Chapter 6

“I’ll stay,” I said, stepping away from the massive beast, moving deeper into the Great Entry Hall. Turning my attention back to the Countess, knowing she controlled the beast as indeed as she manipulated me, “I’ll continue as your assistant.”

The door swung closed, and when the wood jarred shut, the thing made a clanging bang, like the sound of my soul collapsing into the miserable darkness. My heart mightn’t sink lower. A deep melancholy engulfed my essence. The air grew heavy, my mood dark, the sunset left us in a blackout. With a wave, her hand, all the wicks of the candles in the room burst into flickering flames.

This pale dancing light did nothing to lighten the darkness of my mood. My spirit was swarthier than the night’s deep gloom. For the night sky was ablaze with bright stars to give hope to anyone watching, while my thoughts sunk into an impenetrable shroud of despair, which no light would breach.

Call it what you will, I was her prisoner, her slave, for the Countess to do with as she saw fit. In the gloom, the lust she forced into me cried for joy, for I belonged to her, body and soul, if not wholly her slave in my mind. The irony of these convulsions did not escape my attention, for a war raged inside my heart. One side clamored for freedom, the other craved captivity, and the freedom her control gave me for a less virtuous version of myself.

She led me to the library, we talked as if nothing had happened. She asked her questions, digging deeper into my hospital work, knowledge of Nantucket Island, Boston, and the surrounding area. We conversed for hours. At last, our parley turned to her therapeutic treatment of the boys.

She talked of her medicine and the red serum, which the boys ingested, making them whole and healthy. I had already gleaned the formula of the serum. My blood, or the blood of others, on which they fed. I couldn’t believe this, for this was inconceivable, yet, I realized this terrible thing was true. Also, I realized the ancestor the Countess spoke of my first night was indeed her.

I also understood the utter impossibility of this. No human would live for 600 or more years. Nonetheless, I believed this to be so, how, I could not say. After some time, she sauntered to the massive, broken bay window. She stood, her toes hung over the edge of the stones like a beautiful sculpture.

“Come and join me,” Countess Drago said.

Obediently, I stood and strolled to her, moving with expediency to her side. Her arm went around me. She pulled me to her body, holding me with a tight grip. For a man, her strength would have been formidable. For a female, the power she held was prodigious. The woman’s hands held on to me like tools forged from iron and covered with velvet.

We kept in the position. A prolonged silence hung think around us for what felt like an eternity. Neither Countess Drago nor I spoke a word. In all honesty, I halfway expected her to heave me from her home into the river far below us, like some much garbage tossed away out of sight and mind. In the stillness, my hearing became more acute.

I made out the water whooshing. As my eyes grew accustomed to the light, I distinguished the fluid meandering in the river. Little swirls here or there, turbulence rippling the waters from some submerged rock or water-logged stump, and the moisture-laden air smacked of a slight musk from the muddy shores.

“Examine the river. Can you not perceive how gentle and calm the waters flow?” she asked me.

“Yes,” I said.

“I suppose one might survive the fall,” she said, pushing me forward but holding me frim. “How gentle and still the waters appear, but they move with such a force, you cannot fight the current. The waters would carry one to the falls beyond the edge of the castle. Over the edge, one would join the cascade, tumbling fifty more feet, another cascade twenty-five feet further. And still, the water rushes headlong, leading to more rapids and waterfalls further downstream. If one wished to kill themselves, this is a chancy way to attempt death.”

“I don’t wish to kill myself.”

“If one wished to escape, this is also a perilous choice.”

“I told you I’m staying to assist you,” I told her.

“You want to continue here. A part of you, another part of you does not. My dear Jane, you have to appreciate I discerned you were deceitful,” the Countess was no longer next to me. I pivoted, she stood at the door. “You should return to your room before long. You might read first; your novel is where you left the book the last time you were here.”

The days wore on, the rose petals continued to crumble, the dreams persisted, and I tried to fight in them. I couldn’t let go of my thoughts about Michael. I thought his memory was all which protected me, from her or them.

