Hey there. Sorry for the delay, the muse was absent. Thank you everyone who reviewed chapter 1. I read each one about 50 times and they all inspired me to write this part.

Dedication- For Valeska Vampire Queen for beating this into shape. Thanks Cat!

Enjoy! Read & Review!

Vices of the Valerious

Chapter 2

A pregnant silence filled the air, destroying the charged atmosphere that had previously held sway. The unexpected request danced between the king of the vampires and the queen of the gypsies, a giant chasm that threatened to tear them apart. The second the demand had left her lips she had felt his hand stiffen above her eyelids. Precious seconds the size of milestones had passed since the traitorous words had escaped.

You imbecile! Kasmira chided herself. If only she could catch the words and shove them back into her mouth. He would never allow her a glance now, knowing how much it meant to her. It would suit him now more than ever to keep her in the dark. Her admission would only serve to boost his enormous ego.

Still she retained some feeling of satisfaction, knowing that her plea had shaken him so. In a way, it was flattering. He had lived for centuries, had seen and done incomprehensible things, accomplished unimaginable ventures and yet, here he was speechless because a woman had caught him unawares!

Just when she thought that she would go mad, he broke the silence.

"Of course I love you." Her heart soared. "I love every woman I've ever taken to bed." Her heart sank just as quickly. Served her right for daring to hope.

"Then you shouldn't fear showing yourself to me as it will be the same as looking at any other lover," she countered as quick as lightning. If she could argue him into it, she would.

"Why do you assume I am afraid?" he sneered as if the emotion were beneath him, which she realised it was.

"You're afraid I've conjured up an image of you that can't be matched. Perhaps your beauty is no contender against the power of the imagination."

His palm tightened around her eyelids and forehead until it became almost painful.

"Do not try me dulceata, or I'll-"

"You'll what? Blind Boris completely? Ha! What a threat he'll be to you then, crawling on the ground like a dog." The harshness of her own words surprised her. In her desperation for the object of her desire she was becoming callous.

"You are formidable," he whispered, almost admiringly.

"Grant me this boon. Or is he who slew thousands upon thousands too scared to face the scrutiny of an elderly?"

She could feel his resentment at being challenged rolling off him in waves. Her thick-skinned comments finally won out as in a desperate attempt to preserve his vanity, he complied.

"Very well."

As his cool fingers left her clammy forehead, she felt truly free for the first time since their affair had begun. In the split second it would take to open her eyes, some of his power would shift to her. Without further ado, she opened the doors that obscured her vision from a long concealed truth.

Above her, his head tilted so that it was almost resting against hers, was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. German troll indeed! Lone strands of obsidian tickled her face as he began to draw back in order to provide her with a full view of his form.

She began her inspection at his knees. She wished to save his eyes as her final sight. As her gaze crept up slowly, she noted that his thighs were muscular and bore not an ounce of fat. Her cheeks flushed red as her eyes swallowed the sight of his shaft. Without thinking twice about it, she reached out and stroked him, gaining a growl of approval that reverberated from his body to hers. She continued to fondle the source of his lust in her left hand as she stroked a path up his perfectly sculpted chest with the other. She tugged at his small nipples and was rewarded with another moan. As her head ascended to meet his gaze, her curls tickled his chest.

She basked in this new perspective of her routine. She felt that they were making love for the first time. She felt that all five senses were necessary to appreciate the experience.

The dark curtains of dark brown hair obscured her vision momentarily, until she gathered the courage to tuck them aside. What greeted her muddled her feelings. Part of wanted to weep with joy and the other detected some mishap. She proceeded to drink in every feature of his face in an attempt to find the root of her unease.

