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WHITE AS SNOW
by
Morgana de Winter
(c) copyright July 2003, Morgana de Winter
Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright July 2003
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Chapter One
For untold years you will wait upon death's door.
From the healer's hand and love's demand, you will live and love no more.
Through the crumbling castle, the words whispered, hollow as death, black as the night they were--black as his soul. Damian Alessandro tightened his mailed fist, his fingers digging into the scarred wooden arm of his throne. Cold rage, barely leashed, fueled his body, clouded his mind. For centuries the necromancer's words had taunted him, an enigma he had yet to solve. Through the years, he'd given up hope, and so he remained in Helmskeep, seeking the answer to a riddle ... seeking an end to the torment of living death.
On a black throne he waited ... waited for an oblivion that would not come ... that would never come.
Outside a storm rose, shattering the calm of night like crystal thrown upon a stone hearth, mirroring the ever present turmoil of his mind. Beyond darkened windows, their panes broken and leaking in the fury of the storm, lightning flashed like silver in the clouds, the gods beating their drums in the sky, harkening their ire. The air charged with each hush before the thunder, and distant, he heard a sound, of breath heaved into worn lungs; horses screaming in terror; the snap of a whip sharp in the air.
He rose, dust sifting from blackened armor grayed by its obscurity. Long had it been since he'd left this throne, this hall. The wind tore through the abandoned hall, through the broken panes, whipping once lustrous banners, now rotting with age. Silvered threads, tarnished and black with antiquity, shaped his coat of arms: the spider and the rose ... unraveling as though the wind had teeth and devoured all. He raised an arm to block the noise, commanding the winds rioting through the hall to cease. A hush descended, and he listened.
Again the noise came to him, voices so faint, and yet so powerful a draw ... life. The need to touch a living soul was near unbearable. He had seen no creature in decades, but the power was unmistakable. He could practically taste their life's essence.
It had been a hundred years since men had dared walk his halls, a hundred years since his castle had last been seen by a mortal gaze. Damian lifted the cloak of darkness shielding Helmskeep from prying eyes. He had visitors. They must be welcomed.
* * * *
Frigid rain slashed down in slanted sheets with the stinging fury of a thousand bees, blinding Henry to the road ahead. He shielded his head with one arm as the coach slowed to a halt before blackened gates that almost seemed to appear from the gloom. There could be no other chance for shelter if they were to seek it, not along this route, for he'd seen no sign of civilization since their attack. He turned in his raised seat and slid back the small door to speak to his master. "My lord," Henry shouted above the din, "We cannot go on in this storm. The horses are nigh mad with fright. There are gates ahead. Should we stop until this storm abates?"
Lord John Bordeaux leaned close to the window, squinting weathered eyes against the rain spattering inside the lattice work. "Do Henry. Surely they'll not turn a gentleman away."
Henry nodded, slid the door closed, and dropped down to the ground. Thick mud sloshed over his boots as he landed, smacking his heels with each step, sucking at his boots as if to drag him down into its belly, as if the earth itself hungered for the sustenance of human flesh. Nearing the entrance, he could see the iron gates were wicked in the flashing light, barbed on the ends and looking more akin to some spider's web than any creation of man. Peering through them left then right, he spotted an overturned stool and more distant, a squat house, but could not see if the gatekeeper's house was manned or not.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, "Hello?" He stopped and craned his head, listening but hearing no response. "Is there any man about? My master begs shelter. Hello?" His voice cracked with the shouting, but he received no answer save the roar of thunder overhead. Likely a gent fallen on hard times who couldn't afford extra staff, he thought, or else they'd taken shelter in the main house--from what he could see, the small building was shabby indeed.
Henry pulled his coat higher on his neck, shivering, and tried the gate's lock. The lever moved easily, and the gates pushed open, their creaking progress barely audible above the pounding thunder. His skin crawled. He stood unmoving, watching as the gates swung wide, looking for some sign of trickery, of life at all, something to ease the sense that evil dwelt here.
"Henry?" Lord Bordeaux called from the carriage. "Is anything the matter?"
Henry turned slightly and shouted over his shoulder, "No, my lord."
His imaginings were running away with him. Even if this land was abandoned, it was strange to leave the gates unlocked in this area--a border to Hellsing--den of any number of hellspawn. They themselves had been separated from heavy guard in a melee, which was why they were on this freakish pass--more's the pity.
