The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood - Volume 2

by Shane KP O'Neill

  Mihnea headed straight for the mountains to the south. He flew through the passes in quick time. His flight took him over the field where his father defeated Basarab in 1456. That day saw the bloodiest episode in the history of his country.

  Dawn was on the horizon. He flew straight to his father’s derelict castle. Here he had lived with his mother as a child. It was the first time he had ventured there since. Her suicide was still too painful a memory. However, he did not have time to seek shelter elsewhere. He would have to remain here until nightfall.

  At sunset he took to the air again. He had not managed any rest in the castle. His mother’s presence still loomed strong. Her pain and anguish remained trapped within the walls. It haunted his dreams all through the day.

  He flew straight for Tirgoviste. From high above it looked as it had done when he ruled two decades before. His need to see his daughter was great. But he was never one to let his heart rule his head. Not even now. He wanted to find out more about Badica before looking for her.

  Mihnea dropped low over the houses. He wanted to see if he could pick up any information on the off chance. Very few people were outside their homes. Even now in the early evening ice covered the ground and the roofs. His ear caught nothing of any use to him. Finally he flew to the garrison at the royal palace.

  The sentries milled about. They felt the effects of the cold more than most. The streets were quiet so a few of them gathered together to try and lift their spirits. Mihnea descended to the nearby shadows.

  “What is Badica doing?” the tallest of the three men asked his comrades.

  “He is meeting with some boyars,” his bearded colleague said.

  “He is worried,” said a third. “Now that his son is dead he will lose his support.”

  “Yes,” said the tall man. “That child was his best hope of keeping his throne.”

  “It is as much as he deserves,” the bearded man put in.

  “Keep it down. You do not want the wrong person to hear you say that.”

  The bearded man did not care. “Badica’s situation is weak enough as it is. He is hardly going to start killing his best men.”

  “You know his temper. Who knows what he might do at the moment.”

  “It is hard to respect such a man,” said the bearded one. “These are dangerous times. Yet he sends his wife to the outskirts of the city.”

  “He cares for no one but himself. She is so poorly too.”

  Mihnea listened to it all. He would need to go and find Ruxandra very soon.

  “What is wrong with her?” the third and youngest of the three asked.

  “She has been ill since the birth. He cares nothing for her with the baby dead.”

  The tall man nodded. “It is true. No doubt she will follow the child soon.”

  “It is a shame her father is not around to see it.”

  “Badica would not be so brave then,” the tall man chortled.

  “And what will that mean for us? If Badica loses his support what then? The vultures will hover,” the third of the men rightly pointed out.

  “They already are. Afumati is back in the country. Have you not heard?”

  “No.”

  “He has an Ottoman army in Bucharest. They arrived only three days past.”

  “Then he is sure to have his eye on Tirgoviste.”

  “Yes. A battle is on the horizon.”

  “I heard a rumour of an alliance with he and Craiovescu.”

  “No. Do not believe it. There is too much animosity between them. With an army at his disposal Afumati will not be looking for friends.”

  “It certainly ruins Badica’s hopes of driving the Craiovescus out of the country.”

  “I know. You can be sure he is waiting and watching to see what transpires. I wager he will make a move as soon as the two brothers have had their spat.”

  “I heard a rumour that he is in Tirgsor.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “It is a rumour being banded about.”

  “I also heard that Serbian assassin is with him.”

  Mihnea felt his blood turn cold at the mention of it. Iaxici in nearby Tirgsor? If he were there then Mihnea would see him.

  “Who?”

  “The one who killed the last of the great Draculas.”

  The bearded man thought about it for a moment. “No it is nonsense. It would surely be a closely guarded secret if he were there.”

  “Perhaps they want Badica to know.”

  “Why would they? If he were there it is surely to kill Badica. They are not going to warn him in advance, are they?”

  “I am only saying what I heard said.”

