The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Across Two Graves



Her knees, coated in a thin woolen skirt, kneeled in the wet mud surrounding his grave. Her matted hair whipped against her face, cutting into her salty, tear stained cheeks. Her body was frail and thin, like that of an old woman’s although she was young, twenty at most. She shook under her threadbare cloak which she clutched around her tightly, trying in vein to block out the icy wind, the holes and rips like open doors let the wind in, as welcome as a cancer.

Other graves surrounded her like guards, trying without prevail to ward of evil. A lone tree stood some way down the slope; it was gnarled and worn, standing there indifferent to the seasons, forever dead. Tears ran stubbornly down her weather beaten skin. And for the first time in many long years she let them, freely. But now she had good reason, his death, and how strange it was. He had shown no sign of illness. But when he was found, in the alley way next to the inn, slumped against the brick wall like a discarded rag doll, his head lolled to one side and eyes far off. They could find no obvious reasons for death, and so they blamed the occult, claiming it to be a vampire, requesting that the villagers put garlic and crucifixes over their doors and have their houses blessed. She hated the way they did this and one day, she herself would find out who was responsible.

A pool of dancing light fell over her and she looked up gratefully. Her mind told her it must be one of the elders sent from the village to find her, as it was growing late. Tangled locks of dirty blonde hair fell away revealing her weary face. Two sparkling sapphires darted like startled rabbits from left to right striving to see a face. Alas it was hidden by the mask of darkness, the torch light weaving shadows from his shoulders upwards. The light cast by it fell like a warming blanket over her and her sorrow. From what her weak eyes could make out in the darkened cloak of the night he was tall, looming far above her like a giant, although he himself had no outsize features.

He was thin but strong. He lifted a hand to touch her shoulder; the other dropped the lantern to the floor and grasped her wrist, pulling her up to her feet as easily as she would lift a glass. Her eyes darted to the hand, stealing a glance at it, however to her horror it was as white as lilies and chillingly cold. His voice spoke to her, deep and rich. It had an intonation so strong that at first she believed it to be another language, a strong hand touched her shoulder and the other reached for her hand, pulling her up to her feet. A deep voice spoke to her; it had a strange intonation “Hush now don’t cry.” She pulled her self away from him shakily, her arms wrapped around her, barring out the wind. She forced a weak smile from her lips, to give mock hope to her self. “Who are you Mousier? What do you want?”

“To take away the pain, the sorrow, Imagine a world with out hurt and distress,” He glanced down at the grave she stood over. It was new and the name upon it was roughly engraved, the ground before it was soft and freshly turned mud. “And you would be with him, for ever.” Her pale thin lips gave out a dark hollow laugh,

“Such things you say. You promise for me to be with him again, for ever” her eyes grew dark and she snarled “Who are you to play with me like a doll, to toy with my emotions like life is a game.” She turned to walk away but he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into his arms “Oh but it is my love” and he smiled at her, a dark mocking grin and she saw a neat row of pearly teeth but her eyes widened and she screamed, for in that mouth nestled amongst the shining teeth were two sharp pointed fangs, gleaming in the moonlight, she pulled away but he pulled her back into his arms and thrust her neck into his shoulder, smothering her yelps. Like a frighten bird she twisted to release herself from his strong grip. He sunk his teeth in to her bare neck; the crimson liquor flowed from two small puncture wounds as he clamped his mouth to them drinking in the sleek satisfaction of the metallic taste. It glided over his tongue as he suckled ravenously at the wounds, draining her very life from her veins until her screams stopped, her heart stopped and finally her life stopped, her fragile existence so easily taken from her. He licked his lips to catch that rare ecstasy of the thing that gave him life, he propped her slumped body against the grave stone. “Two lovers reunited by grave, how sweet.” He let a malevolent grin escape his lips; he laughed to himself and walked swiftly away leaving nothing but two small wounds, no regret or remorse.



Nicholai Dorian, an outcast, exiled by his maker and his children. Unwanted and abandoned, by the only creatures that could understand his pain and suffering. He wandered the nights lonely and neglected trying to understand the nature of his own dark thoughts. Each night he wandered the streets like this feeding on any being that crossed his path, unconsciously seeking out creatures whose hearts were filled with despair and sorrow, relieving them of the burden of living. The one thing he wished to do to him self on those empty nights. Until one night his travels brought him to a lonely and desolate village, just south of the Alps. Where he sensed some thing so very different from every dwelling he had ever visited, it stirred something deep in his memory and it nagged at him, he was inclined to settle in this strange village even if only until he found what disturbed him so dreadfully.

He rented a room above the inn, stealing a coffin from one of the vaults in the small grave yard. Soon he felt exceptionally secure in his room, by day he slept with his coffin in the wardrobe, which, as with all the furniture in the room was exquisitely carved in mahogany wood. At nights he would slip from his room down to the bar where night after night he would watch the locals drink themselves dumb. Then slowly they would totter out in to the streets where Nicholai would follow and feed; leaving them in the alley next to the inn. When found, people believed that they had drunk themselves to an everlasting sleep, and the wounds were too small to ever be noticed. He was surprised as to how easy it was in this community, in Bordeaux one had to have skills and be sly, especially in the surrounding villages and hamlets. Hear it was as if people yearned for death, welcomed it.

This part of the world had always fascinated him, the beauty of the rolling hills and winding rivers. Each of these looked upon him with the ever watchful, caring eyes of a mother wolf. The yellow, glowing gibbous moon eyed him with wary curiosity, but did nothing. Like a lonely god of the skies. Once he had believed that a god could save him, that a god had created him and loved him, watched over him and would catch him when he fell. Now life had taught him not to be so naïve. Once his youthful face had looked up expectantly at the priest’s countenance in communion, glowing with the light of fresh, new hope and a faith that seemed to be an ever flowing spring, now the only thing that was ever flowing was the blood of his endless victims.



Her knees curled beneath her like a living rug. Her hands, like the rising and falling notes of a pianist’s sonata darted over the cloth which she stitched. She hummed to herself, a sweet haunting tune which swept around her, a summer’s wind which warmed her mind and thoughts. She needed this in the pale winter of death falling upon her. Her thoughts strayed about their usual tracks, following oh so familiar footprints. She held her work to the light and smiled in satisfaction. Folding it, she placed it to her left and patted it in pride. A glow of delight lifted her, this was satisfying work but she knew a higher goal.

