“Yes, I would appreciate that.”
“The streets are not the safest at night. Good night, Lorenzo.”
Dracula was glad he could get away. He wanted to meet with the young Machiavelli; something about him had caught his eye. The moment he left the Medici household, he took to the air. He scanned the streets below for any sign of the young man. At once he spotted him, and saw that two men trailed close behind. Dracula dropped down to the street where they walked, sensing their intent was not good.
Machiavelli knew they were on his tail. He looked around a few times and saw them there. When he did, they made no attempt to hide from him. Instead, they grinned in a way that made him even more nervous.
He upped the pace of his walk. The sound of their footsteps behind grew louder. He knew they wanted him for something. They looked too smartly dressed for thieves, and had to be following for another reason. To murder me, perhaps?
Just as he broke into a run, a third man stepped out in front of him. In the narrow alley, he had nowhere to turn. The other two stepped up close behind, leaving him with no avenue of escape. “What do you want with me?”
The man in front curled his lip. “You need a lesson taught you.”
“I know you,” Machiavelli said. “You work for Signor de’ Medici. Has he sent you to do this?”
The man in front drew a knife. Machiavelli looked down at it, his eye falling on the length of the blade. Fear gripped him inside when the two men behind grabbed his arms. He struggled hard against them in an effort to break free. In a moment, he knew the third man would plunge the blade into his belly. Their intent was to kill him. Of that, he had no doubt.
The third man stepped toward him and drew his hand back behind his hip. Machiavelli looked him straight in the eye. When the man brought his arm through to drive the blade home, the young Florentine spat full in his face.
It stopped him for a moment. He wiped the spittle from his mouth and cheek and glared at the younger man. “Prepare to die,” he said, snarling through gritted teeth.
He raised the dagger over his head. Machiavelli closed his eyes, unable to look. In a moment, it would all be over. He only hoped it was quick.
The fatal blow did not come. He opened his eyes again to see the man had vanished. The other two realised this as well. Where has he gone?
They looked at each other and relaxed their grip on Machiavelli. He resumed his struggle against them, knowing this was his best chance to get away. The only chance he might have.
A cry from above made them all look up. High in the night sky, they saw the other man. Someone or something had hold of him, and had bitten into his neck.
Dracula had swooped down and prevented the assassin from delivering a killing blow. The vampire grabbed his offending arm and hoisted him high up into the air. The sudden surge upward left the man dizzy and short of breath. Before he could recover, he felt a set of fangs bite hard into the soft flesh of his neck.
The man still held the knife. Despite the shock and pain of the attack, he raised his arm to strike. Dracula grabbed his wrist and snapped it. The knife dropped down into the narrow alley below.
Dracula sucked harder on his neck. The man felt the heat through his skin as his blood began to boil. He found the pain excruciating and his head began to grow cloudy as his lifeblood ebbed away. Several times, his body stiffened under the strain. Finally, his eyes closed and he died.
When Dracula had taken the last drop of his blood, he let the man’s body fall, but reached the ground before it did. The two others stood and looked at him, their fear almost freezing the blood in their veins. Just then, the body of their friend crashed down to the ground with a hard thump. It landed in the alley between them and the hideous beast that had killed him.
Machiavelli shrank in horror at the spectacle of it. He expected to die next. Where he had thought he might suffer a blade to the heart, now he feared something much worse. The two men let him go, and turned to flee. Machiavelli stood there, too afraid to move.
Dracula offered him a brief glance and then sped past him. He caught the two men in moments. Raising his elbows, he struck them across the backs of the shoulders. Both men hit the ground hard. He picked one of them up and bit into his jugular.
The man screamed. His whole body jerked at the force with which Dracula took him. His companion crawled backwards on his hands and feet. He knew he had to get away before it was his turn.
Dracula kept one eye on him while he drank. He watched the man scramble to his feet and flee. Soon, he had drunk the second of the three dry. His eyes followed the escape of the last of them down the dark alley. He lifted up the corpse of the second man and hurled it through the air.
The man ran for his life, his heart pounding in his chest. He could not hear any sound other than that of his own heavy breathing. Help me, God. Please!
Something heavy caught the backs of his legs, and he crashed down against the ground. Unable to break his fall in time, his face smacked against the hard earth.
His whole head throbbed from the impact, and his face felt numb. Dazed and confused, he touched his fingers against his badly broken nose and split lips. His blood flowed freely from his wounds, and coated them. When he looked up, he saw a pair of legs only inches away.
Dracula considered drinking his blood, but had drunk enough. He did not often drink two grown men dry in such a short time. His bladder felt like it might burst, and he reached down and pulled out his penis so that he could empty it.
He closed his eyes and gasped at the relief as he urinated on the terrified man’s feet. His penis grew long and erect in his hands, filled with the blood of his two kills. It changed the direction of his urine flow, behind and well beyond the man on the ground.
The man on the ground cried out when his shoes and clothing began to smoke. He reached down in horror, thinking he had caught fire. In fact, the urine contained high levels of acid and it had begun to burn its way through all it came into contact with. The man beat at the smoke with both hands in the hope that he might dowse it, but he succeeded only in transferring the toxic fluid to them. He cried out even louder when the acid ate into his fingertips.
