Tirgoviste The Order of the Dragon

Enter the Witch

     I pushed my way through the rhythmically gyrating bodies and the hands that reached for me. I wanted to get to the center of the dance floor. My intention was simple. I'd locate myself smack-dab in the middle of everything and turn on the "power". I'd concentrate on him; try to reach him with my mind. If he was here, I'd be able to find him. At least, that was my plan.

     The atmosphere, however, was very distracting. All around me were beautiful people. The air was perfumed with exotic, musky incense, the music hypnotic. As the dancers came closer to me, I began to feel sleepy, lulled as it were.

     "Something's wrong here. Wake up, dummy!"

     Yeah, that extrasensory perception of mine was firing off alerts as two red hot beauties pulled up on either side of me. "Dance with us baby," one of them said, as she placed her hands on my shoulders. She was very pale with large, blue eyes and blonde hair. Her friend, a petite, little thing with pink hair and a barely-there skin-tight black, leather mini-dress, moved behind me and put her hands on my waist. They pressed their bodies against me and began to move with the music. I suddenly felt like I was participating in the dance of a thousand hard on's!

     Although my internal radar was still going off, I chose to ignore it. I felt the pretty blonde slide her hands up and grab hold of my hair. She pulled my head back and slid her lips along my neck. I was about to lose control and I knew it. But suddenly, she drew back releasing me. Her friend moved quickly away from me as well and they stood together staring at me suspiciously.

     "What gives?" I asked frowning at them.

     "Did you see?" the blonde asked her friend.

     "The marks? Yes, but did you smell his blood? Witch I tell you! It doesn't make sense. How did he get in here?" asked the little, pink-haired girl.

     "He belongs to one of them, one of the Draculesti. Which one do you think?"

     "I'd bet he belongs to Morsus. Yes, it would have to be Morsus if he really is a witch."

     They moved away from me holding hands with each other and staring at me as if I was the devil himself. What was it they'd said about me "belonging" to someone? I didn't pretend to understand what all that s**t had been about but I was definitely unsettled.

     The music changed to a harder, edgier sound. I became disorientated in the shifting crowd as I continued toward the center of the room, the smell of sweat, the smell of alcohol, cloying scent somewhere near. I was afraid that I was attracting too much attention to myself and decided that I should do something to fit in and quickly. I moved in behind a pretty red-headed girl and wrapped my arms around her waist.

     "Wanna dance sweetheart?" I asked innocently.

     She turned to look over her shoulder at me and smiled. Apparently she didn't mind whatever it was about me that had driven off the other two. But they had seemed odd to me, this one felt normal and my radar wasn't alarming. As we began to sway together with the beat, we inadvertently attracted the attention of those nearby. I became aware that a crowd was closing in around us. The group had made a circle and the circle was slowly advancing. I started to feel trapped, claustrophobic. The honey in my arms didn't appear notice. I turned to look all around at them, pale-faced, dark circles under their eyes, no one looked friendly. Yet all of them were smiling. All of them were coming closer. Danger! I didn't need my special abilities to warn me now. I was in trouble and I sensed that this girl in my arms might be as well. She was still oblivious to our situation. Just as I was about to enlighten her, everything changed.

     Through the thick haze of smoke, a man jumped from one of the balconies above landing in a crouch right in front of us. The force of his landing shook the floor and everyone backed quickly away from him. As he stood up slowly and raised his head, I felt the adrenaline course through me. My pulse quickened, I tried to swallow but my mouth was dry and I'd broken out into a sweat. Fight or flight? Neither, this was my demon, my narcotic, my angel. The Australian was right. He had found me. I didn't even notice when he took the girl out of my arms and handed her to one of the watchers. I was lost in his dark eyes as they never left mine. He seemed pleased to see me.

     I was in some kind of daze. I knew that I needed to run but I was utterly unable to do so. My demon-angel moved behind me and placed his hands on my hips. As he began to sway with the music, he pulled me back against him. My head rolled onto his shoulder and I grasped his arms and held on for dear life. I wouldn't have been able to hold myself up without his help. My knees were too weak. I could hold on but that was all I could do. We moved in rhythm to the beat of the music, our bodies pressed tightly together. I could feel his hot breath against my neck. I hoped for that sensation from the alley but I didn't think he would really shoot me up right here in front of everyone. It didn't matter though; I was prepared to do whatever was needed to get it again.

     As I looked up from the haze I was in, I noticed that the circle of watchers was drawing close again. They too seemed to be in a sort of trance, waiting for something it seemed. Waiting for what? Probably for the same thing I was waiting for. But my demon-angel wasn't in the mood for watchers. He moved out from behind me and taking my hand, began to pull me through the crowd and up some carpeted steps to the left of the dance floor. I could hear the disappointed murmurs of the watchers behind us as we made our way up the stairs. Evidently they had been hoping for a show of sorts and were not happy that they had been denied.

