The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood - Volume 2

by Shane KP O'Neill

  Shane raised his sword against Dracula. The vampire fended it off easily with a single downward blow. The sword fell from his grasp. Yet he showed no fear. He glared at Dracula and then dived at him. Dracula grabbed the boy. He held him firm with an arm wrapped around his chest. Looking around, he held his blade to the boy’s throat. “Drop your swords! Or I will kill him!”

  Varkal and Mihnea guarded their father. Their swords dripped with the blood of the men they had killed. The closest of the Irish dropped their weapons. They did not want to risk the life of Shane. However, two large groups on either side trained their bows on the vampires.

  It made for a tense stand off. Dracula knew he could not fend off a hundred arrows. “Lead me to The O’Neill,” he snarled.

  He knew The O’Neill was in the tent straight ahead. But it was not safe for him to move. He only hoped their fear of losing Shane mattered more to them than taking him out.

  “You know we cannot risk the life of The O’Neill,” one of them said.

  “I have not come here to kill him.”

  In that moment a tall man emerged from the tent. He looked regal in his long white léine. It was a heavy linen garment. To Dracula it resembled a type of Roman tunic. It dropped to just above his knee and hung from his shoulders on both sides almost to his feet. Over it he wore a short ionar of brown leather. A necklace hung down over it. It was a trophy of small bones taken from men he had killed in battle. On his feet Dracula saw light boots made from deerskin.

  He eyed the intruder with a sword to his son’s throat. Yet he did not panic. Like many other great leaders he was able to keep a cool head under pressure. It was a quality Dracula greatly admired. “That is not the impression you give me.”

  “It is good to stand face to face with Conn Bacach O’Neill.”

  “But you do not. My son stands between us. Let him go.”

  “For your archers to cut me down?”

  O’Neill looked down at the body of the first man Dracula had killed. He was a close friend. “You have done enough damage here to warrant it.”

  “I had to speak with you. It was the only way.”

  “Then let my son go. No harm will come to you.”

  Dracula stood and stared at him. O’Neill signalled to the archers to lower their bows. Dracula knew he was a man of his word. He let the boy go. Shane turned and spat in his face before joining his father’s side.

  Varkal tried hard to stifle a laugh. He could not believe the courage of the boy. Dracula was not so amused. He turned and glared at Varkal to let him know it.

  “How do I know you are not here to kill me?” O’Neill asked, though not at all afraid of him.

  Dracula sheathed his sword again. “You have my word,” he said.

  “Then come into my tent. Leave your men there and come alone.”

  Dracula followed him inside. His sons remained on their guard close to the entrance. Several of O’Neill’s men stood outside the tent to deny them entry.

  “Who are you?” O’Neill asked, once they were inside.

  “I am nobody you will have heard of.”

  “That does not answer my question.”

  “It is the best answer I can give.”

  “You speak perfect Gaelic. Yet you do not have the appearance of an Irishman.”

  “I am fluent in many tongues.”

  “I can see that. So why are you on my lands?”

  “I seek the one who has been advising you.”

  O’Neill ignored the request for information. He poured a drink without offering one to his visitor.

  “It does not matter,” Dracula said. “I know he is not here any longer. I will find him in time.”

  “You threatened the life of my son. And you killed several of my men. All that to tell me you are looking for someone? I hardly think so.”

  “Very well,” Dracula admitted. “I do have another reason for seeing you. I have come to advise you to sign the agreement with King Henry.”

  O’Neill laughed. “Is that right? An assassin from England then?”

  “No,” Dracula corrected him. “But I am a friend of the King. And a lover of nothing Irish.”

  The remark brought an icy stare from O’Neill. The others in the tent reacted by drawing their swords in anger.

  “Sheath your swords!” Dracula warned them. “I could easily kill every last one of you. Do not tempt me to do so.”

  Some of them hesitated. One man in particular took great offence to the slandering of his race. He lunged at the vampire with his weapon. Dracula disarmed the man with ease. He grabbed the broadsword and bent it with his bare hands. The others looked on in disbelief.

  Dracula wanted to drive home his point. He bared his fangs for them all to see. Before the man could step away Dracula grabbed him. He rose to the roof of the tent with him in his arms and bit hard into his neck.

  The man kicked and screamed, but he could not break free. Dracula took him savagely. He tore out his larynx and the top of his spine, as he drank him dry. When he was done he threw the broken body of the man to the ground.

  Dracula dropped slowly down. In his bloodied hand he held the spinal column of the dead man as a trophy. The men around the tent looked on him in horror. But he had their attention. Some of the men standing outside burst in through the flap, to see what the screaming was. O’Neill told them to leave again.

  “What sort of a beast are you?” the great chieftain asked him.

  The dead man’s blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. “One that you will listen to,” he assured the chieftain.

  “And if I do not?”

  “You will be faced with one English army after another. They will destroy your homes and kill your loved ones.”

  “We can handle the English easily enough. We always have done.”

  “That might be so. But your success will not last.”

  “Henry is weak. He has no real power. We might even go across the water and attack him.”

  “Do not be so fooled. England will soon be a mighty power. You can only repel them for so long. In time your clan will crumble. Everyone you hold dear will die.”

