The
Vampire
King
A Love Story
By. B.A. Stretke
Copyright © 2021 by B.A. Stretke
Published by Superiorland Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person (living or dead), place, or event is purely coincidence.
PROLOGUE
There used to be a coven, powerful and feared, with influence that stretched across the state. For centuries it meted out justice, stability, and truth to the thousands of its members and to society in general. In the state of Louisiana, it was simply known as The Grand Belle Maison. Everyone knew the place from a distance; of course, it possessed an aura of mystery and excitement and was located on the misty shores of Lake Vermillion. The uninvited did not venture there.
The mansion was glorious in its day and held nearly a hundred coven members in attendance. Rooms were large and ornate with furnishings that spoke to a life of lavishness and luxury. The grounds were cultivated and manicured to a state of regal distinction. Such was the pride and affluence of these people.
The Master and ruler of this coven, Arman Rainier, came to this country centuries ago and established the small coven on the banks of Lake Vermillion. It soon grew into a large sprawling estate and a coven that was both enterprising and prosperous. For centuries they ruled the supernatural, and Master Rainier was pronounced Vampire King of Louisiana. Time passed, and people changed, and with his failure to bond his spirit remaining alone, the energy and drive that was Arman Rainier began to wane.
His magic, which had underscored everything within the coven, including the people and the enterprises, grew weak. One by one and family after family, they left, finding homes elsewhere as Coven Rainier slowed to an end. Arman Rainier, being centuries old, had not found his beloved. It was known that a leader deprived of their bonded one could not withstand the onslaught of time. It has been nearly two centuries since the Grand Belle Maison thrived. Two centuries since the Vampire King's magic had been felt, and now it all lay in steady decay, dark and dreary within the ever-encroaching wilderness and mist.
It is a legend now that the Master of the coven still resides at the Grand Belle Maison. Just a shadow of his former brilliance still holding onto his magic, although dormant. His life was passing, and soon, very soon, he would be no more.
There are those hiding in the mist who are eagerly awaiting the day of his death, for in that moment, the magic of Master Arman Rainier, the Vampire King, would be released for harvest by another. Magic may go dormant, but the power behind that magic never dies, and everyone knows that in its greatest moments, Arman’s magic was the most powerful, absolutely without compare. Some whisper that it will be again.
CHAPTER ONE
Liam was on a mission to find the elusive wild golden iris. It was thought to be extinct, but reports had suggested it may still be surviving in a marsh near Lake Vermillion. It’s quite a way out from New Orleans, according to the directions he was given, so he had started his journey early that morning. Unfortunately, it had been hours now since he’d started, and he had yet to find the marsh or the lake, let alone the flower.
By mid-afternoon, somewhat tired and disillusioned, he pulled into a restaurant in a small town he was not familiar with, hoping for a good lunch and some useful directions. He walked in and looked around. It was quite busy, although it still appeared laid back and easy. He was shown to a small table for two against the far wall.
A young man about his age waited on him directly, and although Liam wanted to ask him questions, the guy appeared in quite a hurry, so he simply gave his order. Liam took out his notebook and checked the directions he was given by Sharon, the secretary of the Louisiana Iris Society, of which Liam was a member.
He had not located any of the markers that she claimed were apparent. The roads she’d indicated did not exist unless they were colloquial names and not actual state or county roads. Everything she’d given him was garbage, including the marsh and lake. He couldn’t find them on any map or GPS; again, perhaps they were local names for things that were not actual bodies of water in reality.
He was frustrated beyond belief and now wished he’d not volunteered for this task. But it was his love of irises that pushed him to be the one who found it in the wild. He wanted to boast about his mission and show pictures he’d personally taken. Yeah, he was a glory hound when it came to rare irises, always wanting to be the one to stand out at their monthly meetings. Now that ache for notoriety was dooming him to a day spent traveling dirt roads in the scorching heat with absolutely nothing to show for it in the end.
Sharon hadn’t even mentioned this small town, which he was certain had to be somewhere close to his destination. When he called her an hour ago, she insisted that her information was correct and that the problem lay with Liam’s navigational skills. She suggested he use his GPS, which really set him off. “I have Sharon.” He enunciated her name clearly and forcefully. “My GPS is claiming there are no such locations as Abbeville Marsh or Lake Vermillion.” Before she could respond, he lost the connection and chose not to call her back.
When the waiter returned with his lunch, Liam quickly caught him up in a conversation. “Could you give me directions to Abbeville Marsh?” Liam asked abruptly, fearing he was about to dart away. But instead, he stopped and scrutinized Liam for a moment as if not sure of what he’d just asked. Liam was going to repeat his question when the guy suddenly answered.
“I’ve never heard of Abbeville Marsh.” He stated.
“How about Lake Vermillion?” Liam prompted. The waiter shook his head.
“I was born in this town and lived here my whole life. Those places don’t exist, at least not around here.” He finished and then headed over to take another order from a couple at the counter.
