warnings;Violence, vampireisim, shonen ai. don't like? Don't read, but you'll be missing out. These characters belong to Cassandra and her only, don't steal them, espically without asking first.

Priceless Heart Chapter 1 Calais France, 1600, under the rule of King Henry IV


The market was an open space fit between the houses in the center of Calais, France. Vendors showed off their wares of spices, silks, and jewelry; strange food from foreign lands ended up on sellers' tables next to grapes and corn from the countryside. The sunny humidity of the day made everyone slower, too much exertion would cover you in an uncomfortable layer of sweat. Rich and poor mingled freely, though each kept a respectful distance from one another. Children played among the crowd, dodging carts and animals, yelled at by the merchants who were afraid of being robbed. The thieves lurked in the shadows, waiting for the right chance to prey on the wary sellers.

A young man leaned against a building watching the spectacle. His eyes sometime strayed to watch a beautiful boy or man, but always darted back into the crowd before anyone noticed his stares. His light blue eyes seemed older, harder, than a young man's eyes should be. His clothes were worn down and threadbare, almost to the point of indecency. He feet were bare and were covered in a thick layer of dirt, as was most of his body. His hair may have once been a golden brown, but was now matted with filth. Only his hands were clean, with the exception of his fingernails.

After a time, he moved slowly from his corner.

The people ignored him, mostly. Some, the richer, moved away, disgusted by his foul smell and appearance. He just kept walking, heading for the food stalls where the crowd was the thickest. As he moved through the dense press of humanity, his hand reached out to take a purse here… and there. Soon he was back at his wall and he slipped this time into the shadows to count his plunder, a few coppers, enough to buy him beer and a bed in the stables. As he placed the coins into a small bag tied around his neck, his eyes caught a tall man wearing read and gold striding through the market like a king. He must be royal, the boy thought. If I could get his purse, I'd be rich enough to… to buy a bath, new clothes, and maybe even a horse! He smiled at the thought. I could get out of here, out of this…he looked down at himself.

He found his way back into the crowd, a few yards away from the man in gold, and slowly made his way to the man. He stopped here and there, buying some food with the stolen money he'd taken, hoping to find a way to move closer to his prey. Finally they reached the end of the market and he went for the man's purse. He reached out with the ease of practice. His hands only brushed the fabric when, suddenly, the man turned and grabbed his hands, jerked him around and threw him up against a building. "Ah!" he yelled more out of surprise than pain.

"You thief!" The man yelled, holding the boy's hands in a strong grip. "I should have you whipped for this." The man's eyes were bright with anger.

"No! No, don't, please!" the young man babbled. He knew what that meant, a whipping in the Market Square, a branding on the face, marking him a thief to anyone who saw him. "Please…I'm sorry…I didn't…I was only…" His eyes were wide with panic and fear. The man stared deep into his eyes for a few seconds. The boy could feel his gaze digging deep into his mind.

"Ah, leave. It is not worth my time to have you punished." His voice was husky. He forcefully pushed the young man to the ground and stalked off into the streets leading to the wealthy man's quarter of town.

The young man pulled himself off the ground, and felt something in his hand. It was gold coins. He started down at them in wonder and then after the man, who had already disappeared into the shadows. He stumbled away, back into the crowd, looking over his shoulder, wondering why…

The man hid in the darkness of the buildings, watching the young man leave.

"You only thought to take my purse, but where you failed to take it, you took with you my heart." He stayed there for a few seconds more, until the young man was out of sight, and then he was gone too.


With the money the man had given him, the young man got himself thoroughly drunk at a local tavern. He also got himself a set of decent clothes and a room with a bed. The bath had been too expensive, and the water hadn't looked all that clean to him anyway. He sat at the bar, eating bread and cheese and drinking the last of his red wine. He didn't notice when a man sat next to him, until he started to talk to him. "Hey there, you here by yourself?"

The young man looked up from his glass, "You talkin' to me?" The man was a tall thin man, not at all bad looking. His eyes were black and his skin a little on the bad side. His black hair was tied back into a ponytail with a stand of black cloth. He wore middle class clothes.

The man was about to speak again, but the bartender came up to him and ask what he wanted to drink. He ordered red wine. "Um," his voice was low, not wanting to be overheard. "I just waned to ask you…. My name is Jacque. I was just wondering if you wanted to, that is if you are, you know…" his voice trailed off.

The young man nodded, he understood what he wanted. Sex was not new for him. He finished his food, stood, and followed the man out the door. He was too drunk to see that two other men were following them to the barn.