Madame had much work for her but with the additional work which she intended for herself she became easily distracted. These unscheduled activities drew most of her attention away from the house work which she was instructed to do. This caused much trouble about the house although because of her loose family link with Madame she tended to get off lightly. Much to her relief but much to the vexation of the other staff. They would torment her about this regularly, when she worked in the kitchen they would surround her. The heat from the stove would illuminate her face and set her body afire, the snarls and barks of scorn would scour and burn her back. Then, as they oped new gashes in her fragile back Madame would find her and add salt to the wounds with words of scorn about her lackadaisical house work.

She was not a simple girl but Madame mistook her for it due to her lack of eagerness to learn new skills and take up new tasks. For this also her work mates abhorred her, she was an easy target, painted in gaudy colors that caught their tireless eyes. She herself was threadbare and had many faults which were easily exasperated. She, like the old house was ready to crumble, the years had eroded away to her susceptible core and now she was open to the fierce elements of moral evil.

Nicholai’s softened footsteps fell delicately over the silken floorboards as he neared the door of his room. The desolate bells chimed, once, twice, three times, twas three o’clock. He lifted his eyes to glance at the grandfather clock which stood to the right of the door, the clock was slow by ten minutes. This did not matter to him as his time was not run by the conventional clocks but by the rise and fall of the frowning sun. He proceeded towards the door, his shadow flickered and danced, thrown on the far wall by the deep glow of the candles which where scattered about the room. His hand fell to the door knob, the cold steel kissed his awaiting finger tips icily. His reflection gazed back at him with the same mutual disgust.

After being greeted with the same unnatural countenance for numerous years, one became loathsome of one’s own skin. These years which blurred in to a constant stream of emptiness and washed around him like tides of an ever rising river of mental decay. The physical onslaught of decay could not begin and so the mental onslaught reined down hard and fast.

Each night as Nicholai sat in the inn, he felt a being was watching him. He did not know whether the presence was supernatural or human, what ever it was it knew what he did, he felt its eyes watching him in the alley way, when he roamed the neighboring country side pondering the peculiarity of this village and its presence. The presence perplexed him more than anything about this reclusive village.

The nights became long and meaningless to him as they had in the past decades. For this, this thing was watching him, it knew every thing he did, at least here. But had it seen him before, had he met it, had they drawn swords over such a matter, could it be…. no she would not even attempt in her wildest dreams to dare this. This matter was just wrong and inhumane, but then again, Nicholai was not human and to others his ways were inhumane. She knew the ways, she knew what he must do to survive but then again, she didn’t want him to survive. But she knew that this would be hideously wrong, and if any he found out she would be hideously wronged.

One day, near dusk Nicholai was rudely awoken by a clamor as his coffin swayed, he felt some one drag it to the floor then he realized it was the presence, it has sought him out and now it had come to claim its prize. He opened his eyes and stared in to the dark wood of the coffin as one would do if they slept with their eyes open. The presence grappled with the lid trying to lift the heavy wood, finally removing it. The bright light burned his eyes and his skin but he remained still, not wanting to alert the presence. He saw, looming before him in the failing light a dark haired woman; she was tall and had piercing black eyes and they flowed over him like water. A soft hand touched his hair, running its fingers through the river of brown; it flowed to his breast, sleek and beautiful. The hand attempted to stroked his cheek but. at feeling the icy skin, it drew away quickly; pulling it close to its breast as if it were wounded. “Oh dear god.” Her eyes widened, as She struggled to move the lid back in to place. As it slid to his chin Nicholai grasped it and with such force. he pulled it back knocking her to the floor. “So dear are those who hurt us my love” he got up and brushed him self down. He pulled her up by her wrist, pulling her face close to his. “Hush now, we mustn’t alert the others.” He pinned her against a wall, “what do you think I am, why do you haunt me so? Are you scared of this monster before you?” she uttered no reply, “speak damn you” She pushed him with such strength it sent him hurtling across the room and crashing into his coffin. “Why should I speak now? After all these years of silence and scorn. why should you have the right to demand me to speak? I have watched you blight our village like an unwanted ghost, killing our men in the streets with out any repent. How can you walk the streets a free man and still maim our town, deceiving all but me. I see all you do and until now I have done nothing, what should I do? Should I tell the men of the village? And they will do to you what they did to the witches. Fire will purify and cleanse our town of your curse. Or shall I handle you, secretly and silently in my own ways?” Nicholai stared at her, confused, her words seamed to bind him to where he fell, now she had finally finished he sprang at her, his strong hand clasped her mouth shut, pinning her against the wall “And how would you do such a thing? You who is stuck against this wall like a fly in a spider’s web? I could kill you now, and stop this, this insanity.” He paused thinking and as he muttered these words in a pensive fashion he loosened his grip as if his heart was not in it, as if his mind was else where. “But I wont, I’ll set you free, trusting you, the most dangerous thing I could ever do.” Now his grip tightened and he maintained his power over her, his emotions controlling not only his limbs but hers. “Beware if you break this trust you will feel my wrath boil up in your bones” He sunk his fangs into her quavering neck and sipped at that exquisite liquor, but stopped abruptly. She was alive, he bit his wrist and thrust it to her mouth, forcing her to drink. As she drank, forcing herself to imagine that this was not happening. “Now I shall know how reliable your trust is, I can see the world through your eyes, hear the world through your ears, taste the world through your mouth, and feel the world anew. I would know what you did and where you went just as you know where I go and what I do.”

She stared at him wild eyed and dumb founded, he pushed her to the door, one strong hand in the back of her neck. “Leave now, I shall see you again” he pushed her through the door with one powerful jolt.

She collapsed outside the door and wept. What had she done to meddle with such things and try an over power such a creature, a creature that she had watched night after night kill her friends and family. What a stupid naïve child she thought to her self, how could she believe she could take on a vampire, the strongest and most feared of all the legendary creatures?

