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The Romanians
The overwhelming pain was finally beginning to abate, he could tell because the tips of his fingers and toes were no longer on fire. Unfortunately for Merek, this diversity only seemed to emphasize the pain that had not retreated from everywhere else in his condemned body.
His open eyes could make out shapes in his dark cell, one of them looked like a man so he screamed at him for mercy, begging for death. But the shape didn't move, at all, perhaps it wasn't real. Merek could tell he was lying on a blanket spread over fresh straw, he could smell it and in so doing, realized his face was no longer submerged in the acid. He thrashed around at will even though vaguely aware that his movements didn't seem to help relieve any of the pain. Merek realized he was covered with another blanket and nothing else, it didn't matter.
The pain, the burning, was retreating inward and impossibly, escalating as it seemed to concentrate in his chest. He'd have been capable of walking over to the corner man-shape and demanding his own death from it, if only his breast weren't nailed to the floor by the excruciating pain.
The fires continued their slow retreat, gradually allowing him to feel certain that his limbs were, in fact, still attached to his torso. Then, his heartbeats began to take off. At first they punctuated him like automatic rifle fire until the beats were no longer individual pumps, but one long uninterrupted beat, more like the pistons of an engine, churning his insides to a hot, liquefied stew. His body arched uncontrollably off the blanket, the movement further confirmed his suspicion that he was naked and he supposed it was only appropriate for him to meet his maker as he was born.
Then, nothing. He was sure he was dead, but he opened his eyes anyway. The darkness no longer impeded his sight. He could see everything in detail. He smelled urine, alcohol, stale straw, vomit, old wood, metal, and much more, he heard voices… He wanted to hide and without seeming to move, found himself huddled in the darkest corner of the stall. The voices were compounded by the sounds of the forest, the falling snow, a small creature [maybe a fox?] was running nearby, the tops of the trees were swaying in the wind that came off the top of the mountain, he could hear their trunks groan with their shifting weight, but the voices were speaking in his native tongue and one sounded vaguely familiar.
"…[este mort?] is he, dead?" the voice croaked.
"[Nu, desigur, nu.] No, of course not."
"[Eu nu te cred.] I don't believe you."
"[Doriţi să vedeţi pentru tine ?] Perhaps you would like to see for yourself?"
"[Da, am dori foarte mult să-l vadă.] I would very much like to see him, yes."
A metallic sound, perhaps a rusty lock moving and wood scraping against metal, a door opening? Then footsteps, Merek huddled unmoving in the dark as the footsteps approached. He became acutely aware of a delicious scent that teased the flames in his throat. It was a slightly metallic moisture that seemed to call to him, beckoning him, but he remained fearfully immobile in his corner. The wooden door of his own cell began to slide open and a figure stumbled into the stall while the door was immediately slammed shut behind him. Merek was overcome by the moist scent of the figure and quickly realized this was the source of the delicious smell.
"Where is he?" the figure turned, screaming accusingly out the door of the cell, "he's not even in here!"
"Oh yes he is, my friend. Look again."
But before the figure could turn back towards him, Merek was sinking his teeth into the largest vein in his victim's neck that seemed to sing with relief for his aching throat. The blood seemed to pump itself into his mouth and greedily he sucked it down. His eyes rolled back into his head in relief and satisfaction. He felt his vessel inhale to push out a scream, and swiftly broke his neck, instinctively silencing him. Merek was not about to allow any interruption of the soothing flow of liquid that was dousing his discomfort. Moments later, the vessel ran dry and he tossed it to the floor. For the first time he got a look at the face, he stood over it for awhile and realized he recognized the dead body, it belonged to someone he knew well… Sasha.
He looked up and saw another face he recognized outside the stall door, "Who are you? What have you done to me? Let me out of here!" Merek demanded.
The man with the beautiful face on the other side of the door laughed, "Let yourself out, I can't keep you here if you really wish to leave. But consider what I can do for you, my friend before you go rushing out into the wild, buck naked and totally uninformed."
Merek threw the cell door open and heard it crack and splinter against its frame. He ignored it to face his jailer, towering over him in barely contained anger and confusion. The man smiled back at him casually while his eyes assessed Merek's bare body from head to toe with a gleam of approval. He licked his lips and then, shaking himself slightly, seemed to suddenly remember the black woolen cloak he had draped over his arm. Handing it to him he said, "here, put this on for modesty's sake. We do have others of the opposite sex around here."