Nonetheless, his memory was no longer whole and required my constant attention to maintain. I longed to send Michael a note and believe he would receive the same said message. I no longer tried to write to him.

On my ninth day at the castle, the 19th day of May in the year of our Lord 1901, Countess Drago came to me and ordered me to write a letter to Michael. I explained to him, I no longer loved him. I told him,

Dear pitiful Michael,

Stop sending me messages filled with your pestering’s and unwanted proclamations of your undying love...

I haven’t traveled tens of thousands of miles from you, with some concern in my heart for you. You bore me to tears. You need to get on with your useless life without me. For I assure you, I certainly am better without you...

I have never been so happy, as the day I first shed you from my life...

In conclusion, I have no desire to ever set eyes upon your face again, I loathe the thought of your feckless touch, your passionless kiss, and your smothering attentions, and I hate your letters...

Without regret,

Jane

Many insults proliferated the note to make him understand we were finished. I said I hated him.

I wrote the accursed thing and addressed the envelope before her, so she read each word I put on paper. I think this was the moment — the instant in time when she plucked the sealed envelope from my hand, Michael’s place in my heart died. A cold blast of hate breathed over my heart, and the last remnant of concern for him curled into death.

Filled with despair, I made my way to the library, found my novel, and began to read. The words of love in the thing meant nothing to me. The heartache of the hero and heroine was unimportant. My own heart was far too damaged to care about their trivial issues.

I’m not sure when everything happened during the night, what time the last moment any hope existed for a return to my life before the Countess. My thoughts of Countess Drago sprang to life. The lust nibbled at my heart as she took Michael’s place. And so, my destruction loomed in front of me, and in some strange way, I sought my own death, longed for my last breath.

The words on the page blurred. My thoughts turned to her and the boys. Sleep, blessed, cursed sleep overtook me, for I so wanted and dreaded slumber. I forced myself to return to my room. All the while, sleep and thirsty hunger for carnality with her plagued me with each step of my feet.

The day which followed was much the same as the previous day. I don’t understand why any of this matters. I sped on her leaving each night as before, a fog or mist floating down the outside wall. The vapor became a bat, flapping into the darkness.

This is all, too, much, and my heart can’t take much more. Dreams consume me, and I fear they aren’t dreams, though Countess Drago hasn’t confirmed they are a reality, I suspected the visions are real, and she and her boys are ... oh, for God’s sake, this was unbelievable ... yet, I did believe they all fed on me. I felt like ripe fruit. They suckled my sweet nectar as one would consume a succulent peach.

That night, I fell asleep in the library again, knowing you shouldn’t do a thing, and not doing something isn’t the same. Perchance I had given up. After all, the futility of attempting escape is apparent. Why continue to fight the inevitable.

Late in the night, with moonlight streaming through the broken casements of the old stained glass, I espied Alexandru. He wasn’t, an instant later, he was, no ghostly arrival from fog or fire, he materialized, stepping into being — from thin air.

He scrutinized me with this intense glower. I wasn’t dreaming. This encounter happened, and when he gaped at me with hungry, lustful intent, I surrendered. I had clung to my thoughts of Michael for so long, using his memory to shield myself from giving in to them.

I tried to think of him, but Michael wasn’t in my mind. And for the life of me, I couldn’t remember the line of his jaw, the shape of his nose, or the color of his hair or eyes. For me, Michael never existed. I lay on the sofa, venerable and exposed, I could not will myself to move, and the lust in Alexandru’s eyes burned passion into me. Without Michael’s memory to ward off Alexandru, I’d have to do it myself. Drawing on my own inner strength, I pushed myself to my feet and grew cross with him.

“Leave,” I ordered him.

“No,” he said, moving toward me.

“I said leave,” pointed to the door as if pointing made my words more imperative.

He moved closer to me. His eyes were red and angry, his hands at his side were curled, though not quite to fists, he stepped closer to me. I dashed by him, trying to escape, and yet the truth unvarnished was, escape wasn’t what I wanted.

