My Lady Vampire - Book Three (3 page)

A deep sigh emanated from the ragged man. “I wish to end my existence--not feed.”

“You fell overboard. I would say that was coming close to answering your wish.” Sidney felt a tingle of anger. This young man had so much and yet wished to die.

“I didn’t fall.”

Sidney paused at that. “You tried to kill yourself?” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Don’t think that would work, lad. You’re already
un
dead.”

“I have no home. No family, no friends. I have nothing. I
am
nothing. What else is there?” He stared at Sidney. “Tell me, old man. Tell me if you know anything of these matters--for pity’s sake--how can I end this torment? How can I finally
die
?”

Chapter Two

It was very late.

Sir Sidney Chesswell sat in his favorite chair in front of the barely-glowing embers from last night’s fire and considered his “guest”.

The man had cleaned up very nicely indeed with just a towel and a spare dressing gown. Young--although given his nature that might be misleading--he looked to be in his late twenties. His hair was dark, but not so dark as to attract undue attention.

His eyes did that.

Irises so black that they blended with his pupils, giving him an unnerving stare and an unusual feature that would be remarked upon should he interact with others. His speech was cultured, he spoke English with the slightest of accents and it was a pretty safe bet that sometime in his past he’d been a member of the aristocracy.

Sidney nodded to himself. It was time to find out. “May I ask your name?”

Full lips curled into a bitter smile. “Once upon a time it was Jadranko Čzaplinek.”

“And if I may be so bold, would you share some of your story with me?” Sidney glanced at the windows. “Before dawn arrives. I assume you prefer the darkness.”

Čzaplinek inclined his head. “I do. I can tolerate small amounts of daylight, but the full light of the sun is anathema to me.” He sighed. “Just one of the things I lost through my own stupidity.”

Sidney raised an enquiring eyebrow. “Surely you did not choose to become what you are?”

“Of course not. What I
did
choose was to fuck a woman. And I chose foolishly, allowing myself to be attracted by her sexuality, her heat, her body. I paid no attention to
her
.”

“Young men seldom do.” Sidney could have pointed out an amazingly similar parallel in his own life but decided not to. This was Jadranko’s story, not his. “You said your name was Jadranko.” He stumbled a little over the pronunciation. “If I am correct, that is a Romanian version of Adrian?”

“Close enough.” Jadranko shrugged.

“Then
Adrian
you shall be. Easier for my old tongue to pronounce and less unusual in this neck of the woods.” He smiled. “But please…continue your story?”

Jadranko--no, Adrian now--stared into the dying fire. “She was all flames and savage passion and she devoured me. Literally.” He glanced up at Sidney. “That, in essence, is
it
.”

Sidney bit back a laugh. “Well, you certainly know how to condense a story into its fundamental points.” He sobered. “How long ago?”

“Ten years, give or take.”

“Good Lord.” Sidney was stunned. “How have you survived?”

“I haven’t. Survived, that is. In case you failed to notice, I am
dead
. That which was me is now possessed by a demon of the darkness. A creature from Hell, bestowed upon me by a vicious succubus of a red-haired temptress.”

Sidney shook his head gently. “Wrong, my dear Adrian. You are quite wrong. You are not
dead
, as we use the term.”

The newly-christened Adrian lifted his head and looked straight at Sidney. “I’m not dead?”

Sidney felt tears gather at the back of his throat and swallowed them down hastily. The pain he could see in Adrian’s eyes was almost overwhelming. He couldn’t begin to imagine what life must have been like for this young man in Europe over the last ten years.

And something deep inside Sidney responded to Adrian.  They shared a similar pain, a similar loss. Both men pretty much considered themselves dead, albeit in different ways. Perhaps--they could help each other.

“I don’t believe you’re dead in the regular sense of the word, Adrian, no.” He noticed the first rays of light blooming into the darkened sky. “But dawn approaches. You need rest. If you would accept my hospitality, I have rooms I believe would suit you. They have few windows, and are heavily draped. Old buildings such as this tend to be drafty.”

