Here, In This Place

[ChrisGibson]

Dan Rawlinson was not a stupid person. He knew it because once, Kruinh had looked at him after some event and said, “You are not a stupid man, Daniel.”
It had been a reproof because Dan felt it easy to be happy go lucky and joyful. He found it easy to not be serious and not be taken seriously. This worked superficially in music, though in life his best friend Myron had reminded him, “If we want this to work. Even a little, we’ve got to be serious.”
Dan did not like the serious side of himself. It was heavy. All the grim things belonged to that Daniel. It was, in a way, something Dan didn’t feel worthy of. When Kruinh had looked at him and said, “You are not a stupid man,” Dan had felt embarrassed, seen through. Dan was aware of what he had always been, good looking, well received, likeably, not a wavemaker. Not serious.
His first time at Visastruta, he had recently been made a drinker, and was away from the world he knew and the people he was hiding the truth from. Dan Rawlinson was the son of Lucy Wheeler and Amir Rawlinson, but as the telltale name Amir suggested, his father was the product of a very white Sam Rawlinson and a very Lebanese Abila Haidar. She was, in fact, as Lebanese as Mahmoud Wallouwa, who had fled Beirut with a French wife, and under much reduced circumstances come to America where, for the sake of convenience, he allowed Wallouwa to be Wheeler and then had four children, one of them being Dan Rawlinson’s mother.
His brother, and one of his cousins excitedly sent him Lebanese dancing and music they’d seen on YouTube, and Dan excitedly watched these things. Nowadays he posted on social media about his pride in social diversity and his own Lebanesse heritage, and when left on his own, he would get quiet in his room and take out the hookah another cousin had sent him. He would play Umm Kulthum—Egyptian, but beloved by his grandparents, and rejoice in singing the words low to himself, mastering the particular guttural inflections of Arabic.


as'al rouhak as'al qalbak
qabl ma tes'al eih gheerni
ana gheerni azaabi fi hobak
baad ma kaan amli masabarni
ghadrak beyyi
athar feyyi
watgheerat showya showya
atgheerat wa mosh bi eedee
wabdeet atwa haneeni ileik
wa akra daafi wa sabri aleik
wa akhtarak abaad
warfat aanad

