Dracula's Daughter

Chapter 1

Bram Stoker’s 'Dracula' was based on the real life of Vlad Dracul.

The son of a conqueror and a conqueror himself, Vladimir Dracul ruled Wallachia in Southern Romania, whereupon it is estimated that between 40,000 – 100,000 people had been killed during his reign.

In a world where princes fell daily to hypocritical 'allies', Dracul’s paranoia was an utmost advantage in his position of sovereign, and by impaling traitors on spikes around his castle it served as a warning to all others who wished to usurp him.

It also gave him his infamous nickname of 'Vlad the Impaler'.

However, it did not stop the Turks from attacking the castle.

In the heat of battle, Dracul’s first wife, whose name is still disputed today, committed suicide rather than fall into enemy hands, whilst Dracul escaped through an underground tunnel to Transylvania.

And so the legend begins.

  

* Disclaimer: Historical events and timelines have been edited for this novel to take place. What happens herein is completely fictional.*

CHAPTER 1

“We Draculs have a right to be proud… I am the last of my kind."
 – Dracula, from Bram Stoker’s 'Dracula'.

Transylvania, 1463

 

Valentina could smell the blood.

Perched high up on the rubble, her hair blowing in the wind, her fangs indenting her bottom lip, she could still smell the blood that spilt here over a year ago.

Despite the rain washing the visible rivers of blood away, it still stained the grass and tainted the air until she had to scrunch her nose against the horrible scent which sent her wild.

As a vampire, she should be revelling in the smell of her new lifeline but even after being a vampire for a full year she still could not forgive her father for turning her into this dark creature which before had haunted some many of her nightmares.

As a little girl, running through the castle, she had wondered why her father would not see her during the day and it wasn’t until the fated night, at the age of seventeen, when her mother committed suicide did she know the reason why.

And neither had her mother.

Skipping through the stone hallways and feeling the stuffy summer air on her skin, she had been excited to see her mother after so many hiding from the fighting against the Turks when she saw her father.

He did not look like her handsome dark-haired father but rather a dark-haired demon with blood red eyes and a face of pure evil.

His mouth opened with a hiss as she stumbled into the room and her mother reached for her immediately, pulling her into her skirts and away from the evil man who looked so much like her father.

“It is the only way we are to survive this war,” her father spoke, his voice deeper than before and more guttural.

“My husband is a demon! You shall not have us!” And with that final sentence her mother had taken a knife to Valentina’s throat.

“NO!” The dark man shouted as the knife cut her skin with a sharp scratch before she was pulled away and into his stone cold arms that felt like a vice around her body.

Valentina had heard her mother whisper she was sorry before she took the knife to her own throat and cut herself ear to ear; horrified and disgusted at what her father had become.

“Mother!” Valentina screamed, trying to reach for her but she could not get out of his hands; they were like steel bars, trapping her against him.

“We shall live together, my dear daughter,” He whispered harshly in her ear, no breath brushing her skin, “Forever,”

Valentina hadn’t realised then but the blood dripping down her neck from where her mother had cut her, had proved too much for a starved vampire and within minutes she was drained dry only to have it replaced with a new source altogether.

They no longer lived at the castle, the Turk’s had reclaimed it, but she came back here regularly to be with her mother who was buried somewhere near.

She hoped they had the decency to bury her but after the tales of her uncle and grandfather being burnt alive by the very same people, she doubted it highly.

Her throat felt like she had swallowed a hundred daggers along with a few flaming swords; the smell of blood was not helping her thirst so she went in search of wildlife to drain.

Her father has tried again and again to get her to drink human blood but she could not; the thickness and taste would make her gag too much.

Stepping off the side of the roof, falling almost two hundred feet, she wobbled as she hit the ground, her throat raring up as she grew closer to the scent of blood.

Jumping over the wooden spikes, planted by her father to protect the castle, she ran off into the forest; her figure no more than a blur to human’s eyes.

The forest surrounding the castle was dense with a number of wildlife for her to hunt but before she could find a trail another scent caught her nose.

The scent of freshly spilt blood.

And no matter how much she wanted to deny it; she felt her eyes changing, her mouth salivating and her fangs lengthening at the scent.

Her feet were carrying her blindly through the forest towards the victim; it could have been a simple pinprick to the finger and she would have picked up on it.

But she had starved herself so much getting here that the scent was irresistible to her body in survival mode.

It wasn’t long before she found the human; a middle aged woman, bent over as she picked flowers, completely unaware that she was about to have her throat torn to pieces by her.

She felt her lips curl upwards, her fangs becoming exposed, and she stepped forward when she heard a set of noises above her.

By the time she had torn herself away from the bleeding woman, she realised it was too late as a cage came flying down from above her, trapping her. 

Hissing wildly, she turned in all directions, pushing against the meagre structure, as dozens of humans descended, pitchforks and torches in hand.