Written in Blood

Her smile grew broader, and she laughed.

"At this moment, they are as the dead," she said.

"My word, this sounds quite radical."

"Unconventional, yes, and the treatment works wonders on them -- for them. I think the air is stuffy in here." Brushing past me, she entered my room, hurled the window open, and let in the fresh air. "Isn't this better? The house is yours today. I'm afraid I have some business to attend to many miles from here. You're free to explore my home today. You may freely enter any unlocked room. Of course, you won't desire to go to any room, which is locked. The locks are secured for a reason. The house is old, and many of the places in which danger lives. Those locked rooms are unsafe."

"I understand," I said.

"Find my library. I think you will enjoy the many books. See if you can find the room. Many of the novels are in English, though my books on psychiatry are not. Do you read French?"

"Yes, I do. French is the only language, other than English, in which I'm fluent," I said.

"Alors façon de ne pas chercher les livres scientifiques en Français," she said.

I understood her meaning. She wanted me to find her scientific books in the library printed in French.

While she talked, I moved to the dresser and removed my mirror from the drawer. As I held the glass, brushed my hair, gazing into the mirror, I couldn't find the Countess. Thinking she was near me and out of view, I continued brushing my hair. Again, I scanned the room in the mirror, searching for her.

"Vanity," Valerie Drago said. She tore the mirror from my hand. The Countess tossed the glass against the wall, near the head of my bed. The looking glass shattered, falling in a pile of shards on the floor.

I was speechless.

"Vanity," the Countess said again, "thy name is woman." She pointed her index finger at me, accusing me. "You are far too beautiful a woman to primp yourself and admire yourself in such a manner. Beware of your conceit, for a shall come when you despise your reflection, should you live long enough."

The Countess regained her composure, walked to the broken water closet door. "I will have the boys repair this."

She turned to me, softening. "I apologize for my outburst, but I cannot stand vanity. This wickedness infects your mind." She walked toward the door to exit the room. "I must go. I shall not return home until late. When you get hungry, return to the room across the hall. The boys have placed food on the table for you. They have a break scheduled in which to perform household tasks, and afterward, back to their little deaths."

As she stepped into the hall, she paused, glancing back at me. "I caution you, do not fall asleep without locking the door of your room. And under no circumstance fall asleep in any other room than here. Bad dreams await you outside the walls of this room, for many ghosts dwell here."

I stared at her. What she stated had the ominous whiff of a threat. Nodding mutely to her, I gazed at her as she departed. I shut the door, threw the lock in the bolt, and quickly dressed. While making my bed, I discovered pale yellow rose petals. Flattened, wilting now, strewn over my sheets. Knots tied inside me. My heart raced wildly in my chest. My head wanted to explode, and my blood pulsed in my temples. I wasn't dreaming. Last night wasn't a ...

This was wrong; I shook my head. No, wait, we had hugged on my bed before I went to bed when we had shared our platonic kiss. She had a yellow rose pinned to her gown. The petals happened to fall at the time. I sighed, sinking to the bed, sanity teetering on breaking. Oh, how one's imagination can run wild. Exhaling slowly, I laughed at my foolish thoughts.

My reason restored, I put the stupid notions of my erotic dream from my brain. I could not fathom why someone so wealthy lived, in isolated seclusion, with no servant save a coach driver and the three patients doing menial tasks. I doubted the coachwoman existed. The driver must have been her. I had not seen the face of the driver, only her dark, angry eyes, yet, somehow, those eyes matched Valarie Drago's own.

I shall not bore you with the details of my cold breakfast. The repast was tasty and pleasant, which is the only thing which matters of food, at least, this type of food. Once I consumed my meal, I set about exploring the maze of rooms in the ancient dwelling.

To my frustration, stifling my exploration, I discovered most of the doors locked. Those open rooms were bedrooms or trophy rooms. I don't know how else to explain them. Rooms filled with armor, swords, primitive firearms, and shields. Trophies of other kinds, rotted heads, hands, or other body parts one doesn't mention in polite society, all under glass domes. I didn't try to count how many, making my exit from those rooms as soon as possible.

Disturbingly, some were trophies from females. The most shocking trinket visible, a nun's habit nailed above a fireplace in one room, accompanied by a priest cassock. Both bore reddish-brown stains. The stains were bloodstains -- these trophies appeared to be more recent acquisitions than most others.