When Dracula had finished, he grabbed the man by the hair and forced him to his feet. The man trembled when he came face-to-face with his abductor, struggling to stand on his burned feet.
“There is no use calling for God here,” Dracula advised, offering an evil grin. “No one can help you.”
The man feared more than ever for his life and, in that moment, knew he would do anything to survive. He closed his eyes and whimpered. “Please, do not kill me.”
Unlike his creator, Dracula rarely took pleasure from the terror of a victim. He made the kills swift and did not torment those he preyed on. The drinking of blood he did out of necessity. Though he found the experience exhilarating, he was not sadistic. On this occasion, however, he found himself toying with the man in his grasp. “And what would you do to remain alive?”
“I would do anything, My Lord, if you would spare me.”
“Then speak. Why did you follow that man into the alley?”
“You mean Machiavelli?”
“Yes.”
“We wanted to teach him a lesson in respect.”
“For what reason?”
“Because he needs it.”
“You did not answer me.”
“For the way he conducts himself. For the way he talks to people.”
“People like Signor de’ Medici?”
“Yes, he needs to be brought to heel. He presses Signor de’ Medici to aid his political ambitions because of promises made to people who are long since dead. He shows no respect, and it rankles with us.”
“Did Signor de’ Medici send you?”
“No, he knows nothing of this.”
“Then who is responsible? I want to know.”
“We took it on ourselves to do it. He is an offence to us all. We only wanted to scare him, so he might take his fo
olish ideas away with him.”
“Your friend was going to kill him. For that, I ended his life.”
The man looked even more afraid. “That was not the plan, I swear it.”
“Then the plan changed. And you were a party to it.”
Dracula fell silent, and gazed at the man with real hate. The man was so afraid, he could not control his lower lip. Indeed, every part of him shook out of fear.
“Please, I beg you. Do not kill me.”
“I do not intend to.”
The man emitted a great sigh of relief, but then his face dropped when Dracula handed him his friend’s knife.
“You can do it yourself.”
The man took it in his hand. He looked down at it and then up at his pursuer again. “You want me to do it?”
“Yes,” he said, his gaze deathly firm. “Turn the dagger around and push it into your heart, with both hands.”
His hands shook so much now he could hardly hold the blade. “This is a jest?”
Dracula’s eyes glowered with anger. “Do it. If you do not obey me, I shall suck every last drop of your blood out through your thumb.”
The man believed it. He wanted to drive the blade into Dracula, but knew he had no chance. The beast moved faster than the eye. He turned the knife around in his hands. Closing his eyes, he clasped the hilt tight.
“The alternative would bring you agony you cannot begin to imagine. I can make it very long, and very slow.”
The man took a few moments to compose himself. The death his friends suffered was not one he wanted to endure. Anything but that.
His hands shook worse than at any time before. “God, forgive me!” he cried, before driving the dagger into his own heart. He opened his eyes for a brief moment. And then his hands fell away from the hilt of the blade. The last thing he saw was the cold stare from Dracula. Then he saw no more, and collapsed to the ground dead.
Dracula turned around to find Machiavelli. The young Florentine was gone.
TUSCANY. THE NARROW
BACK STREETS OF FLORENCE.
JULY, 1489. THE SAME NIGHT.
Dracula growled under his breath. He looked up and down to try and track Machiavelli’s scent and then flew to the end of the alley. A woman walked over to him from a nearby tavern. As soon as he appeared there, she noticed him. Such a finely dressed gentleman was sure to have plenty of coin to spend.
She offered a flash of her thigh as she stepped up to him. “Are you looking for some company, signor?” she asked. “I could show you a very good time.”
He gazed down at her full cleavage. An hour or two with her was a prospect that had appeal. His body was taut after two quick feeds. Inside his breeches, his penis bulged with the fresh blood. He would need a release at some point soon.
The whore noticed it right away. “Oh my,” she gasped, rubbing her hand against it. “You can have it for free, if you so desire.”
She was a real distraction when he wanted to find the Florentine. With her in his way, he could not hope to pick up the young man’s trail.
The whore had meant what she said. With a little ale in her belly and on such a warm night, she felt more than a little frisky. The moment she noticed the size of his bulge, she ached to feel him inside her.
Pressing against him, she planted a light kiss on his neck. Nibbling on his earlobe, she whispered into his ear. “Free, and any way you want it.”
He pushed her back with a gentle prod from his palms. Right now, he did not want this, even though he knew she would keep good her promise.
She frowned at his rudeness. “Why did you do that? Are you so mighty that you can refuse me when I give myself to you, and ask for nothing in return?”
He ignored her question. Closing his eyes, he tried to pick up the sound of Machiavelli’s heartbeat.
“Well?” she asked, becoming even more irate with him.
It was as much as he could take. She was ruining any chance he had to track his quarry. He suddenly bared his fangs and hissed at her to try and scare her away. She recoiled in horror and, for a moment, she froze with fear and could not react. Then, putting her hands to her face, she screamed out loud.
