Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (5 page)

Chapter Five

Kalaur stretched his wings and let the wind sway his body downwards. He circled the village, ensuring they all saw what was coming, and then landed effortlessly in the middle of the empty square. Balaur, his brother and captain of his army, followed suit. The other dragons stood on the outskirts of the community as did Kalaur’s most important weapon, Vrajitor,
the magician
—his very own Leonardo Da Vinci.

A few curious dracos stepped out of their homes and shops, covering their eyes against the setting sun, only to see their community towered over by five dragons. He, the black dragon, was the most imposing one.

“You know why we’re here,” he stated imperially at the villagers. The bitter odor of fear was carried on the wind.
Good
, he thought, these bloody traitors
should
be scared. They had no idea how much in the killing mood he was today.

“I give you land to harvest, I give you protection, and what do you give me in return?” he asked. “Betrayal!”

A mother grabbed her son and hurried inside her house, followed by a shop owner who rushed to lock his door behind him. What a bunch of fools. They truly believed those pitiful concrete walls would protect them from Kalaur’s rage.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know you are harboring a fugitive?” He carried on. “I know you are hiding Ivan Milek in this place.”

The remaining villagers exchanged worried looks amid gasps.

“Ivan Milek is a coward who likes stirring up wrong ideas in the minds of other cowardly fools. And you have been protecting him, giving him shelter and food.
My
food. But if you prove your loyalty to me now, I may spare you from my wrath.” Kalaur paused and let his words echo in the late afternoon mist. “Give me Ivan Milek now. Tell me where he is hiding.”

Silence was the only response he got.

But he was not in the mood for foreplay, so he searched around for an easy target, his lizard-like eyes burning for blood.

There it was—the market, which had been going strong before his arrival. A few dozen buyers stood between the precariously built tents.
Wooden tents
. Kalaur smiled then without warning, he released a fire blast on the area, burning everything in and around it.

Chaos ensued.

Mothers scurried away trying to protect their young. Stall owners rushed to the well to get water in a feeble attempt to save their goods. Kalaur didn’t stop, breathing more fire on the surrounding houses and shops. All of it burned like twigs in summer. He knew that only fear would drive loyalty, because when you fear for your life you do everything in your power to save yourself. Unfortunately, draconians could not be killed by the very element which gave them strength, so an extra incentive was in order.

Kalaur glared at Balaur. “What in Hiad are you waiting for?” His useless brother blinked at him as if he had no idea what he was talking about. “Don’t simply stand there, you moron, go and do your duty!”

At Kalaur’s command, Balaur finally signaled two of his dragons to follow, and hurried to the burning market. They had planned this attack, they had deployed this operation countless times before, but his brother still failed to get on with the proverbial program.

After hovering over the terrified dracos for a moment longer, Balaur finally started his attack aided by two of his raiders who followed his lead and started chopping the heads off the serfs who were trying to save their crops, their homes, and their children. The town’s panic level was elevated tenfold. Balaur wasn’t selective on whom he took as victims—men, women, children, horses, no one escaped their foray. Good, those fucking serfs needed to learn that no one escaped Kalaur’s ire. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Vrajitor emerge from behind the town’s tower. He had shifted back to human form and held a large sack in his hands. His naked body covered by his customary grey robe.

“Be on the ready, Magician,” Kalaur ordered.

“Always, my lord,” Vrajitor replied.

“It won’t be long before they break.”

As if on cue, a woman ran across the square and knelt by Kalaur’s feet.  “Please, my lord, we don’t know where Mr. Milek is. Please be kind and spare us.”

Kalaur leaned down and sniffed. The putrid smell of deceit reached his nose. “You’re lying,” he growled. He opened his mouth wide and descended for the kill.

“No! Mother,” a young man cried from the opposite side of the square. He darted to his mother’s side trying to protect her from Kalaur’s attack. “Milek arrived yesterday, stayed the night then left before sunrise,” the young man uttered trembling to his core. The daft fool.

Kalaur paused, his long nozzle inches from his target. “Don’t lie to me, boy, or I’ll eat you and your entire family in one sweep.”

“I’m not lying, my lord! He’s left, he’s not here anymore.”

Kalaur paused, and then straightened up towering above his serfs. “Where did he stay?”

They both stared up at him, mute.

“You said he stayed the night,” Kalaur said between clenched teeth. “Where did the bastard stay?”

The young man started crying uncontrollably and covered his face on his mother’s shoulder. Kalaur drew in another breath, showing his patience had reached its limits. Mother and son recoiled in their insignificance but before Kalaur finished what he’d started, the woman pointed at a small shop at the end of the forum.