But he knew what they were doing even while they did it. Dan remembered being a Freshmen at Saint Ignatius, and hearing someone called Tony Shammi a towelhead. Tony had wooly brown hair, tanned skin. His family was Palestinian, He was obviously Arab. Dan had cringed and looked at himself, his straight hair, his ivory skin, had realized for the first time that he’d always wanted people to think he was white. He would have said it in a different way. He would have said he wanted people to think he was “just like them” but that wasn’t it. The moment he cringed when they called Tony a camel jockey and a towelhead, and he just kept walking and said nothing was the moment that Dan understood himself very well, and he needed to stop understanding himself. So he gave up on reflection.
The Arabic pronunciations he was proud of getting right, that he sometimes corrected Myron on when he tried to sing along, had embarrassed him in his childhood. Now he was embarrassed of his embarrassment. Looking too closely just made him squirm in his goodlooking skin. Everything about him he had been proud of for the wrong reasons. No one had ever said how good it was that his skin was so white, or his chocolate colored hair so straight, that he took after the white side and the light Lebanese side. No one had to. And of course, they were Catholics, most Lebanese people were some form of Christian. The Rawlinsons weren’t like those Muslims. They were American.
Of course, these days things were just the opposite. He found himself trying to prove how Lebanese he was, what an Arab he was, how much he knew, how much he wasn’t just a white guy. How he had culture. He wondered if Black people or anyone else who wore their ethnicity on their face had this confusion. He’d never say that was an easy way. It wasn’t. There was a reason his family had wanted to hide, a reason he had hidden, but this not knowing what you were, this feeling you were being called out even if you weren’t wasn’t easy either.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Those issues extended quickly to his sex life. From the awkward and embarrassing way in which Myron had initiated him into it in the backseat of a car with a college girl they had both shared, to the night he’d been with Rosamunde, except with Eileen, sex was an escape. Especially after Eileen, it was a means of proving that he had it, whatever it was, the charisma. That a girl would see him on stage, looking sensitive while playing that guitar, putting all of his private feelings on paper and then giving them to the world, and later that night she would shout as he fucked her in the backseat of his car, gave him some sort of validation, and Dan could only say some sort because he couldn’t explain it. Explaining it would mean looking.
One would think becoming a Drinker would change all of this. It didn’t. Everything in him became magnified, all of his shames and insecurities. Only Kruinh seemed to see them. All of his senses were heightened. He had been made in the midst of fucking Rosamunde, and when he had come into this new life, he kept doing it. He left because he knew she had a hold over him. Even when he was finally in the house on Brummel Street, for some time it was a geas that Kruinh had put on him that kept him from seeking her out.
“I don’t understand it,” Dan said.
“It is the bloodbond,” Kruinh said. “There is nothing as intimate as the bond between Maker and Made. Except perhaps the bonds between two drinkers in the same family, made by the same maker or by close kin. We drink from each other. That is not infrequent. We are closer to each other, have more feeling one for another than mortals are used to, can even see into each other. For that reason the bloodbond often becomes a sexual bond.”
Kruinh said in clinically, and without embarrassment and Dan felt sufficiantely un embarrassed. He began to have sex in a more conscious way with the women he met. He was surprised to find himself thinking about men as well. He thought about them, but he wasn’t ready for them. If it ever happened it would happen, but this was not the time. Kruinh had warned him of that too, that drinkers, having less of a need for sexual reproduction, were often less—or more—than heterosexual. Dan remembered that Kruinh had known a wife, but Elisaveda seemed to be the only woman who had ever been in Kruinh’s bed. Quiet Chris Ashby, whom he had made three centuries ago was often his bedmate. Perhaps Lawrence, who loved Chris and loved women, was as well. To Daniel though, both Kruinh and Tanitha were the father and older sister he had needed so badly, who had taken him in that night when he was a boy, and saved him from Rosamunde when no one else could. The love he felt for them was burning and intense, violent. He had surprised himself once, snapping the neck of someone who had once come at Kruinh in a meeting of Drinkers. But his love for them was not sexual.
That was why, when he had come to Visastruta, he was so surprised by his connection to Miriamne. The moment her dark eyes had fallen on him, her mind had poured into his. He had been in her presense for less than five minutes before his whole body was trembling. He had known lust and love and desire, all of those things, but he had never known this terrible pull, this sort of burning that would have been embarrassing if it had not been explained to him. On that trip it had only been him and Kruinh. Miriamne had calmly shown him the central part of the palace and then shown him his rooms. In the midst of talking, the dignified vampire queen had suddenly gone flustered.
“We can’t go on like this,” she said, breathlessly. She sounded almost embarrassed. “I’m so sorry.”
Dan’s jeans and underwear were down around his ankles. He was stiff as a board. It happened so quickly. He raised her gown and pressed her against the door. Gathering her in his newly strong arms, breathing out of his nose like a bull, he fucked her quickly and she cried out while he did. He screamed as he came.
They did not separate. He was still deep in her, blinking.
“That’s never happened,” he said, his mouth on her shoulder. “I’m embarrassed.”
She reached behind her, stroking his hair.
“Don’t be,” she said tenderly. “It will make things easier between us now.”
“Will it?”
“If we don’t pretend it didn’t happen. Why don’t you take off your clothes and we’ll get to know each other.”
Miriamne was sensible and right. Much of Dan’s sexual embarrassment had come from fucking and running, but staying the afternoon with Kruinh’s sister, they had come to know each other. As the time for supper approached he was still surprised by himself, but not ashamed.
He wasn’t surprised this night, either, when he rose from bed and Miriamne reached out for him.
“You’ve worn me out!” Dan ran a hand through his hair, which was sticking up.
“I need to stretch my legs, not just my back. But if you would have me, I’ll come back.”
Miriamne turned on her side and smiled at him, heavy dark curls falling over her breasts. She was, he remembered, the aunt of Rosamund, something which had existed long before the drinker who had made him, and the love he had with her seemed a corrective of what had gone on with that poisonous creature.
“When you come back,” Miriamne said, turning to lie on her stomach, “and I’m not saying you should hurry, it would be wonderful if you would bring back that absolutely delicious freezing melon juice.”
“You could get it for your refrigerator here.”
“I could,” she said as Dan was leaving, “but it makes one lazy to have everything within finger’s reach.”
Dan was not going to argue with the logic that he was the one bringing the juice back, rather he walked through the long and ancient halls of the north wing of Visastruta and on his way downstairs, a door opened and shirtless, hair touseled—and his hair was never tousled—out came Laurie from what should have been Asenath’s rooms.
Laurie immediately blinked at him.
“Well!” Dan smiled.
“Shut up,” Laurie said, turning red.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Brother.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that, and why are you here anyway?”
“I’m here for the same reason you’re here,” Dan said. “Well, not the same. Same reason. Different sister.”
“You’re gross.”
“The difference is I’m quite in awe of Miri, and I don’t think you like Asenath at all.”
“Do not,” Laurie, was pulling on his Oxford shirt and buttoning it, “presume to understand what I like and what I don’t.”
“Alright, brother”
“Why do you do that?” Laurie said, scowling at him.
“Call you brother?”
“No. Insist on annoying me?”
“I think it is you who insist on being annoyed.”
“Daniel,” Laurie buttoned his cuffs as they reached the staircase. “I love you, but—”
“You love me!”
“Don’t be an ass. I love you, but I don’t get you.”
The two of them trotted down the steps, and then, giving away an older brotherly impulse, Laurie momentarily threw a hand over Dan’s face.
“Don’t look!”
“Laurie,” Dan murmured, his fingers reaching up to take Laurie’s hand away.
“Stay right behind me,” Laurie whispered, removing his hand, and racing quickly to the great foyer.”
When Dan reached the foyer, he was in a panic, Laurie was leaning over David Lawry’s body in a pool of blood, and a knife was planted deep in his chest, dark blood soaked the tee shirt he wore and bright blood coated his throat and chin.
“Dave!” Dan shook him, but his eyes were hollow.
“Bring him to Tanitha,” Laurie said. His face was grey. They knew he was the one. He was their family. He would have been with her.
Dan lifted up David’s body. It would have been heavy if Dan was mortal.
“No, no. Don’t move him,” Laurie said. “I’ll sound the alarm.”

