Crimson's Captivation (20 page)

The king stood and tossed a bone into the
campfire. “The circle of revenge, men!” he yelled, “The war to rid
this area of the Teutonic knights lasted twelve years. In some
ways, it’s never ended. Because here we are, some two hundred years
later, rushing to rescue another kidnapped girl. Some say, and this
is only rumor, that the horrors that dart about in the shadows in
our homeland are descendants of the Teutonic knights. That they
made a deal with the devil and their souls forever walk this earth.
That our fresh blood is their vengeance.”

“What happened to the nobleman?” the same
solder asked know sitting on his hands in anticipation.

To the north, far beyond the river, a howl
ventured across the river to the sentries and sent shivers down
their spines. The closest sentry scanned to the river’s shore,
thought he saw movement and brought the alarm horn to his lips, but
he never had a chance to blow. The half wolf, half man creature ran
its elongated thin finger across the sentries’ throat like a
sadistic murderous violinist. No melody rushed forth, just a gush
of blood leapt into the air, and the lone sentry was silently
dragged toward the river.

“The nobleman!” the king continued at the
campfire unaware that the camp was under attack, “He had lost his
love. His serfs abandoned him. On the last day of battle, he drove
his sword into the chest of that last known knight, then wiped it
clean by dragging it across his own chest. He then traveled to
Danusia’s grave site … ”

Another sentry heard a sound—a low growl to
his left. He turned and didn’t see anything. When he fell back into
his position, he heard another sound to his right and when he
turned, it was there. Its bone white fangs glinted the foul
moisture of the creatures slaver in the moonlight, mere inches from
the sentry’s face. He could smell the creature’s breath. He could
feel the heat of it. Before he could grab his pike. Before he could
scream. Before he could pray to the gods to save his soul, he heard
the growl from behind and felt the searing pain of fangs severing
his backbone. It was over in a flash, a murmur.

The king walked around the campfire, drug his
feet across the fringe embers so that a small firestorm of embers
jutted into the air. “The once nobleman, now a common peasant, but
a peasant in love, took the sword that killed the last Teutonic
Knight and fell upon it. He lay bleeding on Danusia’s grave. As he
laid there, his sword channeling his sincere blood onto the earth,
he whispered to the only family he had left, his sister, my
great-great grandmother … ”

Equally as quick, the third sentry fell, and
then the fourth. There was far more than the hush of death
surrounding the remaining men of the king, and the king himself.
The leader of the werewolves pressed his furry back into the stone
wall and had listened to the entire tale as told by the king from
the cover of a pillar. He knew the story well and halted his men
before the final breach into the interior of the decrepit castle.
He had known all along there was something special about this
leader of men, this King Charles. He could smell the history in the
king’s blood and the king’s story only confirmed it: the king’s
ancestors had killed his ancestors. The wolves that silently lay in
wait had blood rushing through their veins, blood from centuries
old Teutonic Knights. And their leader was to see it avenged.

The king took his seat and grabbed his
pike.

“What was the whisper, King?” the young
soldier insisted, barely able to control himself.

The king brought his pike into the air so
that it flashed the orange and crimson flames of the campfire. “The
WHISPER?” the king yelled.

“Yes, King, what did the nobleman
whisper?”

“Ah, yes. He whispered, ‘I’ve died this day
because I didn’t any other. I die for you, Danusia. I’ve given my
life to a grave and soon will be in one. May God have mercy on my
soul.’”

A lingering growl startled the men around the
campfire. Three or four, or maybe seven howls echoed and bounced
off the interior walls of the crumbling castle in a collection of
confusion. It happened so quickly, and with such vociferously that
the king’s men were caught off guard, unable to pinpoint the
attackers. Several of the king’s men were picked off with ease.

The king focused on the nearest blur and
rammed his pike through the creature. It howled a deafening howl
and the king watched it scamper off towards the river. He turned to
face another, but the creatures were gone, just he and nine of his
men remained. The bodies of three creatures lay near the campfire.
And between the castle and the river, a lone creature stood, his
body backlighted by the moonlight’s rays reflecting off the river’s
water.

