Béla Book 2: Phoenix

His army was destroyed and his war-horse had foundered at the base of the hill. His breath ragged in his chest, he ran desperately up more than a thousand steps, ignoring the macabre remains of the dead soldiers and prisoners staked out along the path leading to the high castle.

His chosen few were manning the gates and the castle walls, but they would not be enough to ward off his brother's black guard – the army that had crushed his own dragons.

Exhausted and gasping with each breath, he stumbled up the last hundred steps. His brother's guard was getting close. Arrows were falling all around him and he could hear their angry shouts behind him. Someone opened the gate and he stumbled through. The gate slammed behind him, but he knew it would only be a matter of minutes before it was broken through, or burned. There was no one left to defend and protect him.

"Vladimir!" a female voice cried out. His wife raced down the precarious steps as though she was running on flat ground, mindless of the fact that she could fall and break a limb.

"Elsa!" he gasped, falling and picking himself up again. "We must flee! Radu will be here in moments."

A loud striking sound came from the gate to emphasize his words.

"Come, my love!" Elsa cried, half dragging him into the darkened main hall.

They were alone – the last of his loyal men gone to defend the failing gate and the walls. Elsa pressed herself against him, lust radiating through her body and igniting lust in his. Danger and the threat of painful death always filled her with need. The fact that they would both most likely die in the next few moments made it that much more exciting.

"Quickly, take me now!" she exclaimed, her voice low, but strained with passion.

The power of her will was, as usual, irresistible. He would die in a few minutes, probably impaled or cut into pieces while still alive like he had done to so many others. Elsa would surely die, too, but she intended, as was her nature, to get one last orgiastic thrill out of life before she did.

Vlad was amazed that, as exhausted as he was, he could still be aroused under these circumstances, even though he'd never been able to resist this siren of a wife he had. He entered her hot womb, still standing and pressing her against the wall with his hardness. As he did, he could hear her speaking to herself in the common tongue of the Romans – Aramaic.

Elsa was Hungarian, but she'd told him once that she was the sister of the blessed one, and was much older than anyone would believe. She was drawn to Vlad and the darkness in his mind even as he lay imprisoned, eventually convincing her foster brother Matthias to free him and offer her as a gift for Vlad to wed.

"Feed, my darling!" she cried out, offering her neck and throat.

It was a fetish they had. She would often permit him to feed from an impaled victim. Then, when he was covered in the victim's blood, they would make rough and passionate love in front of the staked-out and dying. This, however, was the first time she ever offered him her own blood to feed upon.

Vlad hesitated, and Elsa bit into his neck and shoulders with a savage ferocity, drawing fresh blood that he didn't feel he could spare. Angrily, he bit into her neck in retaliation and sucked hot, red nectar from her throat. His tongue and mouth tingled and became alive with sensation. As he swallowed, he could feel his lungs and heart become strong. His many cuts and bruises from the earlier battle faded away as if they had never existed. He felt invincible! He felt ... young!

He could feel her orgasm as she gifted him with her life-blood, then he was coming, his cock jerking and spurting with more power than he had felt in many years.

"This is incredible!" Vlad exclaimed in amazement. "How is this possible?"

"It is a gift!" Elsa whispered hurriedly. "I carry the blood of the blessed one in my veins. We were siblings, he and I."

"Now I can fight!" Vlad exclaimed heartily. "I can kill the Black Guards by the thousands with only my sword and your precious gift will protect me!"

"No!" Elsa exclaimed. There was fear in her voice – fear for him! "Even with my gift, you cannot stand against a thousand swords! I did not gift you to watch you die! I would rather help you escape! You can no longer be recognized as Prince Vladimir! Look into the mirror and you will see."

She led him, their clothes half-falling off from their tumultuous, hurried tryst, to the great mirror in the dining hall. Even in the darkness, he could see the change.

"You are young, again!" Elsa exclaimed. "Use your new life to escape and begin anew! None will recognize you now!"

"But what about you, my love?" Vlad asked, anxious that she would still be in danger if he deserted her.

"I will do what I must to give you time to escape!" she exclaimed fervently. "But you must go through the tunnel behind the fireplace and get as far from here as you can. Vladimir Tepes is dead! Long live whoever you will become, and perhaps in the centuries ahead, we shall meet again, my dearest love!"

"Centuries?" Vlad cried out in anguish. "Perhaps in heaven, or hell, but surely not on Earth?"

"Yes! Here! On Earth!" Elsa exclaimed, pushing him toward the smoldering fireplace. "That is my gift to you! A future! Now go!"

She kissed him fervently on the lips, then fled the room. The sounds of war were loud outside, the Turks having broken through the poorly defended gate.

After fifteen minutes of crawling through the damp, pitch black tunnel, young Vladimir emerged on the hillside away from the thousand steps. In the bright moonlight, he could see the castle towering up behind him. Elsa was standing on the parapet, having led the invaders away from her husband's escape tunnel. Her bare body glistened in the moonlight, outlined by the raging fires behind her.

Vladimir cried out in mortal terror as his beloved Elsa dove gracefully off the tower and disappeared into the shadows beneath the magnificent structure. He strained to see where she had fallen, but the base of the castle was shrouded in darkness. As he stood there, tears streaming down his face, a large winged creature flew by, overhead. Was it his imagination, or could he really hear Elisabeta laughing in her violent death?