Ignoring the warning in his mind, he went back to the coach and guided the horses through the gates, then shut them once they'd passed through.
He climbed back atop the driver's seat and cracked the reins. The horses shied, but he kept them under firm control despite their terror, moving ever forward.
The drive they traveled was overgrown with weeds near high as the wheels of the coach, hampering their speed, and large holes dotted the packed drive, chunks torn from the earth by heavy rains and roots. The pervasive feeling something was not quite as it should be persisted as they traveled down the drive, and an enormous dark shape loomed ever closer. Through the rain, he spied the great manor, it's details clearer with their progress. More castle than anything else, its size was monstrous and imposing, making him wonder how such a giant of architecture could be missed.
This land was darker than their own and likely caused it to be overlooked. It could not be too distant from that place he called home, yet the atmosphere felt as alien and thick to him as he would feel trapped in the depths of a black mire. A pall hung about the land, perpetually ravaged by storm in his limited experience, and fog shrouded the castle's heights like cobwebs. The darkness before them was unbroken by the shine of life giving flame. No lights glowed from the broken windows, no man came to greet them as they pulled along the circular drive. Not that he'd expected it.
"Whoa," Henry said, easing back on the reins as the team slogged to a halt at the manor's entrance. He looped the reins on the break handle and dropped to the ground to assist Lord Bordeaux, eyeing the dark exterior with increasing foreboding.
"It appears the place is abandoned, my lord," Henry said as he opened the door and shielded Lord Bordeaux with his coat until they neared the overhang that formed a dark cave of an entrance.
"Yes, it does." Lord Bordeaux shook the rain from himself, looking up imposing doors that stood as tall as two men. Henry knocked sharply on the door, but after several minutes, it appeared there would be no answer. Wondering if it was as secure as the gate had been, Henry pushed the rusted lever. As before with the front gate, he found the door unlocked, unprotected, almost as if it had been left so in invitation. The door slowly creaked open.
They peered cautiously inside, seeing naught but utter blackness and the slight shine of lightning reflecting off of water that had puddled on the floor.
"I think you may be right, Henry. This land must border my own, yet to say truth, I've never heard of this place before, nor know to whom it belongs. Tend to the horses. I'll go inside and find kindling for a fire."
Henry took one last look at the blackness and shivered. "I fear this land is accursed. There is a taint to the air that chills my bones."
"'Tis naught but the cold and wet, Henry. I feel it too. We'll soon have a fire to warm these old bones of ours. Go now, before the horses sicken."
Henry nodded reluctantly and left.
Lord John stepped carefully over the threshold, keeping one hand on the stone wall so he wouldn't get disoriented. A few steps inside, he found a wall sconce and lifted a beeswax candle from its holder. The wind repeatedly snuffed the spark from his flint, but he finally managed to light the wick, and weak light crept over his hand and spilled onto the floor.
With the light, he could see he stood in a large antechamber. Behind him, dual, arched windows studded the wall, revealing little with night closed around the castle except in the brief flashes of nature's light that proved more disorienting, and unnerving than helpful. John tightened his coat about his middle against a sudden gust of wind and nearly lost the fragile flame to its snuffing fingers. Cupping his hand around the candle limited the extent of his vision, but it would have to do. As he looked ahead, he could see a black hole of a doorway break the smooth the inner wall, and he moved toward it, glancing inside.
A great hall opened before him, cavernous and black. The ceiling stretched beyond his sight in the dimness, saved only from infinity by broken windows casting meager light that couldn't reach as far down as his own head.
He shuffled forward, the pain in his knee flaring from the damp. He needed to find a hearth, and he was familiar enough with the architecture of olden days to know there should be a massive fireplace somewhere in the hall.
"Hold your steps, old man. You have ventured where you don't belong and would do best to take care."
The voice spoke from the dark ahead of him, as deep and cold as the grave. A fist squeezed his heart a brief moment before releasing him. Lord John gasped in pain and surprise, resisting the shiver crawling up his spine.
"My apologies, Sir. I thought this place to be abandoned, else I would not have entered. Who is the master of this house, that I may ask shelter for a time, until the storm abates?"
"I am lord of these lands."
Lord John feigned a pleasantry he did not feel. "I am Lord John Bordeaux of Raedan. To whom do I have the pleasure of meeting? I confess, my lord, I ... I cannot see you."
