I do not own Stephenie Meyer's Twilight universe, no copyright infringement intended. Rebecca the vindictive vamp, however, is a product of my own twisted imagination.
WARNING – DAMAGED FRENCH VAMP MEETS LUSTY SCOTTISH HUNK FOR FUN, FROLICS AND MUTUAL BLOODTHIRSTINESS
Written to the sound of "A Gift of a Thistle" on the Braveheart soundtrack.
Oh, and I'm totally imagining Robert as a long-haired Gerard Butler, by the way. Think "Beowulf and Grindel" meets Braveheart/The Highlander.
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Chapter Two – Heather and Heathens
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13th Century Scotland
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Once I'd gained enough control of myself and the overwhelming lure of human blood, I became more selective about my victims. I could smell him, even though I could not yet see him, and so I sped over the purple heather as I sought him out.
By now, I knew what I was. In Northern England, about fifty years ago, I'd stumbled across others like me—other vampires. Knowing what I was and why I was driven to kill helped me feel much better about what I did. For a long time, I had thought myself cursed—now I knew it was really a blessing.
Since my crossing of the English Channel, I had covered almost every single inch of England and Wales looking for Leofrid, and found no sign of him. Deep inside, the hope that I might come across his scent had died, but still I searched. I'd come this far, so I should complete my task.
The other vampires had provided me with female company and a distraction, as well as focus and knowledge about my true self. I'd temporarily given up my fruitless tracking, but then one night, as we'd been sitting talking in the forest, a huge wolf-like beast had ambushed us.
I was the only one who had escaped with my life. The sight of my new found vampire friends being torn apart had horrified me. I'd not dared to go back to the spot and put them back together later—I was too afraid of the foul creature.
Unsure of where else to go and with no companionship, I had resumed my wandering. I'd moved on from England and now I was working my way through Scotland. It was a visually stunning land, and I was enjoying this part of my journey the most. I loved the undulating landscape and snow-topped mountains, the scented pines, and fresh weather. Above everything, I enjoyed the solitude.
Leofrid had been right. I was on my own, and he'd given me the ability to fend for myself. His way of saying "thank you" had been a gift.
When I looked back on our only meeting that night almost two centuries ago, I saw it through the grey mist of humanity, yet to me, it was the only time I'd felt truly connected to a man. I remembered that I had been married and widowed, yet I could recall or feel very little about my long dead husband.
Leofrid was real to me. That was why I felt so compelled to find him. I loved the memory of him, though I did not know enough to love the person. No other person I could recall had ever been so honourable or noble. I'd given him my body, and in return he'd given me strength and immortality—a fair exchange and I did not begrudge it. I was not quite ready to let go of my dark knight despite the abandonment.
The rest of mankind sickened me. Human men had never done anything other than try to possess me or take from me—my beauty had been my curse. Neither my looks or the nature of a man had changed throughout the years, only now it worked in my favour rather than against me.
I could choose my victims rather than blindly consume, and opted to exact revenge on the sex that had tormented me during my life. Death had given me a power to right the wrongs I'd experienced, and I did so with fervour.
My favoured tactic was to come across a lonely man in the wilderness and appear lost. Their uncontrollable lust made them my slave, and when I'd let them think I'd given them what they wanted most from me, I took everything from them. I reconciled myself with my inhuman nature by surviving off the blood of those I considered little more than animals, beasts governed entirely by their own instincts.
I would use that very tactic on the Scotsman I pursued now. Finally closing on him, I held back until the sun had begun to fade and he began setting up a camp for the night, in the shelter of random outcrop of rock amongst the rolling hills of heather.
If it was too light, the shade of my eyes would scare him or he would ask too many questions. In my experience, curiosity soon got killed in the dark when an attractive woman sat by a man's side.
As the grey light faded into night, I stepped into sight. I'd since swapped my Norman dress for finer clothing, and I had a thick, dark blue cloak. I was no longer a serf, but a lonely noblewoman in the wilderness. He soon noticed me, and as I approached, his was gaze focused entirely on me.
Walking at human speed bored me, but it was necessary for the pretence. When I drew near, he spoke.
"Hello there." When I didn't respond, he continued. "What is a lady such as yourself doing wandering alone? It's not safe." His voice was deep and gravelly, with a distinctive Scottish accent.
"We were set upon by robbers and my whole party was killed. I saw your fire. Please can you give me safe passage to the nearest lord, so that I can contact my family?" I looked desperate.
"Sorry, milady. Of course, I can take you to Castle Roy, near Abernathy. I'm sure they can help you."
"Thank you," I said, before waiting expectantly.
The man before me had shoulder-length brown hair and wide blue eyes, which hadn't left me since I had first come into view. Dirt had gathered in his laughter lines, and I guessed that he had not washed for a while—that was something I'd had to come accustomed to, as men generally didn't come along any other way. Now I was not at risk of hypothermia, I washed regularly in any river or lake I came across.