  “The soldiers in this garrison obviously need a fight. They are so idle they are given to even more idle gossip.”

  “Well, we shall see soon enough.”

  The men dispersed. Mihnea used it as his cue to take to the air again. He had no trouble locating his daughter. Her heartbeat was like a homing beacon for him.

  For a short time he moved about the house. He listened to the conversations of the servants and guards. It gave him a clear picture of what had happened.

  Ruxandra had endured a terrible labour and birth. For a time some thought she would not survive it. She lost a lot of blood. Right away she developed a strong fever. The baby died moments after drawing its first breath.

  With the death of the infant she had lost her will to live. For a whole week now her condition had slowly grown worse. Everyone in the house thought it a matter of time before she gave up.

  Her husband abandoned her without a second thought. He retreated to the fortress and left her there. She was aware of this, but did not care. Her feelings mirrored his. He had forced her into the marriage under duress. If one good thing could come from losing her child it was to see the back of him.

  Mihnea developed a deep hatred for him. He loved his daughter with a passion. His absence had left her alone and exposed to this brutal man. Now she lay in her bed close to death. With her heart broken she had indeed lost the will to go on.

  Were her condition not so poor he would have gone back to the fortress. Right now he wanted nothing more than to tear Badica from limb to limb. However, he knew the wretch’s fate was sealed. Very soon an army would march on Tirgoviste and crush him. Mihnea knew it unlikely he would survive. His brother was sure to put him to death once he had won back the throne.

  He entered his daughter’s room. A nurse sat at her bedside. He saw Ruxandra cry out in her sleep and it hurt him to see her so. Almost at once he decided he would save her from the miserable fate that awaited her.

  The nurse saw him there. Alarmed at the intrusion she stood up from her chair. She had not seen the man before. “Sir, you cannot come in here,” she advised.

  He offered her an icy stare and with a voice even icier, he said, “Sit down.”

  “You have no place here. Kindly leave at once.”

  He stepped up to the bed. “I am her father.”

  “But…her father is dead.”

  Without looking at her he brought his elbow up against the side of her head. She hit the floor with a loud thud. He sat down on the bed and, reaching over, gently stroked his daughter’s hair. It seemed to ease her a little. Where she had cried out over and over she now breathed a little more easily.

  “Sleep, my darling,” he whispered softly to her.

  He scanned the jumble of images in her mind. They flashed by at an alarming pace. The face of a man appeared many times. He figured it was Badica. The sight of him made his blood boil. Death would be far too good a fate for him. Suddenly his heart missed a beat. Ruxandra was dreaming of her mother. To see the image of his wife had a profound effect on him.

  It was a face he had longed to see again. Even late in her life she had remained beautiful. How he missed her. The dream changed to something else he could not quite make out. His attention turned to his daughter again. Now at the age of thirty-four she had indeed become the image of Voica.
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  She cried out again. He actually saw tears streaming from her eyes, although closed. It pained him to see it. He knew he would have to do something.

  “Hush, my child,” he soothed, stroking her hair again. “Papa is here.”

  She tossed from side to side.

  “Papa is going to take all the hurt away.”

  He sensed she was no longer asleep and leant over her.

  She had heard him. “Papa?” she said in a weak voice. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, my little one. I am here.”

  Her first thought was that she was dreaming. Rarely since her labour had she been coherent. She knew it too. Raising a hand to her face she broke into a sob. She had missed him every day since his death. She equally missed her mother.

  He stroked her hair again. She felt it, but did not react. It was a good dream. She did not want it to end. He moved his hand down to her face and rubbed a finger gently against her cheek. She always loved him to do that when she was a child. It brought a faint smile from her. She closed her eyes, recalling those fond moments when he used to do it.

  She opened her eyes wide with a start. This was not a dream. She had felt someone touch her face. Turning sharply she looked up at him. It caused her to gasp in shock when she saw her father sat beside her on the bed.

  “Do not be afraid,” he smiled.