For I hankered to be taken by him. His hand grabbed my shoulder, he tossed me to the lounger, I hit the sofa hard and pushed to stand and run again, but he was so fast my attempt had been doomed before I had tired.

He dived on me, swung his arm, the back of his hand stung across my face. With one hand clutching my throat, he tore my clothing from my body. The lustfulness overtook me in a wave and gave into him, laying back to accept his salacious advance.

Mounting me, he entered in one rugged, quick thrust. I yearned for this. I had long ached for the feel of a man inside me. Pleasure pushed through my pain. Like a wild animal, he took me. And may God and Michael forgive me, for I gave back to him all of me.

In another quick move, his teeth sank deep into the soft flesh of my shoulder, a frenzy of emotions welled up inside me, the same feelings as when the Countess and I are together in my dreams, though not as forceful or pleasing.

In a flash, he was torn from me. I envisioned him lifted away as the Countess ripped him from me by the scruff of his neck. Hurling him to the window, she rushed at him, striking him, driving him out the window. They plummeted from view. I grew weary, so tired and worn, I tried to rise but collapsed in a heap on the couch.

Waking in the early morning hours, I again wished, against hope, I only dreamt of those events until the pain. I still felt him, between my legs, a stabbing twinge as if his manhood still resided betwixt my legs, buried inside me.

Touching myself, I raised my hand. The blood told me I hadn’t dreamed.

I gazed to the door, beholding to the vase, and only the stems remained. Not one flower had a single petal left. My virginity was gone. In distress, I laid my head on my pillow and cried. I had brought shame to myself, Michael, and my family name, and I have no way to reclaim purity once taken or given away freely.

“So, now you know with certainty,” the Countess said. I gazed at her, standing at the opening of the water closet. Her hands were on her hips, her body was erect and proud, her lavender dress clung to her every curve of her body, pinned over her heart a white rose which garnished her ensemble.

“Nosferatu has claimed you. Cornelius tried to resist me. He so desperately wanted to warn you, to tell you the truth. Despite a continent and an ocean between us, the man wouldn’t resist my will. He waits for me in America, as he has done so for more than a decade,” a sad smile crossed her lips.

“Waits for my sweet kisses, my cold tender touch which burns his soul. Soon, I will join him. Poor Cornelius, he is not one I have chosen. I’ll consume every drop of him, bleed the life from him and discard his exsanguinated body.” A tear ran down her cheek, “He would never survive as one of us. A warm spirit cannot endure in the cold, eternal clutches of living death.”

Reaching to the table by my bed, I grabbed the crucifix and held the cross toward her.

“The protection the idol affords is a myth. Those who believe in the power want the protection they think the crucifix affords. And yet, my existence, my control of all within my domain, disproves this power. A lifeless hunk of silver with a tiny representation of a man in agony. Precious Jane, my child, your neither religious nor superstitious.”

“You’re a...,” I could not bring myself to say the word. The creature is only a myth to frighten little children.

“I’m a child of Lilith, I am Undead — Nosferatu,” the Countess stood, sauntered toward me.

“Is the boy dead?”

“No, he wasn’t hurt,” she said. “You have much to learn before you’re allowed to crossover.”

“Crossover?”

“To another side, which type of crossing will be your choice to make,” Standing, she came to me. Taking the cross from my hand, she held it, stared at the cross until the symbol melted. The liquid fell to the floor, solidified into a silver nugget.

“You recognize, strictly speaking, it’s a graven image. I’m certain God doesn’t find this appropriate for people to put their faith in any object rather than him. Did you know this world, no dissonance, no disharmony, exists between God and my kind? We are good or evil, the same as your kind are.”

“Why?”

