathed, my heart still beat in my chest. It just made this whole process that much harder for me.
Pain pulsed beneath my finger and I frowned. Draven was right—I was losing my abilities quickly. My healing time had doubled since I had been bitten and my senses had nearly returned to human status. The serum he had created wouldn't last for very much longer if I continued on this path. I had to find another alternative.
“You’re lucky to be here with us, you know,” he spoke softly, gesturing to the IV drip and supplies he kept in his office. “Any other cover and you would be forced to consume blood like the rest of us. Sirus has had to keep this little agreement of ours secret from the Council. Should they find out we’re allowing a vampling to refuse the natural way…”
I sighed and ran my hands through my hair as I returned my gaze to him. “I know, I know. I do understand that much. I’ve seen what some of the other covens are like, and you know I’m appreciative of your accommodations. It’s just—”
“I know,” Draven placed his hand on my shoulder again as I slumped back down on the bench. “But as your twenty-first birthday nears, it’s my duty to prepare you. This is more significant that you seem to understand, Riley. Once you complete the ritual and join our coven as a full vampire, we will be joining the Council at the Centennial de Sang. Sirus has secured a position for our coven to stand beside Bratislav himself, leader of the nine Council members. You may not understand this now, but it is an immense honor for someone as young as you to be invited to accompany the coven as we stand next to the Council at this event.”
His words were lost in the back of my mind as I stared deep into the orange flames, my vision becoming blurry and my mind numb. “I don't want to give in to this lust, Draven,” I said, my lower lip beginning to quiver. “I don't want to become a monster.” I couldn’t bring myself to even think about the horrors of the ritual, let along the atrocities that were rumored to happen at the Centennial de Sang. It was the stuff of nightmares, and I was grateful that it only occurred once every one-hundred years. “How lucky am I,” I finally spat, my voice oozing with sarcasm.
His gaze softened, and he opened his arms, inviting me to fall into them. I let a single tear escape down my cheek as I leaned into him, allowing him to rock me back and forth, humming an ancient tune that soothed my mournful eyes. As a few more rogue tears made their way down my face, he cradled me in his arms like a lost child.
“Listen, Riley. You have been dealt a horrible hand. Unfortunately, this is the hand you must play with,” he explained. “If you fold your cards, you make yourself vulnerable to the collective which would likely vote to have you killed. And if not, well… you know what happens to vamplings who don’t complete the ritual and deny the change. Even if they do not punish you as they most certainly will, your body will wither. It’s a fate worse than death, and you know that.”
I gulped and buried my face into his neck, hiding myself from those dreadful words.
“However, you have a number of cards in your favor. We have the Centennial de Sang to look forward to, and I must impress upon you how big of an honor it is to attend. And you have me on your side as your mentor, and I will guide you into this lifestyle with minimal harm,” he went on.
“I just can't imagine taking a life. I've never done any living being harm, not even a fly. When I was a girl...When I was a human girl...” I trailed off and buried my face deeper into his shirt, breathing in the scent of patchouli from his collar. I was typically stronger than this, but there was something about his voice that made me break down. The stress of knowing my birthday came closer each day was taking a toll on my mental health, and I wasn’t sure I was going to get through it.
He patted my back and hugged me close, closing the already small gap between us.
“Riley, I'm sorry,” he whispered. “There's not much else I can do.”
“What about that remedy you were working on when we first spoke?” I asked.
“That was nothing but speculation,” he replied.
“But you had the formula, right?” I asked.
“You're pulling straws.”
“I just want something to get me out,” I whispered.
“I know, Riley. I'm sorry. There's nothing more I can do except guide you from here,” he said.
I remained quiet. He was right. There was nothing else we could do. Sirus was being flexible as it was with me getting synthetic treatments, and asking for a cure would be pushing him over the edge. Besides, Sirus enjoyed the kill far more than he did his own powers. He was a wretched and despicable leader. Curing him would be like giving him death. But this life was the real killer for me. This was far worse than death.