“Commander!” The king yelled, but there was
no response. “These creatures are smart,” the king murmured under
his breath. “They always take out my commander.” The king was
incensed and tired of these creatures, tired of the ambush attacks.
He raised his pike into the air, and roared, “death is here and it
waits for you.” He ran toward the creature. The creature stamped on
the ground in anticipation. It replied with a snarling decree of
its own. “Then death it shall be, KING,” and the fight was on.

The king gripped a nearby soldier’s pike in
his left hand and threw it. The creature deftly ducked and sprinted
on all fours with the speed of a wolf toward the king. It leapt
into the air and effortlessly pushed the king’s pike aside when the
king fell on his back, trying to impale it as he had done before in
the forest. The king caught the creature’s weight with both feet
and used its momentum to toss it over him. Before the king had a
chance to get to his feet, the creature was on top of him, its
hairy paws pinned the king’s shoulders to the earth.

“Your blood flows, King. It flows with
history, but it shall FLOW NO MORE!” the creature shouted. It
opened its jaws and as it was about to rip the king’s exposed
throat when his commander rushed in and lunged a pike into the
creature’s back. The creature stood straight up and let out a howl
of pain.

“No!” the king yelled as he rose to his feet.
“Do not help me. This fight is between us.”

The king picked up his pike and took a
defensive stance, placing the campfire between him and the
creature. The creature circled, and then lunged. The king evaded
the first attack by using the fire as a barrier. He kneeled,
grabbed a handful of hot embers with his bare hands, and threw them
at the creature—the stoked embers caught flame and set the hair of
the creature’s arms ablaze.

The king’s hands were on fire. He could feel
the blisters boiling on his skin, but he grabbed another handful
and tossed them above the creature’s head. When the creature looked
up to dodge the fireball, the king rushed forward, straight through
the flames, and drove his pike deep into the creature’s chest.

The creature fell to his knees with its paws
grasping the shaft of the impaled pike. The other creatures howled
a woeful cry and then there was silence. Everyone held their ground
as if they were solid figurines.

The king walked over to the dying creature,
laid his hand on its shoulder and knelt with him. “What is the name
of the kidnapper?” the king asked. “And don’t tell me Gaten.”

“Kieran … ” the creature answered just before
he fell to the ground and died. The name rang true and the king
bowed his head.

“Let that be a lesson …” the young commander
began to shout before the king stopped him.

“No, Commander,” hhe king shouted and then
lowered his voice to a sense of sorrow. “No lesson here, none could
be worse. This creature died for nothing. His men, our comrades,
died for nothing.”

The moments of silence were interrupted by
the cries of the other creatures, as they retrieved the body of
their fallen leader and drug it off towards to forest to the north.
Above them, a texture of dark clouds shielded the moon and world
was black, mournful.

Chapter IV

~ The Yew Tree ~

The next morning, Crimson, Uric, and Sergen
were in their chambers when they heard the countess calling for
them. Uric opened his door to find the countess in the hallway,
“Yes, my lady.”

“Uric, you and Crimson follow me. Sergen, my
husband has chores for you in the stables.”

Crimson and Uric followed the countess to the
courtyard while Sergen made his way to the stables. The sun was
just peeking over the walls and the morning weather was pleasant.
The countess took a seat on a bench near the large yew tree. “You
two seem to find trouble when idle,” she said. “It’s a beautiful
day and I want my flower beds readied for the upcoming spring.
Start with the one along the west wall.”

“Uric, you’re German, correct?” Crimson asked
when they knelt to weed the flowerbed.

“Yes.”

“Have you thought of escape? Germany is only
a short distance from here, I think.”

“Yes, my lady, but I think it’s best I remain
here.”

“Yes, Darya, right? I see how she favors
you.”

“It’s not a favor, but a condition of her
mother. But yes, Darya, I feel I’ve failed her in every measure of
a man.”

“I doubt that, Uric. Seldom does a woman fall
in love with the virtue of a man.”

“What do you mean?”

“Simple, women love desire and flashes of
affection. A connection. They want to be swept away by it. They
want to feel that it’s out of their control.”

“But I’ve seen how you are with Sergen.”

“I’ll admit, I got carried away with it, but
that’s different than love.”

“I don’t think Darya has ever felt that way
about me. She sees me as a disappointment.”