Adrian looked around him. “’T’would be an unaccustomed luxury, I’ll confess, and one I would enjoy.” He stood and bowed correctly to Sidney. “My thanks, Sir Sidney. I will accept your offer. For this day at least.”

“Good, my boy, good. Let’s go and see if the rooms suit. I expect they’re a bit dusty…”

Sidney Chesswell led his new vampire guest through the silent corridors of St. Chesswell and saw him settled in one of the empty suites. They had fallen into disuse because they were so dark, but in this instance Sidney was glad of it. “Sleep well, lad. We will talk more when you are rested.”

“Thank you.” The words were spoken awkwardly, as if they had been unsaid by those lips for many years.

“Think nothing of it.” Sidney left the room and closed the door, reminding himself to let the servants know not to disturb Adrian.

Then he sought his own suite of rooms. He had much to consider.

A plan was forming in his mind--and his heart. A wild and risky plan, yet one that would bring a little pleasure back into what remained of his life. There were details to be resolved, issues to discuss and a lot of talking to be done.

He stared at his bed and accepted that he was exhausted. Yet there was an exhilaration running through his veins in unaccustomed glee. He had a task, a challenge before him, the likes of which he’d not imagined in his wildest dreams.

Sidney turned his back on his inviting bed and quit the room. He was seeking his sanctuary, the study that overlooked the ocean.

It was there that he kept his most precious possessions--his books. And it was there that he found the one he was looking for…a fifteenth century
grimoire
written in almost undecipherable Latin.

It dealt with the creatures known as
Mortuus Victus
.

The Dead Who Live
.

- - - -

Her hair dazzled him, shards of flaming heat that pierced his eyes. He watched her helplessly, unable to look away.

As he had done for close to ten years now, Adrian tossed in his sleep, moaning a little as images of Thérèse plagued him. A vision that was as fresh and as distinct in his mind on this day as it had been the day after she had “turned” him to the darkness.

A part of his mind knew what this vivid nightmare meant--he would need to feed soon. She always appeared to him more strongly around the time his body began to crave fresh sustenance.

He wished he knew more about the whole process. About how he had been made and how he could be
un
-made or at least die. All these questions danced in the back of his mind, but in his somnolent state she danced in the front of his mind, obliterating most everything else in the way of coherent thought.

She moved before him as she always did--naked and sensual, an invitation that could not be ignored or declined. There was no music and yet he could hear a melody in the movement of her limbs as they sinuously wrapped around her own body, stroking, caressing--gliding over skin he knew too well--all silk and cool cream.

She spun and twirled and touched her breasts, a smooth slick of her palms--no more--but it was sufficient to arouse her nipples and send a bolt of lust through Adrian’s body to his loins. His cock was growing harder by the moment and the urge to take her, to plunge his swollen length into her cool pussy and ravage her, built inexorably within him.

He felt the strain of his need lying solidly down one thigh, rigid evidence of her presence within his dreams. He was somewhere between wakefulness and sleep--in a twilight world where temptation played and evil knew no boundaries.

Adrian sighed as Thérèse slid her hand slowly down over her abdomen to the icy red fire that glowed between her thighs. Long white fingers threaded through shining red curls and she spread them apart to reveal the glistening shape of her clit, which stood out wetly from her swollen pussy lips.

She smiled, a gleaming white spread of teeth, and made sure he saw her fangs as they protruded over lips as red as any ripe apple. He knew what was to come--and it  wasn’t
him
.

She beckoned and sure enough a figure appeared. As if drugged, the man--he was a pale blond this time--staggered into Adrian’s vision and collapsed at Thérèse’s feet.  His cock was solidly erect and with much sensual writhing, she sank down and straddled it.

Adrian could almost feel the embrace of her velvet sheath, the touch of her thighs and the grasp of her fingertips. She made sure he could see the shining length of cock as she raised and lowered herself on it. She gleefully shared the pleasure she was experiencing, her mind playing tricks with Adrian’s and arousing him to the point of painful ecstasy.