He did not want the attention her scream was sure to bring. For now, Machiavelli would have to wait. He dived at the whore and, whisking her up in his arms, he lifted her high into the air.
The strength of his grip sucked all the air out of her. He rose above the tavern and laid her down on the sloped roof. Her head was in a spin at first. He allowed her a few moments to gather her senses. If she wanted it this bad, she could have it.
She looked up at him, nervous and unsure of the safety of her situation. Why did I not remain in the tavern? At least in there I was safe. It was greed. She liked the finer things. It showed in the clothes she wore and the clients she attracted.
“You should be careful what you wish for,” he said. “You never know what might come your way.”
The whore did not respond at first. She had still not come to terms with what she had seen. It was a sight most gruesome. The memory of it flashed before her eyes again, and she began to fear for her life. This man, if he was even a man, had lifted her thirty feet into the air. Now he had her all alone and she was at his mercy. He could do any manner of things to her. Looking into his penetrating green eyes, she sensed that he would.
He rubbed his hand over the outline of her breasts. The lightly corseted gown that she wore, was to his liking. The laced bows at the front revealed just enough to whet the appetite. They showed some, but hid much more. She had plenty there to hide, and he liked it.
She thought about what had attracted her to him. When she had seen it, she wanted him there and then. It was rare to see a specimen so fine on a man. She liked her work, but so often her clients had so little to offer, both in size and with their performance. Her first glimpse of him told her he was different. Here was a man who had a way with women. Knowing what she knew now, it made her afraid. She feared he was a demon. For sure, it would explain the size of his bulge.
His hand moved down over her tight stomach. With his knees, he pinned her legs flat to the roof. The sudden jolt hurt her groin. She bit her lip so as not to cry out too loud. The thought of angering him scared her even more.
He reached down and pulled her gown up over her knees. The warm night air touched against her exposed labia. A faint trickle from her last client oozed down over her perineum. He could smell it, but did not care.
“What are you?” she asked, after summoning the courage.
Dracula noticed she said what and not who. “When you met me, you thought I was your dream come true. Perhaps I am, or perhaps I am your worst nightmare.”
He stroked the inside of her thigh. The feel of his hand against her skin made her shiver. She turned her head to one side, unable to bear the sight of his face. His erection pressed against her through his clothing. She did not want it near her now. The mere thought of it, and him inside her, filled her with dread.
Her thoughts angered him, and he grabbed at the top of her gown. The laced corset shredded like rice paper in his hands. She had slept with many men to pay for these clothes. Please do not rip my gown, she thought silently. She fought to stifle a sob. A tear trickled from her right eye and rolled over the bridge of her nose, onto her opposite cheek.
“I shall reimburse you.”
He pulled it down over her shoulders all the way to her waist. Her full breasts fell free and bounced with the force of his actions. He paused and watched as her brown nipples stiffened to the cool breeze that eased over the rooftops. They looked beautiful to him, and their firmness hinted that she might not be as old as he first thought. She felt his erection throb against her. He intended to have her. There was no doubting it.
Her long dark hair and olive skin took him back to another time. It reminded him of a girl he once loved. She too had Italian lineage.
He tore her gown the rest of the way down. Leaving it in shreds against the rooftop bene
ath her, he pulled his breeches down to his knees to release his erection.
It bounced against her sex with a force that sent a shock right through her. Only then did she fully have an idea what she had gotten herself into. She feared what was to come and appealed to a better instinct he might have. “Please, do not. I know I am far too common for one like you.”
He ran his tongue along her neck. “The best kind,” she heard him whisper.
She gasped when he pressed against her opening. Oh my God. This cannot be. Not for a man. She glanced up at him, fearful of the look in his eyes. “Forgive me,” she begged. “If I offended you, then I must apologise. I meant you no disrespect. Please, My Lord, let me go.”
Her pleas held little sway with him now. The fresh blood that pumped through his veins dictated the urge within. He could smell her fear, and he liked it. It served only to increase his level of arousal.
He held both her hands behind her head, in his left. With his other hand, he toyed with her breasts. His fingertips traced the contours along her ribs to her waist. It made her skin crawl. He read her every thought, and her abhorrence made him even more determined to leave his mark on her. “You shall not forget me,” he vowed.
She gazed up at the dark sky, where a shooting star blazed through the heavens. For a moment, she wished she were on it. Then her eyes closed to wait for the inevitable.
He pushed hard into her, an action that virtually split her open. Her eyes and mouth opened wide. A scream built from the pit of her stomach, but stuck in her throat. Her breasts pressed against him as her back arched. She threw her arms around his neck for something to grip onto.
Every action was involuntary. Her labia tore under the pressure of his assault. He pushed deeper to give her his entire length and pressed hard against her cervix. It ruptured as he forced his way through into the neck of her uterus. He did not stop until their pubic bones touched. With her arms tight around his neck, the momentum lifted her shoulders off the rooftop. Her legs remained pinned beneath his knees. When he withdrew for the first time, she finally managed to scream.
The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood Page 7