They came with the speed of vampires. Tanitha fell to her knees, wailing, while Sunny stood beside Ktuinh, furious. Even Hagar was present. Not present, though this was not the moment to say it, were Rhodias or Gabriel.
While Tanitha screamed, it was Hagar, all in dark colors, who knelt, and passed a hand over David.
“Granddaughter,” she said, precisely. And she repeated this when Tanitha did not hear.
Shaking, her face wet with tears and blood, Tanitha looked at Hagar.
“This one,” Hagar pronounced, “is strong.
“He is not dead.”
Tanitha stopped.
“He is not dead,” Hagar said, again.
“We can heal him,” Tanitha whispered.
“I was a healer,” Hagar said, “No witch, no sorceress, but a healer. The only way to heal him is to take the blade out and that will kill him instantly. You would need a sorcerer and we do not have one here.”
“You know what to do,” Kruinh said.
Tanitha looked up at him.
“Tan,” he said, firmly, “there isn’t much time. You know what to do.”
Tanitha nodded, and then she bent low to David. There was the pulse. There, just barely, was the breath.
“David,” she whispered, “do you wish to live or die?”
The ancient words.
He did not respond.
“If he regrets it or we regret it, if it goes wrong, we can amend it later,” Miriamne told her niece.
While she gripped the blade in his chest, and rocked it out of him, Tanith sank her teeth into the throat of David Lawry. Like a curtain her black hair hid them both while she drained the remaining blood from him until light erupted in her, ichor erupted from her teeth, from her not open mouth, flooded David’s body, and the two of them were locked together in conception until at last, covered in his blood, the dark vampire bride lay weak and sorrowful beside the pale body of her dead groom.



