The Blood Royal

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A vampire story with a difference, I sincerely hope.

Submitted: April 19, 2009

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Submitted: April 19, 2009



England 1919
“What an unusual house you live in.”Deacon Brasov smiled as he looked into the flashing, emerald eyes of the woman driving the car.
“Yes, it is the quirkiness of it that appeals to my father.” She tossed her long black hair out of her eyes and took in his pale face and blue mournful eyes. She felt sorry for him. But soon all would change.
His and her fathers were both born vampires, but he didn’t yet know it. There are those who say you can’t be born a vampire, only converted to vampirism, but it is not true. Both were lesser vampires who were born with the lamia gene. This meant until they first tasted human blood, they could live normal lives.
There had been no vampires of the ‘Blood Royal’ in untold millennia. Dracon had been the last, and legend held he had been tricked by the new gods of Egypt into believing they venerated him. While he slept, unaware of their treachery, they decapitated him and burned his body. To deceive and avert the wrath of the all knowing universal being; because gods were not allowed to kill other gods, they filled a phial with some of his blood and buried it before erecting a temple to themselves above it.
Both fathers had scoured Egypt without success looking for the phial. Then, unexpectedly, they chanced on the news archaeologists had discovered the remains of an ancient temple while digging in the crypt below a ruined Coptic church. When they arrived it was to discover the phial, full of dried powdered blood had been found and was in the care of the Egyptian Antiquities Police. That very night, both men became full vampires; such was their desire for the phial.
The car crunched its way up the long tree lined gravel drive winding around the building and Deacon Brasov went back to studying the ancient manor house.  Like a sentinel to a bygone age, Dark Fen Hall, an Elizabethan building had a sombre air in the September mist and seemed to glower over the adjoining fenlands.
“It was built by an eccentric Elizabethan alchemist; an ancestor of mine. I believe he was later accused of practising the black arts and killed for his troubles. I suppose he must one your forebears as well.”  Katrina Salizar fed the steering wheel of the big Bentley Tourer expertly though her hands, as the car traversed another tight bend in the drive.
From this angle Deacon Brasov could now see that the back of the house which faced east had no windows and at the front of the house, large Norwegian pines shaded the west facing front of the building.
“In the letter you said we may be related. Second cousins I believe you said.” He reached for the letter in his inside pocket but stopped when Katrina confirmed such was the case.
“I still don’t understand how you found me.” He shook his head in puzzlement.
“Research.” Katrina lied. “We were doing a little family research and discovered your branch of the family. You were lucky they sent you to school in England before the accident occurred and the house burnt to the ground.”
“Accident!” His jaw firmed with the anger boiling inside. “It was no accident. It was those suppositious peasants. Because the whole family suffered with a rare form of solar urticaria and could not go out in bright sunlight; they thought of us as vampires and burnt the house down while they slept. None survived.”
Katrina knew what had really happened, but she kept tight lips. The Dominicans in Rome had found out about the appearance and subsequent disappearance of the phial and set about trying to find it and destroy it. Deacon’s father knew for the blood of Dracon to give out its mighty powers to anyone, they had to have the lamia gene and to have never tasted human blood.  He also knew the Dominicans were onto him, so he and the rest of the family gave their lives, so Deacon the only pure one in the family could escape to England.
Katrina smiled secretively; secure in the knowledge they could no longer touch her or those she loved. Because of the phial, she was now of the ‘Blood Royal’ with all the powers that went with it and soon she would have a mate.
“My father believes he has a duty to give you the best start in life he can and that is why he invited you to stay with us.” She smiled at him and he saw her pallor held the same milky quality as his own. He put it down to the wind racing past the open top car.
She held his gaze.
“What is it you’re thinking about?” She asked casually.
He had been about to answer, but the car suddenly slowed and the great doors to the house came into view.
The doors opened wide and a tall, thin, angular man, flanked by two maids, walked out to greet them. Frederick Salizar looked nothing like Deacon Brasov had imagined. Far from appearing the aged seventy year old he knew him to be, he appeared fit and agile and in his early forties. He wore a long frock coat and his jet-black hair and moustache were stiffened with pomade. Across his shoes, he sported white spats.
“Welcome.” Salizar gestured with his right arm for them to enter. “Please leave your luggage in the hall. The maids will see that it is taken to your bedroom. Lunch is about to be served.” He kissed Katrina lightly on the cheek, before shaking hands with Deacon Brasov.
If the house and Salizar himself had aroused Deacon’s interest, then the meal of venison cooked very rare and vegetables, such as asparagus spears and artichoke hearts left him with a sense of bewilderment. He didn’t touch vegetables, because he rarely if ever ate them. He wondered how they knew he liked his meat so rare that it ran with blood, but then he noticed it was the way they liked it. What he didn’t notice was they never ate the vegetables either. When they had finished the meal and left the room, the maids returned and fought over what scraps of meat were left, totally ignoring the vegetables.
Since the death of the rest of his family Deacon had started suffering night terrors. He would wake up bathed in sweat, fighting for his breath and trying desperately to escape those who pursued him; for he knew with a certainty they wanted to decapitate him.
Everybody had retired for the night and he was sitting alone in the library listening to a storm blowing up and sampling Salizar’s fine single malt whiskey while he mulled over the day’s events.
He was in the act of pouring another large measure, when Katrina walked in.
“Pour me one of those.” She asked quietly.
“Whisky?”  Deacon asked, surprised. He had never known a woman drink whisky.
“Yes! If there’s any left.” Her voice held a biting ring, as she looked first at the bottle then at Deacon.
“Your father told me to treat his house as home.”  He answered apologetically with a feeble grin on his face.
Katrina downed her drink in one gulp and turned.
