Onyx nightclub was filled with fog, flashing strobe lights, and dancing sweaty bodies. Synthesized bass pounded from the mounted speakers as the DJ faded in a track by Tommy Trash “Lord Of The Trance”. Its melody was moody and dark, as if the Devil were in the music.
Èrabèlle was drinking shots by the bar and while half intoxicated, she was suddenly pulled toward the dance floor by her best friend, Sharon.
“You are so dancing this one with me!”
“Slow down!” Bèlle laughed. “I’m in heels!”
The girls maneuvered themselves into the crowd, waving their arms in the air and swaying their bodies to the music.
Bèlle was wearing a short red dress with her long dark hair styled in waves past her breasts. Sharon wore a mini blue sequin dress and black peep-toe heels. Her blonde hair was done up in a high pony tail and her glittering eye shadow really made her blue eyes pop. Both young women looked equally eye-fetching and attractive. Any single man would have approached them, had they mustered up the confidence.
What Bèlle didn’t know was that someone had been watching her ever since she stepped into the busied nightclub. A mysterious man with handsome dark features sat on a white lounger in the VIP section, situated across the dance floor. He sipped on a Scotch on rocks while fixating his ashy grey eyes on the brunette in the red dress. She looked so carefree and happy, and just as the faintest smile touched his attractive mouth, it quickly disappeared when he felt a dull ache inside.
Not yet. It’s too soon, he thought.
A blonde server brought him a tray of shots that he had ordered for his new companions; two excessively flirtatious women (and they were twins). A redhead sat on each side of him, caressing his chest, rubbing his thigh while they whispered the dirtiest things in his ears. It was far too easy luring them in. Then again, it was always easy for him to seduce any woman he desired.
“Take us home with you,” murmured one of the twins. She playfully nibbled on his earlobe and giggled.
“You have got to be the hottest guy at this club,” said the other one. “How come we never saw you here before?”
The man finished his drink and placed the empty glass down on the table, never taking his eyes off of Bèlle. “I’m not from around here.” He spoke with an English accent—London, to be exact.
“We love sexy European men! Don’t we, Chrissy?”
“Mmm… yes, we do, Shauna!” Chrissy kissed his neck and tried to unbutton his black shirt. “We most certainly do!”
As aroused as he was by the sensual strokes of these strange women, something had alarmed him and caught his attention. A man with a blond buzz-cut had approached Bèlle and her friend. He was leaning into Bèlle’s ear so she could hear him over the music.
“I know you don’t know me, but I couldn’t help myself. You’re fuckin’ gorgeous!”
“Thank you!”
“I’m Devon.”
“Hi, Devon, I’m Bèlle!”
“Pleasure to meet you!”
The man who had been sitting in the VIP between the redheads resisted a growl as the most hostile frown appeared on his face. He had heard Bèlle’s entire conversation with the new guy, and the reason why he was able to, was because this man was not entirely human.
“Listen, cutie,” Devon continued, “I’ve got some Molly on me. We can pop some if you’re down to party with me and my entourage over there…” He pointed at his friends by the bar.
Say no, Anabèlle.
Sharon suddenly jumped into the conversation. “Did this guy just say Molly? We’re totally down!”
Bloody hell.
He got up from the sofa, leaving the twins behind as he approached the unsuspecting brunette. The sisters called after him but he ignored them and made his way through the crowded dance floor.
Blue lasers kept flashing and flickering in half second intervals, matching the beat of the dark electro music.
“… Come on!” said Devon. “It’ll be fun, I promise!”
B èlle was about to respond when someone grabbed her arm and spun her around. Soft, swelling breasts collided into a hard, muscular chest. The sudden shock of it all had startled her, but as soon as she looked up into the stranger’s eyes, she was instantly mesmerized.
You’re going to turn around and leave.
Devon looked zombielike as he turned his body and walked off the dance floor.
“Hey, Bèlle, do you know this guy?” asked Sharon.