  She cowered a little in fear. “No. This cannot be.”

  Her voice was weak. A thick film of sweat coated her entire face. She had to wipe her eyes as it trickled down into them. Already they were sore and bloodshot.

  “I came to take you away from all this.”

  Seeing him really confused her. “I must be losing my mind,” she said.

  “No you are not,” he assured her. “I am here.”

  “My father is dead,” she said firmly, a little strength still in her voice.

  “To some yes. Not to all.”

  “Whoever you are,” she said. “Please leave me alone.”

  She pulled her head away when he tried again to stroke her hair. He could not expect any different from her. Not in her current state.

  “Rest easy, my red petal,” he whispered.

  His words struck a chord. That was what her father always called her as a little girl. Her unusual flaxen hair made her stand out from all the others she knew growing up.

  She turned sharply again to look his way, the sudden jolt hurting her neck. He smiled lovingly at her. It was he.

  “It really is you?”

  “Yes, daughter. It is I.”

  “But how? You died.”

  She allowed him to play with her hair this time. Indeed she shifted a little closer to him. It hurt every part of her body to do so, but she did not care.

  “It is a long story,” he said. “But I did not die in Sibiu as you might think.”

  She found it hard to fathom. “Then why did you not return?”

  “I could not.”

  “We needed you. Mama needed you.”

  He sighed hard. “Try and rest. You are so weak. We can talk later.”

  In that moment she caught her breath. Suddenly afraid, she looked up to her father for help. He grabbed her from the bed and lifted her up in his arms. Her body tensed in his grip. In her eyes he saw her fear at losing the ability to breathe. Death was upon her.

  The prospect of losing her filled him with dread. He knew he had only one option. With tears in his eyes he whispered softly, “Forgive me.”

  He pulled her head to one side and bit into her neck. Her blood passed from her body into his. It pained him as her body tensed from the shock of his bite.

  It is the only way he convinced himself. She clawed at his face with feeble hands. He held her firm and drank a little more. Her last few thoughts filtered through to him. She believed him a demon that had come to end her life.

  He withdrew from her and laid her down on the bed again. For a time she did not move and lay with her eyes closed. Slowly her skin turned a deathly white. He watched her, a little nervous. If he got this wrong she was lost to him forever.

  His heart raced when she opened her eyes again. She managed to sit up in the bed. A horrible groan escaped her lips. In the next moment she doubled over and clutched at her stomach.

  Mihnea cut his wrist and stepped right up to the bed again. “Do not be afraid,” he said. “Papa will make all your pain go away.”

  She glanced at him, her face contorted with pain. The scent of blood slowly wafted the short distance to her. She looked down at his bleeding wrist, knowing at once she needed to drink. Her body ached all over. Then another cramp hit her, causing her to fall on her side.

  Mihnea sat on the bed. “Drink,” he said, holding out his wrist.

  His blood dripped down, its scent growing ever stronger. The thought of it repulsed her and she tried to resist it. Yet as her body ached more she knew it would make the agony go away.

  Her head grew cloudy. As yet another cramp hit her she closed her eyes. The pain was crippling. She brought her knees up to her chest in an attempt to relieve her suffering.

  Mihnea began to worry. She would not drink from him. “Drink,” he said, his voice more stern. “If you do not, you will die.”

  He dangled his arm over her so that his blood dripped onto her bed gown. She could ignore it no longer. Without opening her eyes she grabbed at it. He relaxed the limb as she pressed his wrist against her mouth.

  “Good girl,” he whispered. “Drink. It will take all your pain away.”

  She drank eagerly. The moment his blood passed through her lips she felt the pain subside. Mihnea held his wrist there as long as he could. When it became too painful for him he pulled it away again.

  It caused her to fall forward. “Give it back to me!” she cried. “I need more!”

