The Blood Bond

Draykovick

In the dark quiet of a damp room deep below the heart of Bella Darrow, a heart started to beat. A sound, so faint it was barely discernable save for the spider’s mice and various insects, which stopped what they were doing and hurriedly scurried away. It was an ominous sound, as blood started slowly pumping through shriveled veins. The hypercoagulable sludge moved at a snail’s pace as organs in desperate need of life soaked up the thick, sticky life force.

Someone was in his house.

He had felt her, heard her. He listened carefully as he sought to decipher who she was and why she was intruding on his privacy. The only sound she made was her soft footfalls shuffling above, like a scared little rabbit with a frantic heartbeat. Her sound was delicate, almost non-existent as it traveled down into the profound depths of his home.

He smelled her next, her scent filling his lungs. She was exquisite, an unsoiled tropical flower unknown to the world, powerful nonetheless. He inhaled her allure, taking with him the power of her fragrance, letting it seep into his pores. He wrapped himself in her aroma, forgetting about the pain that was starting to take over his body.

Overlooking the intriguing intruder, he was unable to focus on anything anymore as the pain within him took over. He wished he could say it was a surprise to his system, but it was nothing new. He had learned to live with it, to ignore it, to push past it. This was the main reason he chose to sleep until the end of his days. He couldn’t take the pain anymore. He hadn’t planned to wake up at all, and wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for the sounds of the woman walking above him.

No one was supposed to be in his house. He had given Andrews an impeccable reference and ordered him to board up the place. His wishes were clear and he made sure that nothing was left out. What made things more interesting was Andrews defied him. After all this time, he wondered why. His butler had assured him that everything would be taken care of. It was a tricky thing trusting a mere mortal, but when one walked in the night, there really wasn’t much more he could do. Besides, Andrews had been with him from the beginning. He knew not to defy an order.

When he decided to end his life, he consulted Andrews. It was only fair. Andrews wasn’t like him, he made sure of that, but Andrews’s longevity was due to him and him alone. They had both lived many lives and Andrews had stayed faithful, even up to the end, or so he thought.

The hunger he had tried so hard to ignore for almost twenty years was now beating at him vigorously. He’d spent years bracing himself for what was to come, and thanks to some meddlesome female, all of his efforts were for not. He wasn’t an angel by any means, nor was he the devil, but he couldn’t ignore the ravenous hunger raging deep within anymore.

The need to feed was paramount.

Sitting up in bed, he reached for the bell pull beside him and waited. Just that little bit of movement caused his body to crack and creak as the pain surged to the forefront. He didn’t bother looking in a mirror. He knew he looked hideous. All signs of his former self were shriveled up and ashen. His once cobalt black hair shimmered in the night sky. Now, all that was left were a few strands of dry, crinkled gray hair. His hands were once strong and mighty, now looked delicate and fragile. His virile body was no more. All that was left was a decrepit old man, waiting for death to take his revenge.

“Sire,” Andrews bowed, entering his room without a sound. He thought it odd that when death was so near, he even lost the ability to sense a man whom he had lived with all these years. It was a cruel way to die. To deny one food, to starve himself until his body turned into dust. He was comforted to know that Andrews would not suffer his same fate. His friend would just simply grow old and perish, as God intended.

Sighing, he turned to look at his good friend and said, “Who is here?”

“P…p... pardon?” Andrews stuttered. A subtle growl permeated the room, making the ominous feel even more sinister. It wasn’t his intention to frighten his butler, but he was extremely clear when asked the question again, “Who is here?”

“A woman is here to bury a De’Hon descendant.” Of course. He’d forgotten about his promise. After all these years, he had thought they were all gone. The last dying in a horrible fire that almost decimated his home, ending the line that he swore to protect. Therefore, it was a small shock to hear that, upon his own death, another descendant had come home to live out his or her days in the eternal rest.

“Which one?”

“August De’Hon.”

“I remember him fondly. He was a sweet boy. How did he die?”

“Old age, sire.” He wished they all died of old age, but that was not the case. Over the centuries, he had buried too many, all young and full of life. Some hadn’t even started living, and then it was all over. They all died because of him. The knowledge of that information only made the pain much worse.

“Did he live a happy life?” he asked, praying that he did something right in his life. He needed to know that one descendant lived happily.

“I don’t know sire.”

“You said someone was here to bury him. It’s a woman. Why was I not invited to his wedding?”

“He never remarried, sire. The woman said she was his granddaughter,” Andrews whispered, taking a step back.

“Granddaughter?” he asked, questioning his butler, knowing that August’s son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter perished in a horrific fire. It was believed that August died along with them, but his remains were never found. As for the others, there was nothing left of them but the ashes of their dead bodies. Even then, they were unidentifiable.

“Yes, Sire.”

“The child died in the fire along with her parents.”

“She did die, sire.”

