The Wallachian rain hammered in gentle beats upon the stone sill of a battlement window. The harsh, cruel cold of winter was bleeding defiantly into spring and the caps of nearby mountains still sported their white hats. The weather had turned towards the worst this past fortnight, and all those who could were staying indoors.

Within the castle itself, warm shadows flickered in smoky indifference upon the sweat-ridden walls. Light also gleamed in horrific proportions off the large painting which stood upon the mantle. Shadows were thrown largely against the floor, and the fire silhouetted distinctly the figures that sat before it. The light played wickedly at their profiles, glimmering upon every stone in its turn. The hearth was roiling, for the atmosphere outside called for nothing else. A strangely heartening scene, a dainty woman sat upon a rocking chair and two small children were at play before her. Their entire world was contained within a small wolfskin rug, like an island floating in a sea of stone.

A young boy and a slightly older girl played quietly. It would have seemed almost too quiet, to anyone whom had never been in this home before. Though most that have never entered here, do not generally make it beyond the front door. Their security was profoundly complete, and they were safe. Though that the movements of their hands, and the stiffness of their backs might not have convinced them of this. The boy had pale hair, and looked very robust for his age. Yet he was still delicate, and generally a lovely sight to behold. The girl was sickly looking, and in all actuality seemed much younger than the small boy. This was due largely to the fact that she had a crippling illness that had stunted her growth, and made her seem much less appealing. This did not seem to bother them though, as they played vigorously in quiet tones.

"Arkady, Zsuzanna, please come here." There was a lilting tone to the voice, and it bespoke beauty. The lady in the chair had stopped her rocking, and the firelight played off her angular features. Her complexion was inhumanly pale and her pallor was unhealthy. Though her cheeks had a soft glow, it was not the glow of natural women. The children seemed not to mind though, and avidly left their toys to scoot closer to the pallid woman’s bare feet. She was clothed in dark silks, which encapsulated her body like a shroud. It hung loosely from her arms, and would puddle in the floor beneath her feet. She had been embroidering; the frame and stretched fabric lay forgotten on her lap as she leaned to touch each of their cheeks in turn. Long, dark tresses caressed the sides of their faces as she went to each and left a kiss upon their foreheads. Her lips were warm, and held a sort of comfort. The features that graced her countenance were unearthly at best, and left the impression of deity-like beauty upon its beholder. Her smile was gentle, forgiving, and a silent reminder of what would come were they good children.

"It is time for our reading, and then bed. Your uncle will be very displeased with me, should I let you stay up again tonight. There is a very important function to be had on the morrow, and if you are not well rested he will blame me." Again there was the doting of her smile. Arkady and Zsuzanna, as she had named them, turned looks of delight into those of utter contention. The protests had begun.

"But, Auntie Laron… " Zsuzanna began, "Just a few more moments? Please?"

"Yes, just one more! Zsuzanna’s peasants were about to overthrow my voivodes!"

The woman’s expression softened, she could not resist them. Leaning back in her chair, she nodded quietly. "Very well. Please have them dispatched quickly, and quietly. Your Uncle will be returning presently, and I’ll have you abed by then. You may count my word on that."

The children practically beamed and continued their play. They were a little more noisome this time, but were still mindful of their manners. Their father had raised them with the best teaching there was to offer, and it was plainly apparent in all but their mannerisms toward Laron. She was more their friend and constant companion during long winters here in Vladimir’s castle. They came to visit every first-snow, when the hardships in lower Bistriz were too hard to manage for their family. Their parents were most often amiss on some errand of Vladimir’s, and generally they were left with nursemaids and in the evenings they had the pleasure of Laron’s company along with her daughter Amerosa. Tonight oddly, Amerosa was missing from their play. They were obviously handicapped because the peasants were losing, Amerosa always played the hero or the villain depending on their mood. They continued cavorting upon the rug as Laron watched the fire balefully.