  “Perhaps we are willing to die to keep what is ours.”

  “And die you will.”

  O’Neill shrugged. “Then so be it.”

  Dracula took two steps towards him. “I am telling you to sign the treaty.”

  “Do not threaten me.”

  “He will give your lands back to you. You will have a title and there will be peace. Humour him.”

  “I am The O’Neill! Do you not understand that? I do not want to be an earl or a duke. Such titles mean nothing here. They are an offence to us.”

  “You will do it,” Dracula assured him. “If you do not then I will come again. But the next time I will do so much more than what you saw me do to this man. I will do it to your sons, your wife and then your brothers. I will snuff out your bloodline in an instant. Do not disappoint me.”

  Dracula turned on his heel and walked out of the tent. He left O’Neill to ponder what he had said. The vampires then took to the air. They did so in full view of the clan members gathered outside. He wanted them to have no doubts as to what he could and would do. They had to know of his ability to make good his threat. By the time the vampires had vanished into the night sky they knew were in no doubt.

  Ireland. The town of Kinsale in Cork.

  July 1541.

  The vampires remained in Ireland another month. They picked up on the faintest trail that Radu had left behind. It took them to the south west coast. But despite their best efforts they did not find him.

  “This is what he wants,” Mihnea said.

  “What is that?” his father asked.

  “He wants us to come here. When has he ever left us a trail before?”

  “Then let us hope we find what it is he wants us to see.”

  Varkal agreed with his brother. “This is a game he is playing with us. I am tired of it. Yet here we are, doing
as he wants.”

  Dracula glared at him to show he did not care for his opinion. But Varkal was right. Radu had long gone to another land. It had grown into an obsession for them. Mihnea and his father most of all wanted to find him. Varkal hoped they would catch him too. For that reason he was happy to go along with the chase. Where he went Anya went also. Ilona had a need for revenge that burned as strong as in any of the others. Radu had almost killed her and her husband and she would never forget it. It had taken her a long time to heal too from the wounds inflicted on her. For that reason she was content with things as they were. Out of all of them only Ruxandra was truly unhappy.

  Five years had done little to ease her pain. She had few thoughts except for the times she had spent with Anne. It felt like only yesterday. They had been totally in love. But now she was gone. Anne’s execution had left her bitter. At first she had hated Henry and those who did his bidding. But there was more to it than that. As time passed she began to blame Dracula just as much.

  Her grandfather had used her to manipulate Anne into a union with the king. In the beginning Anne had not wanted it. His sole motivation was to drive a wedge between the Crown and the Vatican. Anne was his instrument to achieve that end. The split came and Anne failed to give Henry a son. Dracula did not care that it resulted in her death. He could have intervened at any time to save Anne, or allowed her to. But he would not. With every night that passed now Ruxandra began to hate him more and more.

  They felt this in her. But they did not discuss it, even with each other. Ilona figured it would pass in time. Time healed all wounds, no matter how painful. Little did she realise it, but with Ruxandra this would not apply.

  She had never resented her father for making her what she was. But it hurt her that he had not shown any understanding of her feelings for Anne. It cut her up as much as anything else that had passed. So now she felt bitter towards each and every one of them. She no longer wanted any part of Dracula’s great crusade against Rome.

  She did not want to roam the world with people she despised. To be happy she needed more. She wanted something else. While she stayed with them she would never find it. She had to be on her own. For her own sanity she had to get away.

  Things came to a head on the last night in July. The group had decided five to her one to return to Europe. She grew increasingly restless in her desire to be free of them. But they would never let her go. If she ran they would chase her like they did Radu. She would have to force them to drive her out. It was a risk that might cost her life, but she did not care.

  Ruxandra was the first to wake. She lay beside her father in a corner of the dark cellar they occupied. His body still radiated warmth. She could tell he had fed well the previous night. Much of that large supply of blood still coursed through his veins.

  She got closer so she could read his dreams. He was reliving a happy time with her mother. She had always been the image of Voica. Some used to say she was almost a replica of her. It was one of the reasons Mihnea had rescued her from death on that night in Sibiu, though he would never admit it. She was his one link to the wife he loved and missed so much.

  “Mihnea,” she said softly, imitating her mother’s voice.

  He stirred a little, and smiled, though still asleep.

  “Mihnea, my love,” she whispered. She recalled how her mother had once woken him while he slept. Now she brushed her lips against his in the same way.

  Mihnea stirred again. This time he responded to her kiss. “Voica?”

  “Yes, my love,” she said, in their native tongue. “Kiss me.”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. In his semi-conscious state he truly believed it was his wife. Ruxandra heard the other vampires stirring. She reached down behind her back without breaking from the kiss. He was erect. She pulled his breeches down a couple of inches and held him in her hand for a moment. To her delight he had not woken still.

  It added to his state of arousal. The room felt a little cold. She feared it might wake him if he felt it against his exposed skin. To avoid that she stroked him gently. It also served to ensure he stayed hard. When the moment was right she eased herself down onto him.

  He groaned at the feeling of her warmth. She hated to have to do this, and to him of all people. But it was her only way out. Her body could not ignore his size and she groaned too as he filled her inside.