Finally she broke, shuddering into her orgasm and turning her head to stare into Adrian’s eyes at that exact moment. Then she lowered her head, and without breaking eye contact, she bit into the neck of her victim.

Adrian howled silently, his cock rigid and aching, his mouth opened wide and revealing his own fangs. He hungered for her, and for the blood she was taking. Maddened by the twin desires he struggled against himself and--as always--awoke, a cry trembling in the back of his throat. He was erect and throbbing and--as always--unfulfilled.

How he kept his sanity was a mystery to him at moments like this. He sobbed for breath and gulped in air, wishing just for once he could either come and relieve his desires, or sleep without dreaming.

He’d tried masturbation after the first dreams began, but within seconds of waking his cock would soften, leaving the ache of unrelieved arousal behind. The only thing that could harden him to the point of orgasm other than the dreams was the act of feeding. Then he could bring himself to climax and release his pent-up yearnings. He would not fuck his prey. He dared not.

Adrian wished he knew if this was customary for his kind. He had nobody to ask. He’d been forced to find his way blindly for the past ten years, doing his best not to kill and yet driven by forces he did not understand to prolong his own existence.

He hated rendering his victims unconscious, taking as little of their blood as he could, and then fleeing the site of his “crime”--never knowing if he’d gone too far and killed by mistake. It was a terribly sordid life, a subculture he’d been compelled to live in, and one that he abhorred.

Looking around him now, he realized it was the first time he’d awoken in a proper suite of rooms in more years than he could remember.

He had certainly found a welcome at St. Chesswell. And possibly a friend in Sir Sidney. Maybe there
was
still a miracle left in the world with his name on it. And maybe it was time to go and find out.

- - - -

“That will be all, Cheverly. We will have a tea tray later. Nothing else.”

Sidney ignored the frown on his butler’s face. He was dismissing the entire concept of dinner and offending not only Cheverly but probably his kitchen staff as well. He didn’t care. This night was important, too important to be concerned about mundane issues such as food.

“I take it that meals are unnecessary?” Sidney glanced across at the man leaning casually against the mantelpiece, to see him nod his head in agreement.

“Very well. Please be seated and we shall talk.” He waited. “I’ll get a crick in my neck if you don’t sit down. Stop looking so nervous, Adrian. There is much to discuss and some of it might be to your liking.”

With a shrug, Adrian sat in the matching chair and crossed his long legs. The clothes Sidney had obtained were a good enough fit, clinging to long muscular thighs and revealing the strength of the body they covered. Adrian was a very good-looking man indeed.

His black basilisk eyes remained fixed on Sidney’s face, and Sidney was in no doubt that Adrian needed to talk--and to listen. There was still pain and suffering in those dark depths, but perhaps there was a flicker of hope too. Or maybe Sidney was just reading his own wishes into Adrian’s gaze.

He marshaled his thoughts. “You have been in this condition for ten years now, am I correct?”

“Yes.” A short word of agreement, clipped and precise.

Good
. “And you were…
made
…if I may use that expression, by a woman?”

“Yes.”

“Then we shall assume that she was an experienced vampire. One who knew how much of your blood to take, and how much to leave.”

Adrian shook his head. “That is an unwarranted assumption. I remain convinced to this day that had she not been interrupted, she would have killed me. After I had…after we had…” Adrian’s voice faltered.

“Come along, man. These are facts we must discuss. I am no prurient busybody. I am a scientist. Tell me as much as you can--use whatever words you must--but
tell
me.”

Adrian looked away. “If you must have it all, then so be it.” He swallowed. “After we had fucked and I had spent my seed within her, she did not break away. She did not release me, but continued to feed, to drain me. I became lightheaded, my vision blurred and I thought I would vomit. That’s when I heard something--noise, people--I don’t recall exactly.”

He shifted in his chair and glanced at Sidney as if asking for permission to continue. Sidney tried to pour encouragement into his expression, but said nothing.

“I collapsed and everything dimmed around me. I-I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think--I wanted darkness, craved it actually.”