“Well, maybe my GPS was right.” He mumbled. Feeling like he’d just wasted an entire day on a wild goose chase. He decided to finish lunch and head home. He thought about giving Sharon another call, but she had an insistent personality, and Liam didn’t feel like getting into a heated discussion over the phone. She was usually thorough in her research and information, but she really fell down on this one, and she wasn’t going to convince him otherwise.
Liam finished his lunch and then left the restaurant. Looking around the small town, he considered checking the drug store across the street or maybe the hardware store next door. Perhaps someone in this town knew of the marsh and the lake. He thought about it but then walked to his car.
Feeling deflated after an early start and expectations of photographing the golden iris, he decided again it was better just to go home. Try all this another day besides the weather was starting to turn. He saw that the sky was darkening, and the wind was picking up. Yeah, it was time to go home.
…
Arman stood in the great room before the massive windows and looked out upon the growing storm. It was early evening, but the night was upon them with the dark clouds and the beating rains. The house was quiet, very quiet. He had lived decades of nothing but quiet stillness; storms were his only respite. Their power and majesty brought back a sense of hope and vitality that all was not lost, that all was not dead. Nature thrived, nature always thrived, and Arman held to that thought as the thunder crashed around him and lightning lit up the sky.
Arman was an old vampire. He was centuries old, devastating heartbreak old, lost to the world old, and waiting for his end. It would come soon. The magic that had sustained him through life was fading from his grasp. He still held the look of a man in his thirties, but that age had passed him centuries ago. He was nearing his end, having been forsaken by Fate and her gifts.
The vultures were circling now; he could feel their avarice on the air waiting to pick his bones and own the power that still beat softly within his heart. They would not have to wait much longer. The thrill, expectation, and connectivity of life had deserted him, and he lived each day with the loneliness of abandonment and the loss of purpose.
He was no longer the ruler of his people. He was but a distant memory of something that had been grand but was lost now and forgotten. A flash of lightning and a crash of thunder refreshed the dull and stagnant air for a moment. Arman took a deep breath and turned away from the window when he heard someone enter the room.
“Your brandy, sir.” Esmee, his cook and housekeeper, set the tray on the side table and looked at him as she always did with a sadness that hurt. She and her brother Russell were all that remained of his once-thriving coven. Two people remained where there had been so many, two people who demanded to stay even as all hope dimmed. They were loyal friends and fierce protectors, but even they must know that the end was here.
“Thank you, Esmee.” He said and walked over to take a seat in the cathedral side chair next to the small marble top table. The mansion maintained its stock and grandeur even if the true vision that it had once put forth grew faint and muted with the passage of time and the weakening of its spirit.
“If you don’t need anything else, Russell and I will retire for the rest of the night.” Arman wished her good night. She turned away, and then she abruptly paused. Her expression changed. It lightened, and her eyes shifted to the left to look out into the storm. Arman watched her, wondering what the catalyst for her sudden look of expectation? There had been no hope in this household for a very long time.
“Good night, Arman.” She stated finally. “Do not give up.” She added without further explanation and left the room.
…
“Shit, why the fuck did I call Sharon?” Liam was on a back road that was fast turning into a mere two-track. He hadn’t intended to call; he would just head home and pick up this adventure another time, but no, he had to see if he was at least close to his destination. The enticement of the golden iris was strong, and he hated going home empty-handed.
“You’re almost there, Liam.” She cried into the phone, claiming that the Abbeville Marsh was not more than a couple of miles from Centerville, where he’d just had lunch. So, with a new set of directions and an insistence that it would be crazy to turn around now, Liam decided he would give it another try.
Now here he was in the dark of the evening with lightning splitting the sky, thunder shaking the ground, and rain hammering his windshield that made it almost impossible to see. If he hadn’t called, he’d be home now in his living room with a hot drink in front of the tv, all safe and warm. He would never trust Sharon again to give proper directions.
The tree growth was coming ever closer to the sides of his car, and he wondered just where in hell he was. No lights, no clearing to turn around, just darkness and rain, so he pushed forward, hoping for a break. His phone was useless either due to the storm or simply being out in the middle of nowhere.
His heart was beating out of his chest, and panic was becoming a real possibility when suddenly he saw a small light in the distance. “Oh, thank God.” He said and kept going in the hopes that it was real and not a figment of his tortured imagination.
The closer he got, the more pronounced the scene became slowly it came into view. A home, a large home, probably a showpiece in its day but now a little run down not decrepit, but it needed work. The light that drew him was on the front porch like a beacon calling him home. Liam pulled up as close to the front as possible and cut the engine.
He stared out at his surroundings and was just a bit apprehensive. The grounds were overgrown, and the brick mosaic of the driveway was cracked and crumbling away. This was not a home that saw many visitors, and he wondered if the light was just a fluke and that no one actually lived there anymore. His heart sank at the possibility that he was still alone. Checking his phone, he saw that he still had no service, which was on par for his luck this day.