“Are you sure?” He asked threateningly as Andrews's face paled in fear.

“Yes, sire. I saw the corpse myself.”

“It seems one of us is wrong. When is the funeral?” He asked, already knowing he was going to have to postpone his own death to investigate this matter, which meant that he was going to have to feed. He didn’t relish the idea of staving off the inevitable, but if another descendant lived, he couldn’t leave this world and not fulfill his promise.

“At dawn and then she will be leaving. I have arranged for her flight personally.”

“She can stay.”

“Sire?”

“If she is whom she says she is, then I need to know. I will find out one way or another.”

“But sire, the…”

“I don’t care,” he shouted. “She stays until I say otherwise.”

Bowing, Andrews inched towards the door. “Yes, sire. Is there anything I can get you?”

“Silence.”

He knew what Andrews was afraid of. Life had played a horrible trick on him. He knew that now. He spent generations chasing the one descendant that would lift the curse. Now, they are all dead. The curse of the Moon will live on forever. The history of his lineage had foretold the coming of a brilliant moon that would allow him to walk once again in the sun. It was all fairy tales and hokum. He knew that now. He didn’t believe in such things, knowing what he knew. If history reminded him of anything, it was that with life came death. That was concrete, absolute, and nothing, not even some fable, could change that.

Settling back onto his bed, he closed his eyes, ignoring the hunger that ravished him. He thought of his family line, his and his alone. No one knew about them. He made sure of that. When he became very evil, he feared as a child, he tried to go home. His mother rejected him and his father cursed him. The only family member to give him mercy was his sister Arya. He loved his sister. When she lay dying in his arms, he promised her the only thing he could. That no matter what, he would always look out for her children and her children’s children. He kept that promise even long after his sister died. Her children lived and over the generations, he watched from afar, over every single one of them, even August De’Hon, whom he believed was the last of his sister’s line.

Twenty-three years ago, a fire destroyed the last remaining descendants of his family and ravaged his home in Darkwater Bay. For days after, only speculation and gossip were discovered. As for the actual reason of the fire, no one seemed to give it a second thought considering his home was over four hundred years old. All that mattered was the last of the De’Hon’s had died and the parish was free of the curse. It was a hard thing to swallow, knowing he had failed his sister, but with August gone and the future of his sisters’ line with him. That was when he decided to end his life. There was no one left to protect.

Now there was a woman. A supposed descendant of Sun thought to have perished along with her parents and grandfather twenty-three years ago is now walking freely in his home. He needed to be sure. He had to know that she was whom she said she was. If she were, she would need guidance, to know her lineage, to understand the danger she was in. He was all that was left. If she weren’t a descendant, he would usher her off as best he could. Until he was satisfied, his duty to his sister wasn’t over.

He still had someone to protect.

It was time for him to wake up.

Gathering his strength, he climbed out of bed, and walked the long distance to his chamber's door. With his hand on both handles, he opened the double doors and headed out into the world of the living once more.

The night was hazy with a crisp wind. Odd for this time of the season, but then again he did reside in Southern Louisiana. Looking up at the star-lit sky, he stared at the large moon above, illuminating everything below. The silver rays glistened through the tree line, making the dewy leaves sparkle and the water of the lake shimmer like glass. He didn’t waste any time, searching out with his mind to seek what he needed most. He found it not far from his home, lurking in some bushes not more than a mile from where he stood.

He saw her then. The woman, like a ghost of a time, long forgotten. Instantly, an image of someone he once loved dearly stood proudly in his mind. He hadn’t seen her in centuries. She was long dead from this world, dying a horrible death as the blood lake took her from him. Yet, there she stood before him, alive and more beautiful than ever. He blinked, moving closer, not wanting to scare her, but mainly to make sure she was real. He had waited so long for her to appear to him and when he was desperate for blood, she chose now to show herself. He tried to shake off the illusion. He knew she was dead. She had been for many centuries. He was starving, and his desperate hunger was now playing tricks on him. He knew he should feed, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She was as he remembered.

Her long hair, like honey-wheat hair cascading down her back in waves, glowed under the moon’s embrace. Her pale pearlescent skin was like ivory silk. He had dreams of wrapping his body around hers, touching her everywhere, feeling her skin against his. She was the warmest woman in the world. Her heart belonged to him. She was the very blood in his veins, and she was standing at the edge of the blood lake, again.

With a burst of speed, he reached the tree line, just a mere few feet from her and stopped. He was not what she remembered. He had changed. She had not. He could not come to her in his state, let alone fight starvation. He needed to feed before he presented himself. However, he couldn’t leave her alone near the water’s edge. The blood lake had claimed her once before. He was not going to risk her life again.

“The lake is dangerous at night, Sabine. You know this,” his voice cracked, as he never took his eyes off her. She was stunning. Her beauty was so vivid, he found it hard to look at her.

She jumped, moving away from the water hurriedly. “Who’s there?”