His skin was clear and milky white as she had suspected. He had high cheek bones, a perfectly shaped nose and thin lips that felt silky soft against her stroking thumb. He was desire personified, lust embodied. She chided herself for previously questioning his beauty. He was the only man that surpassed the fantasy. The demon was disguised as the most beguiling angel, a snake masquerading as a lady's choker, a wolf in sheep's clothing. And yet…

She met his eyes after what felt like an eternity. Instead of finding sparkling eyes overflowing with love and adoration as she had secretly hoped, she found…nothing. His eyes, although a deep shade of blue, betrayed no evidence of affection or warmth. A barren wasteland seemed to reside in the black pits of his eyes, void of any emotion. She was glancing into an ocean that had born witness to hundreds of years of history. Instead of a glistening, thriving blue, the ocean emanated weariness, boredom. Kasmira thought that if she looked closer she would see sunken shipwrecks and centuries old skeletons. The feeling of fulfilment had lasted until she had glanced upon his face.

"Were my eyes worth the fifteen year wait?"

He broke the silence and the spell along with it. She didn't reply. How could she?

As if sensing her disgust, he smirked and in one movement, pulled her kneeling legs out from under her and wrapped them around his waist, making her fall back onto the mattress.

"A pity isn't it?" he said conversationally. "My otherwise perfect form foiled by my emotionless eyes. Well, being hollow does have it's drawbacks." He chuckled as he prepared himself for their favourite activity. "Perhaps an explosion of rapture will distract you from your terrible discovery."

Before she could respond, he slid inside her, hot and hard. She whimpered helplessly as a familiar knot began tightening itself in her lower abdomen. Her body expanded to accommodate him as he pressed harder into her each time. Soon, they were moving like one well-oiled machine, or like dance partners whose routine had been perfectly synchronised. Her hips rose automatically to meet each thrust and the room began to grow hazy as if sparks of heat were hissing and sparking around their writhing bodies.

Every movement sent jolts of pleasure arcing up her spine, making her muscles melt. She kept her eyes open, not wanting to miss a single second as his long lashes brushed her neck, as gentle and fleeting as the brush of butterfly wings. His lips scorched a trail of wet kisses down her throat and she dug her nails into the long, lean muscles of his back, relishing the effect it had on him. He hissed in ecstasy as he tried to put off his release. She enjoyed watching him bite down on his lower lip to prevent a cry of gratification from ringing out. His reaction made her feel in control, but the feeling soon vanished as everything became a blur of need and desire, of his cool breath caressing her throat. His rhythm began to falter as his hands slid over her face, her breasts, her hips and finally tilted her so that she swore she saw stars. White light threatened to blind her as her whole body compressed into one single point of pleasure. As he finished, a spellbinding orgasm washed over them both and she was content to see an expression of rapture shining from his otherwise hollow eyes.

As she collapsed, completely spent, he trailed light kisses and bites across her body. The small tremors of euphoria that resulted from these ministrations were akin to the after-shocks that followed an earthquake. He seemed slightly rougher with her than usual and the thought brought pleasure to her. She enjoyed smashing the emotionless mask that he had designed for himself into millions of pieces.

When he had finished branding her body with vampire bites he lay with her for a time. Then she felt his cool body detach itself from hers. She hardly noticed his absence, still wrapped up in her own world of elation. She felt like she was lounging on a soft cloud, a hands breadth from heaven. She slowly regained her grip on reality as she descended back to earth.

Without warning her vision failed like a candlelight being quenched between a finger and a thumb. Before panic could set in, it returned. She sighed in relief before realising that the room seemed different. The air seemed to be pulsing, little flecks of silver were dancing before her eyes, not enough to render her blind, but irritating nonetheless. Her head felt lighter, like it would roll off her neck. In direct contrast, her limbs felt heavier. She felt almost tipsy, except instead of a gentle buzz of happiness she felt almost sick. This had never happened after their trysts before…what had they done differently? She squinted and the silver spots fled momentarily, long enough for her to notice that he was dressing. This part of the dalliance always saddened her and it made no difference that she could now see him. It made her feel like one of those pathetic women in legends and tales, whose lovers' left them for a faraway battle. Funny, she would not know of those stories if he had not told them to her. In the early days of their 'courtship' he had told her countless fables. In order to keep her sweet, she guessed. In the past ten years the stories had ceased. She attempted to conjure up one of these tales but her mind failed her. This terrified her more than anything else.

She squinted at his form which had become hazy and was surprised to see him fully dressed. That had been quick. His lips were forming words, yet she couldn't hear him, as if she were underwater. She strained in an attempt to understand his speech. Finally, his words became coherent.