MORE NEXT TUESDAY. ENJOY YOUR WEEKEND

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a very long but great portion! So much going on and I am glad I have a few days to reread. Poor David! Trouble is around and it found him. I hope he is ok with being a vampire as it seems to be the only way he will survive. Excellent writing and I look forward to more in a few days!

 

[ChrisGibson]

I KNOW. It was so much, but thre was no way to break it apart and I couldn't leave David in the middle of stuff. You're right. He is the definition of trouble being all around and finding it. Well, I'm glad you enoyd and we'll get back to David and all the others next week.

 

[ChrisGibson]

AND SO WE RETURN....


“Do you think I am stupid?” Kruinh demanded.
“Master?”
“Do you think after all my time my mind is slipping?”
They had been driving back from that desolate neighborhood in Lassador where they had wiped out Rosamunde’s ill made clan. Kruinh had just exacted the promise from Sunny to return to them in a few days, and then let him go off on his own.
“Kruinh, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Kruinh was seized with a sudden desire to knock Lawrence Malone in the back of his head and, probably, Laurie already knew this. They drove on in relative silence.
Tanitha, having just introduced David to the rest of them, was rejoiced with David that Sunny lived and perfectly fine with him running around on his own. Chris and Lauri did not trust it and Kruinh was put out with them. The house remained quiet, at a stalemate for the rest of the day. They dozed fitfully until the evening, and Kruinh served dinner. He and Crhistopher and Lawrence ate quietly, and then Kruinh nodded as if to say the dishes did not do themselves, and left, threading the winding corridors to his set of rooms at the back of the long house.
He did not shut the door, and when Christopher and Laurie found him, he looked up at them from where he sat, reading.
“What?” Kruinh demanded.
The two of them looked like contrite schoolboys and since, even in their actual youths they had almost never been schoolboys let alone contrite, he said, “What is going on with the two of you?”
As usual, Chris Ashby was in jeans and short sleeve workshirt and Laurie was dressed to go into the office. It was Chris, the oldest, who looked almost like the youngest tonight, who came to him first.
“We’re sorry,” he said.
“We’re sorry,” Laurie echoed.
“We’re sorry,” Chris had said again, his voice a breath as he kissed Kruinh on the lips, “We’re sorry.”
“Sorry.”
“So sorry.”
“Don’t be angry.”
“Forgive,”
They breathed as they circled Kruinh, kissing him, as a hand found his sex and cupped him firmly.
“We love you,” Chris whispered.
Kruinh heard the jiggling of a belt, felt the undoing of his own.
Despite his irritation, he felt his desire rising, despite his thoughts on Alexander, this new arrival, Christopher and Laurie were here right now, and as Chris kissed him deeply, he was unbuttoning his work shirt, and Laurie, in nothing but a shirt that was barely hanging off of him, was going to his knees, working at Kruinh’s trousers.
“We used to have this all the time,” Chris said in a voice that was at once sad, and delighted, “and after tomorrow, when he arrives, we may not have it again.”
They brought wine to the room, heavy, fortified, the kind that sets even a Drinker off his head. They brought the fume bottles, capped and cut from fine glasses. They set them down. Kruinh closed his eyes and felt the suction of Laurie’s mouth working away on him, slurping noisily. He was growing bigger and bigger the more Laurie worked him, and now he stumbled out of his clothes. Naked, six legs, six arms, two brown, two white, a kissing thing of two tall men and a smaller on, they stumbled to the great bed.