A flash of light lit the hall as torches flared along its length, and fire burst to life in two great hearths on either side of the hall, tall as any man. Blinded momentarily by the sudden brilliance, Lord John blinked rapidly to adjust to the brightness. A flicker of fear flared deep in his soul. A darkness entered his blurred vision, growing rapidly, seizing his attention as surely as death on swift wings. He dropped the candle he held, his fingers nerveless as he saw the lord of the manor. Frozen to the spot, encompassed by an unnamable horror, he could do nothing as the man in blackened armor strode down the centerway toward him. But this was no man ... no man at all....
The man stopped before reaching Lord John, thin tendrils of ice reaching out from him to steal his warmth. John took a halting step back, then straightened, his will fighting the terror gripping him. "I'll bid you goodnight then, my lord, if I am not welcome," he spoke softly, his voice raspy despite an injection of false confidence.
"I think not. You have trespassed here. There is a price to be paid. By you and your manservant...."
"I came alone--" His jaw snapped shut as movement sounded behind him, a brief shuffle of noise quickly silenced before a gasp echoed through the hall. Henry had joined them. There could be no denying his presence now. Silence reigned for the span of two pulsing beats of his heart, and John realized the quiet extended beyond the reach of his ears save for his own pounding heart. The storm had abated, or else it could not be heard in this great tomb.
"My lord," Henry gasped, coming up behind him. His was a steadying presence, though his own fear was palpable even to John. What could two old men do against such a foe? He'd not wielded a sword in decades....
"What do you ask of me, my lord? I will pay any price--"
"Would you?" The dark lord laughed darkly, mirthless and cold.
"Gold, jewels. My daughters will pay any ransom you seek. Please, take pity on an old man."
The black knight turned then to cross to the hearth fire, his deep purple cape a black swirl around him. Light reflected off his armor like hellfire, deep and red as the blood of the innocents. "Tell me of these daughters you possess. What of the eldest? Is she fair and pure? If you lie, I shall know it," he said with barely leashed menace.
Lord John liked not this questioning but could say nothing more than the truth. She was safe. This monster could not harm her. "Sh--she is a healer ... renowned across the land for her beauty and her heart, a heart as white and pure as snow."
The knight faced him again, raising mesh covered fingers to his helm in thought, as though considering John's words. "I will give you your freedom."
Lord John and Henry each breathed in a deep sign of relief. "Thank you, my lor--"
"In exchange for your eldest daughter, the healer."
* * * *
"You cannot ask this of me."
The dark one chuckled. "I do not ask, little man. It is the price I demand ... for your life."
Lord John moistened his dry lips. "Might I speak with my manservant a moment? In private?"
A grim smile still playing about his cruel mouth, the dark one nodded. "By all means."
Lord John bowed, and he and Henry moved a small measure away, far enough they felt they could not be overheard. Briefly, it occurred to Lord John that they might use the moment best by attempting an escape, but reality was a cruel master. They were neither of them young, strong, spry as they had once been. They stood not a ghost's chance in hell of escaping the castle, even with such a one as the dark lord on their heels to add fleetness to their step. And, even supposing fear lent them wings, they could not recover the carriage and horses before he was upon them. Escaping on foot was not even to be considered as a possibility.
"You must go, Henry, and return with men to aid in my release."
Henry blinked rapidly in surprise, holding his chest as if he feared his heart would break free and burst forth. "How can I, my lord, with that devil watching?"
"He means to keep me alone here. He has said nothing of holding you prisoner, and one of us must go back to fetch Bianca. He intends to send you. I depend upon you, Henry, to gather men willing to come to my aid."
"Master, I fear they'll not come. I would have to tell them who holds you captive, else the lot of them would balk and flee the moment they came within sight of this awful place. With their old superstition confirmed that a death knight roams these lands--"
"Do it. And let not my daughters hear of what has befallen me. I would rather stay and rot than allow that devil to get his hands on them."
Henry said nothing for several moments. "He emphasized healer, my lord. I think, perhaps, he asks for her healing touch--"
"No. He is a villain, a devil. I cannot have them exposed to such evil. I will not allow it."
Henry nodded, his face drawn and solemn. "I will do as you ask, my lord."
"Then let this be good-bye if you cannot rally the men."
