Blood Life Read online

  The flickering shadows and light revealed the depths of darkness that lay about Devendra’s lair. This mosaic of a hidden abyss was sheltered beneath a ring of candlelight. The gentle fumes of incense and smoke danced beneath the ceiling, weaving through one another in gentle blue curls. The chaos above him seemed to settle Roman, even though he had not found peace. His wish was that from this death he would unite with Alexandria, a reward worth any task.

  Appearing in her brilliant shape of strikingly white beauty, Devendra’s grotesque nature was buried under the veil of tender flesh. The subtle curves of her nudity would brutalize the desires of most mortal men. Carrying out the motions of her seductive rite, she pierced her perfect cloak of skin with a consecrated blade, allowing the red streams to flow into a magnificent, tarnished silver chalice. With a passion for precision, she lifted the cup between her fingers and delivered it to its place at the epicenter of four candles, each burning at the four corners of her altar.

  Raising the fresh wound to her lips, Devendra lifted out the excess blood with her tongue before firmly wrapping a cloth around her wrist to seal it. A distorted mumbling of chants surrounded her as she finished preparing. She pulled her hands against her chest, crossing her arms and pressing her hands together with palms facing outward. She lowered to her knees and rotated each of the silver bowls a quarter turn to the east, allowing their contents of soil and water to be blessed.

  Removing her eyes from the altar, Devendra rose and scanned the circular room, fixing her eyes on Roman’s stripped body. The incantations began rising from the baritone depths of her throat as she approached him. She lifted her arms into the air, throwing her head back.

  “Beloved Lillith,

  “I invoke thee! I invoke thee!

  “Act as thy witness;

  “Partake in the creation of this God!”

  She took a step to the east, dropping to her knees. The gold God candle she situated on the east of her altar shone brighter than the silver Goddess candle on the west.

  Roman rested quietly, listening to the magical words that fell from her lips.

  “I call on the neutral energies of our Lady and Mother;

  “Assist in the purification of Roman’s mortal soul;

  “Deliver unto him the gift of thee White Fire,

  “So thy may scorch his mortal heart!”

  Using her razor-sharp nails to penetrate Roman’s chest, Devendra scarred the skin over his heart with four lines: two parallel, two straight on either side—the Vampire’s Mark.

  Roman struggled, remembering vividly The Mark from Alexandria, identifying it as being part of Lokee and not an entire race. Devendra’s chanting overpowered Roman’s outlets of pain. Pushing away from his chest, Devendra spun up to her feet, her limbs in movement and garments swirling, becoming consumed as she circled the room.

  “Let his Divine Spirit be preserved in the prism of ye womb,

  “While we expose his withering soul,

  “And lead him through the Gothic Window to rebirth!”

  Her wild, animal throes brought her once again before the altar. Raising her hands up to the chaos of smoke above her, Devendra threw her head back to draw the presence of Lillith nearer.

  “Dearest, blessed Mother,

  “Let it be learned onto him;

  “The ways of ye being;

  “The power and hunger of the Lamia;

  “The endurance and darkness of the Caligo;

  “And the thirst, ecstasy and desire of the Vrykolakas!”

  Envisioning a circle of fire, she lifted a candle from the altar, bringing it directly above her head. The motions of the circle began to sway her body as she made swift, violent circles in the air. The hot wax began to spread out away from her, igniting in flames at the moment it reached the ground. She continued to throw the wax until it encircled herself, Roman and the altar.

  “I invoke thee!

  “Enter our Circle;

  “Grant us your protection;

  “Let us bring him above mortal wisdom;

  “Pass him through the Earth, Air, Fire, Water;

  “Instill him with our fifth energy,

  “So that his eyes may know Light: the Akasha!”

  Carefully bringing the silver bowl of soil above her head, Devendra lowered herself beside Roman. The green candle, sitting in the North, took its opportunity to illuminate the room, leaning in to hear her. From her stance, with her head bowed, she began to chant while sprinkling the soil along Roman’s body.

