The Tale of the Vampire Bride (20 page)

I was so hungry and he was not letting me feed!

“Did you give the girl the ring?” Vlad screamed into my face, his face fiery red.

“In another life,” I answered in a low voice.

“Another life,” Vlad muttered under his breath. His dark mood suddenly vanished as he smiled. “Another life. Yes, that is a good answer.” He released me and threw the girl into Cneajna’s arms. Ripping the ring from the chain, he motioned the gypsies back with one hand. “Here, Glynis, now wear it in this life.”

I reluctantly took the ring and shoved it onto my finger. “I hunger.”

Vlad seized the gypsy girl and turned toward the servants. “She broke our agreement. You swore to serve me loyally. Stealing from my wives is a crime I will not tolerate. Serve me faithfully, I will reward you. Betray me, then death will come!” Vlad flung the girl into my waiting arms.

Without hesitation, I yanked the girl’s head back and bit deeply into her throat. Blood flowed in dark red rivulets down the shrieking girl’s flesh to the dark place between her breasts where she had hidden the forbidden ring.

Satisfied, Vlad returned to the depths of the castle, leaving the gypsies to quietly disappear into their humble homes. Soon the courtyard was empty save for Cneajna, the slowly dying girl, and me.

Cneajna stood over me as I drained away every last drop of life from the mortal. I was aware of her, but all I wanted was that thick, rich blood filling me, chasing away the hunger, and making my body warm again. The cold night air swirled around us as the silent stars shone down upon us.

The dead gypsy fell to the cold stones of the courtyard. I remained on my knees staring at the lifeless body.

“Glynis?”

I could not answer her, not yet. I licked the blood from my fangs and my lips, tasting its richness.

“My child?”

Slowly, I looked up. The hunger and the madness was gone. My mind felt clear. Strong. Like my body.

Cneajna laid a hand against my smooth cheek. “Glynis?”

“I remember.”

“What?”

“What I am. Who I was.” It was all clear now. That other life. The door was fully thrown open.

I stared up at the magnificence of the night, the beauty of the vampire standing over me, and I remembered it all. My father, my mother, my sister, my brother, my home so far away in England, all our travels, the deaths of my family, my own death and rebirth. With startling clarity, no longer hidden and distant, all I had experienced and endured flooded into my mind. With equal clarity, I realized the chains I had once endured no longer bound me. I was free of all past restraints. I was free to live forever, free to kill, free to feed, free to do what I had to do to escape this place and obtain my ultimate freedom.

In that moment, I was completely reborn.

I slowly stood up and looked into the worried eyes of the blond vampire. “I have become.”

“Become what?”

“A vampire,” I answered calmly.

She smiled at me and said, “Then all is well.”

Chapter 11

The Journal of Lady Glynis Wright

The Castle

One night I found myself wandering alone through the castle. When I had risen I realized the other vampires had already awakened and were prowling the night. Honestly, I was quite glad to be alone. Melancholy thoughts of my family were drifting through my mind and I did not feel like dealing with the other vampires. They were annoying with their insistence that I be grateful for my new undead existence and their determination that I simply accept my fate.

Ha! Obviously, they have no concept of my true nature. I have never in my entire life simply accepted anything I was supposed to. I accept nothing at face value and I am rather stubborn. Frankly, I am quite contrary.

So, glad to be rid of the other vampires, I gathered a lace shawl that Cneajna had given me about my shoulders, and I drifted off into the dark corridors.

My mind was ravaged by memories as I walked: each and every one a brutal reminder of my former life. I almost wished for the bliss of forgetfulness for every memory was a painful stab into my dead little heart. But then, I would not want to be simpleton, lost in the hunger, doing as Vlad told me.

The memories were torturous in their vividness. I remembered my beloved brother, Andrew, holding me upside by my ankles when I was four as he swung me about as my mother came screaming down the stairs that he put me down at once. Of course, I was laughing with delight the whole time. Andrew and I constantly gave Mother fits.

And I remembered my beloved May. Oh, yes, she annoyed me with her wide-eyed innocence and calm nature. She was never up for any sort of adventure, but I did love her. I fondly recalled sitting on my bed reading to her as she curled up against me, warm and frail, delicate and sweet.

I remembered my parents. My dear sweet father with his even temperament and twinkling eyes and his mutterings of “there, there.” And of course, my Mother, that I have to confess, I am very much like in many ways. We always had a cantankerous relationship, but it was always a loving one. Even in the heat of all our arguments, I never doubted she loved me.

Tears slipped down my face as I tried not to think of her death at my hands. I felt the cold wetness of the trail they left behind on my cheeks.

Now dear Andrew and Angeline are all that remain of my family.

Dearest Andrew, how I miss him.

Ariana emerged from the shadows. In one swift motion, she reached out and touched my tears.

“Do not cry, dear sister,” she whispered softly.

“I am rather sad and cannot help it,” I responded.

Ariana wiped the tears away with her cold little hands. She was so child-like in her movements and sincerity it made me weep all the more. I could not help but wonder how old Ariana had been when she had been brought into this dark world.

“I used to cry, too. A long time ago. So long ago I cannot remember why I cried.” She pursed her lips. “I sometimes wish I could remember.”

“Was it for your family?” I asked.

She raised her dark eyes and frowned. “But my family is here.”

“No, I mean your mortal family.”

Ariana considered this for a long moment, then shook her head. “I do not remember them.”

I sighed heavily and patted Ariana’s cheek lightly before moving on. She was such a simple child. Perhaps it was best she remembered nothing so she could embrace the decaying grandeur of the castle and the cold creatures that inhabited it.

“Glynis?”

“Yes,” I said, casting a glance over my shoulder.

She seemed almost shy. “Would you…would you like me to show you something?”