"Do not speak of such things, my lord. It bears on your cause. It is never wise to tempt the fates in such a way."
Lord John waved his words away. "Take my ring. They will know your words for truth if you present it." Lord John slipped his signet ring off his ring finger and pressed it into Henry's palm.
He faced the knight once more. "I will send my manservant at once."
A smile curled the death knight's lips, chilling Lord John to his marrow.
RED AS BLOOD
by
Morgana de Winter
© copyright January 2004, Morgana de Winter
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright January 2004
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Road
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Chapter One
"Trespassers, especially beautiful ones, are violated. Survivors are lunch."
Cerise Bordeaux stared at the man who had abruptly appeared before her on the forest path. There was humor in his voice, but his eyes gleamed with intent. She felt her heart flutter with a combination of fright and, god help her, excitement. He was as beautiful as the devil himself, and just as clearly a minion. There was no doubt in her mind that he was the vampire lord of legend, Daegon Erlansson.
Cerise had anticipated encountering problems when she made the decision to go in search of her sister, who had been taken by some demon and held captive. It wasn't as if she actually knew where to look for her sister. Then too, she had the worst sense of direction.
She hadn't expected to encounter this sort of problem, however. She'd been lost for hours. It seemed to her that fate had laden her with enough problems without adding the accursed vampire lord to her troubles. Misfortune piled upon misfortune. First a wolf had startled her mare, whom she'd depended upon to show her the way. The frightened mare had swept her from the saddle with the aid of a low-hanging limb, and she had been trying ever since to catch up to the horse. Now this.
"I saw no signs," Cerise said carefully, casting about for a weapon. There was nothing within reach but dirt and dried brush, and thinking realistically, she didn't have much hope of fending off a vampire should he choose to attack.
"Perhaps because there are none?"
Cerise gave him an indignant look and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, if that is the case, I fail to see how you can accuse me of trespassing."
Daegon gave her an odd sort of look. "My dear child, have you no notion of who these wood belong to?"
Cerise considered lying, but it was likely, being a son of the devil, that he could read minds. With alarm, she wondered if he could manipulate them too. 'Twas best not to think on that route. "Obviously you," she retorted, opting somewhat for the truth, "But how was I to know that?"
Daegon tilted his head to one side, studying her as if he had just discovered a rare find. Something lit in his eyes, and she was certain it boded ill. "And now that you do know?" he asked curiously.
"I shall leave, of course. Only point the way to me, for I am lost in these accursed woods and have been half the day."
A thin smile curled the vampire lord's lips. He was really quite handsome, Cerise thought vaguely. Not so handsome that she was willing to allow him to violate her, but far more handsome than any living man she knew. Or dead either, for that matter.
A thin beard cut across the line of his jaw, and along with the mustache, lent him a dastardly look, more akin to a wicked rogue than some demon spawn. Hair like the night parted on his high forehead, curling over his shoulders in wanton disarray. His face was haunted angles; a distinctly squared jaw line; blade of a nose; thick brows that arched high and pulled deep when he frowned; hollow cheeks and sharply high cheekbones. But it was his eyes that were so arresting. They seemed to stare straight through her, into the chaos of her mind. Color indistinguishable with the night, she could only guess what hue they were, but she rather imagined a soulless black, or perhaps red as the blood of his victims.
She shuddered at the thought, unable to consider the mental image of feeding, but the vision of him suckling a woman's neck toyed with her imagination. Would it be painful, or the ecstasy others believed? She liked that line of thought even less, and half wondered if he'd planted the image in her mind merely to toy with her.
"I do believe I am going to enjoy this," he murmured, taking a step toward her.
Her eyes widened. She took a step back. "There's no need to be nasty about this. I am perfectly willing to leave."
He moved a step closer. "Ah, but you're assuming that I would allow it."
Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Cerise whirled and fled back down the path, in the direction from which she had come. She was certain if she just followed the path, she could at least find her way back to where her horse had thrown her and perhaps the damnable beast had returned by now. A wicked laugh echoed through the forest around her, raising the hair on the back of her neck like a shock. It sounded unnervingly close. She didn't dare risk a look behind her. Instead, throwing caution to the wind, she leapt from the path and tore off through the woods.