If no one was home, he would sleep in his car and try to find his way back to the highway in the morning. He accepted the fact that he wasn’t getting out of this mess tonight and parked in this drive was better than being stuck on that narrow dirt road.
He pulled his coat up around his ears and hunkered down against the rain and made a run for the front porch. It was only a few feet away, and still, he was soaked to the bone by the time he reached the front door. He feared that if someone was home, they might not answer the door considering it was night and storming, but he crossed his fingers and knocked using the heavy metal door knocker, which vibrated the thick, dark wooden door. He waited, and he hoped for someone to answer.
Within just a few seconds of knocking, the door swung open, revealing a short, neatly dressed black woman looking at him as if she’d been expecting him. “Come in, come in. Get out of that weather.” She told him while taking his upper arm and helping him inside. “You must be chilled to the bone.” Her light Louisiana drawl washed over him like the warmth of sunlight.
“Thank you, yes,” Liam said as he came inside, and she shut the door, locking the awful weather outside. She held onto his arm and led him into a room off the main entry that led to another room large and spacious with high ceilings, rich furnishings, and a roaring fire.
She took his jacket before urging him to take a seat in a plush chair by the fire. “My name is Esmee, and my brother Russell and I are the caretakers here at the Grande Belle. Mr. Arman Rainier, who owns the property, is also in residence.”
“My name is Liam Gabriel. I was in the area doing research on a rare wildflower, the golden iris, which had been sighted around here and lost my way, I’m afraid. I appreciate you letting me come inside for a while to warm up and dry off.” Liam hoped he would be allowed to spend the night, not wanting to go back out in that storm.
“You relax, and I’ll get you something warm to drink and make up a room for you. You must stay the night. It would be unwise for you to venture back out in the night.” She told him with a resolve that left no room for disagreement. Liam felt relief wash over him.
“Thank you so much.” He said and leaned into the fire, loving the feel of the warm, dry heat on his chilled limbs. Trusting that he wasn’t overstepping his bounds but needing to dry off, Liam slipped off his wet sneakers and set them in front of the fire to dry. The room was quiet except for the snap and crackle of the fireplace. The room's outer edges were shrouded in darkness as it was illuminated only by the light of the fire giving it a mystical feel.
…
“We have a visitor, Arman.” Arman sat relaxing with his brandy and a book when Esmee rushed back into the room with the excited declaration. “He was looking for the golden iris and lost his way in the storm. His name is Liam Gabriel, and he seems a pleasant young man. I offered him a room for the night.” She finished appearing as if she were about to burst.
Arman was taken aback for a moment and slowly set his brandy aside while giving Esmee his undivided attention. “We haven’t entertained a guest in over a century. How did he find us? Magic has hidden us for so long, are we prepared?”
“Russell is getting our guest some refreshments while I’ll go and prepare his room.” She smiled.
“He’s in the salon?” Arman rose and straightened his clothing and brushed his hand through his hair. Hope was rising within him with every breath he took. Could this be him, Fate’s gift at last?
“Yes, warming by the fire, the poor dear was soaked to the bone.”
…
Liam
looked around the room, but the darkness was thick except for where he sat. He should be fearful, but he was too relieved to be out of the storm to be afraid of anything here. Hearing a noise behind him, Liam turned, expecting Esmee, but instead, he saw a shadow moving and separating from the darkness. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as the shadow slowly morphed into a tall, dark man striking in his appearance.
He was dressed in a dark suit crisp and tailored, so formal, and he was carrying a tray. Was this Esmee’s brother that she spoke of? Liam couldn’t remember the name that Esmee had given. The man came closer and brought a small table over and placed it next to Liam’s chair before taking the items from the tray and placing them carefully upon the table.
“Hot chocolate, sir, and a sampling of Esmee’s cakes and biscuits.” He said in a tone that was kind yet formal. “Is there anything else you may need? Liam shook his head at first and then realized how dopey he must look.
“No, but thank you. I appreciate all you’ve done.” Liam wasn’t sure what else to say. This was a strange setup it felt like a centuries-old English manor with the stuffy staff, dark woods, thick fabrics, and antiques from end to end. Esmee and her brother act like they’re from another time but look no older than their mid-thirties or forty at best.
“Stay warm, and here this will help.” He reached over to a corner piece of furniture, came back with a knitted blanket, and placed it around Liam’s shoulders. “The Master will be in to see you a little later, and then Esmee will show you to your room.”
“Thank you, sir.” Liam still had no words for this stiff and proper gentleman.
“Of course.” He turned away and disappeared back into the darkness.
Liam looked at the chocolate steaming so beautifully and the sweets looking like they were straight out of a French patisserie. He paused for just a few seconds, wondering if they were safe, his natural paranoid instincts telling him to give it all a pass. But his hunger was demanding a taste, and the chill that had enveloped him had him aching for the feel of that warm chocolate comfort.
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