Tudor Rose [BoyxBoy]

Chapter 3 - Bonds

Michael immediately released the boy, who stumbled and barely managed to catch himself. He turned and backed away. Standing before them were Michael’s cousins.

Peter Cercel was the other first year Dracula at Tudor Rose. He was rather meek and thin. He rarely spoke and gave off an air of dangerous contempt for everyone. Elena Stanca was the only second year of the Draculas. She was beautiful and considerably more approachable than most of her family members, although people naturally feared her. Demona Bādica was a third year. Her red eyes glimmered as beautifully as the setting sun and her dark, wavy hair blew around her face as she stared intensely at Michael. She stood next to Radu, a third year and the leader of them. He stood at the forefront. His father was Alexander cel Rāu, known as “the evil one” in Romanian history. Of course his wicked father was still alive and his son was no better.

Michael bowed, but it was compulsory since he detested each of the people before him. However, a Dracula could not read the mind of another Dracula and their arrogance would never allow them to guess this.

“Michael, what are you doing?” Demona asked coolly.

“I lost control, he was spying on me,” Michael answered.

“I wasn’t—,” the boy started but each pair of red eyes targeted him with disbelief. Most vampires treated them like royalty, as they were, and would never interrupt them. The boy backed away and took off running back toward main campus. Michael could not help but smile at his stupidity.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Radu said. “You must have been informed by the Headmistress. The Impaler requests we pay him a visit.

“Of course,” Michael said. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he was struggling to prevent his anger from reaching his voice.

They took two carriages drawn by two black horses each. Michael had been forced to ride with Demona and Elena, as Radu had turned Peter into his secretary and it would have been even more unbearable to ride with them.

“I’ve never seen that boy before. Who was he, Micheal?” Elena asked him. She and Demona sat across from him and Demona stared out of the window as Michal had been trying to do.

“I have no idea,” he said.

“Do you think he was a Hohenzollern? He was blond but his hair was more yellow then theirs,” she mused. Michael was not sure if she expected a response so he grunted and looked away.

“You said he was spying on you,” Elena said, demanding his attention, “What were you doing?” she smiled.

“He was meeting an informer,” Demona said. “Elena, you should have read that boy’s mind."

Elena was genuinely horrified at her own folly.

Demona turned to look at them both with disbelief and clear contempt, “I don’t know if you did or not, Michael, but you should have been able to tell he’s a Valois.”

Michael had of course figured this much during his brief encounter with him, not much else had gone through that boy’s brain, except a confused excitement when Michael had touched him.

“Oh!” said Elena, “He is the last of the French bloodline? How romantic… Michael you must gain his loyalty.”

Demona did not speak but her turning away again signaled that she agreed. What they meant was that if Michael befriended the last Valois, they could control his family if it were to grow again. The vampire families were broken by unspoken alliances that had much to do with bonds by marriage. The Draculas tended to marry with the Romanovs and Hohenzollerns, were as the Medici married with the Borja and Tudor. The Cavalcanti and Valois lines were so small that it was irrelevant but had ties in the past. He turned away too but by now they were almost there.

When the coaches finally stopped outside the hotel, the five Draculas gathered together. They looked as through they were going to a party, wearing black formal attire. A valet escorted them into the hotel and to the Impaler’s room.

Servants opened the doors to the dark apartment. Dim candlelight lit the room but with vampire eyes, there was nothing Michael couldn’t see. The Impaler sat on what appeared to be a throne, before him was the bleeding, but live, body of a girl. Attendants stood all around the room. The five approached him and stopped before the girl. They lined up, eldest to youngest, the eldest being Demona and the youngest being Michael. The Impaler held a chalice and fed each of them the blood of the girl on the floor after they bowed. When it got to Michael, he drank the blood and he enjoyed it, but he could not hide the hatred for his violent grandfather from his eyes. The Impaler looked just like any of them just of more advanced age. Purebloods stopped aging once they reached maturity, which was a slightly longer process than for a human.

Michael stood and backed up to stand with his cousins.

“The blood you’ve shared with me belongs to Lucy Westenra. Beautiful isn’t she?” the Impaler asked, and she was. She had wavy blonde hair and fair features. She sat on her knees in a state of suspended animation. Blood had run from her neck, down her dress, and had drenched the floor. If, before she died, the Impaler had given her his blood, she would become a vampire.

“My children,” the Impaler addressed them, “There is something I need you do for me.”