  “Give him Strength above All;

  “Give him Beauty within the Flesh;

  “Give him Eternity to walk the Earth!”

  With circular movements, she slowly ground the grains of soil into his skin, digging her nails through his flesh. Her chants continued to ring up into the room, as she stood and walked back to the altar. With practiced accuracy, Devendra anointed her fingers with her own blood from the chalice, using it to extinguish a candle at the exact moment she set down the bowl.

  Picking up the water bowl, she walked back to her place beside Roman. As she baptized his body with the water, her words called upon the blessing.

  “May his thirst be only for companionship;

  “May he be cleansed with the water;

  “May his thirst be only quenched by the Blood Life!”

  The last droplets of water turned to blood as she smeared it into him. Once again returning the bowl to the altar, she suffocated another candle in blood. Leaning over to draw a full breath of air, she turned to face him. Releasing the air from her lungs in forceful thrusts, Devendra began to dry his body. When the air was expelled fully from her lungs, she continued her ritual words.

  “Allow him to hear the voice of the wind;

  “Allow him to know all that flows through it;

  “Allow him breath forevermore!”

  The flames increased their stretch to the sky as the momentum flung her into an uncontrollable dance. Waves of energy and convulsion shot through Roman’s body.

  “Let him be warmed by the White Fire;

  “Let him see by the White Fire;

  “Let him dance on the White Fire!”

  Her ecstatic motions continued until the vigorous reaches of the flames subsided, spinning her off balance, forcing her to fall on top of Roman. Every rhythm of pulse closed the sensations of touch and pain. Pulling Roman’s limp body up to her exposed, porcelain slivers, she clamped beneath and through his jugular, receding his frame deeper, lower into the blankets.

  For each of them, the moment inverted on itself, collapsing the corporal senses while lifting awareness to an apex of erotic intensity. Her touch wilted Roman’s flesh, from his breast to his genitals, flaying away the barrier to Godless pleasures.

  Exposed strings of red muscle tried in vain to protect Roman’s heart as Devendra laid her hands to his chest, the touch staining her brilliance. From a secret depth, her hunger ignited in black flames of demonic energy, piercing its way through taunt strands of flesh, enveloping and devouring his mortal heart.

  From his twisted frame, she pulled the cold shell of his heart to her lips, pushing life eternal back through the chambers, granting him the Blood Life.

  Luring him inside of her, she moaned, a gracious bond of sex that stirs the pagan forms of nature from their long sleep. As her lust lowered around him, his heart was drawn to pull the blood through his veins, tearing away the channels and lifting the shadow-mist from Roman’s eyes. With every pull on his muscles, the empowerment seized him, healed him, bringing him back into a rage of passion and life.

  With his first vibration of strength, Roman clasped onto the base of Devendra’s neck, pulling her face to his sweat-beaded chest. Throwing her now beneath him, Roman tore at the cloth that concealed her wound, using the stained shreds to interlock their hands.

  Devendra’s struggling was to pull him deeper inside, to increase his force and tenacity. Each of their screams of rejuvenation probed through the hollows of the room, c
limbing on top of one another until they culminated into bent groans of rapture. Her face drowned in the blankets, and her breasts rubbed against the floor, as he continued to take her with seething arousal. Every stretch of fiber contracted around him, cuffing him behind her. The throbbing pressure collapsed around them, sending them into a flood of ecstasy; the first taste of the vrykolakas.

  Fifteen

  The last rays of sun crept through the sheer curtains, casting shadows of every form across the room. The breeze cut through the cracked windows, forcing the curtains to dance and wind together in an embrace. Cast iron and wooden figurines seemed to guard every angle of the room. With their stares, absorbing all actions and thoughts, they remained petrified in their fixed states.

  Each statue reflected the candlelight that painted the room gold. The candles revealed, with shimmering glares, the silver posts that extended to the ceiling, supporting the deep mahogany bed. Draping down to seal the parameters of the bed, the dark chiffon canopy caressed the shiny plates of the floor. The delicate waves of motion that animated the fabric opened up and allowed Roman’s unobstructed fall to the ground.