An old man who was watching the bout from his doorstep jumped in surprise. His blood shot eyes went wide in fear, and then he did exactly what Kalaur was hoping he would. He tried to escape. The fool ran across the street and leaped in the air. His clothes ripping apart as his body transformed into dragon, his tail and wings sprouting out for his salvation.

Kalaur glanced at Vrajitor and grinned. At once, his magician pulled out a large device from the sack he was holding and took position. The device looked like a crossbow but instead of an arrow, it bore a strange projectile, which resembled a metal centipede. As the runaway draco tried to fly away, Vrajitor aimed high then pulled the trigger. The centipede flew across the sky and attached itself on the fugitive’s back. As if it had a life of its own, the projectile wrapped its many claws around the dragon’s wings and closed on them like massive scissors. A deafening screech echoed around the entire village as the draco’s wings were severed midflight. The traitor plummeted to the ground, taking down a few houses with him.

In utter delight, Kalaur watched as the metal centipede retracted and firmly lodged itself on the draco’s back.

“Bravo!” Kalaur laughed. “Now that’s what I call a live demonstration!”

Vrajitor nodded in acknowledgement. His face contorted into what Kalaur had learnt was the magician’s smile.

The remaining town folks, the ones who have survived at least, fell to their knees and bowed in subservience.

“You are the ones to blame for this tragic day,” Kalaur bellowed, ensuring everyone in the godforsaken village heard him well. He wanted survivors, and he wanted them pissing their pants in fear. “You spit on the hand who feeds you, you betrayed your lord. Now, you will serve me as a warning to all your neighbors who dare defy me.” He lifted his chin and issued the command he was longing for. “I now declare that every draconian serf must wear the Metal Centipede at all times. If you resist, my raiders will send your inmã to the Rivers of Apa Sâmbetei, along with your entire family. There’s no room for traitors in my kingdom.”

At his command, Vrajitor shouted the instructions for the villagers to form a single line and take their shirts off, getting ready for the insertion of the device on their backs. And like a flock of brainless sheep, the serfs obeyed without a word.

Kalaur flew up and landed next to his brother. “The only way that bastard Milek and his band could have escaped us once again is with the aid of someone with means, someone who has the channels and the gold to open paths for them,” he growled. “I want to know who it is and I want it now. Do you understand, brother?”

Balaur nodded vehemently then hurried away.

Chapter Six

The delicious, metallic taste of blood reached his tongue as the liquid spilled into his mouth awakening Petran’s senses like only the most precious of elixirs could. His eyesight became more acute, his muscles more taunt, his cock harder. The servant girl moaned underneath him, as he kept thrusting his shaft into her sweet opening. The more he sucked the harder he plunged himself into her, and the more high-pitched her wails of pleasure became. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d seen in the castle but her plump curves gave him enough juice to enjoy the feed. He felt his scrotum tighten, the dull ache intensifying in anticipation of the incoming release. In other times when he’d taken a servant to feed from, he hadn’t cared less about their pleasure, he was the king after all, and they were there to serve him in any way he needed or wanted. However, this girl would play a very important part in his plan.

“Come on, love, let go, let it take over,” he whispered against her neck and drove his cock inside harder.

“Oh-mi-gods, Oh-mi-gods, Oh-mi-gods!” Her entire body shook violently with the orgasm.

It was only then Petran let himself find release. It was annoying, yes, having to wait for the servant to find hers first, but necessary. In this case.

After the last tremors of the unsatisfying climax withered, Petran pulled out and rolled onto his back.

“Oh, wow, your majesty,” the servant girl giggled, kissing his bare chest. Despite her young age, he’d noticed she wasn’t inexperienced in the arts of lovemaking. “That was so…amazing! I had never done it with a vampire before, but now, oh, I am very grateful Lady Natalia chose me to serve you.”

“Then you must show your gratitude not only to me, but to your lady as well.”

“Your majesty?” she asked frowning.

Petran pushed up, rolling her onto her back. “It will be a sign of good servitude if you relay your experience to your ladyship, in detail.” He lowered his mouth and captured one of her large nipples between his lips. “Every single detail,” he added between kisses.

The servant girl writhed underneath him. “Oh, yes, I will do so, if it pleases you.”

“Yes, it would please me greatly,” he replied giving her bosom one last squeeze, then pushed off the bed and started putting on his breeches. “Now, you must leave.”

His sharp command did the job. The girl jumped startled as if he’d just thrown a bucket of cold water on her then mirrored his actions and put her gown back on.

Petran walked to the door, opening it to let her pass.

