CHAPTER ONE
"Fuck, Fuck, Shit!" How could he have been so stupid? Over 400 years old and he had allowed the bloodlust and hunger to cloud his judgement. Now he might have to kill the girl for what she may have seen.
He left the limp form where it lay and sprang, immediately catching up with the girl he suspected had seen him. More careful this time, now he watched from high in the trees. He could hear her heart racing as she crept out of the river to where her clothes lay on the low sloping bank. The moonlight dappled the girl's naked body, glistening where she was still wet. The only other noises were the slight rustle of branches in the summer evening breeze, and from the water, a frog calling to its mate.
For the past four months he had been following these skirmishes along the Scottish borders. It made feeding easier without drawing attention to the bodies sometimes left behind. There was always a selection of whores following the troops, joining the army or leaving it, and easily glamoured to forget anything they might have seen. Most of them were scrawny ofcourse, scabby, unfortunately filthy, and usually smelt even worse. But the girl now scrambling for her clothes was young with pale downy skin that hugged the soft curves of her body. Now the moonlight emphasising those curves perfectly. He could smell her innocence. Not hungry any longer perhaps, since he had just fed, but he had been interrupted before fulfilling his other need. Excitement stirred.
He watched her from amongst the leaves, intrigued. Instead of the usual shift and gown, she was pulling up boy's hose, old and ripped, and tying the laces at her waist under a shirt of coarse linen. Quickly she piled her thick golden hair up into a cap. He imagined those long curls draped over his body. He wondered if he should keep this one a while, and glamour her instead of killing outright. Still lost in thought, he suddenly heard something through the scrub. There were two more distinct heartbeats creeping nearer.
…..
Susanna thought bathing here at this hour would give her privacy. The camp was sweaty, the fires spat soot, and it was a relief to get away sometimes. The cold shock of the water helped cleared her head as she tried to make sense of it all. But then she realised she wasn't alone after all. She'd heard nothing, and was concentrating on her bathing. Then her heart jumped when she looked up from the water and saw him there. He was not alone either. Susanna could hear the faint sighs from the woman underneath him. Not one of the foot soldiers, even in this light She could tell he was a man of substance. Then his eyes looked into hers for such a brief moment she could not be sure it had even happened. Warmth tingled inside, and yet she shivered, ducking down into the water. She quickly swam back to where she had left her clothes. Being seen now would be a disaster. She had managed to keep her sex hidden for this long; and couldn't afford to be recognized now.
Being used to these clothes it didn't take long to climb back into them. She sensed the danger, but was intrigued too. There had been something different about the man, and although it had been dark, she thought she'd know him if she saw him again. Indeed, Susanna found herself hoping she would!
As she threw the cape around her shoulders, the world went black. She was grabbed from behind and something was thrown over her head. She had been feeling an unexpected warm contentment, now felt cold panic. She struggled to free herself, but whoever held her was far stronger. Her struggles made no difference and, heart pounding, she was dragged backwards. Exhausted and half suffocated from the stench of the plaid around her face, her desperate complaints muffled by the thickness of it, she was lifted and carried. Then, still blind, Susanna felt herself thrown down onto hard wood, the sudden wobble and rocking telling her she was in a boat. Her arms were held tightly at her side and she was too weak to protest as someone's bony knee held her down. She was sick and dizzy. The bench she was held over dug painfully into my chest. She took a deep breath, trying to keep the nausea at bay.
The splash of the oars, the sudden smack of water in her face, and she was hauled up from the river onto the wet bank. Then the rough plaid was pulled from around her and she grabbed onto her hat to make sure her hair didn't come loose, so giving her away. Susanna was dragged again until she lay on the hard uneven ground outside a small croft and two men stood over her. There was no one else she could see to hear, but she shouted anyway. She looked up at the two brawny faces staring down, and called them names she shouldn't have known. Well, that'swhat you get living with soldiers and whores.
The taller of the men kicked her hard in the stomach. Pain and nausea shot through her. She doubled over. He kicked again and she retched, vomiting down his leg. "Fuck", the shorter one growled. "He's no use to us half dead, man. Leave him be. He's just a wee boy after all, despite the foul mouth on him. Go clean ya'self up," he pushed the taller man towards the little house. Susanna stayed doubled over, her nose to the stony turf, but she was pleased for all that. At least they still thought she was a boy, and that was important.
She looked up at her one remaining captor. "What do you want with me?" she croaked, although it was now obvious they were the Scottish enemy.
"Tell us what ye know, lad, and I'll not beat you. At least, not too hard." He laughed as the other came back from the croft with a tankard of ale.
She was surprised when he passed this to her, and she drank deeply to get rid of the taste of vomit still in her mouth. She was also surreptitiously looking around, eyes flicking from the croft to the trees and fields further off, looking for means of escape. "I just follow the soldiers," she said, keeping my voice gruff. "I don't know anything. I've no information to give you." Unfortunately in her own ears, her voice sounded more like a whimper. The trouble is with pretending to be a boy, you have no excuse not to fight. she normally walked with a decided limp to cover this, but of course she hadn't known she was being watched at the time she was taken. Anyway, they didn't believe her about knowing nothing.