"We won't be able to go any further until morning. I don't have much but I have some food, a fire and blankets." He motioned for me to sit down, and with a sweep of my cloak I walked past him and silently took a seat by the fire.
The Scotsman took stale bread out of his bundle, and some dried-looking meat. He held it out to me and I shook my head.
"You should eat something. We have a long walk tomorrow."
"No, thank you." I registered the difference between my soft accent and his brusque growl. His blue eyes remained transfixed on me, but I did not meet his gaze.
"You're French. What's your name?"
I snuck a quick glance at him and then turned away.
"Yes, I'm Norman. My name is Rebecca." I didn't want the burden of coming up with a more elaborate introduction—I had been discovered that way before, when someone had been familiar with the family I'd claimed to be related to.
"Robert Buchanan." I turned and looked at the human, but refused to associate him with a name in my mind. He sat there in a ragged, cloak of no discernable colour, with a garish green, yellow and red tartan sash over a dirty, brown tunic. Next to his bundle there was a wooden staff and a sword wrapped in fabric. So he was a fighter—it did not intimidate me. No man posed a threat to me as I was now infinitely stronger than even the most brutal human male.
Still staring, he proceeded to put some of the stale bread in his mouth. "So how long have you been wandering? How long have you gone without food?" As he spoke, I was treated to a view of the inside of his stuffed mouth. I turned away in disgust.
"You must be hungry." He offered me another handful and I balked a little.
"I'll survive. I can wait for something more appetizing," I said haughtily. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him take another bite and another look. I allowed him to finish his meal, and the final light went from the sky until there was nothing but the glow and crackle from the fire and the distant noises of wildlife.
"You're not very talkative, are you?"
I rolled my eyes in frustration—so much for my prey not being curious after nightfall. I felt a little more impatient with this one than I usually did. His interest in me was irritating—I did not want to talk, I wanted to feed.
"In my position, would you be?" I dared to look him directly in the face.
"What are you? Some kind of princess?"
"Not my title, you fool! I've seen my friends and servants killed before my eyes. Strangely, I'm not in the mood for conversation at the moment."
"I see. You'll let me escort you to the nearest French English bastard of a nobleman, but my food and my company isn't good enough for you?"
I gasped. "Watch your mouth in front of a lady, you...animal."
At that, he threw his head back and laughed. I fell silent, and as if to annoy me further, he began softly singing to himself. I shot a venomous glance in his direction and decided I would have to silence him sooner rather than later.
"Anything I can get for you, Princess?"
Putting on a mask, I suddenly softened my face. "I'm cold."
"Ah, sorry." The man got to his feet, grabbing a piece of fabric in the horrendous tartan out of his bag and attempting to put it around me. I made sure that his skin touched mine in the process.
"Jesus Christ, you're frozen." Kneeling beside me, he put both of my hands in his and rubbed them in a futile attempt to get some blood flowing. His hands were rough and I didn't doubt that my own were now a few shades dirtier because of the contact.
His hands then moved up to my face and cupped my cheeks. "Why didn't you tell me you were so bloody cold? I'm an oaf."
I looked him in the eye. "You are."
His face lit up with a smile. "It's not just your skin that's frosty. Now you're not going to like this but I'm going to have to warm you up before you freeze to death." He shuffled around so that his legs were on either side of me, and my back was to his stomach. "Is that better?"
I paused for a while and smiled victoriously so that only the flames could see. "Yes."
He rubbed my arms and legs through my cloak, and neither of us spoke. Despite the thickness of my garment I could feel his bodily heat, and enjoyed the heady sensation combined with the scent of blood tinged by the smell of unwashed, sweaty male. I swallowed back a mouthful of venom.
I shifted a little and enjoyed the small jolt I elicited when my body moved against his. Men—always so predictable. Before he had a chance to recover himself, I leaned my head backwards until it rested on his chest, and pretended to be asleep. His breathing caught for a moment.
Now and again, I would fidget as if dreaming, always in a way that I would be sure he would notice. I felt a familiar prod in my back and the man began running his fingers through some loose waves that had escaped the hood of my cloak. Then the low song began again, and I'd had enough of my appetizer.
I sighed and snuggled into him, before jolting "awake" and sitting up suddenly.
"It's alright. You're safe," he growled into my ear. His voice was thick and raspy, the sound of a man who had been sitting thinking impure thoughts for too long.
My shocked eyes locked with his, and I held him there. For a moment, he stared back before he became less focused and dazed.
A hand lifted to my face and brushed my cheek, and in response I parted my lips. His response was sudden but expected, as his hairy jaw brushed against mine and our mouths connected. He was rough as he kissed me, and wound a thick, warm arm around my back to crush me closer to him.