As soon as they entered, the two other men barred the door and jumped him. Jacque ran to the side, letting the other men pin the young man to the ground

. "What are you doing!" his voice was shrill.

"You foul, disgusting, bastard. It is things like you that make God bring his wrath down upon us!"

Oh, shit! The young man thought. He struggled to be free of the men that held him. He couldn't get free. "Jacque…! What are you doing? Help me!"

"But we are helping you. Confess your sins and God will bring you into His light." Jacque voice was very nonchalant.

"No! Wait! I haven't done anything, please!"

"Confess your sins…"

"I have nothing to confess!"

"You are a sodomite, you have much to confess."

"No!"

"You lie. Ask God for forgiveness."

"No! Why should I? He hasn't done anything for me! I've lived in poverty my whole life!"

"That is because you are a sodomite. Men, if you please, persuade him to confess."

One of the huge men punched him in the stomach. The blow sent fear into him; he didn't know what they were going to do him. They could just beat him up or they could kill him -- painfully.

"What a weaklin'! Can't even take a punch!" one of the men jeered.

He tried to get to his feet, but they held him to the ground. "You don't move, until we say you move." They laughed, and the fear intensified inside him. They will kill him, all for their God. His first thought was to scream for help, but who would come at this time of night? He was doomed. He would scream soon enough, out of pain.

No words were spoken, only an occasional moan or scream came from the young man. They broke his nose first and he felt his warm blood spill over his lips. They took turns beating him in the face, only to stop when his eyes were bruised mostly shut and his lip was a pulpy mess. They broke a few of his ribs, just to see his reaction. Now the blood came into his throat and he coughed it up and onto the ground. He had no energy to struggle or to move. He only wished to die soon and to end the pain. 'Jacque' said nothing, he sat down on a crate and watched them beat him up.

They crushed his right hand and snapped three of his fingers. Just when he thought they might go for his jaw, he heard wood breaking and the door to the barn burst open. Someone shouted. He was slipping into unconsciousness, the figures were blurring, but he was sure he recognized the voice that shouted. It was the man from the market who wore the red and gold.

He heard a scuffle and the three men were running away. Now, he thought, I can die in peace.

"No, you aren't going to die, my son," came the man's voice. He could barley see the man's face.

"Who…?" he tried to ask, but the blood in his mouth prevented him from speaking.

"Don't talk. I won't harm you. I'm going to save you, if that is what you wish."

"Yessss," he choked. He felt the man's lips on his. Startled, he tried to move away. He didn't get anywhere. The man's hand came onto his shoulder, gently keeping him steady.

What is he doing? He wondered. Then he realized he was sucking the blood out of his mouth and it felt good. Their tongues mingled red. When the blood was gone from his mouth, the man's lips moved to his neck.

"What…what are…you doing?" he gasped. He couldn't decide if that was a kiss or…something else entirely. It felt wonderfully erotic, like he expected a kiss to be, but, the man had drunk his blood. That wasn't at all normal.

Saving your life, came a though in his head; and then he felt a stabbing pain at his neck. His mind raced. What is he doing to me?! His head spun, as soon as the pain had come, the pain fell away into a wash of ecstasy.

"Ahhhh," he sighed. "Let it come… Please… don't let it stop… Oh, God." He clutched the man with what little strength he had left. It was better then the kiss. A feeling coursed through him like fire. He wanted more of it. He could feel himself going hard. But the man lifted his head from his neck and stared back at him with warm, bright, black eyes.

"Why did you stop it? You must be death," he said.

"No," said the man. "I am not death, but your salvation. Do you still want to live?"

"Yes, please. Help me."

"Then drink." The man rolled up his shirtsleeve and slashed his wrist with his sharp teeth. The blood poured out of the gash and into the young man's waiting mouth. He placed his wrist on the eager lips and the young man sucked at it. The blood was sweet and thick, it didn't taste at all like blood.

The seconds ticked by and the man sighed feeling the rapture as his blood was being taken from him. The young man groaned, feeling the blood course though him, stronger then the fire before.

"Stop! You've taken enough!" The man commanded. He took his wrist away from the young man, who saw the wrist heal itself instantly and stared in awe. He was sinking into a bed of darkness, but he was afraid he would never wake up.

"Sleep child, do not be afraid. When you awake, I will show you a whole new world. Tell me, young one, what is your name?"

"…An…ton…" he said and silently fell into blissful unconsciousness.


See, I tol' you it was really good.
On to chapter 2
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