Bite Me Royal... (Mature Vampire Romance 18+)

Chapter Three

The pic above is of Yalifa Mizraim Gamila...

The day’s commissions have been unfathomably fatiguing. After having burnt my knees scrubbing marble floors and scalded my palms cooking meals, after having cleaned and planted and dusted so endlessly, that perverted king saw the need to degrade me, and in front of his guests at that! I have been subject to humiliation in all my life. Too many painful memories poke at my mind.

Men have taken from me without a thought to it, without need for my consent. Even after I begged and pleaded and sobbed for some sort of grace or mercy, all bemoaning fell upon deaf ears. I have been left only a shell of my former self many a times. But no. I shan’t afford myself the luxury of remaining that frail version, wallowing in the self loathing for all eternity. I sigh a deep sigh as I work to expel and discard all unholy thoughts that plunge the deepest pits of my memory. Oh, but if only it were that easy.

Yes, had my abilities manifested upon my eighteenth winter, then I should have used them to combat against the king and his malicious advances tonight. But no! As a gypsy witch, I am just about as useful as a leaking pale of water.

Even as I lay upon the makeshift bed -my back screaming for some form of release- my mind wanders back to the two peculiar strangers from this eve. So, he is Prince Amir Accad Khalid. The Amir Accad Khalid. The man exuded an aura about him, one that held a certain blackness, one that held many untold truths. And his eyes? They seemed so devoid, almost like pits of nothingness.

My thought process is abruptly interrupted.  An ear-splitting scream is heard. A toe-curling screech pierces into the night. My feet move on their own accord and my body jerks to a rise from the makeshift bed. I scramble to reach for my sandals, slip them on with haste.

My ears begin to ring as  streaks of light pour into the small hut I call home through the tiny cracks of the mud walls. Fire! Death! Ambush! I jolt from within my small chamber and past the thin drapery, take hold of my little nephew and sit him upon my hip. Then, I work to wake my mother from her slumber.

“Mama, mama! Wake up. We have been ambushed!”

My voice breaks. My heart thrums inside my ears. My chest heaves mightily. The little boy in my arm wraps his tiny little hands around my neck whilst his face presses firmly into the hollow of my neck. The gesture has a pang slicing right through my heart as a hot knife would through butter.

“Yalifa, what is going on?”
“We need to go, mama. We need to find some place to hide,” I beg and my voice quivers whilst I speak.

I pull her to her fit by her wrist whilst the other hand clutches my little nephew tightly. I feel his silent tears as they cascade down his cheeks, feel them as they wet the front of my linen clothe. My composure somewhat crumbles, nearly shatters. We proceed for the world outside.

Chaos upon chaos. Persons fleeing for their lives. Huts being consumed by the dancing flames that leap so highly. Limbs detaching and heads popping from bodies of soldiers dressed in our kingdom’s regalia. The ugly smirk of lady death herself.

I clutch the little infant in my arms a tad bit more firmly whilst I pull my old mama through the multitude of yelling and wailing persons -towards the safe haven of the lands beyond the heavy city gates. Time stands still. Powerful stallions gallop and fierce mares neigh. Armored men sit atop, sheathing swords that slay and butcher combatants and civilians alike.

I almost slip, nearly fall as a headless body stumbles right before my eyes. The thick dark red spatters and spits from the gaping hole atop the lifeless body. Soul ripped from body. Death and all her angels sweep through the lands, leave behind rivers of red and showers of sobbing men and women.
‘Keep running, Yalifa,' I chant the words like a mantra.

Momentarily, I turn my head to look behind us then refocus on the task at hand. I gather every ounce of strength still left clinging to my muscles and push on. As I jolt closer and closer to the city gates, my heart palpitates harder as though begging to be liberated.

I battle to keep my gaze fixated upon our destination despite the wailing, despite the fires that reign and cause havoc upon my kingdom. Upon reaching past the metal doors, I begin to hesitate. Something feels a miss. Might I have forgotten a thing?

That is when it hits me! Baba! He spoke earlier, said that he should step out to meet up with a baraza of local village elders. Grace, how could I! How should I have forgotten him! In the midst of such havoc where should he be?

“Yalifa, yalifa, what should be the matter, ma?” I mother inquires, her palm cupping my cheek.

I choke on a sob. My vision temporarily blinds from the stinging wells that form. I clear my throat, swallow the bile that burns holes into my throat.

“Mama, listen to me,” I begin and a tear slips.
“What is it, ma?”

My mother has been suffering from this ailment for quite some time now. She forgets so easily and not even the local physician could aid her case.

“Baba, I need to go back for him.”

There it is. I see it in her eyes now. The remembrance of a loved one and the tormenting revelation that they may have met their demise. Her eyes begin to glisten under the illuminations of the full moon.

“Go, take Yusuf. I should find you. Baba and I will find you. Now, go mama. Go! Run!” I try to formulate coherent speech, but my voice betrays me.

And whilst I speak, I hand the child over to her despite his obvious reluctance.

“Yalifa, please take care of yourself,” she pleads.

A tear rolls down her cheek despite her futile attempts to stop it. Her voice quivers. She presses her forehead soothingly against my own. Yusuf whimpers but I dare not look upon him. Then, my mama turns and jogs into the emptiness ahead. Looking upon them, I have to restrain myself from falling upon my knees and sobbing into my palms. How can this pain in my chest seem to grow all the more?

I sniff, gaze back upon the chaos that unfolds, the death that rears its ugly head. I inhale sharply, exhale a shaky breath, make my way back into the lands. My eyes rake left, travel to my right side as I try to make out the silhouette of my father amidst the homes that burn and the bodies that topple.

So many have fallen. Soldiers and nobles and royals and peasants alike. Then, I see him as his horse gallops in my direction. His sword is drawn. It streams with the blood of innocents. And just like that, the courage is drawn from my body, sucked from my soul. I fall upon my knees, await the cold embrace of lady death. A sharp pain rips through the backside of my head and I watch -dazed- as the man atop his mare approaches me.

The world around me begins to spin, begins to fade. I fight with all my might to get a grip on my reality. My gaze clashes with and holds that of the man atop the mare. And his eyes, they are of a blackness, a literal blackness that sends raw fear scraping at my heart.

And his teeth are like little blades of a pearly white hue. They glimmer under the flames that sway so horrendously about us. No, I must be seeing things now. A mere figment of my imagination. Another strike to the backside of my head and my whole world dims into cold dark loneliness.

“You did not have to strike her twice, Zyir! The first strike was enough to render her unconscious!” I hear from a distance.
“Forgive me, sire…”

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