He fixed his cold gaze on the young woman. She didn’t look away.
Your feet are tired. Go to the bar, have a seat, and order a drink. Don’t move until Bèlle finds you.
Sharon did not wait for a reply from her friend. Hypnotized, she walked off the dance floor and headed straight for the bar where she sat on a stool and ordered herself a cosmopolitan.
Bèlle hadn’t moved. She stood completely still and stared into a phantom face that seemed so familiar to her. “Do I… know you?”
The stranger’s lips slanted sideways into a smile as he guided her arms around his shoulders. “You do, Anabèlle.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in close.
“That’s not my name,” she muttered and he heard her loud and clear, despite the blasting music that should have been preventing their conversation.
He brought his lips to her ear and said, “It was.”
A flash of white light appeared before Bèlle’s eyes as an array of images shuttered in her memory. She saw a woman in a red regal gown, sitting by a fountain at night, and she looked exactly like her. And then she saw a man sitting next to her… and then they were kissing… and then…
Bèlle took a step back, trembling.
He could see the fear in her eyes and he was desperate to take that anxiety away.
Stay calm, Bèlle. It’s me… Valentin.
He waited for the realization to settle in her eyes, but no such thing happened.
“I have to go, I’m sorry.”
Don’t leave.
Valentin watched her disappear through the crowd. His ability to manipulate the human mind had worked on everyone except for her. He had not been expecting this.
“Bèlle!” Sharon showed off a drunken grin once her best friend appeared next to her at the bar. “I was starting to wonder when you’d get your butt over here. I’ve been downing shots, join me!”
Bèlle did not know why she felt so nervous all of a sudden, but she no longer wanted to stay at the club.
“Sharon, let’s go home.”
“What? Why? We just got here and Luke and Andrew said they would meet up with us!”
“I’m just not feeling well.” She kept looking over her shoulder, wondering if that mysterious man would show up like he’d had out of nowhere.
Sharon pulled out her cellphone and read the incoming text message. “It’s from Luke. The guy are here.” She started punching in letters to let them know where to find them.
A short minute later, two young college boys approached their female friends. Andrew had short brown hair and brown eyes, and Luke had frosty blue eyes, with thick blond hair that was slicked back. Both young men were dressed accordingly to dress-code.
“You girls ready to party?” Luke beamed as he wrapped an arm around Sharon’s shoulder.
“Bèlle’s not feeling well!” Sharon shouted over the music.
“I’m sorry, I just need to get out of here!” She left before anyone could stop her, but Andrew followed her out.
“Bèlle, wait!” He called out to her once they stepped outside. “It’s late, let me take a cab with you back to your place so I know that you get home safely.”
“I’ll be fine, Andrew, really. You should head back inside. I don’t want to ruin your night.”
“You haven’t ruined my night. The only reason why I came was because of you,” he shyly admitted.
“I’m sorry.”
“Let me get your cab fare at least.”
“I have money.”
Andrew didn’t want to feel like he was imposing himself on Bèlle, but he just wanted her to see that he was a good guy.
A yellow taxi pulled up to the curb. Andrew opened the door for her before she could reach for it.
“Thank you.” Bèlle paused and laid a gentle hand on his cheek. “Good night.”
“Text me when you’re home—just so that I know you’re okay.”
Her smile was warm. “I will.”
Andrew closed the passenger door once she was inside and watched the vehicle pull into oncoming traffic before it disappeared down the street.
He had been in love with Bèlle ever since their sophomore year at Columbia … and she had no idea.
It hadn’t been long since Èrabèlle arrived at her apartment when there was a knock at her door. Curiously, she peered through the peephole expecting to see one of her friends, but no one was there.
Knock-knock-knock-knock.
Bèlle stepped back feeling frightened because no one was on the other side of the barricade.
“Bèlle? Open the door, please.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, it’s me, sweetie.”
She peered through the peephole again. “How come I can’t see you?”
“Are you joking? Let me in, honey, something’s happened at home and I need to talk to you.”
