The Vampire's Crimson Kiss (Editing)

Chapter 3/Like the tears of wolves

The first thing that hit me as consciousness crept back was the pungent odor of damp earth mingled with a faint, metallic tang of blood, seeping through the coarse fabric of the bag over my head. Bound tightly to a chair, I strained my ears, discerning the distant drip of water echoing through the cavernous room, each drop a resonant reminder of the darkness that enveloped me. My back still tingled and burned from the bonds.

"Good morning, girl," Nightshade's voice came from outside the bag.

"Tell me when you're ready to apologize," I said, sitting up straight. I ached; I had hardly slept from the cold, and bonds but I would not be broken by him. "You don't have to be florid or anything."

"Tired of the bag on your head?" the male voice outside asked.

"Let me consider Sir... hmm... you know what? I am," I said. "They say the novelty of a bag over one's head never wanes, yet I find myself, starting to disagree. Who would have guessed?'"I was strapped to the chair. My 'chaperone/master' possessed all the attributes of a live-in jailer and the personality of a damp weasel.

"You will get dressed properly, or you will be punished," said the man's voice. He grabbed my face and held it. He didn't sound old. Unlike many familiars, he didn't have the 'fake' vampiric accent. You could tell from his voice that he was young, raised in the rat-infested villages of London. He dropped my head and walked behind my chair.

A loud crack slapped the air as a whip landed against the back of the chair. It was unexpected, and I flinched in surprise. Nightshade snorted in satisfaction.

Then the door opened, and he fell silent and stood to attention. I listened carefully, hearing steps—arrogant steps pacing around.

"This is not how we treat guests," said a man's voice as he walked in. "Cover her up. Take the hood off now." It was the voice of the speaker from last night.

'Sire,' said Nightshade's voice.

A shroud-like sheet was hastily wrapped around me as the bag was yanked from my head with ungentle hands, exposing me to the harsh, blinding light that forced me to blink like a newborn to the world of the living. There, in that vulnerable moment, I was acutely aware of the so-called duke's gaze upon my naked form. Trapped and immobilized, I remained helplessly bound to the chair, a prisoner to the whims of the night. I felt more naked than I had all night.

The Lord of the Vampires stood there, watching me. Behind him was a second black vampire in military uniform waiting for orders.

The Duke coughed.

"Introductions, Nightshade." He ordered.

There was a reluctant pause. "Master, Princess Victoria, may I introduce Duke Sadismann, Lord of the High Coven of the Meridian. Duke Sadismann, this is Princess Victoria of the Barrenlands," said Nightshade. There was something in his tone that reminded me that my title was the only thing keeping me alive at the moment. Would he kill me when he discovered before the fall my grandmother was a commoner?

While he spoke, I gazed upon the Duke for the first time. I was quite shocked he seemed much younger than I had expected. He could, at most, be in his twenth year. His looks were agreeable, drawing the eye with an effortless ease. I was utterly unprepared for the magnetic allure that emanated from this vampire Lord. His striking appearance defied my expectations; he possessed short, lustrous blonde hair that crowned him like molten gold and a cascade of ethereal silk that framed his chiseled features. His piercing eyes, like orbs of gleaming sapphire, held a predatory glint that seemed to cut through the very fabric of reality. He looked young no more than twenty, a young, powerful man in the peek of his physical form.