The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood - Volume 2 Read online

  It encouraged her to move nearer to him, her conviction remaining strong. He is afraid of the crucifix.

  He gazed down at it. Her eyes followed his. In a movement she did not detect, he grabbed her wrist. She cried out when he twisted it and forced her down onto her knees. The two men looked on. Neither of them had the courage to help her.

  They heard a crack when he snapped her arm at the elbow. She cried out in shock and horror. Her whole body trembled, as it reverberated through her. Mihnea yanked the loose limb hard. As she cried out again he forced her hand down against her forehead. The crucifix lodged between her eyes. A jet of blood shot out and covered her nose and mouth. She cried no more.

  He eyed the men outside on the landing. With his foot he lifted the old woman and pushed her body out of the room. Then he slammed the door shut. He barricaded it with various items of furniture nearby.

  His focus returned to his daughter. Her change was slow. She had suffered her mortal death. Now she lay still on the bed in a pool of her bodily fluids.

  A fair sized mob gathered outside the house. Now that he had closed the door of the room several others congregated there. He heard the cries of the mob ring out.

  “Kill the demon!”

  “Death to the Nosferatu!”

  “Burn the house to the ground!”

  The priest had not come. When told of the vampire in the Badica house he shut his door and bolted it. He had neither the will nor the desire to confront such an entity. It left the mob without a leader and they grew rowdier. The shouts increased both in number and tempo.

  It did not concern Mihnea too much. He knew he could deal with them if the need arose. No one outside had even seen a vampire before. Of that he was sure. Few of them would have any idea of how to deal with him if he chose to face up to them. His only concern was that their actions might interrupt Ruxandra’s change. If he had to kill every last one of them, he would not let that happen.

  He lifted the nurse up in his arms. Hers flopped down at her sides. She would wake again soon. He only hoped his daughter awoke first. Laying her down on the bed beside Ruxandra he waited.

  Her hand twitched. A rush ran through him. This was the moment. She took her first deep breath and opened her eyes. Mihnea stood at the foot of the bed. She heard his feet shift and looked down at him.

  Their eyes met. It warmed him inside when she smiled for the first time. “Hello, Papa,” she said.

  “Hello, my red petal.”

  He heard footsteps again outside the room. This time they were descending the stairs. He realised then they were all leaving the house.

  “Burn it down!” he heard a number of voices shout.

  A few men in the mob threw burning torches into the rooms downstairs. Almost at once a half a dozen fires started and took hold.

  “Time is against us,” Mihnea advised his daughter. “You will need to be quick.”

  Ruxandra sat up. She touched her stomach, as she felt it tighten. The red stretch marks on her skin vanished. She smiled again. Her body was perfect once more.

  The shouts from the mob caught her ear and she looked to the window.

  “Ignore it,” her father said. “Take the woman. She is yours.”

  Ruxandra turned to the woman lying on the bed. She stretched a leg across until she straddled her. Her movement aroused the woman from her slumber. She moved her hair aside to reveal her inviting neck.

  The nurse opened her eyes. She saw the lady of the house leaning over her. The first thing to catch her eye was Ruxandra’s fangs. She looked from there to her bright green eyes. A scream stuck in her throat. It finally made its way out. When it did she screamed with every ounce of strength she possessed.

  The mob outside heard it. Some of the men looked to each other. Already the fire had taken a hold on the ground floor.

  “That is the Lady of the house!” one of them shouted. “She is still inside!”

  One or two men tried to re-enter the blazing building. “We must save her!”

  “No!” another shouted to them. “It is too late.”

  “But we cannot leave her to burn!”

  “She is already near death. It is too late to help her.”

  Several people blessed themselves with the Sign of the Cross. If she had not already died she was about to.

  Ruxandra ignored her screams. She pinned her down and bit into her neck. The sensation as the woman’s blood transfused into her veins was electric. She felt every muscle in her body grow taut. Her breasts swelled and heaved. Her nipples tingled before growing erect.