Bèlle glanced at the time on her cellphone. It was past midnight and her mother had never visited her this late before.
“I’m waiting…”
She reached for the chain lock and was about to unfasten it when she heard a man’s voice behind her.
“Don’t open the door.”
Bèlle whipped her head around and was now staring into a pair of stony grey eyes. A cold draft had come in, letting her know that the familiar intruder had trespassed through her living room window. It was the same man who had grabbed her at Onyx.
“What are you doing here?” She looked terrified.
“Bèlle?” her mother called out once more. “Who are you speaking to in there? Let me in, honey.”
Valentin took a step closer, which only seemed to scare the young woman more.
“Stay where you are! I’m calling the cops!”
He raised his hands to show that he was not there to harm her. “Listen to me, I know nothing is making sense right now, but if you open that door, you will be in danger and I won’t be able to save you. That’s not your mother standing out there.”
Bèlle turned to the door and peered through the spyhole again. “Mom, where are you? I don’t see you!” She began to panic.
“Sweetheart, your father had a heart attack tonight. Let me inside, I need to talk to you.”
Her hand began to tremble as she reached for the doorknob.
“Don’t do it, Bèlle.”
“Why are you following me!” She yelled hysterically.
“Ask it what your father’s name is.”
“What?”
“Just ask.”
She took a moment to calm her nerves before she raised her voice and said, “Mom, what’s daddy’s name?”
There was the longest pause. “That’s a ridiculous question, Èrabèlle. Now let me in!”
“See,” said Valentin. “That’s not your mother, it’s a hunter. You’re in danger, Bèlle! That’s why I’ve been following you. I’ll explain later once I get you someplace safe. Please, just take my hand!”
Boom! Boom! Boom! “Let me in, Èrabèlle! Is this how you treat your mother after she’s just suffered a traumatic event? Open this door, now!”
Valentin could see her distress and confusion, and more than anything he wanted to explain his chaotic world of supernatural demons, but they were both in danger. He had to evacuate her out of her apartment as soon as possible. “Please, just trust me.” He reached out his hand again, listening to the quickening pace of her heartbeat. She was beyond frightened. “I vowed to protect you, Bèlle. Let me do that.”
The pounding only got louder which let her know that the person behind that door was indeed not her mother. Bèlle bridged the gap between her and the familiar stranger and slipped her hand into his.
As soon as she blinked, she was no longer standing in her apartment.
All my life I have been plagued with a curse so agonizing that it should not be wished upon the worst of foes—or rather, perhaps it should. All I know is that I did not deserve what was inherently given to me.
If the man were alive, Saint Augustine would have surely reasoned that my suffering is due to original sin. But my affliction has nothing to do with The Fall. If the Garden of Eden did exist, and if the omnipotent, omnibenevolent God was truly its creator, then why would he have allowed an abominable blood sucking demon to corrupt his lands and feast upon his children? Why am I the only one who is aggrieved and tormented this way? I am in my twenty-fifth year, and I still ask this question.
Not that I care for title and status, but my royal blood means nothing to me. My birthfather was the Prince of Romania, otherwise known as Vlad Dracul III. He was a member of the House of Drăculești. I was not raised by my birth parents because they had died. The Spanish Emperor, King Ferdinand II of Aragon had adopted me.
My birthparents lost their lives during the Great War against the Ottoman armies. Romania and Spain had long been allies, and the Spanish King had been on active duty that year when the Turks marched on Romanian soil.
The castle had been raided and my parents lost their lives, but I had survived… and King Ferdinand changed my fate. I grew up calling him father. I was only six months old when I joined his royal family tree. Of course, I was not aware of my adoption and they never would have told me had I not discovered the letter that my birthfather had written King Ferdinand. He had beseeched him to care for me should anything happen to them.
I was still a prince by birthright, except I was not a Spanish prince by blood. It did not matter though because Romania’s monarchy had crumbled after King Vlad and Queen Wilhelmina were killed. Spain had effectively reclaimed that territory from the Turks and Romania was now a Spanish province.