Even as a child she had had a fascination with the tales of old, the thrill of the battles between old creatures, the power and the fury of these immortal beings, with no effect of age or wounding, or so it told in these stories. Stories of witches and wizards, witches being evil, wizards good and kind, of werewolves and wolfs both evil, turning from a man to a beast by the light of a full moon, of fairies a pure yet innocent good unlike imps, the fiendish magic weavers of toadstools and flowers, of beautiful princesses and princes, turned to horrible beasts by night, to be saved by love’s true kiss, of dragons and brave knights battling for gold and glory, of sea creatures swallowing ships whole, finally her favorite evil doer, the vampire, elegant and strong but fearsome, trapping their pray in a web of lies and deceit, their evil one of a more dark and intriguing nature. But now she knew a different tale. With pain and wounding hindering any creature, but most supernatural creatures healed quicker than a natural being, only to be killed by the severing of their head, the loss of blood or the removal of the heart. For these wounds could not heal quick enough to save them. Also death was brought to these creatures by powerful light sources such as the sun or fires these killing them almost instantaneously, as they dried a vampire’s body to a cinder.

Her enthrallment with such evil brought her to hunt it down and do away with. She was to be known as ‘tueur mauvais’ evil killer, by those who believed her extraordinary tales to mean killer of evil, by those who considered her mad and unruly as an evil murderer. She was always equipped with deadly weapons to depose of these killers. Many of these had been troublesome to her in the past, accusations of witchcraft used to haunt her, as many of the creatures she would seek out would need herbal potions and the such to remove them from society, these would soon arouse suspicions. Many a time she had had to run from a township to escape her pursuers. Losing all contact with any friends or family that would whisper a word to her in a lonesome place, for to be seen with a supposed witch would draw accusations to them. She did not blame them, for in this society it’s was on for one’s self. But it did still hurt her deeply, painfully like a frozen blade passing through her heart, crushing her inside and crumpling her sole, ripping it in to a thousand pieces, The pain not just emotional but physical burning like a fire inside her. It made her angry but she knew she could not release her anger on those close to her as she loved them so, she took it out on those ,who for so many years had been described to her as pure evil.

But some thing in her sole stirred for this vampire and she hated herself for this, for falling in love with the dark side, the side that for so many years she had battled against. She loved his anger and passion, his hatred and malice, also she could see love and kindness in the very depths of his being, those very few shreds of warmth screamed to her, to save him and join him in immortal pain. Surprisingly this offer was alluring to her, she wanted to appease him. For so many years she had been a social and legal outcast and a vampire was the embodiment of solitude and to join him would relive some of the burden. The only thing that made her feel reluctant was that her sister, the only friend she had, had been killed by this vampire as well as her husband, he only a few weeks in the ground when she was found dead by his grave. All the towns’ doctors stated that she had died of a broken heart. But Lucile knew better than to believe the village doctors, as any thing they did not comprehend they blamed on the occult or love, Casting away all reason to the wind. But Lucile knew the truth and made it her intention to kill this fiend that murdered her sister. Now how could she avenge her sister’s untimely demise when she loved the one she had to avenge?

Nicholai sat in his room, fresh from the kill, His mind contemplating this woman. Who was she? Why had she gone to such lengths to be shooed by him like a fly? What was her link to him? And what was this feeling that radiated from her? She gave out some kind of mysterious glow under all her hostility but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was or where it came from. And it was a great surprise to him that the presence was a mortal peasant and most of all, a woman.

She climbed up the steep hill side leading to the grave yard and the church, it was dusk and the sun was setting slowly in the sky, the beautiful orange glow melting in to pinks and blues illuminating the whole sky line. She scrambled up the slope just passing the large bolder to the right of her path where there lane split in two, one running up to wards the rocky tore and the other leading further on toward to the church yard. She followed this path, stumbling on lose stones and dry mud. But always carrying on for she knew that she must get there before dark. But it was already getting dark by the time she could see the tiny church perched on top of the hill above her surrounded by graves like an army guarding it against all evil. She scrambled up the last of the track, resting on the gate to catch her breath. As she did this she looked out across the land laid out before her. The lush fields flowing away under her feet like a great patch work quilt hung snug about the earth with rivers etching out a beautiful tapestry across the land, woods and forests adding texture and depth to this orchestra of nature, composed by god and man working in harmony together. She thought this as she turned her back on this exquisite realm and worked her way to her sister’s grave. She knelt by it, brushing the dirt out of the etched words,



In everlasting memory of Heather Blackraven.

Loving sister, wife and child.

1678-1705

Died 26 of heartbreak



She let a dark laugh escape her lips, heartbreak! She knew better that to believe that. She shared her sister’s love of dark comedy and irony. A lonely tear tumbled down her cheek, she wiped it away angrily. Don’t cry Lucile, Heather never cried and neither shall you. She told her self and put her chin up high, placed new flowers by the polished stone. Her ears pricked up, she heard a sound like a ghostly whisper carried on the wind. It weaved its way through the grave stones to her ears,



Pluck my heart from my flesh

And keep it

Call my name from the grave of our rotting love



Clasp your arms around me

Let me know your there

And I’m not alone

Your arms open the doors to home

I used to love you

I used to watch you, want you

But now I’m alone in this world



I made this grave. I choose to lie in it. Live with my Regrets, Sleep with What I Said



All that matters is that I’m with you

That I’m loved by you



But I’m not and I fall,

Into the pits of despair

Falling,

Dying

My faith is gone.



She looked warily around the church yard searching for the owner of the voice that had enraptured her so. But she saw no one, her eyes finally rested on the church door way, where a tall dark figure stood, her heart skipped a beat, it was Nicholai.

He looked at her with a smile of satisfaction; she was a prefect picture of loneliness. And he would be the one to break her from this iron clasp of grief. He strode out across the cold grave yard. When Nicholai came to her and touched her shoulder, she turned around to face him, her tear stained face illuminated in the torch light. Swiftly she wiped her face dry, trying to hide her sorrow. “What do you want?” she glared at him, scrambling and backing away. “Nothing” He walked confidently towards her, as she crawled away, Panting as she was already tied from her climb. She collapsed physically exhausted. And he pulled her up close to him undoing the ribbon in her hair, letting it fall free. He brushed it out of her face. “You are beautiful” he looked at her concerned, “you do know that, do you not?” she was crying, she pulled away swiftly.

“How can you tell me this after killing my sister and her husband, ruining my town?

“Hush now, I must feed and every one must die, eventually, every one but me.”