"Hand me my hair clasp, will you?"

Her curiosity was piqued by his evil smirk and was curious to find out what had made him so smug. Still, she made to reach for the nearby clasp.

Nothing happened.

She commanded her body to move, willed her hand to reach for the clasp but her efforts were in vain. What was wrong with her? Had he paralysed her? Fear bubbled to the surface as she began to panic. She caught his eye and tried to find a clue to her predicament. His laughing eyes glanced down at her body and hers followed suit.

She tried to suppress a scream and failed.

Where she had expected to see a few shallow punctures peppered across her body, there were yawning apertures. The crimson holes easily outweighed the ruddy peach of her skin. The pleasures he had showered on her had kept her ignorant to his more unrestrained actions. The remnants of her post coital ecstasy fled as the prickling of pain began to sting at her battered form.

"You were marvellous dulceata. I'm sure you know that I do not lose control easily. During the final steps of our 'dance' as you termed it, you brought my 'less than gentlemanly' urges to the fore. I compliment you. That is no easy feat. Consider them souvenirs of our time together," his voice was a mocking imitation of sympathy.

She was too preoccupied with the thorns jabbing at her nerves to counter. She was forced to stare into his hollow eyes as she could not even manage to move her head.

"Why now?" she finally choked out and the effort wounded her throat.

He moved towards her then and she tried to flinch but could not achieve even that. He was not reaching for her anyway, but for his hair clasp. As he fixed his hair into a ponytail he graced her with a response.

"You have served both sides of the war well. You have raised my enemies into what I hope will soon be respectable warriors. You have been a wonderful distraction to me, but I'm afraid dulceata, that distractions must be terminated once they have served their purpose."

Was that what she was then? An old toy that ceased to amuse him?

He continued, "Boris has become incompetent of late. He is grateful that his family has survived as long as it has. He goes hunting, yes, but his heart is not in it. As for your children…I am but a myth to them. An unknown villain in one of their storybooks. Your death will evoke their wrath, make me real to them. Will quicken them once more, will provide me with a fresh generation of vengeful Valerious to play with. I do feel somewhat guilty about dear Anna, losing her mother so young. No matter, someday she may warm my bed as you have. I sincerely hope she inherits your passion." He snapped himself from his reverie and returned to the situation at hand. " You will be more useful in death than you ever were in life. On that subject, how do you feel about providing your enemies with nourishment?"

Her eyes widened in foreboding as she realised what he was talking about. The thought of her fate was even more sickening to her than the possibility of her daughter becoming his lover someday. He scoffed openly at her accusatory glare.

"I wouldn't be a very good husband if I didn't provide for my family, now would I? Having no children that leaves the option of my wives."

"You're leaving me for the scavengers to pick at," she croaked.

"Yes," he drawled, obviously amused by her reaction. "Think of it as thanking them for all the nights you stole me away from them. For every kiss, every caress, a drop of blood shall be spilt."

Now completely dressed, he leaned in close. "Goodbye my love. See you in another life." He kissed her forehead coolly, impassively as if she had ceased to interest him. "Any final words?" he asked in a mock serious tone.

She made the words come, although it was more difficult than pushing a boulder up a steep hill. "You….talk too much," she rasped and was met with a whoop of genuine laughter.

As her life began to seep into the sheets in the form of crimson she began to lose control of her senses. She blinked and her lover was gone, her only reminders of him the gaping holes that were scattered across her naked body and his fading laughter echoing in her ears. As her thoughts began fading away into oblivion, she strained to remember something….

Velkan! She would never see him grow any older, never see him marry and perhaps the most ridiculous thing to cross her mind-she would never see him shave the small stubble that had recently grown on his young face.

Behind her drooping eyelids a scraggily hand beckoned her to follow it beyond the veil. To cross from the world of the living to the world of the dead. She ignored the urge to follow, still trying to clutch at memories. The process was more difficult than finding a needle in a haystack, but still, she persisted. She would not bid farewell to the world without recalling the things that had anchored her there for so long. She would die Kasmira, Queen of the Gypsies with whatever dignity she still possessed, not as some discarded, anonymous plaything.