My adoptive mother, Queen Isabella, had not been able to bear children, so I was declared as the Emperor’s successor. My childhood had been no different than what was to be expected of a young royal. I was educated, well groomed, cultured, and trained to be the best ruler I could be in the near future. I was fortunate to have a very close relationship with my father. I often wondered if I would have been able to develop the same kind of bond if my birthfather had survived. My life was normal, except for my genetic eccentricities.
The blood lust began ever since I started teething. I’d bite into flesh at any given opportunity. I cannot tell you how many nannies ran away from me screaming in pain, wounded from the neck, wrists, arms... My parents had realized that I needed blood to sustain me, otherwise I would not stop crying, so I was fed boar’s blood. Initially, it worked long enough to stop my screeching tirades, but the blood was not enough to keep me healthy.
My father and mother decided it would be best to drain the blood of prisoners that were due to be executed, and so this was how I’d survive through my primary years, though it was not the only thing that made me different.
By the time I’d turned one, it was discovered that I had a sensitivity to sunlight. My skin would painfully burn and blister. It became apparent that I was a sickly sort of child. Still, my parents sought to have me treated by the best physicians. They loved me as their own and wished to ease my suffering, though no physician was able to treat my condition. I could not step into the light and the servants of our castle were ordered to keep every curtain closed before daybreak so that I could safely roam about the halls and rooms to my heart’s content.
I was only fourteen when I had discovered my true paternity. Father had left Vlad’s letter on his desk, and me being the curious child that I was, I had ventured into his chamber and read the outdated message. It came as a shock to me to learn that I was not my parent’s child by blood, but my father ensured me that our lack of blood ties did not matter. I was his son and there was no changing that.
Father also revealed that he and Vlad had been the best of friends and were as close as brothers. He said that when he had found me in my cradle, he was not able to leave me to die. This explained why he’d always felt such fatherly affection toward me; a strange, sick, colicky baby was all that I ever was during infancy. If I were in his shoes, I would have left me there to die.
I suppose my resentment is wrongfully targeted. To speak candidly, I despise who I am. My father is a just and generous king. He did what any good nobleman would have done; rescued an innocent child. Though, I wonder if he still would have done it, knowing what I would later become.
For the longest time I was not aware of what I was or how I had become this way. All I knew was that there was a darkness inside, a darkness that only grew stronger the more I tried to suppress it.
Both my parents are monarchs who are steadfast in their Catholic faith. My father believes I am touched by the almighty God himself, but I do not see it through the same perceptions. I do not believe I am blessed. I think I always knew that I was transforming into a monster.
My hunger is constant, and I have killed too many. Thousands of armies have fallen because of me. In the past eight years that I have served as army general, I have led Spain to greatness. We are a victorious sovereign state, and yet, I cannot help but feel that every victory was undeserved. How can an army of men stand a chance against spawn of the Devil? All eyes are fooled by the disguise of my flesh. My humanity has long faded. I simply play a part now.
In high society I am a royal prince, expected to one day wear my father’s crown on my head as king. But on the battlefield, I am no longer noble and righteous… I’m not even entirely human. Who I am on the inside shares no resemblance in the least with the man who presents himself to the world and calls himself Prince Valentin of Valencia.
I have led my men through glorious battles, had my fill of blood and gore and relished in the pleasure of it all. I had conquered territory after territory for my father since the age of seventeen, and wherever I went, I left my mark. Cities were pillaged and drenched in blood rain, as if it had poured from the heavens. But this was not the era of Greek mythology. Gods and deities no longer existed. The undeniable reality is that I massacred hundreds of thousands of men, not only because I wished to serve a greater purpose and gain a political advantage, but because it was in my very nature to kill and conquer. Father said that is why God has blessed me, to be the defender of the Spaniards, and to spread the Catholic faith.