“Why,” she sat next to me, extended her hand, and touched my face. The electrical yearning ran through my body.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“For your life,” the Countess said. “Your fresh, sweet life’s blood is what I need. I grow younger, feeding on your life. The locals have lived in fear for centuries. Their lives have been drudgery and suffering under the hand of a beautiful, wonderful, cold, cruel, life-sapping tyrant. She has drained the life from them, dulled their minds, bludgeoned their spirits, and sullied their souls until all which remains is pale, flavorless blood, with no nourishment left to devour,” her eyes brightened for a moment.

“This history was written in blood, their blood,” the Countess said.

“All the while, I grew strong and youthful on their blood, alas, the best of the sustenance is gone, nowadays, all we can take from them is barest of nutrition and end their pitiful existence. The population’s vitality, passions, and lifeforce destroyed by a might tyrant.”

“What tyrant?”

“Why you foolish, silly, innocent, little child, I am the tyrant,” her eyes bore into me as her mouth hovered inches from lips. “I am their shepherd, they are my sheep, I lead them to slaughter. I protected them in life so long ago, but these days, as the Queen of the Undead, I destroy them, one life after another. I require new lives, souls unburdened from constant fear. The blood of those lovely people who are fresh and full of life, full of delicious, nutritious lifeblood. I have brought many from France, England, and America, but now, I’m relocating to fresher, how shall I say? Hunting grounds.”

I wanted her. My mind scattered her words, and I couldn’t concentrate on what she said. I pressed my lips to hers, we locked in a ravenous embrace. The Countess and I made love as she fed on me. I shouldn’t have. Instead, I should have tried to escape. But as soon as she touched me, I couldn’t resist. She controlled me, or at least, I wanted to believe I had no choice. Afterward, the Countess held me in her arms.

“I will not force you to drink my blood or one of the boy’s blood. This choice I will give you, for you can become a child of Lilith, one of my children, or you can be food for my grooms. They’ll need your blood to grow strong. The others can only sustain us. I’ve chosen you, but I will not force my choice on you.” She pulled me to her, kissed me, drank from me again. The room spun around me as the pleasure overwhelmed me. Letting me loose, she stood and paced around the room.

“Am I not your prisoner?” I asked.

The Countess stopped her moving about, pirouetted toward me, her face had grown cold, cruel, while her pale blue, crystalline eyes burned with fiery anger, the woman’s blazing glare relaxed as she snarled countenance turned softer. The sneer of her grin turned to a warm, friendly smile, which beamed with her victory.

“My dear, Doctor Jane Hanson, from your first hesitant footfall inside my home, you belonged to me,” Countess Drago said as her smile softened more.

“And yet, you chose to be my captive. You elected to allow me to control you.” My blood-stained her teeth. The life’s fluid lay thick on her lips and dribbled in two thin streams from the corners of her mouth. Her tongue snaked out, and like an animal, she cleaned her lips and face, lapping up the thickening blood, and savored the flavor.

Once she swallowed the blood, wiped the residue from her teeth, she rolled back her eyes, and, leaning back her head, Valarie let a gratified moan escape her lips.

“So, very, sweet, succulent, full of life, inside of you. Standing on my portico, you understood the danger. I had willed you across my threshold. But I didn’t jerk you into my home. No, this wasn’t hard. Only a gentle nudge inside your lustful mind was all I needed to pull you into my nest. The wave of my hand and your yearning for a fuller life pushed you to rush headlong ... to me.”

“Yes,” I said, admitting the awful truth.

“You wanted this,” she said. “Soon, I depart for America. New York City, Boston, and all your astonishing continent swarms with such hospitable, fresh life to refresh my own. I will feed for centuries, millennium and not drain all the oh, so, many sweet men and women. Those wonderful souls, so full of the vigor of free lives. They will, so willingly, mollify my pangs of hunger. They are ripe with savory, rich blood for me to feast upon. The blood here has become bland and puny. Your fiancé will be my first, I think, or conceivably, I’ll save him for you. Though his best friend is one, whom I shall take particular pleasure in turning to one of us.”

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Written in Blood: A Dark Awakening

Millie Dynamite

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