This was torture.
Chapter Two
After my synthetic feeding, Draven led me to the second floor where Sirus was waiting for me. He hugged me at the door, and I watched him leave, swallowing down the clump in my throat as I took a seat in front of the large mahogany desk. Sirus was sitting at his desk as his fingers pressed over glowing keys. He hardly made a sound in the great office. Behind him was a grand display of books and antiques illuminated by glowing red lights. The keys stopped clicking, and he turned his attention from his screen up toward me. My eyes focused on the pale blond with sparkling green eyes and I let out a slow breath as I waited for him to speak.
“My dearest Riley,” he said with a sinister grin. “You're looking pale. How are you feeling?”
“I'm feeling fine,” I replied. “I've just eaten.”
“You mean you've just sustained,” he corrected. “You can hardly call that food.”
I rolled my eyes and stared at the antique picture frame on the desk, studying the figures standing inside the silver frame.
“That goo Draven creates is nothing like the real thing,” Sirus went on. “It's like taking methadone when you could have heroin.”
“It keeps me going,” I said. “And it proves that you can live without killing.”
Sirus offered a polite grin and smiled, a white fang poking from underneath his pink lip like a cat eager to hunt.
“That's no way to live,” he said. “That’s no life.”
“Killing to live isn't quite logical either,” I retorted. I knew I was pressing on his nerves, but I refused to give in to their way of life. Not when there was an alternative.
“Oh, my dearest Riley,” he said while standing from his chair. “We live in a time of the individual. This is when the lesser man strives to be the greater man by merely existing as an individual entity. In order to progress, we must do better than the lesser man. We must kill the lesser man.”
“I don't understand,” I said.
“Man has created vaccines, encouraged equality, and essentially eliminated natural selection. They've destroyed population control. We are the ones who must take that responsibility and help humans remember their place in the food chain,” he explained.
I cringed.
“You sound like a madman,” I commented.
“I am merely stating the truth, my darling Riley. There is no reason I shouldn't,” he said pointedly. “If you wore the same glasses, you would be able to live your life more freely as a member of this coven.”
“I didn't choose this coven,” I said.
“No, it chose you,” he growled. “And I chose you.”
“It wasn't your choice to make, Sirus. I didn't want to become this wretched thing,” I said while standing from the chair.
I walked to the window that looked out into the courtyard, looking down upon the small groups of vampire
s roaming around the concrete area. The center held a fountain decorated with gargoyles. Liquid poured from their mouths and splashed into the main area as a few well-dressed coven members sat around the edge. Long shadows danced across the courtyard from the many torches lit around the perimeter, making the whole scene look like it came straight from an M. Night Shyamalan film.
Draven made an appearance down below. I watched him bounce easily between each group with a polite grin, bowing and tipping his hat to each vampire he greeted. He was so smooth with them. I wish I could do the same. Part of me did, at least. The other part just wanted to run.
“I could have left you there out in the field where you were bleeding, but I purposefully instructed Cronin to bring you in,” he said. “Would you have preferred to die alone in an empty field where no one would have found you?”
I remained silent.
“Nothing is keeping you from becoming a true family member except for the denial of your function,” Sirus continued.
“I just don't understand why you won't stop killing if you have an alternative,” I said to the windowpane.
“It's simply not possible, Riley,” he replied. “There is no such thing as a vegan vampire. There's never been such a thing. If we weren't supposed to kill humans, we wouldn't have been made to do so.”
The window fogged as I sighed, and I tucked my hands away into my skirt pockets and fingered the dagger I carried, looking down at the long strands of silk falling from my black belt. It was my uniform. Many of the new vamplings wore formal clothing with a red patch tied to the belt so as to easily be identified. Not that it wasn't terribly obvious who I was. Everyone in the coven knew me by name. They jeered in my direction for my verbal outcry against killing humans. I've become somewhat infamous here.