'Where's your army heading?" they insisted. "You'll have heard something, lad." Susanna shook her head, and they lashed out. The prolonged kicking would leave only bruises. She tested each limb, nothing was broken. But the pain was intense and her head was pounding.
Lying there, keeping her head covered to protect her face, she suddenly heard cattle lowing in the distance. Obviously they'd been disturbed by something. Shadows seemed to loom around me. A combination of Fear and excitement tingled down my spine. Although unlikely, she hadn't been missing long enough. It may be someone looking for her. She peered up, desperate to see.
The shadows materialized, shapes concentrating, and a dark haired man appeared through the bushes. It was so abrupt, yet in seconds both her captors were dead on the ground. Susanna had seen only whirling shadows, but heard the sickening snap of bone as their necks were broken. She gasped and turned around. He seemed to be biting at the Scotsman's' neck. It seemed like a dream or maybe nightmare was nearer the mark. She tried to scrabble back towards the croft, but didn't dare take her eyes off the stranger. He stopped and leered at her, laughing with blood running down his chin. If Susanna had panicked before, now she was terrified. This creature was far more menacing than the two Scots had been, and this time she was sure she'd be killed. Following the English army, images of rape and slaughter already haunted her. She had seen it happen to others and now knew it was her turn. She froze, muscles paralyzed. Then everything went black.
…
Having flown through the shadows and landed on the roof of the croft, he watched them as they carried the girl out of the boat. Hidden by thatch, he waited, still intrigued. He smiled as she let her temper loose. Those were not the words one would expect from a young lady! When she threw up over her assailant, he chuckled to himself. This was an entertainment he found amusing. He had been bored for too long.
When someone else appeared from the darkness, he knew immediately that it was another vampire. Yet this was one he had never met before. Of course, sometimes he met others, though it was rare enough, and even rarer since leaving his Maker. That had been a little under a year ago and it was safer that way, less chance of being caught. He'd been sure they had this area to themselves.
He waited and watched, critical and interested as the two young Scots were quickly dispatched. Not bad for a young one, he decided. This new vampire was quick and efficient, and now the girl was unconscious. The dark stranger was already leaning over her, sniffing, and tearing at her clothing. Then he started to bite.
But now angry, his body went rigid. Surprising even himself, he felt a sudden need to claim the girl. Only human certainly, but she was his human, and he intended being the first to taste her. Jumping down from the thatched roof, growling, and spitting, he ripped the young vampire off, throwing him over the croft as if no more than a twig. Then he whirled around, ready to defend. Stepping closer and allowing his eyes to linger for a moment on the girl's bruised body, he waited for the young vampire to respond. But he couldn't take his eyes from the girl. Even without the sweet smell of her blood to tempt him, he wanted her.
"Who are you?" the stranger hissed, creeping back from the shadows. He had a slight accent, French perhaps, and his eyes blazed.
"The vampire who'll give you your final death." His voice filled with cold menace, his own utter confidence was clear enough. Four hundred years undead, he'd been a Viking warrior, trained in warfare while alive, and tutored by his Maker in all fighting styles since his death. He'd never yet been beaten in conflict. "For what little time you have left, call me Eric." He smirked and drew his great double edged sword from its scabbard.
"William," grinned the other with a quick salute. His own sword was already drawn.
Eric's blade sprang directly across the gristle of William's nose and across both cheeks to the ear. His hand and doublet were immediately drenched in blood. The old training sang in his ears, he danced back, sidestepping, then springing forwards again. His movements were both lethal and graceful.
The other vampire quickly regained his speed and lunged. Eric sprang away, too quick to see. He had begun to enjoy himself. William might have been young, but despite the blood in his eyes, he fought like a soldier. He was skilled enough but his skills didn't match Eric's. Metal crashed against metal, William parried while Eric blocked, battling for dominance. They were stamping blood into the ground beneath their boots.
His patience wearing thin, Eric growled and charged forward. his broadsword caught Williams right arm, dragging it upward, then slicing it clean from his body. It tumbled bloody to the ground. William howled in pain, grabbing the stump of his arm. Eric walked over to him and kicked the torn limb from his path. He drove his sword into William's stomach, and twisted it. He's always loved a battle no matter how short.
He said abruptly, "I don't make idle threats." But at the point of the final cut, he was interrupted. The girls' faint groans penetrated his bloodlust. Pulled in two directions, he turned to her then back again to the fight. But William was gone. Eric cursed himself, he'd allowed a distraction and the momentary pause would have given William a chance to start healing. Even his arm would grow back eventually, but that would take a little longer. Eric was surprised that the young vampire had succeeded in moving so quickly. He looked up to the endless night skies, but there was no sign. The moon was sinking, clearly time was running away from him.
The girl had not regained full consciousness. Eric needed to get her away before she woke. He scooped her up into his arms and immediately took to the sky. Her hair, now fallen loose from her hat, flowed like spun gold in the starlight. It whipped across her face in the wind. He thought her surprisingly adorable, and pulled her torn doublet back across her exposed breasts. Where she had been scratched, the sudden smell of her bruised and bloody skin was distracting. But it was not just the blood and innocence, there was something more, something distinctly unique.
Then as he watched, her eyes opened for just a moment and held him hypnotized. He was still guessing, still bemused, as they closed again. Then within the circle of his arms, she slept. He smiled suddenly to himself. Just who was glamouring who?