“And me, why have you spared me?” she looked at him questioningly. “Why me, why kill every one but me, what makes me so special, unique?”

“Because… because you, you are, you fascinate me, your presence and your passionate hate of evil.”

“You talk to me of hate and evil, you are evil and I hate you. You fox among the doves, you cat among the rats, you…you evil fiend; you stalk beneath our cities and towns killing them from within.” She ran off down the hill hitching her skirt above the dirt and mud, tears toppling down her cheeks and face, her hair tangling into knots and clasping her cape around her tightly.

“Damn.” Nicholai cursed himself. He had terrified and tormented her, causing her to run from him like prey. How could he gain her confidence and make her listen to him willingly. He returned to the inn to feed, he was week since he had gone to the cemetery when he first woke. He, in his usual fashion, followed yet another drunk into the streets, but this time taking a different approach he talked to him and befriended him, they wandered the country lanes talking of anything, then when they reached the woodland Nicholai sat him down and they continued talking. “So what brings to our town?” the drunk questioned.

Nicholai thought rapidly and mangled to place together a believable story, “I am coming to express my love to one of the women in your village.”

“If I may be so bold to ask, who?”

“If you must know Lucile, Lucile Blackraven.” Why had Lucile’s name sprung to him mind he questioned, and where had his story come from?

“Lucile! She is a strange one, many a night she will be up and walking the streets, it’s not right for a girl of her age. Some nights she has been seen to wander up to the church yard, tis strange since she was never religious. What draws you to her? Of all of our women she is the most unlikely to get such warmth towards her and from a noble man such as your self.”

Nicholai was shocked to be called a noble, he had never realized until now how different his attire was to the peasants, he looked down at his black cotton trousers, his white shirt and ruff, and his silk waistcoat embroidered with exotic flowers.

He blushed and felt ashamed of his wealth when he looked across and saw the man’s simple garments, a rough shirt and trousers made of a foul itchy cloth. Nicholai was warm in his clothing but the man was shivering slightly. Nicholai offered the man his coat and asked “pray tell me more of Lucile.”

“She is a free spirit and has a fiery sole. But is very strange, many a time she has been seen to light fires and toss herbs and wooden symbols in, chant to the fire, as if calling to god. Many think she is a witch. But every Sunday she goes to church and sings her prayers louder than the rest of us. Her very heart is in those songs. And with god, and I believe so.”

“You are very kind monsieur, but it is late walk with me.”

The man gave Nicholai his coat and they set off down the road. Nicholai did not want to kill this man but by the time they were only half a mile away from the village hunger over took him and he swooped down on the man, one hand gagged him the other pinned his arms to his sides and Nicholai bit him and drank in the sleek magnificence of his blood, flowing, still warm from his veins to Nicholai’s mouth giving him the life Nicholai had stolen.

******************

Lucile walked slowly though the woods looking at the beautiful green trees and the sky growing darker and darker and she heard the owls hooting and wolves howling far in the depths of the wood and she jumped as something moved behind her, she spun around quickly and saw Nicholai, “Oh its you, what are you doing here and at this time, so close to dusk?” her voice rang out clear in the wood, echoing around her, all the usual night time noises had stopped, no owls, no wolves, nothing. Nicholai’s voice replied in a strange, alien monotone. “Don’t worry, it is ok my love.” His accent had totally left him and his voice did not seem His own. Suddenly he swooped down on her knocking her to the floor and he bent over her and pushed his fangs into her neck, tearing through the skin and she screamed, the crimson river flowed down her neck and over her chest then he locked his mouth to it and drank it in in huge deep gulps, a trickle of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth. It was gruesome and horrific, but she grasped his head with her hand and pressed it hard to the wound willing him to drink. His fingernails dug deep in to her flesh forcing her neck further into his mouth, and his fangs deeper. Blood gushed and a small pool grew around them and Lucile grew faint and lip, dieing, instead of giving her back her life he dropped her body to the floor and walked off leaving her body disgraced in to wood.

Suddenly her eyelids flickered and Lucile awoke, screaming in a pool of sweat, a strong hand clamped her mouth shut “Hush now, don’t wake them” Nicholai stood leaning over her bed, his hair was wind strewn and he was soaked. Silent tears tumbled down her cheeks he removed his hand and wiped the tears away tenderly, “what’s wrong my love?” she tried to catch her breath trough her cries. “You, you killed me.”

He looked at her confused “hush hush what do you mean?”

“I was in the woods and you killed me.” She took a deep breath “you followed me in and you killed me, you bit me and drank my blood, I let you, but you killed me and didn’t let me live,” she gasped for breath through her tears “you killed me.”

Nicholai finally understood “No, Lucile, it was a dream, a dream”

She gave a week smile trough her tears, “A dream” she realized and he blushed, wiped her face angrily she pulled her self together, “Why are you here? What do you want?”

They hurried silently from the hovel she called home. The wind like a ghostly blanket chilled her skin as they passed out into the street. The rain played a solemn drum beat on the flag stones as their feet moved soundlessly along the road. They ran tirelessly across the countryside to the small wooded grove half a mile from the village. There they settled, sheltered from the onslaught by the trees. They talked for hours and hours, Lucile told of her childhood and her rejection by her family and friends. She cried and he held her close whispering comforting words in her ear. He hushed her like a small child; and her tears flowed like waterfalls falling from her reddened eyes and she let them fall freely. He kissed her salty cheeks and brushed her tousled hair out of her face. “Its fine, its fine, don’t worry I’m here now and I will never leave you.” Her sore eyes looked up at him untrustingly, “But you will wont you? You’re no different from the others. When the finger turns to point at you, you will flee. And leave me alone again”