I was about to deny the young girl, but something about her expression held a resemblance to my beloved May, so I sighed. “All right, Ariana. What is it?”

She smiled and reached out her small hand. “It is a secret. Come. I will show you.”

I took her hand and hurried after her as the dark haired vampire led me up a series of winding stairways and down long corridors. She drew me so quickly behind her the world rushed past me, and I had the sensation of flight. All at once, she stopped, whirling about before clutching me close to her.

“Tell no one I brought you here,” she said in a low voice, her eyes gleaming.

Smiling brightly, Ariana pushed a door open and lead me into a large room filled with dozens of traveling trunks. Many were already open, the contents thrown about haphazardly on the dusty floor. Six trunks stood out sharply. Each was graced with a brass W on the front latch. With a small cry, I threw myself down before one of the trunks and fumbled with the latches. The lid swung upwards to reveal my father’s favorite traveling coat.

“Father,” I whispered, reaching into the trunk. I drew out the coat and smelt the fine fragrance of my father’s favorite cigars. “Oh, Father.”

Ariana stood beside me with anxious eyes. Her little hands were twisting her curly hair into tight little spirals.

I crawled over to another trunk and opened it. The sweet aroma of lavender wafted up to me as I laid a hand gently on the fine silk gown Mother had loved so. Wrapping my father’s coat around my shoulders, I moved on to May’s trunk. Peering inside, I found May’s battered little doll, Emily. Mother had the doll made for May when she was just a little girl, and it had May’s own hair as its curly locks.

“Dearest May, are you praying for me?” I whispered, then kissed the hard porcelain lips of the doll.

Hugging the doll close, I moved over to my own trunk. Opening it, I drew in my breath sharply. It was as if I were opening a doorway into my mortal life. Drawing back the folds of my many dresses, my hands searched for the small jewelry case I kept my personal treasures in. My hands felt the hard surface and I drew the box from the depths of the trunk.

“What is that?”

“It is my treasure chest, May,” I answered. Realizing what I had said, I looked up at Ariana. “I mean…Ariana…”

The vampire smiled faintly. Her eyes were sympathetic, soft, and, I thought, caring. “He gave her to us.”

I nodded, biting my quivering bottom lip. I understood far too well the power of the hunger. Best not to think of that or of May’s death or else I should go mad.

I reached one hand back into the trunk and felt under the lining until I found the small tear I was searching for. I drew out a small key I had hidden in the lining of the chest and fit it into the lock of my jewelry case. It clicked open and I sat back on my heels with a sigh. Directly on top was a sketch of Lord Byron I had snipped from a newspaper.

“Who is that?” Ariana knelt next to me, leaning forward to gaze down at the picture.

“The love of my very short, unromantic life,” I sighed.

“Your lover? With such full lips his kisses must have been so wonderful, “ Ariana decided with a coy flip of her head.

“Actually, I never kissed him. I met him just once at a friend’s house. I was very young and I think he thought I was a delightful nuisance. I always fancied meeting him on the Continent and having him fall madly in love with me. He is a poet from England. His name is Lord Byron. He is most scandalous.” I laid the clipping on the floor and drew out a much-tattered magazine. “This is something he wrote. At least that is what the magazine says. My brother, Andrew, says a friend of his wrote it. It is a story about a vampire.” I let out a little laugh.

“Really? A vampire? Like us?” Ariana was intrigued. “What does it say?”

“You know if I had not read this, I would not have known what you are. What I am now. I remember reading it late at night, grasping a candle in one hand and a cross in the other. I was so frightened. I asked my mother about vampires the very next day. She told me to stop indulging in such fanciful tales.”

Ariana edged closer to me and shyly hooked one of her arms through mine. “What does the story say, Glynis?”

I took comfort in her affectionate gestures. It made me feel a little less alone. Unfolding the magazine, I settled down on the floor. Ariana huddled close, watching as I flipped through the pages of the magazine until I found the beginning of the story.

“The Vampyre by Lord Byron. Though, according to my brother, it is by John Polidori. Shall I read it to you? It is in English.”

Ariana nodded her head. “I will understand. Read it. Please.”

“All right then.” I laid the magazine on my lap and drew my shawl around Ariana’s shoulders. Snuggled into each other, I began. “’It happened that in the midst…’”

I read the entire story with great intensity, my voice rising and falling with dramatic flair. I love to read and I love stories. I was swept up in the melodrama of the story and only for a moment did I allow myself the painful recognition that in some ways, it mirrored my own. Finally, I finished with the breathless words “‘...Aubrey's sister had glutted the thirst of a Vampyre!’”

Ariana smiled at the gruesome ending. “We always win!”

I could not help but laugh. “You are supposed to be upset, Ariana. Lord Ruthven outwitted Aubrey and killed his sister. It is supposed to be a tragic ending.”

“How could it be if the vampire succeeded?” She frowned at me, confused.

“We are not supposed to cheer on the vampire, Ariana. He is the villain!”

Ariana furrowed her brow. “Oh, do not be silly! He was quite grand! Do you think he is real? This Lord Ruthven? Do you, Glynis? Do you think he could come visit us here at the castle?”

I shook my head and folded up my magazine. How ironic that the story I had once loved so much now seemed a mockery of my own fate? “No, Ariana. He is not real. He was created for the story. In England, they do not even know we exist. We are just figments of someone’s imagination.”

Ariana pouted, lowering her eyebrows over disenchanted eyes. “How could they not know? We do not only exist here.”

“Perhaps, but in England we are considered mere creatures of imagination or madness.” I hurriedly tucked my magazine and the clipping of Byron into the box and placed it back in my chest. I did not even want to consider the horror with which my brother would view my new visage. He would gaze upon me and know I was no longer human, but something monstrous. I knew it in my soul.