Count Rothchild

by Michael W. Huard

  Gaylen scribbled away and, as she finally stopped, she looked up to see that the count stood close to her.

  Without even thinking, she blurted out, “So you wanted to make a difference?”

  The count gave her a smile, revealing his slightly pointy teeth. She had stared at his face a few times now, each time noticing the black, small cross tattoo under his right eyelid, wanting to ask him about such.

  What better time than now, she pondered.

  He did not seem like a man of faith. Yet she surmised it had to do with something in his past and decided to ask about it. Perhaps it tied into his army enlistment.

  “It is with interest that I have noticed the black cross under your eye. Can you tell a little about such?”

  The count cleared his throat. “For you I will offer an explanation, but only for you. It was a long time ago when I first took my vows as a Knight of the Dragon; neither my father nor my brother believed in such at the time, and both felt my own religious calling would sparsely last.”

  Again, he cleared his throat some. “It did not matter to me what they thought, be it my own personal choice. I wanted to symbolize the way I felt then and there; what better way than a mark on my face, a symbol of faith I held so dearly in my heart.”

  Gaylen found his reasoning interesting, while still wondering about Dracula as well.

  “I wanted to feel as if someone was watching over me; maybe they could help guide me the rest of my life,” the count added. “He who believes in nothing above him lives a minor existence. I wanted to feel that something special existed in this world; my family had me doubting such.”

  Gaylen smiled at him; maybe this man’s soul was not as dark as she was beginning to think it was.

  “You are right; it is better to believe in something more,” she stated. “You are definitely not wrong in such an assumption. I think everyone believes in different ways. I myself like to think there is someone watching over me.”

  Rothchild smiled at her last statement. “I know this; someone as young and beautiful as you should have a guardian angel looking down upon her always.”

  The blonde-haired, blue-eyed bard blushed.

  She then asked, “Is that the end of the story? You left the cross there and moved on, and what about your brother?”

  “That is the end of the story,” commented Drakko.

  She did not believe him.

  The count touched the tattoo with his left hand. “I suppose I could have had it ripped off.”

  Gaylen wondered what that crude statement meant.

  “But to be honest,” he then added, “I keep it there to remember times of old, to remind me of the man I once was.”

  “Who is to say you cannot go back and be him?” Gaylen made such a point to her host by raising her hands as to say, ‘anything was possible’.

  He gave her a cold look. He clearly doubted he could ever go back.

  Then his mind appeared to move elsewhere. “We will continue this conversation soon.” He moved to the archway exit, yet paused there facing away from his guest. “My brother I prefer we do not speak on anymore.” He waited for a few seconds and then turned about. “I must make note to you; I have business to attend to over the next few days, for there shall be no more pauses in my work. I bid you a good evening and when I return we may talk more.”

  She wanted more, right now, but he was gone before she asked.

  Gaylen stayed up all night thinking about what she knew of his brother Dracula. There was more to his story. His suicide and murder of his wife were said to rouse the devil himself, and Dracula, as legend had it, rose from the dead as a creature of vile darkness.

  She was dizzy from such thought. Many wrote and gave actual accounts through history of Dracula controlling the undead, bedding thousands of women with his charm, and as many laid claim that his death was faked and he walked through the shadows of the night as a murderer and death dealer to all who would oppose him for hundreds of centuries.

  She began to think that maybe Krons, the name she preferred for Drakko, her charming host, perhaps could actually be Dracula. Lord, this put a chill up and down her spine. Her life truly could be in serious danger.

  She took several long breaths after such a frightening thought. She again repeated to herself, I am Gaylen Van Warden … Gaylen Van Warden … and I am brave, yes, brave.

  An hour later, buried in books she carried with her upstairs, as well as a little more wine, she fell asleep for a while, yet it was then the sun began to rise from outside her window and she stirred anew. She was tired, yet could not stop thinking.

  Count Rothchild. He, who was once Krons Tepes, changed his name to Drakko and last name to Rothchild.

  Gaylen knew what she would do; the main library was her destination. There she hoped for many answers to all she had in her thoughts. First she would take a quick bath. She looked upon the wall where the imaginary peep-hole was and this time she thought she saw an eye looking through such. It was her mind playing tricks on her.

  Only a mere hour or so later she was up and about again.

  She kept but her loose fitting plum colored robe on this morning and made way to head downstairs to the library. She then thought she saw someone in the upper hall suddenly pass by, yet they were gone before she got a closer look.

  Was her mind playing tricks on her even still?

  She went that very way, seeing if the door nearby such movement was open or unlocked. It was not. Thus downstairs she went once more.

  In the library she came across some of the count’s writings. They were closed in a dark green snakeskin leather book that had a copper lock on such; it appeared that the lock was already broken. She opened such now hoping for answers.

  One important passage in the journal she took to reading.

  For all that has occurred, I shall be Krons no more. My life must change. I am Drakko and I always was.