He’d trained me to use and hone my skills in warfare. My swordsmanship is flawless, and though I have been stabbed and injured countless of times, my body is able to heal itself. This is another oddity that remains a mystery to me. I should have died years ago, and yet, a wound from a blade is never deep enough to close my eyes forever.
I can move from one place to another faster than the blink of an eye and I am more agile than any wild animal. I have the ability to influence the human mind, but it is something I have not completely mastered. In fact, it was discovered by accident that I can even carry out such a successful attempt. Father was able to cure my allergic reaction to the sun. It felt like a miracle when I was finally able to stand in the sunlight and feel its warmth. My skin would no longer look pale and sickly, but darker and healthy. I could at last blend in with the rest of my olive skinned companions, no longer looking as white as a ghost.
How was I cured? I had to take a sacrificial oath. It was a ritual of some sort. When I was twelve, my father took me to Rome to visit the Vatican. While there, I had the opportunity to meet the Pope and several of his faithful cardinals. They had taken us to a large hall that had nothing but a roaring fire that provided heat from the fireplace.
As a child I was very obedient and well behaved, so when my father ordered me to listen to the cardinals’ instructions and do exactly as I was told, naturally I obeyed. To shorten the tiresome event, three men had tied me to a large cross with my naked back exposed. Then, they’d recited some passages from the Bible in Latin and branded me with a hot iron rod that was shaped into a large crucifix. My wound did not heal and I was kept in the room on the cross until sunrise.
I will always remember what Cardinal Francis had said, “You have witnessed the glory of God’s merciful love, my child. Here is your proof of his existence. Behold, you are now touched by the hand of Christ himself. See how his loving light no longer burns you. We have cast out your demon, Prince Valentin. The Lord has accepted your promise, keep it, my child. Do not fall into temptation, for if you do… your demon will return, and our Lord and Savior will shed tears for the salvation of your soul, for Lucifer will have claimed it forever.”
At the time I did not know how big of a price I was paying for what I was asking for. The cardinals had warned me and my father that if I “wish to walk with the rest of their kind in the daylight” then I must “devote myself to a life of celibacy.” Being only twelve years old, I did not know how problematic this would become during my maturing adolescence.
It was an oath indeed, but one that I could not keep.
Once I reached the age of sixteen, I was ready to explore my sexuality with a woman, and there had been several young princesses that I fancied, but all were off limits. They were either betrothed to other royals, or expected to have their maidenheads intact until marriage. There were a few attractive servants at the castle (some closer to my age), but I was far too shy as a boy to initiate any sort of advancement or flirtation. I needed a teacher, someone who could show me the ways of love making. Venturing off to a whore house would have furthered my “education,” but my father made sure to have me heavily monitored by guards at all hours. And as I mentioned before, I still had not mastered my psychic craft.
Good fortune finally graced me when I was seduced by an attractive lady of the court during our annual masquerade ball. Lady Helena was fifteen years my senior, unmarried, but was known to have had many lovers. (I did not know this at the time, but she later revealed her secrets.)
It was a night of passion and in many ways my rite of passage because I had fully transitioned from a timid boy to a real man. I did not regret what I did with Lady Helena, but by morning I’d discovered that my father had not lied to me about the consequences of intimate relations with women. Helena had woken up screaming because my body was on fire and I had not realized.
We had left the curtains drawn back during the evening, and by morning the sunlight had poured in… I had broken my oath and was suffering the consequences of my indiscretion.
Naturally, I survived because my mother had rushed in and shut the curtains. I had quickly recovered from the burns when my mother allowed me to feed on one of her maids, but Lady Helena was traumatized and had fainted from the atrocity of it all.
I am not certain what happened to her since that morning, it remains a mystery. I never saw her in court again.
Father had been very disappointed in me when he learned of what had happened. I was once again cursed, imprisoned, and no longer able to walk in the daylight, which was problematic because he wanted me to lead his army. Strategically speaking, there were advantages to warfare at nightfall, but that would have left thousands of our soldiers vulnerable… even though I had proven to take on hundreds at once. At such a young age, I was already trained to become the bringer of death.