He held her close and kissed her forehead, then looked at her sternly “I can’t promise anything but I can tell you that if I left you now it would be for the fire not for another life.” She smiled at him warmly and rested her head on his chest and breathed in his comforting smell, its consisting of wine, wood, earth and rain. He melted into her, her skin warming his icy flesh, his mouth watered as she pulsed with blood, luscious and fresh flowing through her veins. He drew away quickly blinded by hunger he ran blindly away from her trough the forest, his hand clamped on a bird in flight. He brought it to his mouth and punctured the birds delicate flesh, tearing it, the red water flowed into his mouth but he was still ravenous. He tore though the forest, a wild animal, changed by his thirst for fresh blood. Behind him he heard Lucile’s screams. She was crying, “Where are you? Come back please Nicholai? Nicholai? Nicholai? She called, exhausted and worried. But he could not go back to her now, not in this state, he would kill her if he went near her. He streaked trough the undergrowth catching hold of rats, voles and such things sucking the life out of them. He stood up, soaked and his clothes wrecked his shirt half fallen from him, muddy and torn, his trousers hung like mangled rags to his legs. His boots lost, some way of in the trees. His once sleek beautiful hair a jumbled mess entangled with roots and leaves, matted with blood. He stood no longer a vampire but a wild animal. He stumbled though the mass of chaotic ferns and plants. Still thirsting he came to a small dwelling; it was a simple and rustic, a weaver’s cottage. He could hear five hearts beating steadily, his eyes widened and he sniffed the air the sent of blood was rife, they were young, probably in their teens and healthy. Perfect. He straightened up, a precise predator, he stepped without a sound to the door he pulled it open cautiously the hinges rusted by many years of rain finally have up the fight and the door fell to the floor with a horrendous clatter. Nicholai moved swiftly and silently about the dwelling, following the intense beat of their hearts. He came to a small room; it was dark even though candles burned in their holders on the walls. As he could see the shape of no less than five bodies sleeping serenely. He stooped down over the first, she was a young girl, no older than fifteen, he held her mouth shut tenderly with his hand, and brushed her long chestnut hair away from her neck. And he drank deep and long, draining her. She would have been a beautiful woman but no longer was that chance given to her as Nicholai had taken the only thing she had, life. Nicholai looked around the room, all still slept on. He pounced on the second body this being a young man, he looked just eighteen not a child but not yet a man. He drained him quickly growing strong as he filled with blood, strong and thundering in his veins. He was satisfied, he drew his knife from its sheath and slit the others throats. They could not awake and find their companions dead, they would alert the village. He took a candle and set one of the beds alight; no one would find this massacre. Soon the room was a blaze. And it quickly caught to the next room and the next. Nicholai ran from the building his eyes rolling from the great light of the fire, he sped out, away from the cottage to the village and told the bar man that he had seen the weavers cottage a light and then ran to his coffin to hide from the terrible dawn.

When he emerged from his coffin at dusk he saw her, sitting on his bed, she was beautiful, half her long raven hair tied neatly in to bun away from her face, nestled amongst her tresses was a jeweled hair piece, a spray of polished amethyst gems and black pearls. She was wearing a black and red velvet corset, it was embroidered with exquisite stitching and has silk and lace worked into the body of it, her long black velvet skirt spread out over the bed behind her. She could have been an aristocrat apart from in her hands she brushed a tattered doll’s hair. Its china face chipped and cracked, its dress ripped and repaired many a time and it had lost one of its hands and feet. She stood when she saw him appear, discarding the doll. She embraced him tightly “Your, back Nicholai, your back, I was so worried. I…” he broke the embrace and sat her on the bed. “Yes I am back again. I am so sorry; I was so very hungry, I would have killed you if I had not gone then and there.” He brushed some hair away from her face. “Where did you get all of this?” she looked up at him, worried

“You are rich from your killings, I just wanted to look like your class, you are so elegant and I am poor, not a rich gentlewoman like you deserve.”

“My dear, you look like an exotic flower and I am happy to see you happy these accouterments. And you are in my class.” She started as if to say some thing but he silenced her “Though not in finances, but in wit and intelligence. You are smarter than any argent snob.” He lent in and kissed her softly, running his hand trough her silky hair. She held him close burying her head in his shoulder, no longer afraid of this icy being.

He woke in his coffin to find her next to him, her fingers entwined in his silky hair. He stroked her soft cheek. And she awoke slowly and looked up deeply in to his eyes. Her hand touched his frosty skin. “Go and feed, I will wait for you here” he opened the coffin and she stepped out and sat on the bed, smoothing out her skirts. She watched him as he stepped out of his coffin; his waistcoat was exquisitely embroidered with a rose and a bird, on the silky fabric. He brushed down his black trousers and swept his hair away from his face. He sat beside her and kissed her softly then padded away with out a sound.

Later he returned, his face flushed with color, but Lucile was no where to be seen. There was a small spot of blood on the bed covers and his eye grew wide with fear, and suddenly he saw as if through is eyes three large burly men, middle aged and authoritative, he has seen them in the bar many a time. They leered down at him and spat on his face, he writhed to break free but his strength had left him and he was tied so tightly to the chair that his arms burned with the ropes, he looked down to inspect the damage not to see his arms but Lucile’s soft feminine ones, he remembered the first time they’d met and when he’d forced her to share her sight with him. He clasped to the floor on his knees hunched over in pain, a solitary tear rolled down his cheek. His insight in to what was happening drove him in to such fury, and then abruptly he reeled as another sight came to him, she sat on the soft bed and stroked out her skirts, then the men crashed in through the door she stood up ready for a fight, but their strong arms grasped her and clasped her mouth firmly shut, they dragged her out, even as she lashed out at them kicking at their legs and biting at the hand that crushed her jaw. They stormed out the back exit that led to the alleyway where Nicholai fed. And naturally there was a fresh body slumped against the sooty brick wall. They smashed along the alley way to an awaiting carriage in to which they forced her after Lucile they clambered in, slamming the doors shut and with that away the carriage swept. It ended with out any warning as before, he was possessed with such furry that his face seemed to glow like a fire in the eternal night. He paced the room, wrath boiling in his veins then finally he decided to search out these fiends. And he grasped for his cloak and put that on roughly and swept out of the tavern, the locals looked on in awe at his hurried exit as he speedily passed though the bar.

She tried with all her strength to wrench her arms from their rope bindings. But to no prevail, they laughed at her in the struggle and one pulled her head back by her long hair, revealing her neck and the two old wounds that had now healed leaving only two pale scars.

“See it’s true! She has survived.” One of the men exclaimed. She gagged suddenly and spat in his face. The slimy trail of spilt rolled down his cheek. And a strong hand slapped her and sent her head reeling to one side. “Bastards” she spat the word out angrily at them as a lone tear tumbled stubbornly down her soar red cheek. One man, the oldest drew his knife and traced a line down her cheek from her eye to the scars on her throat. “She has betrayed our village to him, she knows how to do away with his evil but will not. She will pay for this.”