"I asked who are you?" Merek demanded.
"My name is Stefan, I am your host, and more importantly, your sire," he held the cloak up higher indicating it to Merek.
"My… sire?" he asked in confusion as he took the cloak and swung it around his broad shoulders. Stefan smiled as he saw the perfect fabric settle nicely on the beautiful specimen in front of him.
"Yes, that is the term our kind uses to indicate that I am the one who made you what you are."
"What am I?"
"You, my dear are now an immortal, a newborn immortal to be more precise."
"Immortal?" Merek's stance relaxed somewhat as he attempted to wrap his head around this information, "our kind?"
"Yes, you are no longer human, Merek. Perhaps you've noticed your senses are now picking up subtle signals far beyond what you'd ever been able to detect with your human capabilities. Your body has been perfected by the fire you've endured. I know it's quite disorienting, but I'm here to help you, if you'll let me."
"Why should I?"
"Because, you could get into a great deal of trouble without my help, just because you're immortal now doesn't mean you can't be destroyed. There are rules, you know," Stefan indicated the motionless body behind Merek, "that body, for instance. Tch, tch, tch."
Merek cringed as his thoughts turned back to Sasha, regret began to creep into his consciousness and despair over the death of his long time friend quickly showed the pain and confusion etched on his features.
"Oh please, my friend… do not trouble yourself over this. I will take care of your friend for you," noting that his offer did little to help ease the expression on Merek's face, Stefan continued, "I'm certain he was happy to provide for you in the end, he was quite concerned for your welfare over these past few days, I assure you."
Merek buried his face in his hands.
"Enough, I will not have you feeling sorry for yourself now, you have a new life to look forward to and I demand that we get some proper clothing for you immediately. I will not have my mother confronting you for the first time while you're still bloody and naked," Stefan was at the limit of his patience, he wrapped his arm around Merek's shoulders and began to herd him towards the manor, "Come, I have an extensive wardrobe, we'll find something acceptable for you to wear..."
Merek lifted his face and allowed himself to be escorted toward the mansion. As they walked he realized that he'd been in a stable, even though he didn't see any horses, he did smell them. He expected the snow to crunch under their feet and was surprised at the silence that enveloped their footfalls. Though Merek was sure he recognized the building as the party palace he and Sasha had sought to crash once upon a time, how long ago he couldn't be certain, they were approaching it from a different direction and he realized they were headed for a back door of sorts.
They were only about half way there when he smelled something delicious coming from an entirely different direction and he realized again that his throat was still on fire. He stood stock still his head facing away from Stefan's intended direction.
"Merek, NO," Stefan moved to face him and spoke forcefully into his face, "I will get you more LATER, you must endure for the moment."
Merek barely registered the words, he was already making his move toward the delicious scent.
"STOP, MEREK!" Stefan's voice was a command.
Suddenly, another face was in front of him standing shoulder to shoulder with Stefan. "Did you not hear your sire, young one? You must stop now and do as you are told, to disobey will carry dire consequences for you."
"My throat is burning."
"There are worse things, young one. I promise you will be sorry if you do not heed our warnings," Vladimir reached out, spun Merek around by his shoulders and pushed him roughly in the direction of the manor.
Angered by the force of the blow, Merek turned on Vladimir in fury to behold his eyes, eyes that were red where they should have been white, red where they should have been black and red where they should have been almost any color but red. Abruptly, Merek dropped into the snow, a lake of blood pooling around him as he bled out.
Stefan looked at Vlad apologetically, "Sorry father, I should have forced Peter and Anya to go into town."
"Yes, well I'm afraid this one won't be worth much for awhile. You might as well take him inside and get him cleaned up. Your mother and I are going hunting soon anyway, we'll look for something to bring home."
Stefan smiled gratefully at his father, noticing that he already looked positively transformed back into the vigorous man he'd once known. "Thanks."
"You can thank me by keeping close tabs on this one, my son. He's quite large and very strong. We don't need to have him getting loose and drawing any attention from our Italian nemesis. Promise me you'll make certain that doesn't happen."
Stefan cringed slightly, he really didn't want to destroy this one, he was after all, a gift from his beloved mother. "I will, father," he promised as he picked the bloody mess up out of the snow and slung him easily over his shoulder. They headed back towards the house together.
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