Twisted Thorns

Chapter One: The Count and his Lady

Castle Bran, Wallachia, 1456

The Count sat lazily at his chair at the top of the table. Two chairs down, between a man and a woman, sat the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on. She wore a white English regency gown that had a red flowered embroidery along the bottom. Her body was thin, with a small but ample chest, and what seemed to be a rounded buttocks.. Her long, thick, brown tresses fell to her back, some dangling down the front of her body. The count grinned. Lady Elizabeth Austin. Accompanied by her mother and father, Lord Samuel Austin and Lady Marjory Austin. A nobleman from England, he had come to Transylvania to attend the counts party. And he'd brought his beautiful daughter with him. Only eighteen years old, Elizabeth had a pure, innocent aura about her. Sniffing the air, he passed the smells of alcohol and food, and located her scent. It was sweet, wonderfully sweet. But also, a certain spice lingered there, too.

Count Vladimir Tepes decided then and there he'd take the innocent lady Elizabeth into his chambers that night. Before that, he'd breach the topic of marriage to her father. Either way, he'd have Elizabeth sprawled out on his satin covers tonight, naked for only him to see.

Dinner had finally been finished, although the young count didn't eat much at all. Just drank enough wine to bring three hardened drinkers to their knees. As everyone made their way to the ballroom, the Count made a beeline for the young Lady. Tapping her on the shoulder, he drew to his full height. He towered over the young woman by a foot. "Hello my lady. Would you care to dance with me?" He asked in a smooth voice, speaking the best English he could. She answered him in perfect Romanian. "I would indeed, my Lord." She smiled up at him, her plump red lips stretching over the set of sparkling pearls that were her teeth. He'd forgotten her father had taught her his native tongue. Taking her hand, he pressed it to his lips, then guided her to the dance floor. "You're an exquisite dancer, Miss." The Count whispered, still in Romanian, in her ear. "As are you, my Lord." She blushed."Please, call me Vladimir." Out of no where he tucked a red tulip behind her hair.She blushed further. She smiled, a look of enchantment clouding her eyes.

They were twirling together, an elegant whirl on the mirrored ceiling. Although, if anyone were to look up, they would see the young Lady, twirling on her own.

From across the room, a woman in a gown of grey floor length silk dress was watching the couple with a glimmer of annoyance in her red eyes. Her black, lustrous hair spiralled to her shoulders, and her face was twisted in malice. The Count was hers. But the Count had other ideas. Was it the beauty? She knew it couldn't be that. As beautiful as Lady Austin was, her human form couldn't hold a candle to the radiance of her own unnaturally enhanced and beautiful body. She understand many more languages than the Lady did, so why was HER Count holding Lady Austin instead of her? It must be the title. Just because she held the title of Lady doesn't make her any better than her! With cold realisation, the mysterious woman realised what must be done.

"Thank you for dancing with me Vladimir, but I need to get some fresh air! I'll be back to resume our dance very soon." The Lady curtsied to the young Count, and he smiled. Turning, He scanned the room for her father. He must have the sweet Lady Austin, for he knew from the moment he laid eyes on her, she was the one.

"Good sir! I must speak to you regarding your daughter!" The Count softly spoke, leaning close to the short man. This man's scent was displeasing to his nostrils. "What is it, my good friend?" The count smiled and looked deep into the Lord's' eyes, the red hues hypnotising. "Your daughter. She stays with me. Take your ship and go home tomorrow morning. I'll have her send you messages. Do not tell your wife until tomorrow." The short Lord nodded. "Now, retire for the night." He turned, nodded him goodnight and walked towards the stairs. The count grinned, a wolfish grin, and then retrieved another glass of wine. He had all night to indulge in his Lady.

On the balcony, Elizabeth looked out onto the estate. There was a large garden, with massive hedges forming a maze, in the middle with a small man built pond. It was beautiful, a breathtaking hilltop view. She breathed in the  clean air, so different to London with its smells of pine, the faint hum of the party music drifting towards her. She sighed in content. This was wonderful. She could live here, forever. "Enjoying the view young lady?" she heard a voice penetrate her thoughts. Turning, she saw the woman in the grey dress standing in front of her. She was truly beautiful. But that voice. Full of sweetness, but struck with a sickening hiss. "Excuse me?" "Are you enjoying the view?" she repeated herself again. Somehow, she was moving towards her. But her feet weren't moving. It was as if she were... floating. After what felt like hours, the other woman was mere inches from her face. "You're stepping on my toes, girl." she hissed menacingly. Elizabeth felt her back hit off of the stone railing. The eyes of this woman terrified her. They were flashing... Nearly... red? "Wha... what do you mean???" The woman leant in, so close for one terrifying second, Elizabeth thought she would kiss her. "The Count is mine." she looked her dead in the eyes, and inhaled her scent. Letting out a bark for a laugh, she grabbed Elizabeth by the bodice... And pushed her backwards. Before she could scream, there was the sickening sound of flesh, blood and bone hitting the floor. From inside the room, the Count could hear the noise. No one else could, other than him. As he excused himself and swiftly walked to the balcony, he saw no trace of his Lady. Just the tulip on the floor, wilted and trodden on. Instantly he knew what had happened. Did he dare look over the edge? He could smell the blood. The flesh. The pine.

And her. Quick as a flash, he jumped over the edge, landing like a cat. Next to him, he saw his Lady. But not before he could smell her blood. The smell was almost too strong. His Lady had hit the ground at such a speed she'd split her head open. One singular split on the back of the skull. Her eyes were open, blank and staring. Though death had come and gone, taking even the dimmest sparks of life left with her, it had failed to pull the rosiness from her cheeks. The plumpness from her lips, or the luscious thickness of her hair. Kneeling, he held the body to him , nuzzling his face in her hair. And he cried tears of crimson blood, for his precious Lady whom he'd only just found. Looking into the night sky, he knew the culprit. And he would not look for the True Bride, not until the last of the false brides had been put in the ground with a stake her in heart, right between the other two. The Count let out an animalistic howl of pain. But he knew one day, he'd find her again. Either when he finally met the soil, or if she was to be reborn.