     At the top of the stairs was a balcony with a railing that overlooked the dance floor. Several people were up here in the dark smoky air, some sitting at tables near the railing, others milling around in pairs or groups. They all turned to look and I couldn't help but notice that they seemed to bow their heads as my demon-angel passed them. That was rather odd but I didn't have much time to think about it. We passed through the crowd and he turned to pull me up another set of stairs with a door at the top. He produced a key and turned it in the lock. The door opened with an ominous clicking sound and he brought me inside closing it after us.

     We were in a long, narrow, corridor with doors on either side, all of them closed. The floor was heavily carpeted in some type of thick, dark-red, damask that silenced our footsteps as we passed along it. The walls were papered in an old- fashioned, Victorian-style, blue, and gold and hung with old paintings of people dressed in medieval-looking clothing. I would have liked to study those paintings but he didn't give me the chance to pause and look at them and hurried along the corridor pulling me with him.

     His grip on my wrist was vice-like and almost painful but I wouldn't have asked him to release me for the world. He looked back at me from time to time and smiled. It was quiet here. I couldn't even hear the sound of the music from the club anymore. The lighting was brighter than downstairs but still dimmer than I would have preferred. It was like perpetual dusk in this hallway.

     We finally stopped in front of a set of solid-wood, double doors with the same carving as the doors into the club downstairs; the two dragons facing each other. I wondered what it meant but I didn't think to ask him. It suddenly occurred to me that I had never heard him speak out loud. I began to wonder if he could even speak English. God, this was gonna be a fun night!

     He reached out and pushed open the doors, then led the way into what appeared to be a bedroom of sorts. I didn't notice any windows, which to me seemed strange at the time. The only furniture in the room was a large, antique armoire standing just to the right of the double doors and a huge, ancient-looking, canopied-bed that appeared to be made of solid mahogany. It was built right into the very ceiling of the room and thick, red, velvet curtains, hung down from the square top of the bed hiding the interior.

     One could be in that bed with the curtains drawn around it and be completely hidden from the rest of the world. It felt instantly claustrophobic to me and that feeling intensified, even more, when he turned and closed the doors, lowering a big, wooden bar across them and effectively locking us into the dim, windowless room. The only light was coming from a pair of candles set into niches in the wall on either side of the head of the bed.

     When he turned to face me, I felt that faint, dizzying feeling again. He took a couple of steps toward me and I couldn't help but take a step back. I didn't realize it but he was herding me in the direction he wanted me to go. I came to understand his intentions, only when I felt the back of my legs bump against the footboard of the bed. Ok, so he obviously wanted something in return for shooting me up in the alley. I guess it made sense after all. At least it was something that I could relate to. He reached out and stroked the side of my face with his fingertips. I froze. I literally couldn't move. Once again, I was aware of the sensation of being compelled.

     I didn't like it. I was the one who was supposed to be able to do stuff like that, not the one who stuff like that was done too! I wasn't about to just stand there and let this total stranger work some kind of hypnosis on me. Just who the hell did he think he was anyway? Yeah, my male-sense of superiority was kicking in again. I reached into myself, pulled upon my psychic abilities, and "pushed" at him with my mind.

     He didn't budge. He did, however, tilt his head to one side and look at me in a questioning manner. He had obviously felt my little "push" and though it had not affected him in any way, he seemed to be somewhat curious about it, maybe even a little amused by it. I, however, was not in any way amused.

     "Just what in hell are you after?" I shouted. "If you want to be paid back for what you did in the alley, all you have to do is ask! You don't have to use that voodoo s**t on me!"

     I don't know what I expected in return but all he did was laugh. I guess I expected it to sound deep and menacing but it didn't. It sounded just like any other young man's laughter. He was shaking his head back and forth and grinning at me. Yeah, he was amused at my obvious discomfort. No matter, if the outcome was that I would get another high, then I could put up with it. I could put up with just about anything.

     "Can't you talk?" I asked in exasperation.

     He smiled at me again and stepped closer bringing us within inches of each other. We were so close I could smell that familiar scent from the alley, cloves, and cinnamon, something like that. He reached up to twine his hands through my hair and tugged slightly, tipping my head back. At the same time, he pushed against me with his hips and I fell backward over the footboard of the enormous bed onto my back. He fell with me and I received the full weight of him against my chest and stomach, the force of it knocking the wind out of me.

     I lay there beneath him struggling for breath as he trailed his mouth along my jaw and down my neck. I forgot to breathe again, just like before in the alley. It seemed to me, that air just wasn't as important as I'd thought it was. I knew what I needed and he was about to deliver. To my surprise, he pulled up and braced his hands on the bed on either side of my head and stared down at me. I lay there looking back up at him, drowning in those dark, deep-set eyes. What was he thinking? I knew how to find out. All I had to do was concentrate, reach for it and I would fall into his mind, into his thoughts as easily as flipping a switch.

