The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood Page 8

He did not care now. For the second time, he pushed his way deep inside her. The loose tissue from his first thrust came away. Blood trickled from her when he withdrew again, coating the insides of her thighs. The aroma of it wafted up to his nose, bringing the animal in him to the fore.

  Her cries carried a fair distance. Many of the men in the tavern below ran out into the narrow street. They walked around in an attempt to identify the source. Some of them branched off into the adjoining alleys and streets. They could find nothing.

  “Where is it coming from?” one of them asked.

  Another of them looked up, and pointed to the roof of the tavern. “It is up there.”

  “Then someone should go and look.”

  “Who? I am not going up there.”

  The owner of the tavern stepped outside. He had seen Lucia leave, but not return. “Has anyone seen Lucia?” he asked them.

  They all liked her. The thought that she might come to harm worried them a lot.

  “She might be on the roof. We heard screams.”

  “On the roof?”

  They all heard her this time, loud and clear.

  “Yes,” he replied, looking up.

  “Then someone get up there. I shall give free ale, and girls, for a month to the man who rescues her.”

  Two men began the ascent up the trellis. Dracula heard them coming, but chose to ignore it. They posed no real threat, and Lucia was all that interested him.

  He looked into her wide eyes. She could hide neither her terror nor her pain. Her insides took the most brutal pounding. In time, it numbed her body from the waist down.

  The bones in her pelvis splintered and cracked. The sacral bones in her lower back came away from the lumbar vertebrae. She no longer felt a thing. Blood coated her thighs and formed a thick pool against her shredded gown.

  She released her grip on his neck and fell back against the roof. Her chest shuddered as her heart threatened to give way. Dracula realised this when he heard her heartbeat slow to a dangerously low level. It was much the same as the sound that came from his victims as he sucked the last drops of blood from them.

  He feared she would not last the duration with her heart about to quit on her. Eager to finish, he began to increase the momentum of his thrusts. The poor girl was almost oblivious to it all. The backs of her shoulders rubbed so hard against the rough wood that they began to bleed. Tears flowed from her eyes, and her vision clouded until she could no longer see him. Darkness engulfed her, and with her last clear thought, she hoped it might take her away.

  At last, he found a release. He had an orgasm so powerful the ripples ran right through him. His juices filled her inside. Yet she did not even know it. He pressed so hard against her stomach that her mouth opened as far it could go. When he eased off, she inhaled so deep that she swallowed her tongue.

  Her eyes rolled over in her head. He withdrew as her body began to jerk and shake. Before death could claim her, he bit hard into the underside of her breast. Her sweet blood transfused into his body.

  He groaned as it rushed to his brain and made him giddy. Sex with Lucia had drained some of his supply, and he was eager to replenish it. He loved the sensation of her blood entering his heart before the organ pumped it to the rest of his body. It oozed through his veins and revitalised him. His muscles filled until they grew taut again.

  When Lucia fell still, he moved away from her. He stood up and straightened his clothes just as the first man appeared over the edge of the rooftop. Dracula hissed at him, blood dripping from his chin and bared fangs. The shock of seeing this almost caused the man to lose his grip and fall.

  Dracula had no interest in him and took to the air. He still hoped to find Machiavelli that same night. Already, he had wasted too much time here.

  Now that he was no longer there to prop her up, Lucia’s body turned and rolled over on the sloped roof. The man who had come to rescue her followed the vampire’s ascent into the night sky with his eyes. He did not see Lucia’s body rolling toward him. The trellis at the top came away in his hands when they made contact. Together, they fell to the street below, taking the other man with them.

  TUSCANY. THE NIGHT SKIES ABOVE FLORENCE.

  JULY, 1489. THE SAME NIGHT.

  Dracula was quick to leave the scene behind. He hovered for a time to try and determine the route of Machiavelli’s escape. Enough time had elapsed for him to be long gone. Still, he felt sure he could pick up the young man’s trail again, however faint.

  A large gathering formed outside the tavern. The people there looked down on the body of Lucia in horror. Some gazed at her broken body in total shock, while others seethed with anger. It affected the men just as much as it did the women. Most of them knew her or had spent time with her in days gone by. She had always been good value for the money, though she had never come cheap. Now none of them would enjoy time with her again.

  Dracula set down two streets away. The area was deserted and quiet, but for a stray dog scavenging through some refuse for food. For a moment, he listened to the chaos around where Lucia lay. Women still screamed at their first sight of the body. Each of them shared the same thought that it could also happen to them. They turned to the men to find the culprit. All who had seen her killer now lay dead on the ground. Nobody knew a thing.

  The owner of the tavern pointed to the roof. “She was up there. He threw her from the roof, and the other two fell with her.”

  All eyes looked up. With the trellis gone, the men could find no way to the rooftops from the street. They pushed their way through the crowd and back into the tavern, knowing they could gain access to the roof from there.

  Dracula turned his attention to the business at hand. He drowned out their shouts and focused again on Machiavelli. The scent of Lucia’s blood on parts of his body remained strong. It affected his ability to think and pick up the scent of his quarry. He tried to put it—and her—out of his mind. She should have left him be.