I turned so I knelt between his thighs, and his hands moved up to my waist. Breaking the kiss, I then unfastened the clasp of my cloak and flung it to one side, allowing my hair to escape and dance in the breeze. My hands then dropped to the fastenings of my dress and after snapping out of his lustful stupor, his trembling fingers assisted me until I was entirely naked.
So much for being concerned about my warmth, I thought. It was amazing how quickly men became brainless when the prospect of sex arose.
We both turned our attention to his clothing, which was much easier to remove, and once he was free of the hideous tartan and tunic, I looked down at his body. He was definitely a fighter, I noted, as I observed his bulging arms and chest which were spattered with hair.
The type of men I hated most were soldiers. They took and they pillaged and raped without concern for the anguish they caused—I always showed them the least mercy.
I pushed him back and laid my slender frame against his bulk as I kissed him again, the soft stabbing of flesh against my stomach alerting me to his need for me. Calloused hands ran up my thighs, around my angular hips, and sought out my breasts, before reversing the journey and pulling me tighter, creating more skin on skin contact.
"You're cold—" he began, but I quickly silenced him again with my mouth before pulling away.
"Then warm me up."
I straddled him, positioning myself ready to impale my body on his. His eyes dropped to watch the imminent connection, before rolling back in his head as I moved downwards.
"Sweet Jesus," he cursed. I said nothing in response, but began moving slowly.
His hands rested gently on my ribcage, and his eyes roamed over me in my entirety. We continued without speaking, until his breath started coming in gasps. I leaned forward, as if meaning to kiss him; his mouth sought mine and his hands found my breasts. Before touching his lips I diverted my head.
My teeth sank through the flesh in his neck and he roared. His body froze and he tried to buck me off him, but finally unleashing all of my strength I kept him pinned to the earth. As he writhed and struggled, I was only aware of the rush of fluid down my throat and the sudden flush of heat inside me as I stole his vital fluids.
Eventually, his struggles became weaker, as did the flow of his blood as it left his body. With satisfaction I felt the life draining from him, until I was wrenched from my moment of pleasure.
A howl echoed through the night and I sat up immediately.
Disconnecting myself from his inert form, I got to my feet, hastily gathering my clothing together.
The howl sounded again, but before I rushed off into the night I gave my victim one last glance. He lay there pale, naked and unmoving in the light of the fire.
The werewolf chased me over the length and breadth of Scotland for over a month. Sometimes it would even get so close that I would hear its heavy breathing and smell its stench. Luckily, werewolves spent some time in human form, so I took the opportunity to feed when I could. Eventually, I reached the far north and ran out of land, so I decided to take a more watery escape route; I swam south until I found land again.
Once I felt safe, I could be more selective in my choice of victims—I would have to find a female of a similar build so I could find new clothing. The pursuit and the swim had thoroughly ruined my fine dress.
I began my search, until one day I ran across a scent that caught my attention; it was warm and comforting, like baking bread, but far sweeter. Knowing my own kind when I smelled them, I followed the trail. It was not new, but still strong enough for me to track.
Concentrating on finding the vampire, I found myself back in familiar heather-covered hilly expanses and forests. The scent led me to a startling sight.
On the horizon, I saw a huge hairy mound and caught the foul smell of the werewolf that had chased me for so long. It would have caused me to bolt, if it hadn't been for the accompanying tang of decay. I approached apprehensively, and noted that the area was saturated with the warm, sweet scent.
When I finally drew near and saw the beast up close, I could see that he had been savagely attacked and torn apart. The vampire must be stronger than any I'd ever encountered, as my former companions had been overpowered easily by a similar beast.
Another thought occurred to me—the vampire must be a violent, male warrior. The thought dissuaded me from tracking him further, and so I decided to head south. I doubted that Leofrid had ventured so far north into the wilds, and so I decided to leave this island and return to the forests of Normandy. Maybe he had returned there looking for me.
I had reached northern England when the bready-smelling vampire caught up with me.
After dispatching a man using my preferred tactic, I was re-dressing myself when I sensed a sudden presence. Whirling round, I saw a large, feral-looking vampire standing at the edge of the clearing.
The human I thought I'd killed the night the werewolf had found me stood glaring at the corpse. Searching his face, I saw red eyes where once there had been blue.
"You!" I yelled. "How did you—?"
"I was about to say the same thing." His voice was still deep and husky, but the coarseness had gone. His eyes were magnetised to the remains of my meal.
"He's empty—you're too late. Find your own food," I hissed as I finished straightening my clothing.
"So this was what it was all about. Is he dead, or have you done the same thing as you did to me?"
I looked at my victim, and then back at the new vampire I'd inadvertently created. "He's dead, and I thought you were, too."