A dreadful trepidation returned, creeping along my spine as I explored the vast castle. The rooms were dark, dank, and a slight stench of decay permeated much of the home. Morning turned to mid-afternoon, I should've been hungry, but I wasn't. Gazing outside of the house, all I saw were the mountains. The opposite view only held varying aspects of the courtyard.

Once, before finding the library, I stared down into the courtyard, where a Lynx gorged himself on a rabbit. The creature gawped at me, hissed and yowled, grabbed up his prize, and ran from my sight. Finally, I found the end of the wing and turned into the structure, which formed the bottom of the U-shape. On one floor, a massive room took up more than half the width and half the length of the wing.

In fact, this one-room took up most of the third floor. An enormous bay window, which at one time must've been covered with smallish pains of stained-glass, covered nearly the whole outer wall. A broken window, only a few of the brightly colored shards of stained glass, still allowed light and air into the room.

I strolled to the broken window, stood in the casement of the opening, stared down at the water. Below me, perhaps forty or fifty feet beneath my feet flowed a mountain river. The tributary was thirty or forty feet wide, the water flowed across in a slow drift, or the water appeared lifeless. For this was a deception, those deep waters rushed to a waterfall only a short distance past the end of the fortress.

My head swam, dizziness swept over me. I had never experienced vertigo before. The view discombobulated me, for a strange urge overwhelmed me. Jump, jump, the words echoed in my head. Nausea and faintness forced me to flee. I stepped back inside the room to safety. Still, the thought persisted, Jump, jump from here, and end it all. My head spun, and I stumbled a step or two. As I plodded from the window, my head and stomach whirled in opposite directions. The notion of killing myself vanished.

Spying an armchair, I plopped on its sizeable, comfortable cushion. Holding my head with one hand, I rested my face against the padding of its high back. My nausea pestered me for several moments. The welcome release soon set me free of my momentary distress. I longed for the anguish to vanish. Oh, if only one might rub an eraser over a blackboard, wipe away the tortures haunting this appalling home. With this said, I have rushed ahead of myself.

I deliberated how long the letter I gave the Countess would require to arrive in New York. I considered how Michael would respond. I longed to hear from him to read his words.

As if a breeze blew a chill over my flesh, I grew cold thinking of dear, sweet, insipid Michael. Thinking of his tedious, tasteless kisses, I pressed him from my heart. What had this woman's touch, her influence, done to me? I am not religious. Still, such a thing as sin exists, and these thoughts are sinful. These desires, she instills, are contrary to the natural order between men and women.

Valarie's cold, blistering touch was all I thought of, as though she cast a spell on me. Thoughts of the boys quickly followed, especially Alexandru. His powerful, broad chest, his sensuous, light, greenish-brown eyes, his strong jaw, all these visions of the boy, dominated my thoughts for a minute before the Countess pushed her way back into my emotions.

These emotions were unnatural, at least to me. I had to remain loyal to my precious, loving Michael. And yet, the ground slipped from underneath my feet as I plunged into some strange, new, state being. I changed into a new version of myself. The transformation blossomed at the first, icy touch of Countess Drago's cheek. Wild new emotions charred yearnings deep into the core of my being.

"No," I said as I rose to my feet. I grasped this was the library. I should have jumped for joy. Nonetheless, having found the library, no happiness found me in my victory, not one whit of pleasure. All I wished was to abscond to the safety of my comfortable room. I squelched the anxiety, shook the unscientific thoughts and emotions off, and began my exploration of the library.

I searched, with a renewed enthusiasm, for the books in French. I combed through all the shelves, looking for my French prize. Try as I might, I couldn't find any books in French, no romance, no history, and indeed no science, none one jot of the language among all the titles. I saw my treasure, only to have my hopes dashed, the loan manuscript pinned in French, a book on alchemy.

"Alchemy," I said. "Alchemy is not science, my dear Countess."

I returned to the window, stepping into the broken, battered opening. I placed my feet at the edge, with my toes dangling past the stones. I took care not to stare into the swirling waters. Dark storm clouds boiled over the mountains.