Nicholai swept across the countryside, wild with rage. He smelt her sent on the wind, a sent so faint the no mortal would have ever noticed it; it was mingled with the smell of ale, sweat, blood and rain. He ran to his full extent, his coat flaring out behind him like a dark river flowing from its source in the cool February rain. The feel of the downpour was refreshing on his supernatural skin, he could feel the rain drops push the skin in and then skin rebound back to its original position, and he could feel the water evaporate from his skin cooling his flesh. But he could not revel in the feeling as Lucile’s sent was stronger now that ever. Up ahead of him were the remnants of the ramshackle cottage that he had burnt down with the bodies inside. Out side on the worn mud track road a carriage was parked. Who ever had parked it had left it in a hurry, as all the doors remained open and the rain had started to soak the seating. He made his way through the cinders to what was left of the house, a few tumbledown blackened walls remained standing and as he made his way to these he could hear voices, there was one mans, deep, authoritative and changed by age. The other’s was Lucile’s hers was strained and ridden with cries. The man was questioning Lucile about Nicholai, but Lucile refused to answer any thing. To answer Lucile’s silence there was brutality. If she did not answer the other men would slap, hit or kick her, as Nicholai drew nearer he could see her nose was bleeding and her face was read and tear stained, her blouse ripped to reveled her bare neck and the two small scars on her neck that he had left her with. Eventually after surviving many beatings the decided to take a different tactic, the elder took his knife and held it across her throat; finally Lucile broke down and babbled out all the information the wanted. Then after watching this unbearable scene unfold Nicholai could no longer control his rage, he tore out from his hiding place and grasped at the nearest mans head, wrenching it back from his neck, blood flowed freely from the wound and covered Lucile and the other men. They stood dumb-founded and still for a second, horrified by what had just happened. Then they flung themselves at Nicholai, deciding it was them or him, he knocked them back with one blow, they got up hurriedly and flew back at him, this time Nicholai sunk his fangs into one, and drank deeply draining him instantly. The other, the oldest and strongest had stood back in awe at what had just unrolled before him, as Nicholai stepped towards him he drew his sword from its sheath and challenged Nicholai with it, Nicholai looked at it pitifully and gave out a hollow laugh, took it from him and bent it in half then discarded it to the floor. He stood, looming over he man who let out a blood curdling scream. Nicholai grabbed him and thrust him against the wall and took up the man‘s knife and pushed it though his heart and into the wood on the other side Pinning him to the blacked wall. He rushed to Lucile and freed her; she collapsed in to his open arms. And he kissed her and held her close, “You’re safe now Lucile, don’t worry”

They stumbled back to the town to find it deserted, not a human in sight. Doors left wide open and windows smashed as if there has been a massacre. But there were no bodies, no blood or any other signs of a massacre. Lucile’s eyes grew wide with horror and she grasped tightly at the top of his arm. He touched her hand reassuring her that it was okay. They tip toed though the ruble and chaos. They made their way steadily to the inn that also was deserted, bar stools and tabled over turned and a pool of ale where a tanker had been knocked over, others stood on the bar, laid on one side in a pool of ale, wine glasses were smashed on the floor and wine stained the walls like blood. They moved silently up the steps, there was a strange sent in the air it was very strong, rife in Nicholai’s nostrils even Lucile could smell it faintly, she looked at Nicholai as if to say what is this? He put one finger to his lips to indicate not to say any thing. And they proceeded up the worn wooden stairs, sloped in the middle from the hundreds of feet that have walked up and down these steps. The smell grew stronger it was slightly unpleasant but strangely reassuring, like the smell of gave yards, old and wise, all seeing. The smell stirred something deep in the back of his mind; he has smelt this centuries ago. They came to the stop of the stairs and walked soundlessly along the corridor to the left that led to Nicholai’s room. They creaked along the corridor and Lucile’s ears pricked up straining for any sound, she could here nothing though. Nicholai pushed her behind him and pushed the door open slowly.

He entered the room and they saw him, a tall and strong vampire. Behind him wavered a thin girl, dark eyed and dark haired. She looked slightly Italian and she whispered some thing in French. A female vampire got off of the bed, and moved slowly and porously to wards Nicholai. She was beautiful; her long black hair flowed to her waist and shined silkily in the dim candle light. She wore a burgundy taffeta corset and a long taffeta skirt that splayed out far like a waterfall. Her clear blue eyes stared at his contently. And she reached out to touch his cheek and he batted her hand away like a fly. She scowled at him angrily and hissed, pulling her lips back showing her white fangs. Nicholai did the same, his eyes widening, they looked like two lions gearing up for a show down. He leapt at her pinning her to the ground and he drew his nails like claws across her cheek and smashed her head against the floor. She laid there dazed by the events that had just passed. Two strong men moved silently and unseen through the shadows and grabbed Lucile, one on each arm. She writhed and kicked out at them spitting in their faces, she screamed but they did nothing but move her further into the room, to the high backed chair next to the writers table, they bound her to the chair with rope. She glared at them silently, realizing their strength and wisdom. From out of the shadows a woman vampire stepped, she looked like an old warrior queen, her long blonde hair tied tightly into a bun on top of her head. Her face was defiant and thin, molded with age, she had prominent cheek boned and thin eye brows, she looked wise and all knowing. She wore a long sleeved white cotton shirt under a deep red bustier. A long shirt flared out as well, it was white and cotton. The only signs of wealth were her bustier; it was carefully and skillfully made, and about her neck she wore a diamond incrusted necklace. She has an air of authority about her and as she strode toward Nicholai and every thing in the room calmed. She spoke her voice like running water filled the room with serenity. “Nicholai Dorian, our out cast and our lover. We want to embrace you back into the coven of old. We can do this on one condition, you kill the mortal girl, you have told her much and this cannot happen, no one must know of out existence.”

They room froze for a moment as if stuck in time, then Lucile looked at Nicholai as if to say, I will still love you and one of the guards drew a knife and played with it in the light of a candle, twirling it in-between his fingers. Nicholai’s face dropped and he stood there in shock. “Could I,” he paused considering how to put it “talk with her, alone?”