My father had sought the help of the Vatican once more, but there was nothing they could do. Whatever they had done during the ritual years ago, it would not work again. I had broken their rule and my promise to God. Another oath would have been meaningless. I’d proved that I was not strong enough to resist temptation, and surely my soul now belonged to none other than Satan himself.
So I was forced back into the shadows, and it was much more difficult now that I had known what it was like to feel the sun on my skin. I was suffering great bouts of melancholy, insufferable mood swings—oh, I was really so very miserable. Nothing helped, and my dear mother had tried very hard to lighten my spirits. All I wanted was to be like everyone else, like my cousins who would go hunting during the day and chase wild game, court the highborn women of their dreams and escort them on picnics, midday walks in the gardens… there was so much I was missing out on, all because I was bound by this wretched curse of the night.
Several months had passed since my inevitable return as the Prince of Darkness, and I had soon found a new companion to keep my bedside warm at night. I’d started to engage in a torrid sexual relationship with a new handmaid my mother had staffed, Maria de Navarra. She was a beautiful buxom blond, seductive in every way—and I, being a new man who had just discovered the pleasures of sex, allowed my human nature to lead me to her chamber every night.
I’d discovered that I preferred control; to dominate than to submit. Maria had been the one to help me realize this about myself. I enjoyed tying her up, blind folding her, making her beg, hearing her cry out in pain and pleasure as I’d thrust and devour her in every way possible...
But I digress. We kept our relationship a secret, and I grew to trust her. Eventually, I revealed my secret and told her everything there was to know about me… my dependency on blood, my innate desire to kill, and my sensitivity to the sunlight. Maria had not run, she’d showed no fear during my transformative state. She had told me that when she was young, her older brother used to tell her bedtime stories, usually old myths and legends, but she’d said that I was living proof that vampirism existed.
I had not been familiar with the term, and she’d explained that a vampire was a species that had predatory instincts and survived on human blood. They were immortals that would never age… But I had aged.
When I’d asked her about how such a species came to be, she’d told me that there was once a powerful man who was very much in love with a married woman. He was a great ruler of a kingdom and he could have had any choice of a bride, but no one was able to capture his heart the way this queen had done. The king was not able to live without her, and so he decided to abduct her from her land, take her away from her husband and give her the happily ever after that they had always desired. She was the face that caused the launch of the most vicious war.
The king knew that if his kingdom was invaded, there would be no guarantees of survival, so he did something out of desperation to ensure that he could keep his people safe, and most of all, to guarantee that he could protect the love of his life. He had sold his soul to the devil and became an all-powerful being, strong enough to wipe out an army of a hundred thousand men on his own.
The tragedy in this story is that the Devil is a trickster. Although the king had successfully defeated the opposition and massacred his rival’s army, he was not able to save his love because the sun had come up, and as he crawled on the floor of their bedroom to reach the open terrace, his body began to burst into flames. The king watched his enemy slaughter the woman he loved. He was strong enough to defeat armies of men, yet he was paralyzed in the sunlight, and this was his undoing.
The story did not explain my vampirism, but I had contemplated that Mehmed “The Conqueror” was the vampire in Maria’s story. It was possible that he killed my parents because he was in love with my birthmother, and as punishment, turned me into this demon. Or maybe all he wanted was power, so he invaded Romania, killed my parents, and left me as the only survivor because… I still cannot connect the dots, I do not know why.
Maria had said that the king was cursed and could not die, so he chose a fate of sleeping death. His most loyal subjects buried him in a tomb that was to be left undisturbed forever. After she’d narrated this story to me, she explained her connections to a secret healer that could help cure me of my allergy to the sun. I had trusted her and decided to become acquainted with this elusive “healer” who was Maria’s godfather.