As dark clouds gathered in her mind, she recalled her second joy. Anna. Beautiful Anna with chestnut curls blowing in the wind, teasing her brother and laughing with child-like glee. She prayed to God that her daughter would not succumb to evil like she had. That she would fight against her darker impulses and win. Most of all she hoped that she would live to be loved by a good man….

Who will listen to your prayers? a voice in her mind mocked. Whether the voice was her own or her lover's she could not tell. It spoke the truth. She had forsaken God long ago when she had willingly decided to warm the Devil's bed. She had pleasured the monster that stalked and killed her family members, because she had let her body's desires hold sway over her mind's.

Her train of thought was cut off as she noticed three dark figures approaching the bed from her open window. She smiled at the irony of the situation-the youngest whore would be killed by the eldest.

Not that that was what the scene looked like to an outside observer. Kasmira was well-aware that it looked as if a group of young women were advancing on an ancient relic. Spring chickens putting an old hen out of her misery. The women who had born at least a hundred children each had no trouble keeping their trim figures, while she who had born two wore stretch marks as constant reminders of her pregnancies across her ruined form.

As the three women loomed closer, their features became more distinctive. The closest form that stood at the head of the bed was Verona. Kasmira found herself comparing the eldest bride to the Count. She had the same piercing, blue eyes, the same high aquiline nose and the same mane of raven black hair. She looked more like his sister than his wife. As her thoughts began to slow, Verona began stroking her hair, before moving the tangled tresses aside to gain access to her neck.

From the corner of her eye, Kasmira spied locks of fire burning across her stomach. Aleera's red curls shrouded her abdomen as if shielding her from something. Quite the opposite-the threat lay beneath the curls. As if to confirm this suspicion, Kasmira felt cool lips parting at her navel. Fangs ready to sink into the tender flesh…

Finally at her right thigh she felt the luminous blond ringlets giggling over her skin. She did not need to look past Aleera to confirm the colour.

A strange vision presented itself to her then. Perhaps her mind was trying to distract her from her growing terror. She remembered a myth the Count had told her years before. The story of how Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love had emerged from the see naked and how the four seasons had draped her in fine clothes. Her current situation seemed to echo the legend, albeit in a darker sense.

The eldest bride was Winter, cool and calculating, with incisors ready to pierce her jugular, Autumn lay her head on her stomach, her wavy orange locks the colour of fallen leaves and Summer's swirling curls danced across her lower body concealing eyes as bright as the bluest sky from her view.

Of course, there were obvious differences between myth and reality. Instead of emerging from the sea, she would drown in a sea of her own blood. She would not be offered garments from her murderers. She would die naked and ashamed before they stripped her of her skin as well. Spring was absent from this gathering. He had left earlier. For although he bore a great resemblance to Winter, he had been her Spring. When she had come to Vaseria she had been cold and lonely. He had warmed her heart and offered her hope. Made her blossom into a confident woman where she had formerly held the title of a timid, slowly opening flower. Now she lay dying, her petals dwindling into nothingness.

Fresh fear engulfed her as the Brides' separate grips tightened simultaneously on her fragile flesh.

A deafening silence rang in her ears, a tolling bell signalling her doom.

Then claws and fangs sank into her body. Soon she was being mauled everywhere, sliced, stroked, pinched. Their breath was ice cold as they crowded around her. She squeezed her eyes shut but it didn't stop her from imagining their contorted faces, savage jaws and sharpened fangs.

She was determined to stop herself from crying out. She trembled and bit down on her bottom lip, drawing blood in the process.

I won't scream! she told herself. I won't scream, I won't scr-

Fangs and nails dug in deeper than ever, burrowing through to her guts. Hands wormed their way inside her and pulled parts of her out. Nails scraped at her skin from the inside, tearing her apart. The pain was intolerable. Her senses dissolved as her brain went wild. She opened her mouth and screamed.

The last thing she heard was her death howls ringing throughout the Valerious manor, as her beloved's wives feasted on her flesh.

On that happy note...review?