  He stooped down and touched the ground. The young Florentine had walked this way. He looked down the street to where the faint scent of the man he wanted still lingered. The slight remnants of the glow his body heat had left behind, was there too. He grinned and set off after it.

  The trail took him left and right and grew stronger as he walked. He crossed the Ponte Vecchio to the other side of the river. In the height of summer, the Arno reeked from below. Tonight he found it no exception; but then, the streets smelled no better.

  He pressed on, the scent and the glow growing ever stronger. It led him to believe that Machiavelli was still out in the streets. Dracula picked up the faint hum of the young man’s heart. He followed its distinct sound, his own heartbeat gathering pace. A rush of excitement passed through him when he turned the next corner and spotted his quarry.

  The young man stood quietly on a street corner. He looked as though he was waiting there for someone. Dracula moved closer to gain a perfect view of the entire area. He scanned the other’s mind to pick up his thoughts. Machiavelli was indeed waiting for another person, a woman.

  Dracula walked up beside him. “There you are,” he said, smiling.

  Machiavelli jumped with fright, and turned to see him standing there. His face turned deathly white. He tried to speak, but the words would not come out. The images from the alley flashed through his mind. He felt now for the second time that it was his turn to die.

  “Do not be afraid. I am not here to harm you.”

  Machiavelli did not look convinced. Saliva ran down over his lower lip. He wiped it away with a shaky hand when he realised.

  “Rest easy. I only want to talk with you.”

  “But I saw what you did to those men.”

  “I hurt them only because they were about to hurt you.”

  “You did it to protect me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would you do that? You do not even know me.”

  “I want to talk with you. I could hardly do that if you were dead.”

  T
he young man regained his composure. He knew if the stranger wanted him dead, then he would have killed him by now. “I saw you at the home of Signor de’ Medici.”

  “Yes, he and I are good friends.”

  “I imagine it is better that than your enemy.”

  “You know the answer to that already.”

  “Yes, quite.”

  He studied the stranger for a moment. Traces of dried blood remained on his face. Dracula learned this from his thoughts, and quickly wiped it away.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “That does not matter right at this time.”

  “It matters to me. You must have good reason to have done the things you have done this night.”

  “Yes, everything is for a reason. Even the things I do.”

  “Then why not say who you are?”

  “I shall, in good time.”

  The way the stranger eluded his questions irritated Machiavelli. He looked away to try and show a lack of interest.

  “Do not be petulant with me. I saved your life this night. Be grateful for that, if nothing else.”

  Machiavelli shrugged and looked away again. “The men who came after me worked for Signor de’ Medici.”

  “Yes, I know this.”

  “I never imagined he saw me as a threat.”

  “He knew nothing of it. They did it of their own volition.”

  “You are certain of that?”

  “Yes, I questioned the last man before his death. Lorenzo likes you. He told me as much only a short while ago.”

  “Yet he cannot keep a promise he made to my father.”

  “Have patience, Niccolo. He is a good man. If he can help you, he shall do so.”

  “Perhaps, but he shall not be so good a man when he learns of the deaths of his men. I know him. He shall hunt for their killer until it exhausts him.”

  “He shall never know. You are the only witness to what has passed. I am certain you shall say nothing.”

  Machiavelli met his gaze for a moment. He understood the veiled threat. “No, I would never speak of it. It is something I would sooner forget.”

  He turned away and continued to look down the quiet street.

  Dracula broke the silence with a question. “What are you doing here so late? I imagined you would have retreated to the safety of your bed. Even more so after the shock you have had.”

  “I am not one to retire early.”

  “You are waiting for someone?”

  He did not want Dracula to know his reason for standing there. The question put him on the defensive. “Of course not.”

  Dracula knew he was lying. “You might be a very smart young man,” he said, “but you are not a very good liar.”

  Machiavelli frowned, but did not answer.

  “A woman?” he pressed, reading the other man’s mind. “It is little wonder you are so coy.”

  Machiavelli took exception to the comment. Without a word, he walked away.

  “Where are you going?” Dracula asked after him.

  He was about to answer when a woman turned the corner. She glanced over at the two of them. Dracula sensed the young man’s heart sink. He had not wanted her to see him.

  She pulled her shawl down over her forehead. There he is again. My guardian angel, of sorts. It crossed her mind to give him a smile, but then she thought better of it. To give the much younger man a false notion might not be a good idea. Any hint of emotion from her would surely lead him to think she liked him. She did not especially, even though he helped her feel safe.

  Every night, she spotted him on her way home. At first, it had made her nervous, but he never did anything to her. He just waited and followed her home from a distance. Perhaps someone has hired him to see me home safely each night? That is how she explained his continued presence. Perhaps the rich people I play music for employed him to do it.

  Dracula was smitten the moment he first caught sight of her. She had a face of such rare beauty. When she saw him there, she hurried on her way.