Timotéo had been an eccentric sort of man, but regardless of his odd appearance, he’d worked a miracle. Whatever mystic magic that he had conjured in the woods, it had ultimately cured me. But that too came with a price. I would be hungrier than before, thus increasing my dependency on blood. The whole process of my consumption disgusted me, but it was my only means of survival. Timotéo said that I was Spain’s saviour, and that my sovereignty was prophesized. He had claimed to be a seer. As skeptical as I was at first, I believed him because he had proven to help me when no one else could.
My father had been delighted to know that I could once again join my family in the daylight, but my mother was not happy to know that I had reached out for help outside of the trusting circle of the Vatican. I hadn’t told my parents that it was Maria who had liberated me to freedom once more, mother would have accused her of heresy and would have beheaded both her and Timotéo. So I had lied to them and expounded that I had traveled to a Catholic monastery deep in the mountains, where a priest prayed for my salvation and cured me of my curse.
Mother was suspicious about how this “priest” was not appointed as a cardinal in the Vatican, but I assured her that he did not want any titles or glories that came with membership of that famous brotherhood. Instead, he chose to live an ascetic lifestyle, helping those in need (which was essentially true… a little.)
The “cure” that I had concocted was an obvious lie that I could not keep up with, and my father had discovered this one night when he saw me ravenously feeding on one of our prisoner’s in the dungeons. My thirst had been so great that I had depleted the man completely of his liquid life force. Father did not view it as a great loss to the state since he was due to be executed, but he’d realized that I had been lying about being cured of my blood lust.
After he’d ordered a guard to get rid of the corpse, he had taken me to his chambers soon after and much to my surprise, he told me that he was relieved that I was not cured. When I asked him why, father said that my unique predatory nature was a blessing, and that I was gifted by God. To take those gifts away would be to refuse God’s blessing and deny his great plan. Father had been so passionate in his speech, I could not possibly replicate all that he told me. The best I can do is summarize his fervent words:
“One cannot gain greatness without suffering, my son. I know you never asked to be enslaved by the night, and I had done my best to cure you of that so that you could enjoy life in the sun like the rest of us, but you proved unable to resist the very instinct that God has instilled in man, the carnal drive that heats our blood and motivates us to procreate. I do not blame you for your transgression, Valentin.
“But I was greatly disillusioned because I had spent years building our army for victorious conquest. I do not know what means of sorcery you have resorted to in order to stand beside me right now while dawn is breaking, but I will not crucify you for it. You will be ruler of this empire one day, and I trust your judgement. Whatever you have done will be for the greater good.
“You do not have to conceal your need to feed, not from me. What matters now is that you can blend in with the day walkers again. Our armies will march through all of Europa very soon. You are invincible now.”
And so it had been for the greater good. I fought my father’s wars, won every battle, defeated all his enemies while the demon within grew hungrier and hungrier with an insatiable thirst that would never be quenched. My poor soul would never know peace.
The year now is 1500, and I am due to travel to France tomorrow. My cousin Phillip has invited me to court, and father has encouraged me to get closer to Phillip so that I can take his throne right out from under him. This will be a first for me since I am accustomed to a more bloody kind of politics. I am an enemy of France, but of course Phillip does not know that.
I have nothing against the man—never did, but if expansion is what my father desires then I will support his vendetta. An enemy to Spain is my enemy by default. I need to believe that whatever I am, demon, monster, vampire… it must serve a greater purpose. This darkness within is part of my identity, it’s who I am and I’ve accepted that.
The hour is late and my wrist is tired from jotting my thoughts. If this memoir should be of any use, then I hope it serves me well in fulfilling the purpose of safeguarding my sanity. Goodnight, invisible friend.
— V
Disclaimer: This story is fictional, blending historical facts with fiction. Thus, changing historical events for creative purposes.
Author’s Note: If anyone is confused by name pronunciations, Valentin is pronounced “Valenteen” and Wilhelmina is pronounced “Wilamina”
Music in chapter:
Tommy Trash- Lord Of The Trance
Liar- Western Digital
Florrie- Free Falling (Lane 8 Remix)