They rushed across the sun, darkening the vista. An opening in this fermentation let the light through only for new patches to cover it again, blotting out its light and darkening the landside. A flash of lightning struck a tree across the river, and the thunder's clap hurt my ears. The heavens let loose, the wind-driven rain sprayed over my body, wetting my hair in moments.

I stood, fascinated, as the storm exploded feet from me. The rain fell in sheets over my body, and yet, I remained unmoving, taking in nature's majesty as a wild, unbound splendor inundated me. A bolt of light struck, a yard from where I stood, the water boiled at the point of contact. The pungent odor of ozone spread over me, breaking the trance. I fled the deluge of rain, pounding my body, before escaping the downpour, my clothing soaked. I looked around the room and found matches.

Lighting all the candles in the room, they threw an eerie glow about the room. I discovered wood stacked next to the hearth, a pile of kindling, along with crumped-up papers atop the mound. I placed some kindling and newspaper in the fireplace, a few logs a top of the rest. I struck a match, bent down to the pile, and ignited the paper. Soon, the fire blazed and warmed me.

I stood before the fire. I tried to warm and dry myself. Try as might, I couldn't glean why my body didn't warm, but my clothing dried. I can't explain this to you. Why I didn't find my way back to my room is a mystery to me.

But I didn't, perhaps staying here, represented my own will, my refusal to yield to a blind, baseless fear. By staying put, proved in my mind, I was free to come and go as I pleased. However, when I explored the Great Entry Hall, I found no means of opening the door to the outer world. The appalling sense I was a prisoner in this old mansion slithered into my mind.

At last, the rain stopped. I turned from watching the terrific, wild storm through the broken window, returning to exploring the bookshelves. Pulling a century-old novel from its place, I plopped to a comfortable position on the dusty chaise longue. While reading the book, my eyelids fluttered, the words blurred. I shook myself, opened my eyes wide, and continued reading.

A dullness crept into my brain. I put my feet on the divan, rested my head on its arm, and did my best to concentrate. Rereading the first paragraph of the page several times, contentment snuggled my heart. The fire snapped and popped; the roar of the fire died from my hearing. The words blurred, darkness covered me, and I twisted my back to the back of the settee.

Not exactly asleep, I reconnoitered the room through my eyelashes. The chamber, illuminated, somewhat, by the flickering flames of numerous candles. The library took on the coloring of the yellowish glow from the fireplace. The fire's glow danced on the polished stones of the ancient floor like ballerinas pirouetting in a production of Swan Lake.

The fire flared up as embers burst forth. Finding the center of the room, they spun and whirled into pillars. The image took my breath away. I struggled to lay, still and quiet, as the sparks formed into three spinning columns of light. No alarm, fear, nor apprehensiveness screamed in my mind, for I dismissed this as another dream.

For like the Countess stepping from fog, this wasn't possible in the waking world. The whirling lights took on forms, one tall, one short, one of medium height, and no mental effort need be expended to know the figures were the three young men. I made out the two thin frames and the larger muscular one, who inhabited the pillars of light and flame.

The bright blue of the short one's eyes gleamed inside the tornadic column of flames. His shaggy blonde hair hung to his eyes and hung about the edge of his face like a young girl's hair might appear. Cristian's soft facial features took shape, and the embers faded. Licking his pale, bloodless lips, he moved toward me, hunching as he approached. His long, pearlescent eyeteeth looked like fangs, and drool dripped from their sharp tips as his mouth watered.

Alexandru took form. The taller boy took his brother by the shoulder, tugged the younger patient to him. They appeared annoyed with one another. Alexandru twisted the more youthful man toward him, and his angry face glowered at his brother.

Holding Cristian in place, Alexandru's eyes reflected the dancing light of the room, turned to dark brown, went, once again, red as blood. He twisted the young boy's arm, arching his eyebrows as he dominated the child with his sheer, unimaginable, physical strength.

The other brother, the one somewhere between effeminate and masculine, Boian, stepped out of the swirling blaze. The embers dissolved into him, Boian moved to the other side of the youngest, joining the fracas, he entered on the side of his older brother.

"She is forbidden," Alexandru said.

"I want her," Cristian said.

"You are prohibited from doing this," Alexandru said. "Mistress brings us our supper soon."

"I want her," the young Cristian said.

Flinging his arm upward, Cristian sent his taller older brother tumbled backward. Alexandru sprawled across the stone floor.