     But I never got the chance. He moved fast, quicker than I could see and scooping me up under my arms, he lifted me up and placed me in a semi-setting position, propped up against the pillows. He stood at the foot of the bed, sliding his black, leather jacket off and dropping it to the floor. I watched mesmerized as he slowly, oh so slowly, undid each one of the buttons down the front of his dark, blue shirt and pushed it off onto the floor as well. He kicked off his boots and yanked the wide, leather belt through the loops of his jeans. I couldn't look away and he never took his eyes off mine. He was compelling me again. I could "hear" that voice speaking in the same foreign language in my head. I used my special gifts to translate it as it came to me.

     "Why don't you do the same?"

     He asked me without speaking out loud; tilting his pretty head to one side and looking up at me seductively through his long, dark lashes. I guess at that point I really didn't think there was much sense in fighting it. He was entitled I supposed. I shrugged my shoulders and sat up to comply, sliding my t-shirt over my head and pushing my shoes off one at a time to toss them onto the floor. He didn't wait for me to finish.

     I looked up when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. He was crawling, cat-like, up over the foot of the bed, those black eyes locked onto mine. I knew I was powerless to do anything other than wait for it. As he closed the distance, moving up between my knees, pushing them apart and out of his way, I felt that faint, dizzying sensation once again and heard his voice in my head.

     "Are you sure you want this? It comes with a high price."

     "I think it's too late to be asking me that now," I replied.

     "Yes, I think you are right," he answered.

     I wanted so badly to hear him speak out loud but I wondered if he maybe couldn't speak English and this was the only way we could communicate. I hadn't even realized it but I hadn't spoken out loud either. I'd been answering him mentally as well. He cupped my chin in one hand and leaned down to brush his lips against mine. I gasped for breath and broke out in a sweat simultaneously. It didn't take much to heat me up but I had to admit, I'd never felt that way about another boy before. I told myself it was just about the drugs I believed he had but I was starting to wonder.

     He leaned down, resting all his weight against me and I wrapped my arms around him. He was beautiful, with a perfect muscular build. I knew he was much stronger than me. I didn't have a prayer in the world of getting away from him, even if I'd wanted to. I found myself submitting to the thoughts he was sending me. It was effortless to do so and so exhausting to try to resist. I turned my head to one side and exposed my neck to him. I waited for the pain. Like a bolt of white-hot lightning that made me want to scream in agony, it came as he sank his teeth into my neck. I cried out and tried to pull him off of me as terror like I'd never known rolled over me. It was the stuff of nightmares but it was over so quickly.

     I was floating again, flying in bliss, the pain was forgotten as if it had never existed. He was all over me, surrounding me. I could smell his scent, I could feel the silkiness of the skin on his back, shoulders, the side of his face, as I ran my hands all over him, pulling him tighter against me. I could feel my heart pounding in a horrible rhythm as he pulled against it, fighting it. I wanted him to win that fight.

     "Yes, please don't stop, please!" I begged silently.

     He tightened his grip on me and it was like iron. I began to pick up thoughts coming from him and free of restraint or inhibitions, I took the opportunity and slipped effortlessly into his unguarded mind. Random thoughts spilled from his head into mine, a torture chamber in a dark, dungeon room, screams, agony, he was in terrible pain. A voice pleaded with him to give up his secrets, a horrible sense of betrayal from this person, this speaker, someone he knew, a relative, turned against him, against the family. Burning, flames rising higher and higher, screams of pain, prayers for delivery, faces of enemies dancing around him, needing to understand why this was happening to him, no one to help him, then silence, darkness. He was waking up in a familiar place, surrounded by familiar faces but those faces had changed, they were not the same, they had become monstrous, then the discovery, the awful discovery, that he too had become a monster and the final scream of a soul in despair, his soul.

     I jerked away from him and clawed my way up into a sitting position. What in hell had I just witnessed? It had to be the truth because the innermost thoughts are what I always see and they do not lie. But how could this be? The scenes I'd witnessed had been from another time, long ago. Those places, they no longer existed. I turned to look at him. He was sitting cross-legged and breathing hard, his face turned down toward his lap. He wouldn't raise his head to look at me, even when I silently begged him to do so. I reached over and gripped his chin in my hand and forced him to look up at me. He tried to resist but I used a little of my psychic strength to aid me and weakened, as he was, from what had just happened, he either did not or could not resist.

     As I forced his head up, I saw several things at once in that dreadful moment. His beautiful, dark-brown eyes had glazed over into a deep, scarlet-red, and protruding from beneath his upper lip, was a set of long, razor-sharp fangs, each one dripping with blood, my blood. I knew then what he was and I knew that my life would never again be the same.