Her breath was coming so hard and fast, she felt dizzy from it, but she didn't dare slow her steps. She plowed through the frost-killed brush, still thick enough to hamper her speed, but she hoped it would disguise her path through the wood. Leaping a low tangle of vines, she jumped behind the broad trunk of a tree and paused, trying to steady her breath, trying to listen for sounds of pursuit.
"You are flushed, my dear," murmured a voice directly in her ear.
Cerise spun around with a startled gasp and gaped at the man who had appeared seemingly from out of nowhere.
"The color becomes you."
Cerise screamed and stomped his foot, shoving his chest at the same moment. She wasn't certain whether she'd actually managed to knock him from his feet, or if he'd merely vanished again, but she didn't wait around to find out. She turned toward the path once more, or at least the direction she thought which the path layed. The trees seemed to reach out to grab her, tearing at her clothing as she fled as fast as her feet could carry her. A briar caught her bodice, ripping it from neckline almost to her waist. Gasping, she grasped the edges of her torn bodice and ran faster.
Before she quite knew what had happened, she stumbled into a tiny brook. She gaped at the water swirling around her feet. Her legs immediately began going numb with the cold. She didn't think she could feel much more miserable, unless someone tipped a bucket of the water over her head.
Cerise searched her mind, grasping for bearings. She didn't remember crossing a brook before. Where was that twice damned path she'd followed?
As she turned, wondering how she'd gotten her sense of direction so twisted around, she saw the vampire lounging on a flat rock that bordered the bank, a half smile curling his lips. Her heart flip-flopped in her chest and she froze.
He trailed a hand in the water, his smile inviting, as if they were on a picnic together. "You seem a little breathless, sweeting. Shall I remove that tiresome corset as well?"
Cerise stared at him, trying to cover herself with little success. She tucked the edges of her bodice into her corset as she gave him an evil eye. "You villain! It was you who ripped my bodice!"
He looked pleased with himself. Cerise wanted to slap him. "A paltry trick."
"A low trick," she retorted, putting every ounce of disgust she held into her voice. Her reaction served only to amuse him more. Seeing he was no imminent threat at that moment, Cerise looked around a little desperately as she tried to get her bearings.
He pointed over his shoulder. "The path is that way, my love."
Cerise glared at him indignantly. As if she would believe him. She wasn't about to fall for that one.
Hiking her wet skirts to her knees, she slogged through the creek and up the other side. She developed a stitch in her ribs as she ran, and she clutched the pain, forcing herself onward. Her heart leapt with relief when she stumbled from the woods and onto a brightly lit meadow. She knew she could put more distance between her and that wicked man if she left the woods and crossed the clearing.
She had almost made it halfway across when she stumbled over something and felt herself rushing toward the ground. She shrieked and threw up her hands to catch herself. Two arms encircled her before she could strike the ground, a firm body surprisingly muscled cushioning her fall. Half stunned, Cerise looked up at the man who held her.
Him. As if it could be anyone else.
He lifted his brows. "And I had thought you were playing hard to get. You are a wanton, my love, to throw yourself in my arms this way." His arms tightened around her, plumping her breasts to the top of her corset until she thought they would burst from the encasement. He smiled as he looked from her breasts and into her eyes. There was something decidedly the lady killer in gaze.
"You tripped me," she accused. "Unhand me. Now, my lord."
"Daegon," he corrected, confirming her worst suspicions, "And cease this fun? My love, you know not what you ask."
Something had crept down to one buttock cheek. It felt like a hand. When she squirmed to look back, it squeezed. Cerise jumped in surprise, shocked to her toes. She pushed at his chest, glaring at him, wishing he'd remove that offensive palm from her backside. "I am no wanton, my lord. It is you and your vile games that put me in this position."
His smile turned devilish, making her heart flutter. "You prefer another?" He rolled suddenly, landing atop her as he bore her against the soft earth of the meadow. His hands slipped from her back and came down on either side of her head, holding her hands trapped between their melded bodies.
Cerise began to lose feeling in her fingertips. He felt as heavy as solid muscle. She couldn't locate an ounce of fat to pinch, no soft spot upon his body she could strike from her position. Her heart pounded from her exertion. Her lungs fought to drag in air. She felt a little faint.
"You know … that … is not … what … I meant," she gritted out, struggling beneath him.
His mouth quirked with amusement. He lifted slightly, decreasing his weight enough she could breathe without heaving and crushing her breasts against his chest with every breath. "Think you I read minds?"