She was exquisite. Everything he remembered and more. He couldn’t wait to have her in his arms once again. Until then, he needed to tread carefully. She was more skittish than he remembered, not the resolute and determined woman he once knew. “Just an old man where once your lover stood.”

“I am no man’s lover. Show yourself,” she demanded, picking up a large stick and holding it at arm’s length as she backed further away from the lake. Her mere movement stirred a longing deep within him. His mouth watered to taste her exotic lifeforce. He dreamed of having her flavor on his lips. “Do you not recognize my voice, my love? It is your Draykovick Anastacio. I’ve waited for many moons for your return,” he said, taking another step towards her. His hunger beat at him to have her once more. To feel her warmth and vitality coursing through his veins again.

“I don’t know you, mister. Now come out of the shadows or I will scream.”

“I am not a young man. I don’t want to frighten you.”

“Too late for that buddy,” she stated firmly. “If you are as old as you say, then be a gentleman and show yourself.”

Now that was something he didn’t expect. She called into question his honor. She’d never done that before, but then again, this wasn’t how they were supposed to meet after all these years. Maybe she had forgotten everything they said to each other the last time they were together. Maybe she just needed a reminder. Still, the thought of her seeing him in this unwanted state, concerned him. She was, as he remembered, young, beautiful and so full of life. He, on the other hand, was fading faster than the night sky. Soon, there would be nothing left of him. He shouldn’t have alerted her to his presence. It was risky. He could smell the sweetness of her blood. The ebb and flow in her veins were taunting him. He needed to feed and he refused to abuse her.

“Look, buddy, I don’t have time for this crap. You just stay right where you are and I won’t have to go all Kung Fu on your ass, okay?” she said, before turning to leave. She was stronger, more confident than he remembered. He couldn’t let her go, not when he was learning all these new things about her. She was intriguing, more alive than he remembered.

Stepping out under the moon’s rays, he presented himself to her, bowing in the old courtly way he knew she loved. He was taking a chance, but he was betting on her love and compassion to win out.

At her gasp, he rushed to her side. Before he could stop himself, his arms tightened around her tiny waist. Hunger ruled him now. There was no stopping him. She was in his arms once more. The madness within him forbade him from thinking clearly as he bent his head towards her neck and tasted a sweetness he had never known.

A deep throbbing ache unlike anything she had ever experienced rushed over her body. Isadora couldn’t comprehend, let alone fight, what was happening to her. She was falling deep into a dark abyss. She held onto the man for dear life as a bright glowing light blinded her. Her body warmed to the point of boiling. There was no relief. A fire burst forth deep within her, consuming her, wrapping her in his flames. She tried to fight the stranger who was causing her agony. She knew she shouldn’t have wandered out of the house, but it was too late to do things differently. She tried to break free of his stout hold on her, to ease the pain he was inflicting, but her strength was waning. She felt indistinct, almost lethargic.

“Please stop,” she whispered, using what power she had left to say those two simple words. His hold on her tightened as her discomfort increased. She should have run when she had the chance, but deep down she knew it wouldn’t have mattered. She was drawn to the lake and now the lake would be the last thing she ever saw. She should have listened to her grandfather. She should never have come to Dirtwater Bay. It was a simple request, but her stubbornness over seeded her mere promise to a man she once loved. Now, she would soon be joining him.

Her frail body buckled against his as he stole what he needed. He didn’t bother asking for permission. It was too late for that. Starvation had won out and she was ripe for the taking. His only regret was that he didn’t ask. He had never taken without asking before. He had indeed become the monster everyone believed him to be.

She tasted different, not the sugary sweetness he remembered. There was an exquisite divinity to her, like a fine wine cultured to perfection, full-bodied with a spicy aftertaste. Even her body felt different, more womanly, more robust. There was something oddly satisfying about her. He was going to have to get to know her all over again.

Taking one last taste, he gently ran his tongue over the two puncture holes on her neck. Holding her closely, he knew he had taken too much. She wasn’t used to him feeding so ravenously. He would have to be careful with her in the future. “Oh, ma petite, please forgive me.”

She was still the most striking woman he had ever seen. Her hair was much darker than he originally saw and her skin was paler. When she opened her eyes to look at him, it was then he knew. This was not his beloved Sabine. He was feeding off a stranger and somehow that made his deceit even worse. He never took from the unwilling, which was hard considering most people feared him when he told them what he was. After the first century or two, he stopped telling people who he was. It was easier that way. He sought out certain individuals with a gift for silence and paid them handsomely for their service. That was how Andrews came to be his personal manservant. He was the only one left of his kind.

Yet, none of that mattered now as he looked into the softest gray-blue eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes that held generations of descendants, living, laughing and loving before him. Eyes that now, turned stormy, as fire burst forth, consuming them all. She was not just some stranger.

At that moment, he knew he had just made a grave mistake.