  The sudden jolt of pressure ended his three-day sleep. As his memories came around, he grappled at the unblemished skin that coated his chest. With a long exhaled breath he pushed himself up to a sitting position and let his eyes circle the gold-tinted, unfamiliar room. The crisp atmosphere invaded every hanging ornament, creating an enticing appearance that now waited in a corner of the room. As the precision returned to his vision, Devendra began her approach.

  “I trust you slept well, Roman?”

  Her words escaped him, forcing him to retreat behind his hands.

  “It was a dream, my chest is—” he stuttered, looking down at his chest, “—my heart was—” He broke off, tearing at himself in disbelief.

  “No, Roman.” Her words were soft, enchanting to the ear, as she placed herself on the floor beside him. “Your wounds will always heal themselves if that is what you wish. Your appearance will alter under your commands. You have been given my blood-kiss, which is not a gift to ignore.”

  She paused to study his expression and listen to his thoughts, reaching out to calm his wringing hands. “You have died, Roman, to become one of the greats.” He was still unclear, staring at her blankly. “You are now one of the vrykolakas. To be given a blood-kiss is to be brought over to an immortal way of life, or should I say un-life?”

  She smiled down at him.

  “But you do not understand; my soul was taken from me—”

  “And returned,” she promised, with a raise of her brow.

  “But I watched! I saw my body dismembered by your hand, and then, pulled into the mist.” He hesitated as the memories flooded over him.

  “The mist was the Spirits of the Caligo and Lamia anointing your soul. I have released you of your mortal burden, at your request, and given you the Gift. Lillith has assisted me in creating you, in making you. You are immortal, Roman, one of the vrykolakas.”

  “What is the meaning of all this?” he demanded, shocked by her conviction. “I am what?”

  A slight laugh escaped her lips. “You are a vampire, my dear Roman; you must live on the Blood Life for eternity. You will never get sick, you will never grow old, and you will never die.”

  She rubbed her hands along the sides of his face, stopping at his temples and rubbing them to soothe the uncomfortable thoughts. “You must be hungry,” she half-whispered, thoughtfully. “It takes time for you to learn to feed and complete the pro—”

  “No, I shall never feed off another human beings life!” His confidence seemed melodramatic at best.

  “I assume you are prepared for,” she said, laughing, “the three horrifying centuries that a vampire remains earthbound without feeding before Death even considers them?”

  “But I refuse to drink blood,” he claimed, spitting on the ground near her feet, immediately regretting that action.

  Devendra simply studied the pool of spit. Looking back up and squarely into his face, she replied sadly, “Nor could you handle the immense strength gained from human blood,” she tersely warned him. “Your needs require something simple-minded for now, just until you come out of the denial stages of your death.” She stood and motioned for him to follow her. “Come.”

  Stumbling over to the window, Roman collapsed against the sill. With a slow moving grace, she brought herself up behind him. “What is it you intend to do? Jump?”

  “And if I do?”

  “I would not allow it!” Her fingers harnessed around his shoulder blades. “But if that is what you truly wish, my darling, then fly!”

  Lifting him from the gaps below his shoulder blades, she pulled him to her chest to hold him for a moment, breathing hot, sweet air onto his earlobe, and then delivered him through the thin pane of glass to a rapid seven-story descent.

  The sudden inflation of his lungs stifled his screams, making his race to the Earth silent. Each second added another fold to the pace as gravity extended its arms and pulled him down. Every detail of the ground beneath him grew in size at a remarkable rate. Suddenly his descent turned to slow motion as he looked down to find Devendra smiling up at him. Reaching the ground he landed gracefully on his feet with the chaos drowning his mind.

  “You’ll learn, Roman. Your life is not yours to take, but you’ll come to understand that soon enough.”