"I would not be surprised. I've heard stories of your ilk. What is your intent now?" she asked, not particularly wanting to know the answer, but she rather thought it would behoove her to be prepared. He might actually tell her the truth and give her fair warning.
He arched a brow. "What manner of stories? Perhaps the vampire's kiss?" His voice dropped an octave, slipping to a sensual purr that rubbed along her nerves like a cat. "Have you an interest to know the touch of a vampire?"
Alarm flared through her combining with an odd sort of thrill that she didn't want to examine at the moment. Of course, it could be only fright, for she was not in the best position to fight him off.
He didn't await her answer, but leaned close as though to kiss her. Cerise snapped her teeth at him, missing him by inches. He pulled back in surprise, and she shoved at his chest, wedging her knee between him, pushing with all her might. His impetus rolled him off of her. He grabbed at her feet as she rolled to her knees. She kicked backwards like a horse, striking soft flesh.
Cerise scrambled away, getting to her feet. Heedless of all else, she picked up her skirts and ran through the meadow toward the dark shadow of trees. She dashed past the trunks, heading into blackness absolute, ignoring the tear of limbs and brambles. Her thighs burned as if afire, taxed to the limit of endurance. Her sides felt ready to split, and her feet felt heavy, as though she traveled a bog rather than dry, wintry woods. She felt that at any moment, her beleaguered heart would give out.
Her pace unconsciously slowed as she melted deeper into the woods. She would never find the path now. Even the moonlight deserted her in her need. That devil had pursued her until she scarce had a notion of what was up or down.
Ahead, a light shone suddenly, pouring from the sky like liquid silver. Cerise chased it with a last burst of energy, pushing through the trees into a meadow. She stopped at the edge, looking around in confusion. She dropped her skirts, clutching her chest as she caught her breath. This couldn't be the same clearing. She couldn't have traveled in a circle. It just wasn't possible.
"Confused?" an annoyingly familiar voice said behind her.
Cerise whirled around, found him studying her with amusement. Rage overtook her. She wanted to see blood … and not her own. "You bastard! You, you … you just let me think I could escape!"
"I cannot help that you cannot accept the consequences of your actions, my dear. I gave you warning you couldn't leave unless I allow it."
With a growl that came from some forgotten place deep inside her, she curled her hands into talons and lunged for his throat.
He stepped aside, catching her arms as she sailed past him, twirling her around until she was ensnared in his arms and helpless to escape or shred the hide from his bones. Cerise gave him a murderous look as he regarded her like a child throwing a tantrum. If she thought her head could withstand it, she would have butted the smug smile from his face.
"Such violence," he murmured, tsking with disapproval. He sighed, rolling one shoulder in a stretch. "I believe we've played enough now," he said, lazily regarding her.
The heat of anger was too much combined with the exhaustion of her flight. She was so tired--tired and ready to admit she'd been defeated. Had he played fair as any decent man would, she was certain he would not be the victor. If she lived past this day, he would regret it, though she rather doubted she would. Didn't all hunters toy with their prey before killing?
"Just be done with it," she said with a breathless voice, full of exhaustion. She tilted her head to the side and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain.
He chuckled, mild laughter rumbling in his chest. She felt it seep through her own. He seemed to take great delight in her misery.
She startled as one arm moved from her back and his fingers cupped her jaw. He tipped her back, arching her neck, brushing his fingers across her lips and down her throat. Tingles spread from his fingertips like a spiraling web, warm, soothing. She thought he would be cold, not vibrantly heated like a living man. Languor twined through her limbs.
"I'm honored you give yourself to me, fair Cerise," he whispered, spreading warmth across her collarbone.
His heat seeped into her skin, into her muscles, paralyzing her to his touch. She should have been alarmed, frightened, but she couldn't conjure such rabid emotions, only a vague curiosity. "How did you know … my…," she murmured as a haze enveloped her in its embrace.
DARK AS WINE
By
Morgana de Winter
© copyright July 2005, Morgana de Winter
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright July 2005
ISBN 1-58608-546-8
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Adriana Bordeaux longed to be rescued from her prison.
She'd been locked in the tower since her sisters, Bianca and Cerise, had been stolen away by the unnaturals. Her father, devastated by the loss of two of his daughters, was determined that he was going to protect his only remaining child from the dark and dread forces that lived in Hellsing wood beyond their borders, but in doing so, he was protecting her from any life at all.