The lady’s hands crossed in absolution as she gazed into the flames. Her mind was full of random important thoughts, which spun themselves out like raw wool. Dainty fingers knitted together, and she pulled away from her needlework slowly, leaving the Tsepesh signet unfinished upon the frame. It had been days since Vladimir left, and she was growing anxious for his return. There were rumors of plotting amongst the lower Basarabs, and they could become a compromise before too long. This, of course, was important, but she was also in fear of the children’s safety. Her soft moss agate eyes flicked over to glance at them protectively. There was much she could do in times of distress, but there was much she would rather keep from the children other than imprint the ferocity of her being upon them for the rest of their lives. It always worried her when Vlad was gone this long. She missed his presence, in all its strength. Even if lately he’d been acting very strangely towards her, and his favored relatives. It was most odd for her to wake during the twilit hours, and find his hands laid about her arm. Something strange inhabited his gaze at those misty moments, and it was not endearing. She did not stay with him for power, she stayed with him as an old friend would consciously keep with another of their high capacity.

They were both undead, and the need for human companionship had long left their bodies. Their souls however, still craved enlightenment. This stipulation led to their inexorable meeting, and the symbolic sharing of blood between them. Theirs was the pact of blood, the carnal orgy of basking upon another’s soul. It made her even believe that she loved him, and perhaps she did. Love was such a fickle emotion, and occasionally she could still remember it. When they shared states of heightened frenzy, she almost could mistake it for the very lusts of love itself. She’d never tasted mortal love though, not even from her family, so it was hard to divulge exactly what it was between the two of them. Suffice to say that Vlad was her strength in times of need, and she needed him often.

She was awoken from her reverie by a cool kiss upon her brow. With a start she looked up to have her vision filled with coursing silver hair. A slight outburst of breath, which could be categorized as a sigh, escaped her as hazy green eyes directed themselves into violet ones.

"You startled me Dove." as hands unknotted themselves, and one reached to caress the girl’s cheek. Before the lady, standing just taller than her own head while sitting, was a slip of a girl. She looked to be no more than 12 perhaps, and very thin and sickly. A lavender dress was fitted in modest style about her waist, and it whispered quietly when she even shifted slightly. Pale rosebud lips bloomed into a full smile at the Lady’s insistence of being upset from her memories. The upheaval was quickly forgotten though, as the girl leaned down and whispered into her mother’s ear.

"He is here."

He was early! She realized with a jolt, and standing her project clattered to the floor forgotten. Waving at the children to stand she said in a hurried voice. "Come now my lovelies, it is definitely time for bed… your uncle will flog me for allowing you your trespass."

The children stood with no further qualms. They too seemed to know that this was not the time for argument. Their toys were left on the rug, drowning in the course hairs. They began to file quietly off the skin, and bare feet padded onto cold stone without the slightest wince. Though Laron caught the sound and looked disapprovingly at both of them, there was no time to dress their feet. Her hands were at their backs, and she was steering them toward the large portcullis that loomed into the adjacent hallway.

"I’ve no time to read your story tonight, it will have to be a double session tomorrow. Zsuzanna, you may finish up the chapter with Arkady tonight if you wish it. No straying from bed either, Nan will be very displeased with you." She said as they passed the dour woman’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and the soft sounds of humming could be heard from within. The children visibly shuddered, and no longer needed encouragement. Instead they ran ahead of Laron, continuously at play.

Laron preferred them this way, and they knew it. She would have them be children always, when Vlad would be preening them as his future confidants. She followed behind them at a regulated pace, resisting the temptation to run after them. Instead trailing them into their joined bedrooms, and drifting silently from one than the other. Perfect lips whispered a perfect prayer upon each feathered brow. It was more for their comfort than hers, she knew of the Christian teachings their father had begun to instill in them. Her prayers were more to herself than to any god. She felt something amiss in the air, and it chilled her soul. Lingering a moment upon Arkady, tucking his blankets about the small form, she found herself staring into his depthless eyes in wonderment. He was talking to her, drawing her out of drifted thought.

"Laron," he said plainly, "Will you always be here to read us stories?"