  Never before had she felt anything to compare. But there was more. She could feel the vibration of the woman’s heartbeat and of her blood while she sucked it from her veins and into her own. More than anything she felt her fear. It increased her need to relieve the woman of that which kept her alive.

  Her father destroyed the magic of the moment. He threw some clothes at her that he found on a dresser nearby. The fires raged in the house below them. They needed to leave at once.

  “Get dressed,” he said. “We must go. You can feed again later.”

  Ruxandra left the girl on the bed. She got up and dressed quickly. He was not the only one able now to feel the heat of the fire beneath them. Very soon the upper floor would collapse. She understood his urgency.

  He grabbed her by the arm. After only a short run he leapt through the window with her in tow. They rose high into the night sky. The mob shouted out as they watched them flee. Ruxandra looked down fearfully. She grabbed onto her father’s arm with both hands.

  “Rest easy,” he said. “Hold my hand and allow your body to do the rest.”

  She relaxed as best she could. Only then did she realise she had the ability to fly. It felt almost as good as the drinking of blood. She looked at her father and smiled. “Where are we going?”

  “To Tirgsor,” he said. “I have an old score to settle.”

  Wallachia. The estate of Pirvu Craiovescu at Tirgsor.

  The same night. January 1524.

  Ruxandra was not like her father. She loved her first moments as a vampire. Her new abilities were a wonder. She could see and hear everything from the darkness below. What was there that could ever compare to this?

  “You like this?” her father asked.

  She smiled at him. “Yes, Papa. It feels incredible.”

  “Good. I was worried that you might not be happy.”

  “You were not happy when you made the change?”

  “No. I was not. Like you it was forced upon me.”

  “Then do not worry. I am happy.”

  He smiled too. “I could not leave you to die in that place.”

  “Then you saved me. I have missed you so very much.”

  “I have missed you too.”

  “There is so much I must ask you.”

  “When my business is done in Tirgsor I will answer anything you need to know.”

  “What is it that takes you to this place?”

  “The man who stabbed me in Sibiu.”

  “He is there?”

  “I believe so. We shall soon find out.”

  They flew in silence after that. She soon realised she could read many of his thoughts. He did not mind that she did. She saw visions of the night her father was lost to her. It made her want to be a part of the revenge he intended to take.

  Mihnea rose to a great height. He flew a little slower than usual so that Ruxandra could keep pace with him. It did not take them long to reach Tirgsor. He scanned the houses below for the one that might belong to Craiovescu.

  They saw the three finest houses in the town all situated together. Mihnea took his daughter by the hand and dived down at speed. They hovered above the houses while Mihnea listened to the conversations in each.

  “It is this one,” he said.

  They touched down gently on the rooftop. Gaining access through an attic window they stole inside. Two of Craiovescu’s men lay asleep in the room. They took one each.
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  It was Mihnea’s third victim that evening. Yet he still drank his man dry well before Ruxandra had hers. He lay the corpse down and followed the sound of voices from within the house. Despite still being thirsty his daughter did not take all she needed. She knew she could not leave her victim that way, and broke his neck. Then she ran after her father, her need for more fresh blood still strong.

  All was quiet, but for one room in the house. In other rooms they heard the gentle breathing of some that slept. The only other signs of activity came from outside. Guards kept a vigil on every corner of the house.

  Mihnea waited for a moment. The strong sound of laughter met their ears. He looked at his daughter and then pushed open the door. Eight men sat around a table inside. They talked, drank and threw dice. Each one of them jumped up at the intrusion. As the vampires stepped closer they drew their swords.

  Mihnea grinned at their expressions of anger and surprise. He stepped closer to the table. “Well this is quite the gathering.”

  The closest man pointed a sword his way. Mihnea turned and glared at him. With real menace in his voice he warned, “Sheath your sword lest I feed it to you.”