“Mr. Brasov. I think it may be wise if we both retired for the night.” She stopped on seeing a hint of amusement in those pale blue eyes. Looking down she saw the reason why. Her night-dress had fallen slightly open, revealing part of her right breast. Pulling the parting together in a hurried manner, she glanced again at Deacon, who was now draining his glass and she felt a hungriness course through her body.
Tomorrow they would tell him everything and until then she would avoid him. Tomorrow he would discover who he really was and of his lineage, which stretched back to a time when Egypt was so young the pyramids had yet to be built.
Returning to her room, Katrina found it unbearably stuffy and airless. She threw open the large windows, hoping the night breeze would cool her hot body. Outside the storm had gone and a large bloated, dying moon hung in what seemed a starless sky. The warm damp wind coming in off the boggy fenland did little to cool her, so she slowly started to remove her night-dress in front of the large dressing mirror. The diffused light from the waning moon, caused shadows to ripple across her firm body and she had a sudden urge of wantonness. She stifled the lust building up inside, rebuking herself for her unaccustomed wild impulse. The purity of Deacon was having extraordinary effect on her. She could not deny the urgent appetite her body was experiencing. Trying to put him from her mind, she retired naked for the night.
Katrina lay restlessly in her bed. No matter how she tried, she could not stop thinking of how she had felt when she had caught the innocent, smiling Deacon staring at her exposed breast. She couldn’t understand why he should have such an effect on her, after all she was no dewy eyed virgin. The life she now led and its constant companion death had seen to that. Putting him from her mind as best she could, she started to drift into a restive sleep. Startled, she came suddenly awake on hearing distressed sobbing coming from further down the corridor. Grabbing her dressing gown, she set out to investigate.
Because of his fear of the night terrors, Deacon usually lay sleepless for a long time before slipping into a troubled slumber. But, because of the alcohol he’d consumed throughout the evening, he fell into a dead sleep. Then as happened increasingly of late, he awoke with a muffled scream on his lips.
It was always the same dream and as always, he knew it had ended unfinished. Turning over, he steeled himself for sleep and hopefully to find oblivion.
He was surrendering again to slumber, when he sensed rather than heard the bedroom door open. He lay still, looking through half closed eyes into the dressing table mirror. It was Katrina Prouse who had entered the room and he wondered what she was up to.
He lay still, thinking she might be sleepwalking. He was scared she might wake suddenly and start screaming, bringing the whole household to his room.
As he watched her, he realised she was awake. She stood looking at him, doing nothing, just looking. Her face was in shadow so he couldn’t see it and had no way of knowing what she was thinking.
Katrina contemplated his pale, sweat streaked face as a shaft of moonlight from a chink in the heavy curtains speckled across it. His eyes opened slowly and he gazed at her gloom-masked face with fear filled apathetic eyes.
She walked slowly around to the other side of the bed and out of his range of vision. He heard a soft rustling sound as she removed her dressing gown; then felt the bed covers being pulled back.
Before he knew what was happening, he felt her warm body next to his. The fullness of her breasts pressed insistently into his back, as she placed her arms securely around him. She lay quietly by his side, saying nothing, just holding him.
The warmth of her body and soft hands enfolding him had the opposite effect to what Deacon would have expected. He felt secure; safe at last from the apparitions stalking his dreams. Without him realising it, he fell into a deep slumber.
He awoke with a start, pulse racing and breath coming in great crucifying sobs. Katrina’s arms were enfolded around him. She shushed him as she would a baby.
 Deacon calmed, realising it was the dream. But of late, it had become so real; so frightfully real. This time it had been different. This time he had followed the dream to its conclusion and it frightened him even more. This time he went beyond the ‘Waters of Lethe’ and all he found was a profound blackness.
“Shush, shush.” Katrina’s voice crooned to him, as she bathed his sweat covered forehead in gentle kisses.
He stared anxiously at her, not understanding.
But as he lay in her arms, her calming influence gradually worked He felt something almost spiritual creep serenely over him. It was such an exquisite feeling; even his blood seemed to tingle. Looking up into her shadowy features, he felt a thrill course through his body. He started to move toward her, but she stopped him. Knowing now he would not wait until tomorrow.
“You hunger for my blood. It’s what you want isn’t it. The Blood Royal”.
Deacon was shocked. Not with what she had said, but with his own unthinking desire to sink his teeth into the nape of her white, almost translucent neck.
Then, as if in a trance, he found himself slurping greedily at her lifeblood and she eventually had to push him forcibly away.
One of his hands slid down her belly and she looked into his eyes. So much hunger there, raw and burning in his eyes. She caught her breath and pulled his hand away.
“Just lie quietly. Let my strength return. There’s time for everything.”
With her hushed words, he let drowsiness seep into his troubled mind. Somewhere outside in the obscurity of the night or perhaps it was in the room, he fancied he heard the cry of someone in rapture, but it did not stop him falling into a deep, untroubled sleep.
The light grey streaks of dawn were starting to invade the room when he next awoke. Turning to Katrina, he watched as her bare breasts rose and fell rhythmically. Her breath came in faint whispers. Fascinated, he reached out and started to gently draw small imaginary circles around the orioles of the pink, semi-erect nipples.
She awoke with a sleepy smile and came into his arms, her firm body fitting snugly against his. Her eyes widened slightly, as she felt his excitement pressing insistently against her.
Their coupling was brief and frenzied, with no endearments or whispered love promises. After, as they lay once more in each other’s arms with passion sated, their lovemaking became slow and more demonstrative. Caressing and whispering, they made lazy unhurried love; because from this moment on they had an eternity to show each other how strong their love was.

There is a moral to this tale. Can you the reader guess what it is? No; well I shall tell you.

If you don’t eat vegetables; you will have a great sex life!

© Copyright 2019 Lucy Lastic. All rights reserved.

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