  He moved away from her. Ruxandra rolled onto her back, licking away the last traces of blood from around her lips. As her strength ebbed away she just lay there and closed her eyes. But for her heaving breast she was still.

  It did not take long for her body temperature to soar. The blood she had consumed began to attack at her insides. Thick sweat oozed from her every pore. She reached up with a hand and wiped it from her face.

  A terrible pain shot through her head and she cried out at its intensity. Although her body began to burn up her skin grew ever paler. For a moment she opened her eyes and looked at her father. “What have you done to me?” she gasped.

  It soon became more than she could bear. She ripped at her bed gown until it lay in shreds around her. Only when she was naked did she seem to have any relief. It did not last long. Her father’s blood continued to erode away at everything inside her. She realised then her torment had only just begun.

  Mihnea felt a little embarrassed. He tried to look away. It was not right for him to gaze upon her naked form. In spite of this he felt compelled to watch events unfold. The change from mortal to the living dead was a sight to behold. He stood there transfixed. As much as he wanted to he could not move his eyes away.

  She was every bit as gorgeous as her mother. He could not understand how Badica could treat her so poorly. Any man would die to have her as his own. The scars of her recent pregnancy still showed. Yet it did not detract from her beauty.

  Ruxandra got on all fours and turned her body around. Slowly she crawled down the bed. Sweat dripped from her like a tap. She groaned loud in pain. Blood trickled from her nose and fluids leaked from her anal passage down over her vagina.

  Her shoulders dipped, as she vomited all over the foot of the bed. She cried at the pain with each time her stomach retched. When it ceased a yellow mucous of saliva and bile dripped from her nose and mouth.

  It took Mihnea aback when her body suddenly jerked backwards. He watched it rise into the air and crash down onto the bed again. She cried and groaned. Her body developed a mind of its own, the muscle spasms so bad they stretched her arms and legs wide.

  She could do nothing to stop it. Her whole body shook and tr
embled. She tried to focus on the ceiling above, but moments later her eyes rolled up into her head. Soon only the whites of the orbs showed.

  Her body jerked violently. Then the process began in full. Slowly her insides started to ooze out of every orifice. Mihnea put a hand to his nose. The foulest odours filled the air.

  He could not bear to watch much more. She endured the worst suffering. Even though he could remember his own change he did not recall it being as bad as this.

  It was then he heard feet on the stairs. Her cries had disturbed the whole house. He heard as many as four or five ascending to the second floor. With Ruxandra in the middle of her change he would have to fight Badica’s men. He drew his sword. With his eyes fixed firmly on the door he stood poised to attack them.

  A guard smashed through it. He stopped when he saw Mihnea. His eyes drifted to the bed. A look of horror crossed his face when he saw Ruxandra there.

  Mihnea did not wait for him to react. He grabbed the man and bit hard into his neck. The man cried out, but lost consciousness almost at once. Mihnea devoured every last drop of his blood. He dropped the dead body to the floor. It fell just as the second man appeared at the door.

  The man dropped his sword with fright. Mihnea stood there with fangs bared. Blood covered his mouth and chin. The man tried to cry out, but before he could do so Mihnea pounced on him. He took him without mercy.

  The two other men stopped in their tracks. They looked on in horror. Mihnea tossed the second body at their feet. An elderly maidservant stepped up behind them. When she saw Mihnea there she screamed.

  Her cries echoed through the house. “Nosferatu! Nosferatu!”

  Several others stopped on the stairs, not possessing the nerve to venture any further. They looked up to see their two comrades stood there with swords drawn. “Go and find a priest!” one of them shouted.

  The old woman grabbed her rosary beads in hand. She brushed past the two men and waved them at Mihnea. He stooped forward and hissed at her. Although scared half to death she inched slowly forward.

  “Stay back, Adela,” one of the men said.

  She kept her eyes trained on the vampire. “I will drive this demon out. He cannot face Christ the Saviour.”

  Mihnea hissed at her again. How could she know to do this?