“Nonsense, Uric. Stop talking about yourself
in that way!” Crimson shouted. “Believe me, if she weren’t
interested, you’d not be in her bedchambers, even if it were
arranged by the countess.”

The countess yelled from her seat, “Stop
talking and keep working, Crimson!”

Uric pulled and tossed a weed into the pile
they were making. “Crimson, do you really think Sena will carry
through with your pact?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because she understands as only a woman
can.”

“If you say so. I’d suggest you not get your
hopes up. I don’t think she’s much woman anymore.”

Crimson smiled. “You see, Uric, you don’t
understand. You cannot know how gently Viktor would lower himself
onto my body when we were near the lake. How my hair would flow
across his chest like an opulent whisper when I straddled him. How
the warmth of his mouth felt on my breast and lips. It’s a
waterfall of sensation, Uric. It’s a feeling you will never forget
when you’re connected through love.”

“And you think Sena understands, even now,
after all that has happened?”

Crimson pulled the only red poppy flower from
the bed. “Look at this, Uric,” she said. “This flower shouldn’t be
here this time of year, but it is. Its vividly red petals, the
black spot at the base—it’s perfect, but completely out of place.
Sena understands just as this flower does. Love and its underlying
unity prevail and one doesn’t forget such a thing, it propels
you.”

“How do you know this Viktor is even looking
for you?” Uric asked.

“Because he must.”

“I wish for a love like that,” Uric pined.
“To be honest, I’ve often thought of taking a long sleep from the
cones of that yew tree near the countess.”

“You mean?”

“It’s just a thought.”

Just then, Tor entered the courtyard. “There
you two are. Sergen has readied the stable. Tonight you will return
to your chambers one final time and await Kieran’s men in the
morning.”

“Kieran’s men?” Crimson questioned. The name
Kieran sent shivers down her spine that came to a faltering stop in
her belly. She hadn’t thought about Kieran in some time.

“Yes, all three of you are going back to the
auction house,” Tor said.

Crimson cringed at the thought. Even as
distasteful as it was being a member of Tor’s concubine and the
fact that she had to suffer at his pawing hands—this palace was
where she was, this palace was where Sena would send message for
rescue. “You can’t, Lord Tor,” Crimson pleaded. “You mustn’t send
us back.”

“I’m afraid that I must.”

Crimson looked at Tor with imploring caramel
eyes and a slight pout on her lips. “Have I not pleased you, Lord
Tor? Have I not pretended to put up a fight when I wanted you
most?”

“You have, my lovely one, but the decision
doesn’t rest with me.”

“So the countess then?”

“Yes and no. The decision has been given to
me. It rests on my shoulders as heavy as the world itself. I must
do what is right for me and my wife. That is why I’ve contacted
Kieran and am sending you back.”

Crimson fell heavy onto her calves. She was
beside herself with anxiety and it made her feel sick to her
stomach. She knew she couldn’t be returned to the auction house, it
was wrought with danger. She also knew that there was no hope of
changing the countess’s mind. What if Kieran did as he promised and
took her for his own? Worse, what if she were sold and sent to some
place far, far away. She had had her fill of forced love, knew the
shallowness of it. She now needed and wanted Viktor more than
ever.

* * * *

It was mid-day and Sena found the experience
of her new body formidable and exciting. It was as if a switch had
been flipped and all those little rumblings of instinct that she
used to ignore were now brought to the surface. The internal
feeling was animalistic, powerful, and it coursed through her
veins. She felt supernatural. She was a creature, as wild and as
primal as the animals that she had once feared.

She sensed her change as she tracked any
peripheral movement from the bow of her tree. A tree squirrel
darting about the tree branches or the young peasant child playing
in the fields seemed like easy game as she made her way toward Riga
to find Viktor. And the urge to feed worked on her mind. It drove
her reflexes—she needed to taste blood. Near the Daugava River,
Sena crouched in a bow of a tree and watched a small deer wander
through the woods. At first, she fought the urge to attack, but
suddenly, the deer darted down a path and the mere quickness of the
animal’s movement overcame her and she pounced. The small animal
didn’t stand a chance as Sena bore down on it.