  Gaylen now saw the truth; he was Krons much earlier, yet returned to his birth name after, but after what? She read on to make more sense of this man.

  There is no luck, no faith in my life. My fair and beautiful bride Estelle upon a drunken stupor I had lost. I the guilty one, for nothing of being a good man had made any difference. She is gone and my heart torn to shreds.

  Gaylen was immediately sympathetic; he lost his wife, but how so, and drunk at that, how horrible.

  The next passage told her more.

  She fell from our balcony on a dance and laughing matter; it was as if the Lord was laughing at me not with me. She tumbled a thousand feet to the rocks below to her death and I stood there watching. I saw in her blue eyes the sparkle was gone as she vanished below from me.

  Gaylen felt a heat come over her, a flush of stress. The fact his wife had fair hair and blue eyes took her by surprise and had her feeling a bit strange at the aspect that she possessed the same. She then recalled the portrait on the stairway wall that made her realize who such was now and, yes, she bore an uncanny resemblance to Estelle.

  However, she kept reading.

  But, oh, this was not the end. For years I lived in solitude, mourning at such loss; the vineyard my only salvation. I kept faith in God, and so it was I met another woman years later.

  Caroline took my pain away. For the first time in so long I could breathe again. She was a tall raven-haired lass and playful as one could be. Life was for the living, she taught me, and we rode horses daily together and I saw countryside, a world that again made me love my existence.

  Gaylen paused, looking at a wine bottle on a table nearby. Its label simply read, Rothchild Vineyards: The finest red of life! Such wine here was excellent; she could not help herself from pouring a glass again at this very moment.

  Why am I in search of a drunken stupor? she thought to herself. What about my vow?

  She was excited if not curious also as to what happened to his new love Caroline. The next passage in the count’s journal shook her.

  And now I have lost my Carolin
e too.

  The rest of the page was left blank.

  Quickly Gaylen turned the page to read more.

  I have sold all my properties but for one. My earnings are low and I have fell out of the Knight order as well.

  The page ended with a poem of his.

  I loved too hard

  And I have loved way too long

  A bit on a crazy path

  And sometimes way too wrong

  Yet, that’s what’s made me strong

  There was no more written of Caroline, yet Gaylen had to know; she fumbled more through his writings, but found nothing of the sort. All that was left were random business thoughts and a few more transactions he wrote on.

  The young women curled her lip, wishing there was more.

  The library was much smaller than his study, but still contained many books and treasures. A porcelain rose was of interest; it was almost alive in its appearance sitting on a shelf in a golden vase. Then there was a statue of a black horse, breathtaking as to the fine detail.

  The rest of the day Gaylen explored about the castle. All the stained glass windows were barred, the other guest rooms locked; in fact, everything was locked. She did, however, find a few open storage rooms later in the afternoon. Nothing other than clean linen was inside of them. She figured somewhere a secret door would be found; there had to be one, yet she could not locate such.

  Later soon turned into a restless night’s sleep for the young scribe. She tossed and turned, fighting off the nightmares of her own thoughts and visions; the morning could not come soon enough. Her sudden insomnia was getting the best of her.

  Chapter 5

  Oddly enough, breakfast was served in the dining hall, yet the count nowhere to be seen. She had tried sleeping in less clothing the night before, be it in nothing but a sheer, white nightgown; the same outfit she still had on now. The castle was empty and she simply didn’t change.

  After coffee and warm apple muffins, she went looking about once more. It was rather odd how she never saw a cook about the grounds.

  At one point she stopped to look through a window and, glancing out to the front courtyard, she was taken back, pulling her head away for a second, on spotting a black-caped man climbing vertically down the castle wall. She then leaned in and gazed intently, seeing now that it was the count himself; what kind of man or creature was he, she thought as, gasping, she stepped back from the window.

  She ran down the hallway and then the stairs, looking to leave this awkward castle, but this time even the large front double doors downstairs were fully locked. She had no means to get out.

  She pounded her fists on the big doors, calling out, “Let me go, please, let me out!”

  Her pleas were to no avail. Thus she went about seeking keys. The doors had a keyhole and there had to be keys. She found none downstairs.

  Good Lord, she kept thinking, I must leave this place. Enough is enough!

  Up the stairs she went looking more. Way up in the higher towers she finally found an unlocked door.

  Finally an open door; why does he keep everything barred and locked, she asked herself.

  She then called forth to anyone who would listen. “You are a monster, and I will find a way out for the life of me!”

  Inside, it appeared to be some sort of large bedroom. The curtains were drawn tight, and drapery was placed over the bed and a nearby couch and dresser as well, all to keep the dust off. No one was in there. She could smell berries, though; upon a small table sat a bowl of ripe red strawberries.

  Her mind raced a thousand miles a minute; her body fatigued from lack of sleep. She sat down, tried one berry - it was good - and then she lay down upon the draped couch for a minute.

