Page 28 of Alien Legacy
“Why do you scuttle around like an untried maid, Polcovnic Dracul? Sit, sit! I’ve invited you here to witness how my enemies are on the run now that glorious victory is at hand.” The seated man pounded the table with a clenched fist. The knife next to his plate jumped, as did his goblet. Red droplets flew as he grabbed the goblet by its stem and drained the contents with long swallows. Slamming the metal chalice on the table, he barked a deep laugh.
Twin lines of red wine rolled from the corners of his mouth and slithered through his long black mustache.
“I am only ensuring your safety, Hospodar Vlad. We can never be too careful, can we?” Zamush stood behind the man, his hands gripping the bulky shoulders, his brows furrowed. His top lip curled, exposing the tips of his fangs.
Oh boy, Zamush did not like this guy. Glancing around, she inched closer to hear what Zamush said next.
“Vlad,” Zamush whispered near to the man’s ear. “In the battle tomorrow, you will offer yourself to be sacrificed in order to end this obscene war.” He inhaled a deep breath and gave a sly grin.
Good thing her hearing was keener than a normal human’s. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have caught what was said.
“Not too quick, now. Give them a show of your boisterous ignorance first. Then impale yourself on your enemy’s broadsword in the middle of the melee. Make sure several are near enough to witness your death.” The tip of Zamush’s tongue licked the throb of the man’s carotid artery. Before giving him a chance to answer, Zamush struck.
A startled gasp came from the woman by her. ”Vampir,” she whispered, tugging her companion’s sleeve, who ate next to her. “Ionut! Look! The Polcovnic Dracul is drinking the blood of Vlad the Impaler!”
Vlad the Impaler? Wasn’t that the guy who inspired the vampire myth?
“Nu.” The man stopped gnawing the greasy turkey leg plastered at his mouth. “Mihaela, silly woman. It is our glorious leader, Hospodar Vlad, who has the Polcovnic under his thrall.”
Jelena and the woman swung to look at the two men who now stood.
Zamush’s back was to them, partially hiding the shorter, husky man. At first glance, it seemed the two of them were in a deep discussion. With Vlad’s white-knuckled hand wrapped around Zamush’s neck, it was hard to tell who was doing what.
But her excellent hearing allowed her to know it was Zamush who took his fill of the despot’s blood.
“Are you saying our glorious leader is vampir?” Mihaela hissed. “We must take our leave this instant!” The matron woman started to rise, but her companion grabbed her arm, forcing her to sit.
“Don’t be ignorant, woman.” The man put the tattered turkey leg on the dented platter in front of him. “We’ll leave when the time is right and not before.” With a chin lift, he nodded to the food in front of her. “Be silent and eat.” Glancing at the two men, he pressed his lips into a thin line. “Do not fret so, woman. We’ll make our excuses to leave before the night is out.”
Mihaela jerked her arm out of his hold. “If he makes me vampir, you’ll be the first person I drain the lifeblood from.”
“Ah, my porumbel. You wish to be with me even in death.”
Jelena snorted at the ridiculous couple and scurried after Zamush, who led Vlad out of the room. As she crossed the threshold out of the Great Hall, nothingness swallowed her.
~Zamush~
Zamush watched Jelena sleep in the newest Dreamwalk he created. Now that she’d witnessed a couple of his past lives, he wanted her to see him in another light. He craved for her to realize he was a worthy male and not just another blood source.
In the newest dream, he created a replica of his bedroom at his Shadow Night plantation, nestled on the outskirts of the Louisiana swamp. He had it built long before Louisiana became a state. In its heyday, he ran the crops with free men, refusing to own slaves. That had been a gamble at the height of Southern power. It brought attention to him, and created friction between him and the rest of the landowners. He’d been adamant about not owing slaves after witnessing the vile practice throughout the centuries. As a child, he grew up on the tales from his father about enduring life as a slave to the Akurn race. Zamush would never consider forcing another person into its vile practice.
As a result, some witnessed his strange behavior of being allergic to sunlight and swore they’d seen him taking blood from unwary necks. Gossip ran wild, and he had to leave on and off over the years. Even so, his unique physiology added to the vampire legend in the area.
Anne Rice notwithstanding.
As Jelena slept, he waved open the doors that led outside the two-story balcony. Gauzy curtains fluttered inward and brought the sweet aroma of the blooming evening primroses planted below.
Over the years, he’d kept the bedroom in the typical uncluttered plantation style he’d fallen in love with.
The four-poster master bed and surrounding furniture were made of dark teak that complemented the dusky pale beige of the walls. The hardwood floor of the same wood showcased the Persian rugs accented in bright orange, red, and yellow, matching the plush duvet covering the bed.
His heart raced as he watched Jelena. What was the best way to bring her consciousness to the Dreamwalk? With light kisses, murmuring sensual words in her ear? No, lying on the bed next to her was too bold. He needed to do something as effective, but not so overt.
Why not seduce her with the backdrop of the Louisiana night as music in the background? With a wide grin, he scooped her up and took her outside to the balcony. He settled on an overlarge rocker and snuggled her into his lap. Breathing in her addicting spicy aroma, he couldn’t help the kiss he planted on the top of her head. Slowly rocking the chair, he brushed her hair out of her eyes.
“Jelena, my anshar. Awaken so we may get to know one another better.”
She snuggled, wrapping her arms around his waist.