  He did not do it. Nor did any of the others. Craiovescu walked from around the table. He eyed Mihnea closely. It did not take him long to recognise his old rival.

  “Tell them to do it, Pirvu.”

  “How are you here?” the most powerful boyar in the land asked him.

  “What does it matter? I am here.”

  “Then you are a ghost.”

  Mihnea grinned a second time. In doing so he revealed his bloodstained fangs. “I see you remember me at least.”

  “How can I not? But I remember you dead.”

  Mihnea looked to his daughter. “Do I look dead to you, petal?”

  She shook her head. “No, Papa. You certainly do not look dead.”

  “Then there is some sort of devilry involved,” Craiovescu said.

  Ruxandra looked at him. She tilted her head and fluttered her eyelids. “If you want dead we can give you dead.”

  He stepped back. “You are demons, both of you! This is the work of the Devil!”

  Mihnea shrugged. “Pirvu, my father is hardly the Devil.”

  He laughed nervously. “Your father? He has been rotting a good fifty years.”

  “You are mistaken. My father walks the world of men. Like I he is Nosferatu!”

  Mihnea revealed his true self. He opened his mouth wide until he looked more animal than man. Like a king cobra his fangs extended from his upper jaw.

  The image filled the men with real dread. They knew this was a beast they could not fight. The sound of metal against stone echoed about the room. They each dropped their swords in surrender. One lost control of his bladder. Tears driven by shame and real fear streamed down his face. None of his friends noticed. They were each trying to deal with this gruesome sight as best they could.

  The men retreated to the other side of the room. Craiovescu stood firm. He was the only one among them with the courage to stand and look Mihnea in the eye.

  “Tell them to return to their seats,” Ruxandra ordered the boyar. “If they do not then I will kill you.”

  “Sit down,” he ordered his men.

  Mihnea returned to normal when they sat down. He paced about the table, his arms behind his back. Again only Craiovescu kept his nerve. He did not turn when Mihnea walked behind him.

  The vampire saw that he was not the only celebrity in the room. Close to him sat the one known as Vladislav III. They had last met that night in Sibiu. It made Mihnea wonder why he would be so close to Tirgoviste. His answer came when he saw Dimitrije Iaxici sat amongst Craiovescu’s five other lieutenants.

  Iaxici had not taken his eyes from Mihnea. The sight of the former voivode scared him greatly. This man was dead. He felt the cold steel of my blade.

  Mihnea looked Craiovescu in the eye. “So you are planning another coup?”

  “Why do you say that?” he said, not wavering from Mihnea’s glare.

  “Do not insult me, Craiovescu! This conversation is merely a courtesy on my part. Anything I need to know I can read from your thoughts. So it is best to be honest with me. And respectful.”

  “You always had my respect, Mihnea.”

  “And your hate!”

  “That also,” he shrugged. “But we were enemies before we were even born.”

  Mihnea did not answer.

  “The paths we followed were determined by those who came before us. Your father killed many men in my family.”

  “Your father betrayed my grandfather for thirty pieces of silver from that snake, Hunyadi.”

  “As I said, our paths were determined for us. Our families will always be enemies. Long after we are both gone that will not change.”

  “Which is why your son and the assassin are sat at your table? You cannot bear for one carrying Draculesti blood to hold the throne.”

  “That is correct,” he said.

  His honesty surprised Mihnea. “Well politics no longer hold an interest for me.”

  “That does not sound like you.”

  “I have no love for Badica. I care not who deposes him. Whether that be you or his brother. He does not have long left.”

  “Your cousin and your son-in-law and you do not care?”

  “I said I do not.”

  “I know he was especially cruel to your wife.”

  “Do not vex me!” Mihnea growled.

  “It was something I never did. No woman in your family ever suffered at my hand. I wish I could say the same of you.”

  He had given mention to his sister, Maria Trica. The comment drew a steely glare from Mihnea.