The blonde vampire nodded and she and the other vampires left the room. Nicholai rushed to Lucile’s side and kissed her deeply undoing her bindings. “Flee Lucile, flee, and run away. Out the window, I‘ll be ok. I will find you.” He held her wrist and kisses it softly, “Go Lucile, now” he pulled her up and maneuvered her towards the window and he flung the windows open. And the wind wiped at the soft velvet curtains “go out the window. You won’t hurt, it will be fine, my blood flows in your veins and that will save you.” He held her close and kissed her passionately her soft being crushed to his chest. He released her, and took a long sad look at the as if to bid her go with it, she sat on the sill and swung her legs over, holding on to the frame. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly “Go” he nudged her in the small of her back and watched her fall from the window her skirts bellowing out before her. She landed softly like a cat and ran silently away in to the night. A lonely tear formed in his left eye, he whipped it away before it could fall, and he turned, closing the window silently and padded over to the chair where Lucile had been bound. He brushed the ropes away and sat there, resting his arms on the ornately carved wooden sides. He ran his hand casually through his silky hair. And looked around the room, the wardrobe doors were open and his coffin strew on the floor, the bed sheets were ruffled and wine glasses strew about the place half filled with blood. The blonde vampire reentered the room, her green eyes flashed warningly at Nicholai “I knew you would make her go. She will not get far” she touched Nicholai’s cheek, “What do you chose then? Death or to join the coven?” She moved closer to him, standing behind him, he hand playing with his silky hair. “But to join the coven you must show me the love you showed me as the head of the coven” she moved to his side and kissed his cheek, her hand held his face under his chin and turned his head towards her. “Have you decided?” he looked at her, regarding the decision laid before him, if he joined the coven he could escape and he already had to live with the fact that he had once been loyal to her. So he glared at her “I will join” she smiled wickedly, “good, still no-one can resist” she moved her face towards his and kissed him hungrily. She drew back and smiled evilly, flashing her fangs at him.

He awoke that dusk, in his coffin. He lifted the lid and climbed out, brushing down his garments, he realized that his coffin was on the floor and kicked it under the bed. He looked around the room it was worse than it was when he and Lucile returned for it, the bed sheets on the floor and the chair at his writing desk was over turned. And she sat in one of the leather arm chairs by the fire witch burned warmly in the hearth. She looked up at him as he walked towards her, she rose and pulled him in close, hugging him warmly but he stood there cold as stone. He pulled away, holding his arms and backing further away, she smiled reveling her fangs, “You are a member of my coven now, and you must do my biding” She took a single step back then turned and started to walk out of the room, “We are leaving for Bordeaux after you have fed, Hurry” she called behind her, beckoning him to follow her. He hurried after her to see that as they stepped in to the tavern it was buzzing with mortal and immortal drinkers, the immortals blending in to the mortals, but as the blonde vampire and Nicholai entered the passed out with the blonde vampire, and Nicholai sat at a bar stool next to a local, ordering a glass of wine from the bar man. And he talked to the local quickly dazzling her with conversation and his wealth, they soon wandered out of the bar, and then into the alley way and he took her life swiftly, licking his lips to taste the exquisite blood.

When he emerged from the alley a larger black carriage was awaiting. And a mortal carriage driver stuck his head around and called for him to get in. Nicholai clambered up the metal fold down steps into the carriage. When he entered he saw that five vampires were seated on the soft red velvet seating. There was the leader of the coven, Contessa, and her first child, Pandora, and the two guards that Contessa had commissioned to watch over and protect Pandora. They sat either side of her, like powerful gargoyles that could turn from stone to protect her. Pandora sat hunched over a book swaying with the motion of the carriage as it set off, she looked up and glared momentarily as Nicholai entered, but then continued to read. Contessa motioned to Nicholai to sit next to her and as he did she watched him intently. And as the journey wore on Contessa still stared at Nicholai this made him grow uneasy finally he snapped and moved his hand to slap her but she caught it in mid air. He stared at her amazed “You don’t hurt your queen, you love your queen” Contessa said and smiled at Nicholai “Love me, like you used to, when you were my prince of darkness, before your fall” she brought her face close to his and blew a kiss, ending with a malicious smile that said: you understand. Then she straitened up and called to the driver to hurry up as they must arrive before sunrise. He frowned to himself; people from these parts were very strange but none the less he whipped the horses onward. The carriage jolted as it flew over the bumps and pot-holes in the road.

They arrived in Bordeaux about an hour before dawn; the sky was an orangey pink with red clouds as if they were painted on the sky with blood. The carriage and its weary travelers were battered from their long journey. They stepped out into the cool night air and smiled at the sight of their home, of tall beautiful buildings, happy to be back. The other vampires started on foot away from the carriage but Nicholai stood staring up at the sky, his heart stuck on Lucile, where was she? Who was she with? And was she even alive? She had to be, if that were a possibility he wouldn’t survive.

“Nicholai” Contessa called, sharply bringing him back to the harsh realities. And he followed them solemnly

They move swiftly along the back streets until they reached a large grand house. It sat before them, huge and imposing, its green lawns splayed out far around it with woods and lakes and ornate gardens with exquisite flowers bordering every path, vampires were walking swiftly from all directions to the immense house. The house itself was grand; it’s had a total of four stories with balconies running the full length of the upper floors, the huge front doors hung wide open and vampires rushed in to escape the soon approaching dawn. A great bell tolled calling any addle brained vampires in. Nicholai followed Contessa and her party down the long drive way to the vast door. They entered into a large hall which had huge stone stair cases leading up and down and many doors lead to other rooms and hallways. On the walls hung the mounted animal heads of deer, tigers, moose, lions and a rhino amongst other more exotic creatures. There was a great fire place with roaring fire. On the left wall hung a brass plaque stating the rules that every vampire must follow



“Feed on only what you need

Hide any incriminating evidence

Do not seek vengeance upon any vampire without permission from the high court

Stay loyal to the coven

Under no circumstances disclose any withheld information to mortals”



Nicholai had broken many of these rules and yet he was still welcomed back to the coven with open arms. Contessa turned abruptly to Nicholai, “You may sleep in your old coffin, we have kept it for you” then she turned and followed the crowed flowing into the network of underground cellars where the coffins were housed. They proceeded down the stairs to the passage way with many doors and rooms leading off from it. Nicholai carried on along it until he reached his old coffin room, he had one of his own since he was held at such high prestige. He entered and as it used to be in the days of old his coffin lay in the center off the room, a beautifully hand crafted piece. There were ornate figurines and creatures along the edges, and on the clawed corners the perched four gargoyles. He lay down in it, its velvet lined interior welcomed him and the arms of sleep drew him in and he slowly faded into a slumber.