Her hands paused on his down coverlet, as Amerosa was pulling hot embers from the fire and placing them in warming pots to go beneath their blankets. "Yes my love, I will always be here to read to you. Death would have to drag me away upon ebon wings before I left you alone." A soft caress upon his forehead, as her eyes of liquid hue trembled slightly. Would that she could keep that promise, she wished it with all her being. Secretly though, she knew that it may not always be true, but for this night it was enough. She laid a kiss upon his brow once more to lighten the subject, and graced him with her smile. She finished attending to his bed, and disconnecting herself from his yearning hands she drifted away.

"Dream well, my heart as if you will never dream again." She said as an afterthought, turning her upper body slightly at the doorpost. Looking back upon him, as if to frame this snippet of time in her mind. She would ever remember him this way, small and in constant need of support. His parents be damned, they were her children.

Small, deft hands curled into fists as the thought came to her. The dire, morose thought that she had no real place in this family. It stung her like tempestuous bees, and she leaned against the wall outside their rooms. Holding her forehead against the waves of anger that threatened to come, she pulled away from the basalt. Not waiting for Amerosa, she began down the corridor. Her steps were rushed, as she could hear the claxon of hooves in the courtyard below. He was here. Finally, he was home. Her gait broke into a full run, dark hair streaming behind her in equine-like beauty. She caught herself upon a windowsill, her momentum threatening to drag her over the edge. Spider-silk flung out like a flag to her presence, as she leaned heavily over the side to catch her first glimpse of him.

Majesty rode through the courtyard, with a following at his beck and call. He was very regal upon the back of his most favored charger. The hasps of his armor gleamed in the lowlights, as the black metal itself seemed to swallow all meaning in its dull glaze. The strength of his hand laid the horse to one side as he prepared to dismount. Pulling his helmet off, and handing it to one of the liveried servants, he stepped off with ease. A mane of black curls beset his head, and harsh blocky features were the rage of handsome cruelty in those days. His face was unmistakable. Large wells of black eyes struck fear in the hearts of all peasants, and the stern set to his mouth gave pause even to the boldest of wolves. It did not, however, cow her. It was his face she craved attendance from, as she quickly pushed away from the curtainless window. Without word, or warning, her steps drew her into the shadow. She became one with it, like a dark writhing thing of life within the pitch. Flushing through walls and stairwells, she moved like the night had inspired her. It took mere moments to reach the great hall where they were bound to come in, and she melted back into a solid colored form. Straightening her gown to be more fitting, and modest, she twined fingers and began to walk slowly toward the oversized doors.

As her steps began though, there was the loud groaning sound of their entrance. The doors swung open in excruciatingly slow breadths. It was enough though, for she stood stalk still as the wind began to coil through the hall and blow torchieres out at it’s very will. The darkness was all encompassing, and it spoke to her in shivered undulation. He was coming home, and she could see him there just beyond the threshold.

"Hi thee home, my Lord and welcome unto your house. May you find exquisite delight, and peace herein.."

Her welcome was cut short by the steeling expression upon his mien. His stride lengthened as his eye caught her. Barreling down upon her at a frightening pace. She did not shrink from him, only held a puzzled tint to her gaze. She did not have a chance even to speak, before his hand was tangled entirely in her long hair and he was dragging her toward the stair. She’d very little time indeed to call out in protest, while the servants looked on aghast. Humiliating her, was most likely his aim. Her hands wrapped about his wrist as she stumbled up the stair. The flowing silks of her gown were getting caught under her feet, and ripping upon the harsh granite. She was attempting to communicate with him, but he would hear none of it.

"My Lord, please.. what have I done? Would you treat your truest friend in such a manner?" This was madness, and she had known it. It was not the first time he’d returned in an ill temper. She had hoped, however, that he would not be in such a feral mood again. He’d left with a goodly supply of her blood, and it should have been enough to last him the short time he was from her presence. Through this brash fevered action of his though, it was plain that he had run dry.

Dragging her to the first landing, and roughly slamming his hand into one of the stones that jutted a small ways from the wall, he ducked into the short door that opened silently. It was completely dark, and moist within the unlit tunnel. The only illumination coming from small pinpoints of light set at regular intervals down the snaking passageway. He let loose her hair, but still grabbed hold of her upper arm. His mouth was twisted in a wretched snarl, as he spoke to her in a husky whisper.. so as to keep from yelling.