  It was not too long before her eyes were closed and she fell asleep.

  When she awoke, she was still in the place she last laid down upon, but there were three attractive, near naked men lingering about her. She began to get up in panic, for she was barely dressed in her transparent nightdress.

  “I have to go,” she insisted as she sat up.

  It was suddenly terribly hot in this room.

  Two of the men, both with long dark hair, shirtless and wearing black cotton underpants reached in and held her arms down.

  “Stop this!” she cried out. “What are you doing? Let me free.”

  She could not out-strength these men. One fed to her a strawberry in which she found herself indulging even though she was not hungry.

  Each man then slowly lowered themselves to the couch, probing her body. They ran their lips along the traces of her shoulder and lower to the outline of her breasts.

  “I must be dreaming,” she thought out loud.

  The dark-haired men were handsome indeed, yet now their eyes were ablaze with reddish-orange pupils and their jagged and sharp teeth evident.

  She tried to pull free, yet could not.

  “Oh, God,” she pleaded.

  The men talked to her in calm voices, those that seemed comforting. She oddly smelt an aroma of sage, and could now also hear her own heavy breathing sounds.

  “It is fine, woman; we are here for you,” two whispered. “We have come to taste you, to send you to bliss.”

  The third, he with long, light brown hair, came slowly now down upon her. He placed his lips to hers. He was so lovely, his face like that of an angel. He smiled, pulling back after such a kiss.

  He touched her face ever so gently. “Do not worry; we are here to pleasure you as you have never felt before.”

  He kissed her again, but this time she tried to turn away.

  “No, leave me alone,” she begged of him, though now feeling an awakening between her legs.

  Gaylen was a virgin, and this was beyond her wildest imagination. She felt this stirring in her loins, yet fear in her throat. His voice was calming, he was so good looking. He continued to reassure her of what was happening and it made her feel more at ease. He was charming, sexy, and utterly beautiful.

  The man separated her legs now, raising her sheer nightgown to reveal only her scant panty. He then began to fondle her legs, gliding her nightdress up even more to her waistline, and then yanking her underwear off, sliding them over her smooth legs and ankles, thus exposing her lower nudity as his tongue ran its way along her upper, inner thigh, rounding itself to her belly button and then higher. He then licked her pouty nipples and kissed her pulsing neck, thus biting into her warm flesh.

  Blood, sweet blood had now joined their orgy.

  She was mesmerized, charmed into a trance by the three dark immortals around her. The man was not going to release her neck and the ecstasy she felt from the probing hands and the hotness she was experiencing from all overtook her fully, be it body, mind, and soul.

  Her eyes rolled back in her head, her hips arched wanting more; she moaned, lost in it. There was absolutely no turning back now.

  “RAAAAAH!” A loud scream, if not a screech, shook the entire bedchamber. It echoed, making all inside pause in motion and pull back from Gaylen’s exposed body.

  The count had appeared and yelled at the men before him; in particular the brown-haired leader who had finally released her neck.

  The count’s face took on an entirely new look; older, more wretched, wrinkled and with teeth long, wicked and sharp.

  He was adamant in his stern words. “How dare you touch her; she belongs to me.”

  He then moved as fast as lighting and grabbed the man by his own throat. He pushed him to the far wall, flying over to such in one burst. The other men without hesitation disappeared back to the shadows where they had come from.

  Rothchild continued to apply pressure until the minion vampire’s head popped off. The monster turned a dark vaporous black and drifted from the room.

  Count Rothchild then helped Gaylen up from the couch. Her neck was open, her body flush; it took all he had to hold back. He lifted her in his arms and brought her to her own room. He threw her on the bed, turned and slammed the door behind him.
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  She felt so many different emotions. Panting on the bed now, she became hysterical. Where was the brave, unafraid woman she knew she was? How did it come to this?

  She found herself reaching down between her legs. She thought of Jonathan, her dear fiancé, he whom had never done such like those men to her. He was a gentleman, never touching her so rough.

  Yet she felt an excitement like never before. She needed to release this, touching her thighs and between such; her flower awaiting such pleasure soon exploded into orgasm. The tension released threw her into much needed sleep, a deep trance and one finally uninterrupted.

  She had slept for quite some time when noises from outside her window stirred her awake.

  A group of gypsies had arrived in the courtyard and had several wagons circled about out there this morning. They were either delivering or picking up something. She immediately went to her own belongings and crafted a letter that she would slip out between the iron bars of her window and drop to a gypsy man below. She hoped someone would help her.

  She wrote to Jonathan, telling him of her prisoner-like status here at Rothchild Castle.

  Dearest Jonathan,

  I have arrived at my destination; as to where I am, not sure. The island took me to places unknown. Yet now I find myself a prisoner of sorts locked in Count Rothchild’s castle. Oh dear, I need you now, I need you badly. Please come for me, I beg of thee.

  With all my love, Gaylen