She yearned for a life of her own with a longing that bordered on desperation. It had become so painful to her that she could think of little else. Even the books that had given her so much pleasure in the beginning no longer did. Instead, she spent her days searching for the knowledge that might free her.
The day came when she found a very old and tattered book of legends among those that had been brought to her. She knew her father could not know that it was among the books chosen for her, else she would not have had it, for the book told tales of those very creatures from the dark woods of Hellsing from which her father was so determined to protect her. She hid it whenever he visited her, but in the evenings when she was alone in her lonely tower room, she would take it out and read it once more.
One story spoke to her more than any other, lifting her spirits, giving her hope when she had begun to feel that there was no hope for her. It was the legend of the guardian of dreams, the Lord of the Night, Morpheus Dragunas.
According to the legend, if a maiden who was pure in every way petitioned the lord of the night, he would be compelled to come to her and grant her heart's desire. She knew that it was not something her father wanted for her, and yet she also knew that she had to live her own life.
She feared, though, that she would not be found worthy. She was guilty of envy for the love her sisters had found, and she was guilty of disobeying her father. Perhaps she was not pure enough to summon Morpheus?
Still, she couldn't think that it would hurt to try. If he did not come, she would be no worse off than before.
Doubt filled her when she thought of father. If the Lord of the Night answered her pleas it might well break her father's heart. She didn't want that, but she needed something for herself. Surely, once he saw that she was happy, he would understand what all parents had to learn in time, that when their children grew up, they had need of their own life, to live it as they saw fit.
As she read the story, over and over again, she wavered back and forth, fearing she would break her father's heart, hoping that she could summon Morpheus and he would grant her heart's desire, fearing that he would find her unworthy and not come to her at all. Finally, she decided to see if Morpheus would come to her.
Kneeling before her tower window, she lifted her arms in supplication to the heavens and cried out, "Come to me, lord of the night! Come to me, Morpheus, I beg of you, and grant me my heart's desire."
She sat in front of the window for a very long time, so long her back began to ache and her knees, and still there was no sign of Morpheus, lord of the night. "Please," she murmured hopelessly. "I know I'm not worthy, but I do try so hard to be good, and I'm so desperately lonely. I need a husband and a family of my own."
She had no idea how long she sat beneath her window after she had uttered her final, desperate plea, but the moon had moved across the sky, and she knew it was growing very late. Finally, she rose stiffly, moved across the tower room, and crawled into her cold and lonely bed.
Adriana was despondent the next morning when she awoke, for even as she closed her eyes, she had hoped that Morpheus would visit her in her dreams. That he did not seemed an indication that she was not pure enough to summon him.
In her heart, she assured herself, she had known that he wouldn't, but she found she simply could not give up. He was her only hope. Night after night, she knelt beside her window, calling to him, fighting the tears that streamed down her cheeks, and dripped cold droplets on her night dress.
* * * *
Morpheus Dragunas massaged his throbbing temples. Night after night, he heard the call without cease, without pity, without mercy until he thought he could not abide the torment any longer. He could not even recall the last time he had heard the summons and felt it pull at him and it infuriated him to discover after so long a time that he was still bound by the spell. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, he could not.
Knowing it was useless, that he would be compelled to go in the end, he fought it just the same. Each day he would assure himself that he had won, that he had resisted the pull and it would not trouble him further, but each night, he heard the call again, more desperate than before, and each night, the pain inside of him grew until it finally reached the point where he could no longer bear to resist the summons. He had to go.
She would regret it, he decided as he stalked furiously from his throne room and strode down the echoing halls of his castle. When he was done with her she would not dare to summon him again, he assured himself as he stepped from the wide entrance and whistled for Despair, his night-mare.
Despair answered with a high pitched whinny and galloped from his pasture, snorting and breathing fire, no more pleased to be summoned than was Morpheus. Catching the night-mare's mane of fire, Morpheus leapt onto his back and rowled him into motion. Rearing, Despair pawed the air with his flaming hooves, then shot skyward in a burst of speed that whipped his fiery mane and tail into a frenzy.
* * * *
Adriana stared hopelessly at the distant horizon as the sun sank from view and the evening sky blossomed with colors. She could not even find it in her heart to enjoy the beauty of it, for she had petitioned the lord of the night for so many days that she had lost count, and still he had not come to her. Below her, she saw the servants of her father's keep going about the final chores of the day, putting the castle to rest for the evening, laughing and joking as they anticipated their dinner and the entertainment that usually followed.