"I should have rid myself of you years ago, you blighted pixie. A pox on you, and your blood, it is only fuel for my magic. If I’d no need of your demon-ridden vitae, I’d have done with you long ago. You’re nothing but trouble to me, trouble and a loose bargain on a life I could have had."

They were dark words. Words she knew untrue. It was the thirst talking; it was his greed for her blood saying these words. Their twining ran deeper than blood, but it was of late that he would curse her. He spent very little time in her presence anymore, instead favoring to draw mortals into his fold. It also disturbed her the amount of time he spent in solace with Zsuzanna. This though, this was above all the worst insult she had yet endured.

She had very little to say to him in response, as they came to a halt before the door to his chambers. Punching code out upon stone switches, the door withdrew. He dragged her into a lavishly decorated chamber, and threw her small frame upon the crimson bedecked bed. Sitting up violently, sliding against the smooth coverlet, she backpedaled into the overbearing red wood headboard. Her eyes were wide, and horrified as a small animal within the hunter’s sight. All her discipline conveniently forgotten, and left beneath the terror which overcame her. Eyes narrowed to slits, and bicuspid teeth grew in feral denial as she huddled against the bed. He paced beside the fire and began throwing off his winter garb. Peeling off layer after layer, he finally was down to a simple tunic and breeches. Stopping short of removing those as well, his heel turned to her and glittering eyes simply observed for a moment.

There was something dark, and wickedly unsatisfied within those eyes. He rushed upon her then, quicker than the human eye could follow. Before she could scream and run, he was atop her. His form had changed, there was a great wolf upon the slight form of her struggling body. Ripping at her belly with slow canine movements, there was a guttural noise to his panting. His muzzle was drenched in her blood, as he began to drive into frenzy. Lapping at the gaping hole in her side, as she powered her arms to place a crushing grip on his forepaws. With great force of will, and strength of blood she threw him off. Escaping to the floor, and pressing against the wall there. She couldn’t get her mind clear enough to melt back into the shadows and escape. The hulk of his beast form stood heavily on the bed and watched her, lips raised in a snarl. Slowly, he changed back into that of a man, and was up off the sheets again. Pulling her up off the floor, and ripping the rest of her garment to shreds he breathed quietly into her panic-stricken ear.

"I’ve a mind to take your bowels out, and strew them… or wear them about my collar as a trophy. For your sake though, I won’t do such marvelous things. " As his hand began to move over the rent in her belly, and the wound made strange abstract sucking noises. The flesh seemed to stretch and fold over the bleeding tear. Rolling in upon it-self to make her body again perfect. Without another word, he plucked her rigid form up. Her screams had echoed in the hallway, and no doubt had woken the servants sleeping not to far from here. They would, of course, simply roll over and place hands over their ears. That was the way things were here. Her broken thoughts raced to the children, sleeping on the next floor down. Praying silently to whatever gods could hear her, she gave a slight gasp of protest as he threw her back upon the grandiose bedding. The feather mattress swallowed her, as his hard form hovered in disdain above her. His shape shifting had torn what was left of his clothing, and he now crouched low over her naked in all the glory of Wallachian kings long past.

Sliding elongated fingers over her supple flesh, his sadistic grin was obvious as it flowed over the dark rise of his jaw. She pushed away, attempting to escape. Even she knew, however, that even if she ran, even if she faded into blackness and fled he would find her. The scissoring pain of his bite flashed into her, as his fangs sliced into her milk smooth flesh. It was a sort of orgasmic bliss coupled with fear that tainted her blood, as he spat the first of his draw out upon the floor. "Hold still." His growl could be heard within her soul, as with a wrenching tug she felt her leg being realigned. Her long, agile fingers scraped at the bunching coverlet, as her blood mingled with it’s crimson color. The smell of her effused the entire room, even as the chill of it’s cold made the atmosphere ever the more desperate. Would he kill her here?