Nicholai awoke and stepped out of his coffin, and glimpsed in the corner was a large wardrobe. Yet again it was richly carved and manipulated in to an eye pleasing piece. He walked over to it and threw open the doors, inside were hundreds upon hundreds of fine garments. He sifted through and picked out a silk shirt and black cotton trousers with a delightfully embroidered waistcoat. Then he looked around the room, it was sparse, lit by a few candles on the walls, in the center stood his coffin, on a Persian rug and in the corner the wardrobe. The walls were hung with tapestries, depicting Hercules’ trials; he stood facing the slaying of the lion. These cotton walls not only decorated the other wise bear walls but they provided some form of insulation. He herd a bell toll some where above, it was calling all vampires to rise. He left the room hurriedly for if he did not get out before the bells stopped then he would be locked in and forced to stave this night. As he walked up into the great hall it was swimming with vampires they all seemed to stare at him, their luminous eyes reflected his every flowing move. He moved trough them swiftly, dodging the glares. When he managed to reach the door he stepped out into the cool night air, it was a beautiful night. The leaves on the trees turning golden and dropping gracefully to earth, the night was growing darker and the air was fresh and crisp. He put his hands in deep coat pockets and walked briskly into the center of Bordeaux. He walked aimlessly along the back streets as he used to even before he was embraced. He began to listen for the emotions of the mortals near-by. Picking up the feeling of despair he followed it to its source, a street child. She stayed huddled in her blanket as Nicholai approached. He knelt down beside her and whispered in her ear, telling her he was a rich man and he would take her home to be his daughter. A small smile formed on her lips suddenly he clasped his hand over her miniature porcelain mouth and pressed his fangs in to her fragile neck. She gasped slightly as his sharp teeth tore through her soft, delicate flesh. He suckled at the vein, like a pup at its mother’s teat, draining her swiftly. He then propped the body against the wall, he looked at her. Her tangled hair had fallen over her face that was turned down, slumped over her chest.

He arrived back at the coven to find a tall, smartly dressed male vampire with long black hair tied back in a ribbon, who was waiting for him. He followed him to a vast under ground room which was lit by torches, glowing on the walls. At the far end of the room was a large ornately caved wooden chair. The male vampire bowed low and left, backing away. Nicholai’s gaze was drawn back to the throne, in it sat an old vampire, cobwebs clung to him like delicate lace, dust covered his immaculate white skin and his eyes were far off and glazed over as if thinking of some long off bittersweet memory. On a step next to the throne sat the coven mistress weeping, she looked up at Nicholai as he entered and walked over to him holding her arms out, tears streaming down her cheeks from her blood shot eyes. “Since you left, Nicholai he won’t move from his throne nor will he let me touch him, he won’t feed Nicholai! He barely speaks and when he does it is in incomprehensible riddles, make him listen, Nicholai help me” she collapsed at his feet weeping. Nicholai stepped forward and proceeded to the throne, and looked the old master in his eyes, they were a pale ghostly blue, the king did not blink, his hair was wild and unruly, Nicholai touched his cheek and it was hard as stone, Nicholai called out to Contessa,

“Bring mortals, young ones, alive, a dish and a cloth.” She hurried out off the room nodding vigorously. She returned with five mortal women and a young vampire who was carrying a bowl with a sponge in. “what do we do?” she asked, the mortals were looking around and whispering to each other nervously. “Bleed them in to the bowl” Nicholai muttered to her, she lead one to the bowl which was placed by the throne and drawing a knife from its sheath and slit her wrist, holding it over the bowl, blood flowed steadily into the bowl, the mortal writhed and struggled to free herself. But Contessa held her tightly, until she fainted from blood loss, the bowl full. Nicholai Muttered to her to wash him with the blood, she looked up at him questioningly but he nodded to her. She took the sponge and soaked it in the crimson liquid and took to the king, and started to dab at his bare shoulder, as she did so the skin softened and grew warm and rosy. She looked up at Nicholai in awe, he looked down at her and nodded for her to move on, she called the young vampire over and she removed the master’s shirt and the mistress continued to wash him with the bloodied sponge, slowly, very slowly the master’s skin grew all most as pink as a mortal’s. They took the bowl and poured it over his back, and proceeded to rub it in, as they massaged his bloodied back it soften greatly and relax, behind them the remaining mortals were being drained and their bodies for hours this massacre to bring life to the dead continued. And slowly the master’s power and dignity returned, he had an all-powerful glow to him, he was slowly awakening. Then when it was done, Contessa called for fine clothes to be brought up and they dressed him in exquisite velvet waist coat, a silk shirt and a pair of tight fitting black trousers. He let them dress him but stayed sat in silence as they slipped the silk over his arms and buttoned it, then applying a luxuriant and alluring sent. When they were done Nicholai dragged a chair in front of the king, and straddled it, sitting on it back to front he rested his arms on the back of it, resting his chin in turn on them.

‘You believe that I am lesser than you, yet you need me to return your master to health? You feel you can order me to do as you wish. Yet you can wrench me from my dwelling and my…desires’ at this word a stifled laugh shook the court.

‘By this word you mean the mortal larva, yes? It still baffles me as to how you could be ensnared by such a cheap and simple daughter of Eve. You know fair well you may have a fine crop of undying sirens if you so desired.’ When Contessa uttered these profanities Nicholai swept forward. Like the winter winds he gripped her, the words he emitted chilled her spine. As if some one had stepped over her unmarked grave. He released her and then turned and departed the room, as if blown by a solitary gust of wind. The attention of the congregation fell back to the statuesque old king. The chisel had long ago fallen from the sculptor’s hand, an unfinished man sat in the dusty chair, his mind as moth eaten as the room in which he habited.

As he fled the dank caverns of the coven and dived deep into the rivers of mortal life. He supplanted himself into the very veins of human life and made his way to the heart of it, Paris.