Sighing despondently, Adriana lifted her head as the first stars winked into life above her. In the distance she saw a flicker of light. It caught her attention, and she studied it, thinking at first that it was a twinkling star, but after a time, she frowned, her curiosity thoroughly aroused. It seemed to be growing larger, or coming closer.
As she watched, she realized that it was definitely coming closer, for she saw that it was not a star at all. There were flames streaming from it, and at the center of the flames was a dark shape. Slowly, it seemed to her, it drew closer and closer, and the dark shape took form, and finally became two forms. And the fire took shape and form.
In time, she saw that it was a dark cloaked figure upon a black steed. The mane and tail and even the hooves of the dark horse seemed to be on fire.
Adriana's heart sped up with fear as she saw the unnatural creatures bearing down on her father's castle like some evil spawn of hell. Whatever it was, it wasn't coming for her, she told herself. It could not be coming for her. And yet, it was hard to convince herself that it wasn't, when neither man nor beast looked right or left, focusing on a course that led directly to her.
As man and beast alit in the open ground just beyond the castle walls, Adriana tensed, expecting momentarily to hear a cry of alarm. Instead, she heard only silence as the dark cloaked figure lifted his arm and moved it slowly through the air before him. Confused, fearful, she dragged her rapt gaze from the dark figure at last to look at the guards upon the walls to see what they thought, why they had not sounded the alarm, and she saw that they had slumped on the parapets as if they had fallen asleep. Stunned, she looked down into the bailey, and as she watched, the workers there yawned and began to slide slowly toward the ground, as if some invisible force was moving inward, catching man and beast and placing some sleeping spell upon them.
Below her, the castle itself fell silent, but even as she listened to the silence of the dark enchantment, Adriana felt her fear subsiding, felt herself drifting slowly toward the floor.
* * * *
As sleep claimed the very last inhabitant of the tiny castle, Morpheus dismounted. His booted heels crunched loudly on broken rock strewn across the ground, sounding loud in the silence of the night, but not a breath of protest whispered on the cool night air.
Freeing Despair to go about his own concerns until he had need of the steed again, Morpheus strode purposefully toward the castle gates, seeking the object of his wrath, his tormentor, the mortal that had dared to summon him, Morpheus, lord of the night as if he were no more than a slave to do her bidding. When he reached the great gate, he lifted his hands. At once, the massive panels began to swing open. He strode inside, crossed the bailey and lifted his hands as he approached the castle doors so that they also opened to him. Without pausing, he entered the castle and crossed the great hall. Reaching the stairs, he climbed them rapidly, until at last he came to the tower door, where slumbered the sleeping beauty who had demanded his presence.
Flicking an arm in the air as if swatting at a fly, he threw the door to the tower open. It slammed against the stone wall, echoing in the silence. Entering the room without a pause, he looked around for the girl, jolting to a halt when he spied her.
By the window she lay, resting upon the floor in a pool of her own wine dark hair, one hand cradled against her face in sweet supplication.
He had known that she was pure of heart. He had not expected that she would be lovely, as well. As angry as he was, Morpheus felt a pang of something he couldn't quite identify as he stared at her peacefully sleeping face.
For a moment, it pierced his anger. Impatiently, he brushed the unaccustomed, unidentifiable emotion aside, crossing the room swiftly and kneeling beside her. So close, he saw that his eyes had not done her justice. She was fair, so fair that it caused him another pang only to look upon her.
It took more of an effort to banish the strange, confusing hesitancy that came over him that time, to resurrect his anger of before, but he stoked it to life once more for he despised his enslavement to mere mortals with their petty dreams. Bending over her, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to her bed, laying her carefully upon the counterpane.
Straightening, he folded his arms over his chest, pondering a dilemma he had not anticipated. He had decided err he left his realm to answer the summons that he would teach this mortal a lesson that would prevent future petitions upon his valuable time, and yet now that he looked upon her, he was suddenly at a loss as to just what he could bring himself to do to put fear into her heart and mind. Grinding his teeth at the weakness, he settled beside her on the bed and lifted his hand.
Without touching her, he moved his hand just above her cool, pale brow, summoning the demons of sleep.
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