  She took Roman’s hand, her grip stopping the quivers, and led him through her property to a barn. It took Roman the entire time to gather himself enough to speak, but once he saw the lamb, alive and awaiting execution, he was overcome with nausea. He slapped a hand over his mouth, controlling his urge to vomit.

  “What is that?” he asked, pointing furiously at the animal.

  “Don’t be silly, Roman, surely you have seen a lamb before,” she taunted, innocently.

  “Well, yes, but why are you showing me? You don’t expect me to actually—”

  “You have not the strength to conquer anything else,” she said, plainly, “but you must feed.”

  “There is no way I could bring myself to kill such innocence.”

  “Then starve. In time, the hunger will dominate your conscience.”

  She left him standing in the barn, locking the doors behind her.

  Sixteen

  Over a week passed of Roman being confined to Devendra’s barn. His behavior had begun to change considerably. He started to experience the agony of his hunger within hours after Devendra first barred him in.

  By the end of the first night, the ribs over his heart cracked due to the intense palpitations and dull aching inside his body telling him to eat to complete the change.

  Each day progressed, until on the seventh, he could differentiate the point of pain between the four chambers of his new heart. He had resorted to distancing himself to the far corner, out of sight of the lamb. However, Roman was more disturbed by the failing of his conscience, as he knew that his only panacea was to devour the creature.

  This thought had an effect on his entire appearance. Somehow, just the notion of tearing at the lamb’s tender flesh made his fingernails jagged and strong. His muscles remained tense and alert, with his veins protruding and exposing the innumerable tracks up and down his arms and legs. And with every throb of his heart, his entire body would spasm and his canines would pierce into his lower lip, ready to rip open skin and release warm, delicious blood . . .

  Unable to control his new instincts any longer, he began to stalk around the wooden pillars of the barn, slowly hunting the lamb. With feline grace, he quietly leapt onto the edge of a stall, only able to see the back of the animal. His lips were markedly full and red, thick with his cold running blood, as he moved directly above his prey.

  The benevolence had been crushed by the severe truth of his nature.

  He had to go against his mortal conscience to expel this taste of pain. He propped his foot against the edge of the stall and launched himself onto the back
of the lamb. Smothering the animal, he used his left claw to pierce its throat and grasp the screams, while using the right to slash through the young, soft flesh.

  His victim was not allowed the chance to struggle or writhe before crumbling into the straw floor. Immediately Roman drank from the mess he had made of the stomach, feeling the twitching of its nerves through the blood stream.

  “Roman,” Devendra’s voice cut through Roman’s savaging, “enough!”

  She started across the barn towards him.

  “Do not drink of the dead. Once the twitching stops, so must you.” She paused, breathing heavily. “Drinking of the dead is poisonous to our kind. It can drive you mad and a mad vampire is annoying to us all.”

  She broke into a smile, but with a firm hand, she removed Roman from the dead lamb. “Your strength and nourishment comes from moving, living blood. The blood of the dead will only take away from the pleasure and weaken your powers. Now, come on, there is much for you to be taught.”

  Roman looked back at the death he had brought to the barn, blood dripping from his clothes, face and hands. The warmth of the Blood Life started to rush through him, returning his poreless skin and tremendous strength; but he knew that his conscience was lost. “How did you know when to come?”

  “I felt your thoughts when you started to need the lamb, when you could no longer stand the thirst. When you gave in to your immortality and cut into the ecstasy, I knew to come to you.”

  “You’ll find superstition a contagious thing.

  Some people let it get the better of them.”

  –Curt Siodmak

  Seventeen

  Spirals of smoke swooned up from the peasant fires that burned in every village around Morgan. The “poor” colored towns consisted of Green, Yellow, Orange and Pink. Of all the poverty stricken towns, Pink held the wisest population, having each been educated by a witch who used to live there.

  She had called herself Sagebrush and single-handedly started to educate each and every one of them with magical beliefs as well as book smarts. When she was sought and killed for her sorcery after only 10 years with them, they knew that she would want nothing else than for them to carry on her good work. And that is what they did.