"Oh, nice. So this wasn't something you did to keep me around, then?"
I laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea. "No. This—" I motioned in his direction, "—was a mistake."
The new vampire roared and punched a tree, which burst into splinters, and I backed away in fear. Now that he was also immortal, he was a threat.
"And this is how you do it? You fuck us to death, and I was an accident?"
"This is my tactic. It's what works for me," I replied in a soft voice, in case I provoked him. Newborn vampires were the strongest and the most volatile, so I had been told.
"Your tactic. You goddamn whore. You fucking monster," he bellowed at me, the noise echoing amongst the trees.
"I didn't hear you complaining when this whore was fucking you. Be grateful I took the time to make your end so pleasurable—as you'll know too well by now, we don't have to play with our food." I regretted my response to his insults immediately and cowered.
"Don't I fucking well know it? After you burned me, I went home. I killed my entire family. Have you any idea—?" He ran his hands through his matted hair and gritted his teeth.
In an effort to calm him, I simply said, "sorry."
"Sorry. Now she's goddamned sorry."
"I didn't mean to turn you."
He eyed me with animalistic eyes. "But you did. So now what?"
"So, now you do whatever you want. You can live indefinitely—only werewolves and other vampires can kill you. Right now you're a newborn. You will get more control as you get older, maybe in a decade or two."
"A decade or two?"
"You'd be surprised how quickly it passes," I offered, but the accidental vampire ran his hands down his face in desperation. Looking at him in more detail, I recalled how he'd looked as a human. I noticed his weathered skin was smooth, even and pale. Now, only his clothes smelled of sweaty male, and a more putrid scent...
"You killed the werewolf," I said as I realized how the beast had met its end.
"Is that what it was? It came at me from nowhere."
"They are our natural enemy. I was travelling with friends and a werewolf killed them all," I explained, while he fidgeted.
"There are others...like us?"
"Yes, there are other vampires. Not many."
"A vampire? Is that what I am? Is that why I..." he trailed off and looked pained.
"Yes."
Keen to move on, I continued my journey and the new vampire ran alongside, his brown hair tangling in the wind. As we ran, I explained a little more about what we were and what we could do—he listened intently.
I caught a whiff of human on the breeze and my eyes snapped to the newborn, only to see a crazed look in his eyes. His course immediately diverted to the source. For a moment I followed, but then I realised now was an ideal time to use his distraction to get away. I stopped and sprinted south and deeper into England.
I finally reached the Southern coast, only to find I was being followed. This time, I smelled him before he caught up with me, and after a few miles, I slowed.
"You left me!" he said in an accusing tone.
"That was the idea. I'm not looking for company. You're on your own now."
"And what if I don't want to be?"
I laughed. "That's not my problem. I work best on my own, and I'm not good around men."
He snorted. "You mean you're a little too good around men on your own. You did this. I figure that makes you responsible."
I halted, and when he realized I'd stopped, he ran back to where I stood.
"Can't you take a hint? I don't want you around!" I hissed.
"Well, you should have thought of that before you turned me into this."
"I've already explained. That was an accident," I was becoming more frustrated by the minute.
"So you say, but I think you really couldn't get enough of me, so you decided to keep me."
I rolled my eyes. "Please."
We stood in silence, until the atmosphere grew so thick with tension that I had to clear it.
"Why are you following me?"
"I figured that if you were heading south, I'd best be coming with you so I could at least kill Englishmen rather than Scots."
"I'm not staying here. I'm going back to Normandy," I explained, hoping this would dissuade him from making the crossing with me. It did not, so I tried another tactic.
"I'm looking for the vampire that made me."
"That's funny, I was doing something similar," he joked, but I did not laugh.
"He's a knight, called Leofrid."
"Is he your husband? Does he know how you catch your dinner?"
I didn't want to admit that I was unmarried, so I avoided the first part of his question. "No man tells me what I will or won't do."
For a while he went quiet. I hoped that he was coming around to my way of thinking and would leave me alone...until my hopes were dashed.
"How long since you last saw him?" When I didn't respond, he repeated his question.
"Since he turned me."
"And how long ago was that?" he continued to interrogate me.
"About two-hundred years ago, but I fail to see how this is your business. Now if you will excuse me—" He interrupted me by laughing loudly—a deep, rolling belly laugh. "What?"
"And you say I don't take a hint."
I scowled at him. He had now thoroughly outstayed his welcome.
"Have a nice death. I'm leaving now."
"I'm coming with you."
We argued the matter further in a less than adult manner, before I finally screamed. "Why are you so determined to come? I don't want you with me."
He grinned as I began making my way across the sand to the sea, and he kept pace alongside.
"I know—you've already told me that. I just want to see if the welcome he gives you is as warm as what you've given me."
Roaring in exasperation, I waded into the surf.