She took on the command quietly but instead of crossing the threshold, she pressed her body against his and rubbed her palms up his chest. “Are you going to be needing me again, your majesty?”

If you do your duty well, no. “Maybe.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her hips against his, giving her another hot memory to share. He knew women talked, he just hoped this vixen would serve him well not only as blood bank but as a means to his success. “If you promise to be a good girl and share your appreciation with Lady Natalia, I will consider asking for you again before I depart back to Wallachia.”

She nodded vehemently.

“But don’t tell her I have asked you to do so,” Petran warned. “That indiscretion would not please me.”

“I won’t, your majesty. I promise, I’ll do you good,” she mumbled, kissing him on the neck.

“Good.” Petran gently grabbed her wrists and pulled her away. “So now, off you go.”

She smiled sensually at him before turning on her heels and leaving. She was far from being his type, but she wasn’t the worse coupling he’d had. Maybe he would consider requesting her services again before he left. But only after he’d finished with the sweet Lady Natalia.

Heavy steps descending the stairs toward him caught his attention. A moment later, Arthur came into view accompanied by a matronly looking woman.

“Where in Hiad have you been?” Petran asked coldly.

“Here, your majesty,” he said beaming with pride. “It took me almost an hour but I found a suitable candidate to serve you.”

Petran looked at his chamberlain and rolled his eyes. “Get in here, you daft, and help me get ready.”

Without giving the woman a second look, he turned around and went back into his quarters. By Apa Dobrý, he would have to teach Arthur how to be more spirited. Fair enough, despite having been in his payroll for decades, Arthur was new to the position of royal personal assistant and his English heritage prevented him from relinquishing his inherent stiffness, but taking over an hour to find him a pitiful human to drink from was definitely not acceptable.

“Arthur, you must—” The sound of heavy stomping and shouts muffled the rest of his words. Outside his chamber, several servants rushed across the dark hallway. Some carried buckets of water, others supplies, and even chains. All held desperate expressions on their faces.

“What in Hiad is happening?” Petran muttered then quickly grabbed his shirt off the chair and rushed out.

**********

The house was in total disarray—servants rushed up and down the corridors, and Somenski’s seneschal was bellowing orders, which made no sense.

Petran grabbed one of the scullions, forcing him to a halt. “What is the matter?”

“It’s happening again! The lordship,” the boy replied frantically, and then pulled his arm free to resume his quest.

“
What
is happening again?” Petran shouted after the boy but it was too late. He’d already disappeared around the corner.

“Your majesty,” Arthur called, pointing down the hall. “I believe they are running toward Lord Somenski’s chambers.”

By the gates of Hiad!

Petran rushed along with the others, praying for the Soartas to be merciful with his neighbor. He was plotting his daughter’s downfall but that didn’t mean he was impervious to the agony his neighbor was in.

He stormed into Somenski’s quarters with Arthur in tow. The chaos inside was even greater than outside with his good neighbor at the center of it all. Somenski was standing on his bed flapping his arms around, wearing his hard hat and royal robe on top of his nightshirt. Several servants were rushing around like headless chooks trying to calm his lord down. Natalia was at the foot of the bed begging her father to drink the medicinal tea in her hands, but her pleas met deaf ears. Somenski seemed not to notice anything at all. We seemed to be hallucinating, lost in his own world, bellowing words of war. Then suddenly, he tore his chemise into pieces revealing bare skin.

The entire room froze in place at the sight.

Someski’s chest was tearing open as if made of clay—his dragon was trying to break through the mold. His eyes wavered between human and dragon, his fingers had turned into long claws. By Apa Dobrý, this disease was one of the most gruesome things Petran had ever encountered.

One of the servants found a break in his master’s movements, and latched at Somenski’s ankle, locking them in metal chains. His lord stumbled but didn’t go down.

Big mistake.

The draco yelled to the others but before the backup could step in, Somenski’s sharp claws slashed the servant out of the way and freed himself from the shackles.

“No! Father,” Natalia cried out. “Please, look at me!” Once again, her pleas were to no avail.

Petran glared at the heavy chains, which now lay forgotten on the floor. The draco servant failed in his attempt, but it seemed to Petran that they were the only way to contain the deranged dragon lord.

“Arthur,” he shouted at his chamberlain. “Grab the other end!”

Arthur complied, giving a hint that he had understood his master’s intentions. Without the need for a second order, he wrapped the metal shackles around his wrists and opened his stance, grinding his feet firmly on the ground. Petran then clutched his end of the chain tightly in his hands before leaping into the air, over the bed posts, and coming to a halt behind Somenski. The dragon lord didn’t see any of it coming. He had been focusing on deflecting the attacks from the ground, but not from above, leaving his head and back unprotected.