The excruciating pain of his feeding was coupled with the fact that he was quickly using her blood against her. Cracking bones, and winding flesh was a testament to this. He was rearranging her body with lightning quickness that none of his blood before could match. Her own addictive effluence was the key. As her blood sped through his system, it gave him more power than what was normal. Creating a god in their presence. He was a god of pain, and of dark desires. A power-hungry god that would stop at nothing than to have his ability raised higher and still higher. Her scream was blood curdling, as he gorged himself upon her. Her eyes were trained to the door though, as it began to open slowly.

"No.. nooo…" she cried helplessly. The children, they did not know of this dreadful thing. She would not have them know. It gave her strength, as she could see the brush of long pale hair through the door… Arkady. Not strength enough though, as she could not gather the reserves to fade into the darkness. She simply screamed his name.. "Arkady! No! Run!"

The beast that was Vlad did not look up from his meal, but with a simple gesture made the very air do his bidding. Arkady was drug inside, and the door slammed shut behind him.

The scene that greeted the small child would forever be imprinted upon his memory. The angelic, saintly face of his beloved guardian was contorted into an expression of torment. Still wholly pure in it’s state, along with the pointed tips of her ears. The rest of her body though, was a confusion of flesh and bone. Packaged in a way that she could not control. Her legs backward, and split farther than what would be considered natural. Her arms were tangled and meshed as if they were ropes. She was bathed in blood, and the smell of it lingered in every crevice the room held. Vlad stood triumphant, and glorious. His mouth covered in the stolen draft of her vital essence. It was such a terrifying sight, that the boy could not even move. He was steeled into place, mouth open and lax. Her hand was reaching for him, as Vlad mounted the bed and pushed her out of the way..

"Welcome nephew, I’ve something to show you."

Chapter 2

The small boy’s eyes were full of terror. There was very little movement in small lax limbs. He was afraid. Terrified of the nightmare that was happening before him. So traumatized was his mind, that his body almost loosed it’s muscles and he would have fainted; except for one thing, he couldn’t. His entire being was disobeying the cry of his mind, and got up stiffly to answer Vlad’s beckon. One jagged step after another, the boy approached the bed. The elder Dragon wore a feral grin of satisfaction as the boy crept toward them.

"Good boy, such an obedient child. Now, sit here.."

His gentle manner with the boy was in direct contrast with the way he had treated Laron. Pulling her head back slightly, he exposed the soft pale divot of her neck. A clawed hand stretched out toward Arkady, and talons lengthened as if by sheer force of will.

"I will teach you what it is to be master… for someday it will be you that does the harvesting, and not myself."

He was saying this to a fledgling boy. The Prince had definitely gone mad with lack of potent blood. The child simply watched, though the small mind behind those eyes was trying to disconnect itself. It was failing miserably, as the talon slid down Laron’s death like pallor. A thin seam of red appeared, and the cool air was filled with the distinctly bittersweet aroma of her vitae. The noble shift of his upper lip signified his tasting the air. Dark eyes closed, and he leaned back with a snarl. The boy, however, was forced to watch. The once beautiful woman’s blood was effusing the sheets as his eyes were glued there. Her cries were choked, and gurgled through the rent in her throat. His name was butchered upon her tongue, and the sound of it would forever echo in his memory. She pleaded with Vlad, but her words were incomprehensible. His beast like expression fell to her for a moment, and there almost seemed to be recognition there. Quickly though, it was covered by disdain.

"Worthless piece of refuse, do not call my name again." His hand slammed against her face, sending her farther into the featherbed and hiding her face from them. "Now, sit my son… we shall have a little parley." Patting the bed, and halfway settling himself upon it.

Arkady would run if he had the merest chance, but his body would not obey. Instead it obediently came to sit beside the twitching form of his beloved Aunt. Vladimir’s fingers were drenched in her blood. Reaching toward the trembling figure of his nephew, he drew a slow circle upon the boy’s brow. Was it a symbol? Perhaps, though all the child could think of was escape. Horror and retching disgust overcame his stomach but he could not react. There was naught he could do but sit there quietly and watch his uncle in a forced smile.