  One of Craiovescu’s men had his eye on Ruxandra. He imagined how good it would feel to have sex with her. It distracted Mihnea. She had detected his interest. Her body language hinted that he could well have his wish granted. She had felt aroused from the moment she had drank the blood of the nurse. Already a need was building inside her. It had begun to irritate her father.

  He grabbed the man by the throat. “Do not look at her in that way,” he hissed. “Even before you loosened your breeches could she drink you dry of every drop of your blood.”

  The man fought for breath, so strong was the grip Mihnea had on him.

  “What brings you here?” Craiovescu asked. “If it is to kill me then here I am.”

  Mihnea pushed the man back. He keeled over backwards in his chair. “It is a tempting prospect,” Mihnea said. “But that can wait for another day.”

  “For what other reason would you come?”

  “I did not come for you. My interest in politics is gone. I no longer care who holds the throne. The Turks will control it again soon enough.”

  “Then why?”

  Mihnea looked across the table at Iaxici. “I came for him.”

  They all looked to where he pointed. Their eyes fell on the terrified Iaxici. He looked to his boyar for support. A blank stare told him he was not getting it. With that in mind he bolted from his chair. Before he could reach the exit to the rear Mihnea stood in his path. When he turned around Mihnea pounced on him and pinned him down.

  “Help me, Pirvu!” he screamed. “I have always served you well.”

  “Our arrangement is at an end.”

  “You cannot give me to him!”

  “If it is you he wants then he can have you. Farewell.”

  He lifted Iaxici up and threw him at Ruxandra’s feet. “Silence him!”

  The group watched her hold him down and bite into his neck. Iaxici cried out, unable to help himself. His head throbbed. He could feel the blood slowly leaving his body.

  “Take him to Sibiu,” Mihnea said. “I will follow shortly.”

  She left with Iaxici under her arm. When he struggled she hit him hard across the back of the head.

  “You are not leaving?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But I thought you came for Iaxici.”

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bsp; “Why should he suffer alone for a crime that is equally yours? I thought you might at least defend him.”

  The great boyar no longer looked so relaxed. Old and frail now, he knew he had no hope of warding off his enemy. “So you are here for me?”

  Mihnea glared at him with real malice. “Yes. I am here for you too.”

  Craiovescu stood up. “Then do what you must. I only ask you make it quick.”

  “You have not earned that right,” Mihnea scowled. “There is no honour in you.”

  The boyar drew his sword. “Then I am ready for you.”

  His son, Vladislav, drew his sword also. The others followed suit and crowded around him.

  “I want you to know what it is to be betrayed,” Mihnea said. “To be alone in your moment of death. To suffer as I did.”

  “What it is you choose to do to me. I will not face it alone.”

  Mihnea looked at the others. “If you defend him you will all die a slow and agonising death. If you would like to walk away from this, the door is right there.”

  The men looked at each other. They offered their boyar one last glance and left. Only Vladislav remained beside his father.

  “You ought to go too,” Mihnea said. “You stand to inherit all that is his. You cannot rule if you are dead.”

  He looked at his father. Craiovescu could see in his eyes he was not going to stay. “Vladislav?”

  “So long, father,” he said.

  He sheathed his sword and walked out of the room.

  “Vladislav!” his father called after him.

  Mihnea grinned at him. “It is you and I.”

  “Damn you to Hell!”

  “I will see you there some time soon.”

  Craiovescu lunged feebly with his sword. Mihnea dodged it with ease. He hit the elderly boyar with an elbow to the back of the neck. His enemy fell down and dropped his sword. It slid across the floor and out of his reach.

  Mihnea stood over him. He watched his old rival scramble on all fours to retrieve his weapon. “I never imagined you could look so pathetic.”

  Craiovescu struck out with the back of his fist and caught the vampire across the shin. Mihnea reached down and lifted him by the hair. He loved the groans of pain it brought from the old man. This one he hated above all others.