  He walked a few paces after her, and then joined his new friend in following her progress far down the street. “Who is she?”

  Machiavelli did not want to divulge anything about her, but he knew he had little choice. “Her name is Piera.”

  Dracula whispered the name quietly to himself. “Why is she out at so late an hour?”

  “Every evening, she plays the harp for some rich nobles.”

  He said it with real disdain.

  “You do not approve?”

  “It is her means to live, but they have little regard for her.”

  “Surely they must, or they would not retain her services.”

  Machiavelli left the corner to walk after her.

  “You do this every night?”

  “Yes. When I know she is safe, then I go home and sleep.”

  “You are in love, Niccolo.”

  He stopped a moment and looked at Dracula. “You assume much, signor.”

  “It is wasted on her, believe me. You are perhaps half her age.”

  He took real offence at the advice, and his face showed it. “What do you know of me? What do you know of her?”

  His raised voice caught her ear in the quiet street. She glanced over her shoulder, and then kept walking.

  “You know it is true. Why else would you hide in the shadows?”

  “What do you want? Have you come here to torment me?”

  “I shall tell you soon enough.”

  “Then would you leave me in peace until Piera is home, and safe?”

  “As you wish.”

  Dracula vanished in the blink of an eye. Machiavelli spun around full circle, but saw no sign of him. It made him feel even more nervous. He walked on, keeping to the shadows. When Piera reached her home, she stopped. He did so, too.

  She turned to look at him. For the first time, she offered him a hint of a smile. He has seen me home safely again. When he stepped from the shadows, she raised her arm in a half wave.

  It lifted his heart at once. She had never acknowledged him before now. He stood there for a time after she went inside, dreaming his usual dream of what a life with her might be like. When he finally turned away, Dracula was at his side once more.

  “Come, we have much to discuss.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence. Many thoughts raced through the young man’s head. Who is this man? What does he want with me? I have nothing that could interest him. Dracula thought only of the woman, Piera.

  “It is here,” he said. “This is where I live.”

  Dracula looked up at the old town house. It showed this family once had money and influence. The house looked old now and run-down. “Does anyone live with you?” he asked.

  Machiavelli shot him a quick glance. “Why, what does it matter?”

  “I merely wanted to know.”

  “You want to know if we are alone so you can kill me?”

  “If I wanted to kill you, you would be long dead.”

  “My mother still lives here. The servants are all gone, but for two.”

  “I only want to be sure we are not disturbed.”

  “We shall not be. They are all sleeping at this hour.”

  Dracula followed him through the house. It expelled a dank odour and needed a good airing. “This house has seen better days.”

  “Of course. My family was not always so afflicted. Come.”

  He led his guest down a flight of steps to the basement. Dracula waited while he unlocked the door and admitted him inside. His host lit two oil lamps in the corners of the room. Then he closed the door so that they had total privacy. “Perhaps you might tell me the purpose of all this?”

  “You are a writer, yes?”

  “I dabble from time to time.”

  Dracula looked at the array of parchment littered all about the room. “I would wager you do more than that.”

  “I have many ideas, yes. It is better to write them down so as not to forget them. Some are mere
whims that are easily lost.”

  “Yes, indeed. It is many ideas that you have.”

  “They do not bring me much fortune.”

  “No, I can see that.”

  “Men are so ignorant.”

  “Yes, quite. They fear change, Niccolo. You shall come to realise this in time.”

  “If I live long enough. This episode, on this night, makes me wonder.”

  “I am sure you should live a long life. You need only keep your wits about you. Do not stay out in the streets so late.”

  “You know why I do that.”

  “Yes, but let us not talk of it for the now.”

  “Your being here has something to do with my writing?”

  “Yes! It has everything to do with that.”

  “I am intrigued.”

  “I want you to write of me.”

  “And what would you have me write?”

  “Write of my life and my ideas.”

  “A biography?”

  “Not quite. More my ideas and my character than the things I have done.”

  “To serve what end?”

  “So it is not lost. Times are changing, and new ideas are coming to replace the old. I want people to understand why men such as I do the things we do.”

  “What might I gain from this venture?”

  “You can pass it off as your own work. Any profit that may arise from it, you can have for yourself. I only want it written down.”

  “But why me? I am sure you can find a host of others.”

  “Florence is the centre of the universe, Niccolo. I need it written here. I see no one better equipped than you to do that.”

  He thought about it for a few moments. His visitor had certainly aroused his curiosity. “I do not even know who you are,” he said. “The name Vlad Romanos means nothing to me.”

  “I was once the voivode of all Wallachia. My true name is Vlad Dracula.”

  TUSCANY. THE HOME OF NICCOLO

  MACHIAVELLI IN FLORENCE.

  JULY, 1489. LATE THAT SAME NIGHT.

  Vlad Dracula? I know of that name.”

  “Romanos was the name of my bodyguard. It suited my purpose to use it.”

  Machiavelli recalled a pamphlet he had read. It spoke of a cruel and wicked ruler in one of the Romanias. “I have read something of you.”