"Now, let this be a lesson to you nephew. Never yoke yourself unevenly, for you may find your shoulders bearing most of the weight. Never allow yourself to be lorded over, as if by some chance you are a slave… for you are not a slave. You are Tsepesh blood. Learn it, as you will learn nothing more valuable. She is a mere slave to my will, and I have proved it once again tonight. Do not fear to take things by your own hand boy, for they will be had no other way."

His horrifically monstrous hand stroked the small soft hollow of his cheek. Drifting as if in a dreamlike state, it fell over Laron’s contorted body. Sliding over her skull, blade-like fingers splitting flesh as if it were cobwebs. Where his hand touched her scalp fingerlets of flesh flayed out to affix her permenantly, sealing off more blood before it could come to fruition. Dragging her toward his bulky form, his eyes no longer lingered upon the small child. They instead were enraptured with her dripping viscosity, as it shivered down the length of her neck and collected in murky droplets. Drawing the pale haft of his hand over the tear, he gathered the welling pungency. Inhaling the very air, he leaned forward and pinned the boy with dark eyes. Carefully tapered ringlets hung over the large mans chest, as he bent to bring his clawed extremity closer to the boy. The child would have recoiled, if he could move. Wide dish shaped eyes grew ever wider at his closeness. Small nostrils flared at the smell of her blood. Vlad’s susurrations fed softly into the boy’s mind.

"Have a taste of my bane boy, and share my ill contempt. She will bedazzle you with her smell, and encapsulate you with her disgusting things… but you shall rise before her as master. I will teach you of this power, and we shall start in your youth so that you may continue on with her when I have passed this time unto your shoulders. You must learn now, she is a tool. Not to be sanctified as mother, or patron, but to be ruled."

Blood became smeared over the boy’s chin. Its strong scent was sickening, as he found a slip of it drizzling into his mouth. The Great Dragon wore a smug expression upon his features, as the intoxicating liquid tempted the child’s tongue. Its taste could be compared to nothing, save rivaling colors upon a dusky twilight. There was no metallic sheen to it’s body, rather a dark sweetness coiled about his senses. It urged his jaw to react trembling it to the bone as it soaked over his palate. Small mouth opened wide to instinctively clean the offending hand. Nothing less than estranged satisfaction wore on his patron’s profile, as the boy took everything offered. Though deep eyes still quivered in fear, there was a longing written across high cheek.

"Up with you then, and abed. A busy day awaits you on the morrow. We will have another lesson soon."

Another affection doted upon the boy, as a bestial hand rests on his diminutive shoulder. As he raised his palm, the boy seemed to stiffly get up and walk toward the door. The portal opened like the gaping maw of a dragon, left to his own devices the boy would most likely have bolted. Here though, something controlled his will and allowed him madness only within his thoughts. This night would forever reflect upon his memory, as the haunted choking of his beloved matron followed him even into his bedchamber. Sleep would not come easily, nor would easement, though he would wake in the morn to wonder if it was all a dream. For a raven-haired angel would visit him before the dawn, and wipe away all remnants of his ordeal. Giving him blessed rest from things that should not trouble a child. Though days afterward he could taste the smell of her even on the air as she passed, and a strange longing which had no place in a young boys heart would stir.

Vlad watched as the boy withdrew. His expression soon spoke of lucidity, as he glanced down upon her. Limbs and flesh contorted and twisting against his hand which was now part of it all. With a rough grimace, and crazed growl he raised voice.

"This will not do, I’ve much use for you yet. Perhaps this has shown you your place in my affections. Never portend to view yourself in another manner."

Leaning ever forward, allowing his blood soaked breath to tickle her ear, "If you try to run… I will catch you, and that abominable child you call your own." Stroking her cheek in lazy abandonment, he sets to work righting the painstaking mess he had created. Sculpting her back into a most pleasing, goddess like form because it pleased him. Allowing her to keep what was natural to her, because it had been what drew him in the first place. Though he was no slave to the eye, he could appreciate the uniqueness of her features and until the day she completely undermined him he would keep her in this way. Mind bending pain was all she could remember from his ministrations, as she came to upon sheets immersed in her own vitae. Shivering, not from cold but from lack of life, she stirred from the mattress with a ravenous appetite. She would have to feed, and soon. Though this fact, was farthest from her mind.