Turning to Boian, he hit him in the chest. Boian soared, landing the floor, sliding, not wholly, into the fireplace fifteen feet away from Cristian. Unquestionably, I dreamed he was like a teenage girl, not a man, for this frail, passive coward of a child couldn't do such things.

Licking his long incisors, he appeared to lubricate them to bite into something. Cristian inched toward me. His face twitched. His eyes sparkled he glowered at me.

My heart raced in my chest.

Cristian smiled. His eyes glowed, changed from blue to red as he advanced. The closer he came to me, the slower he moved, savoring each moment. Again, his long, pink tongue glided over his teeth, and he wetted his lips, his face sank toward me.

I desired his sweet kiss. I ached to feel his lips pressed to mine. I longed to experience those long daggers rake across the sensitive flesh of my neck. The cold blast of his breath puffed across my flesh, his eyes closed as he edged closer, and I wished for nothing more than his passion-filled kisses.

Chapter 5

The event unfolded as a type of slow-motion torture. My longing and fear blended inside me. I had this craving for, and all the while, I dreaded what would come. Cristian jerked from view as he flew across the room, struck the wall next to the broken window. The young man slid down the wall, Cristian crumpled into a heap on the floor.

In a flash, he sprung to hands and knees. He looked like a wild animal ready to pounce for a kill, his eyes locked on her eyes. All the resolve inside him melted away at the sight of his Mistress. He cast his gaze down to his own hands. He rose to his feet in a slow, graceful, fluid movement, eyes still not looking at her; he uttered two words.

"Sorry, Mistress."

The Countess stood next to me, her face hard, angry, cold as the ice of December. Her lips were bright red, a trickle of a thick, red fluid leaked from her mouth in a slow-moving ooze to her chin. Her tongue darted out, lapping the blood from her face. In her other hand, she held the wrist of a young woman. The girl gave the impression of enchantment. As if existence was this ecstatic stupor. Her eyes were dull and dilated as if a drug raced through her veins. Releasing the girl's arm, the Countess's appearance softened.

"She has been fun," she said. "Life is in her veins. Sweet, tasty blood she longs to give you, and if you use her wisely, she may last many nights. Use her for pleasure and food. Take from her what she freely gives, her blood, strength, life, and every scrumptious drop, if you can. If you cannot find strength in you to do so, I will, or I will return her to her husband and her worthless life with him."

"I can finish her, Mistress," Alexandru said, moving toward her.

"No," she said. "You will use her up, and nothing will remain for the lads. Go to the hall now, for I have other plans for you."

Alexandru's shoulders dropped, his head looked to the floor, he said, "Yes, Mistress." He moved from my view.

The Countess bent to the woman, whispered in her ear. The young woman shed her clothing in a rapid, eager show for the brothers. The nameless wench swayed toward the first of them, her hips rolling, in a provocative manner, as she swept to his side. She kissed him, leaned back, and offered the open wounds on her neck to him.

Cristian lowered his head to her red, bleeding neck. With his tongue, he lapped up the blood, pressing his lips to the open wounds, sucked the blood from her. Boian moved behind her, bent his head to her, pushed his long incisors into her soft fleshy shoulder, biting deep into her willing body. The brothers stood on opposing sides of the young woman, feeding on her blood.

At this point, Countess Drago hoisted me into her arms, ambled away from the two remaining grooms, carrying me into the hall. Alexandru walked in front of us. I wanted so to speak, but could not, I could not move, not one finger, I hung in her arms in a languorous state, lacking either the will or strength to stir from this strange dream.

"Go to her room," she told him. "We shall share her. But you can have only a mouth full. I do not want you to grow ill from the richness of her life nor the lavishness of her wholesome blood." A clamor filled the air as someone pounded and screamed like some wild man at the door downstairs. "I must attend to this matter first. I'll bring her to you when I have dealt with this."

"Who is it?" he asked.

"The woman's husband," she answered. We wound our way down hallways, descended stairs, made our way back the way we had come, down other stairs, and finally to the corridor outside my room. Countess Valerie Drago moved past the door to my room. The Countess walked through the next hall. The halls and rooms merged, and as if by some magic, we were in the Great Entry room. Countess Drago carried me down the massive, curved staircase. My weight seemed to have no effect on her, as though I held no more mass than a feather to weigh down on her.