Careful not to cause more pain than he was already in, Petran lassoed Somenski’s torso and arms then launched himself backward, dragging the draco with him. Before his neighbor could retaliate, he rolled off the bed, and pulled the chain tight. The movement added to Arthur’s firm grip on the other side, forced Somenski to lie out on the bed. He thrashed and struggled against the chains but they had him.

“Natalia, hurry,” Petran shouted, nodding to the cup in her hands.

At once, she sprang on the bed and forced her father to drink the tea. “Please, father, drink this. It will steal away the pain, I promise.” Her voice was soft but her movements were certain.

After a few unsuccessful attempts, the murky fluid finally found its way into Somenski’s mouth and the crisis ebbed.

A collective sigh of relief resounded throughout the room, as everyone released a breath they all seemed to be holding, including Petran. After ensuring Somenski was truly at ease, he released the chain and nodded to Arthur to do the same.

“Merciful Soartas, what is this Curse?” he murmured after his neighbor had finally fallen asleep.

Natalia’s grave gaze found his then she turned to her seneschal. “Olek, please guide the others to clean the room.”

Olek obliged, bellowing more commands. In a few moments, the room had been cleaned, and cleared of servants.

Natalia went to her father’s side and covered him with a light duvet, then she straightened up, and faced Petran. “This disease is nothing we’ve ever seen and it strikes at a phenomenal pace.”

“You mentioned last night that you have been watching over the villages most affected, and noticed a pattern.” 

She pursed her lips and turned her eyes away.

Petran gripped her elbows, forcing her to look at him again. “Speak your mind, milady. My ears may be the only ones in your favor.”

She stared at him, and then at the ceiling. He noted the tenseness in her jaw as if she was considering her options. Then her eyes melted into resignation. It was clear she was exhausted, but not physically tired.

“After the first wave when the Curse strikes, several villagers lose their lives within a matter of months but then the plague seems to lose power, just like a cold front, it dwindles. And in less than two seasons after the first wave, the death toll is null.”

“How long has your father been bed bound?”

“Over three seasons,” she replied bluntly.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you implying, Lady Natalia?”

She regarded Petran with suspicion, as if she hadn’t yet decided if he was trustworthy or not.

“I told you before, milady, from what I’ve seen, I am the only one who is willing to listen. So please, speak.”

She exhaled a resigned breath then continued, “Dragons are not susceptible to illnesses, your majesty, because our scorching body heat kills any germs or bacteria before it becomes strong enough to be lethal. The only way it could still be affecting my father is—”

“Through continuous exposure,” Petran finished the sentence for her.

She nodded. “I have treated many cases while volunteering at the convent in England in my formative years. The pattern I have noticed in this disease is very similar to some…” She paused and pursed her lips once again.

Petran took a step closer and softly brushed her arm with his hand. “Natalia,” he whispered. “You can trust me.”

She swallowed dry then took a step back, freeing herself from his touch. It was a subtle gesture, but failed to pass unnoticed by Petran. “The pattern is similar to some poisons used in warfare against our kind.”

“What of the tea you’ve been giving him?” He asked. “It seems to help.”

She nodded, moving to sit by her father’s side. “Yes, it helps to calm him but the outbursts are getting stronger, and more frequent. It’s not a good sign.” A choking sob muffled her last words.

It was only then Petran realized just how brave Natalia had been—her father was dying, she was about to be promised in marriage to a tyrant and her land had been stricken by a curse. Nonetheless, this was the first time she’d ever showed any weakness. She was truly a warrior in her own right, worthy of a sword and shield.

A tinge of regret prickled his heart. It would be a shame to cause her harm.

“Have you shared your thoughts with your father?”

She nodded affirmatively.

“And what say him?”

“That I am just a female who knows not of royal politics,” she replied in a slightly bitter tone. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m just trying to find a way of not feeling so helpless.” She covered her face with both hands, trying to hide her tears.

Oh, Mighty Soartas, what have you brought me into?

Petran stepped forward feeling a strange warmth in his heart he cared not to admit. He didn’t want to get too involved but couldn’t stop himself. Furthermore, if Lady Natalia was right and Somenski was being purposely poised, then, Petran’s troubles were just beginning.

He stroked her raveled locks, trying to comfort her. When she looked up at him, he crouched in front of her and gently wiped her tears with the back of his fingers. “Cry not, my dear,” he whispered. “I promise I’ll find out if your father is being poisoned or not.”