  “Where have you been, my love?” she asked. She said it loud enough for the others to hear. The sooner this was over the better. He let out another deep groan as she moved against him. She could not help doing the same. “It has been so long.”

  “Yes,” he sighed, half awake. He still believed it was Voica.

  Ruxandra ground herself hard against him. It was too late to change things now. Guilt filled her inside. But she wanted to incur the wrath of everyone in the cellar. She cared nothing for them or the rules they lived by.

  Ilona awoke first. She knew at once something was wrong. Her eyes focused on Ruxandra having sex with her father. The girl ignored her. Ilona scanned Mihnea and realised he was not a party to it. She saw images of a woman in his mind. They looked like Ruxandra, but were of another. It incensed her when their eyes met. She saw Ruxandra grinning at her.

  “What are you doing!” she screamed.

  It woke the others, but for Mihnea, who remained in his blissful dream. Ruxandra did not answer. Ilona flew at her and sent her sprawling across the floor. Mihnea awoke with a start. He cried out in pain when his manhood felt the full force of the blow on his daughter.

  The others tried to make sense of what was going on. It only took moments for them to see what had incurred Ilona’s rage. They drew alongside her, as she beat Ruxandra about the head with her fist.

  “Stop!” Mihnea called out. “Leave her be!”

  Dracula grabbed his son when he moved for Ilona. “Stay back, Mihnea,” he warned. “Ilona is best equipped to deal with this.”

  Mihnea struggled against his father’s grip. But Dracula was too strong. He had to watch while Ilona exacted a vicious punishment on his daughter.

  Ilona struck her again and again to the face and head. “You are nothing but a whore!” she screamed.

  Ruxandra gave in. She no longer tried to fend off the blows. For a moment they all thought she was dead. Ilona lifted her into the air and pinned her to the nearest wall. She was unsure too for a moment. When she put her head nearer the girl, Ruxandra lashed out with both hands. She clawed at Ilona’s eyes.

  Ilona screamed and let go of her. Ruxandra then gave her a taste of her own medicine. She struck her to the nose and mouth. Dracula released his grip on Mihnea. In a real fury he flew at Ruxandra. He hit her hard and knocked all the wind out of her, as she crashed back against the wall.

  His anger truly scared her. “How dare you raise your hand to Ilona!” he yelled.

  He brought the back of his hand down hard against her face. She groaned, as blood sprayed from a split lip. Mihnea feared for her. He still felt totally bewildered how this had come about. Why would she do this? But he could not allow this assault on his daughter. They would kill her if he did not do something.

  Mihnea dived at his father. He drove his shoulder in low against Dracula’s thigh. The blow knocked him over and away from Ruxandra. The two of them wrestled each other on the ground. Mihnea showed great courage in trying to defend her.

  “Stop it, father,” he pleaded, as the two still grappled.

  Dracula ignored him. He grabbed both Mihnea’s wrists and pinned him to the floor. Mihnea knew he could do no more. He turned his head to his daughter. “Run!” he shouted. “Go and never return.”

  Neither Varkal nor Anya made any attempt to interfere. They looked at Ruxandra as she eyed her father with regret. She seemed at a loss. Her legs felt like lead beneath her.

  “You had best go,” Varkal growled at her. “Hurry!”

  She looked at Varkal with a tortured expression and then back to Mihnea. “I am sorry, father,�
� she said, before she turned and left.

  England. Hatfield House in Hertfordshire.

  November 16, 1558.

  Dracula and Ilona did not talk to Mihnea for a long time after that night in 1541. The tension remained high between them. It prompted him to think of leaving as well. But he did not. The five stayed as a unit and continued to hunt for Radu.

  The pursuit took them across Europe for more than a decade. They went as far as Anatolia. But, as hard as they tried, they could never catch him. They lost his scent there. Radu tired of the game. From then on he remained hidden to them.

  In their time away from England much had changed. Henry died in 1547. The excesses of his lifestyle proved too much and his body yielded in time. His son, Edward, succeeded him. He in turn died young from illness six years later.

  A prospect now faced England that Henry had striven so hard to avoid. A woman would have to take the throne. He only had two surviving heirs. They were his two daughters, Mary and Elizabeth. But another problem emerged. A group of Protestant nobles supported a claim from Lady Jane Grey. The balance of power lay with the traditionalists though. They saw to it that the rightful heir, Mary, took the throne.

  This was a disaster for Dracula. In his relentless pursuit of his brother, he could do nothing about it. Like her mother before her, Mary remained a staunch Catholic.

  Mary set about restoring the Catholic faith in England. The Church rose like a phoenix from the ashes with her support. She had many of the Protestant reformers burned at the stake. Thomas Cranmer was one of these. In 1554 she married Phillip of Spain. He was the son of the Emperor and the heir to his vast empire.

  This alienated her from many of the nobles in England. Spain remained the strongest nation in Europe. The English still feared them. It led to many plots to remove her from the throne. Mary quashed them all with real vigour. On each occasion suspicion fell on her half-sister. But Elizabeth always denied having any part in the attempted coups.