He kissed Laurie quickly, kissed him long and deep and could almost hear Chris’s whimper of desire. But Kruinh desired Laurie right now, and the strength of his kiss and the feel of his hair, and now Laurie was lifting up his tee shirt and Kruinh pulled it off running his hands up and down Lawrence Malone’s body, inhaling the pungent scent of his cologne. He pressed his face to Laurie’s chest, inhaled deeply.
He turned around, and Chris Ashby was standing up, and his face was lost in shadow so Kruinh could not see his expression, only the fullness of his lips, his high white cheekbones. Kruinh unbuttoned Chris’s jeans and then unzipped them and took out his heavy penis, With care, gently now, he began to massage it from half life to full life, watching it rise like a long arc. With the liquid rising like a dewdrop from its round tip with his spit with the oil on the ancient vial by the table, Kruinh polishing Chris’s cock, watching the veins rise up on the shaft of his penis, watching the head swell. Because he loved him, because he desired him, he took him in his mouth. An ancient love, deep in his mouth swallowed Chis. Kruinh felt Laurie’s hair brushing his shoulders, felt Laurie’s mouth on his throat, on his back, felt Laurie’s arms embracing him, heard Chris’s jeans dropping. They remained like this before Chris stepped out of his jeans, lifting up his work shirt with a groan, and they watched him, tall, white gold hair sticking up, penis like a bobbing. They followed, but Kruinh knew he still led.

In the old chair that was covered by a bed sheet, Kruinh watched, Chris, semi on hands and knees, fucking Laurie, watched the undulation of his beautiful, hairy buttocks, the pulsing opening and closing of his thighs as he rode Laurie, listened to Laurie’s cries and Chris’s low satisfied moans. He wanted to see what Chris looked like when he was fucking another man, when he was fucking him, something that, of course, he could before only feel. They were in a place away from time where no one was ashamed, where Kruinh could stand up and run his hands over Chris’s ass, caress him, run fingers up the small of his back, rub his shoulders, kiss this man over and over on his dear shoulders. He came around to the front of them. Chris’s face was indistinct with sated lust, Laurie’s eyes were rolled back while Chris stuffed him, and suddenly Kruinh leaned in and took Chris’s head and they kissed and Chris’s tongue went deep into his and the harder he kissed Kruinh, the harder he fucked Laurie, and then Laurie gripped the pillow and moaned deep as the earth.
Kruinh stood up straight and parted from Chris’s mouth the same time he inserted his penis in Laurie’s…

 

[ChrisGibson]

He lay between these two beautiful men, one dark and slightly hairy with Mediterranean blood in the his olive skin, the other red lipped, platinum haired and snow white, Laurie holding him, kissing him up and down lazily, Chris sucking on his lips, thrusting his tongue in his mouth. Even now, on this saddest of nights when David Lawry is surrounded by blood, he can still feel Laurie inside of him, the gentle trusting that became the steady pounding. That night they moved in concert. Kruinh strokes Chris, only, in the amber light of a late summer morning, Chris kneels over him as Kruinh makes his cock grow. All night, but for the moment he sucked him, he has given himself mostly to Laurie and let Chris and Laurie have each other because to do what he is about to do is surrender, and he knows there isn’t really any turning back. Deftly, Kruinh opens the glass vial, spills thick oil and rubs it inside of him as he has made Chris’s cock glossy with it. Deftly he opens an intricately cut bottle and deeply inhales its fumes, the warmth dissoling his solidity and he turns over while Chris murmurs, kissing him, “Master, I have to fuck you.”
And then, as they both groan and Chris, groans, “Master… my Maker… Father I have… to fuck you.”
Chris is in him, and he is lying down, completely penetrated, and Chris’s hands are grasping his hands and their bodies are pressed into one and Chris is throbbing in him and now Laurie moves away to sit in the chair to get high high on the fumes in the bottles, to drink the last of the wine, to stroke himself, watch the surrender, knowing, as the bodies of Chris and Kruinh bunch together, tighter and tighter, this moment is for them. He is not displeased. He is satisfied to watch bodies pressing together, now bouncing on the bed, to see Chris’s long white body pound Kruinh’s smaller caramel one and know that, even while Chris pounds, he is pounded, even while Kruinh surrenders, he triumphs. Only such a mighty lord could freely shout, gasp, scream as Kruinh does. Laurie is honored, watching his own penis rise higher and fuller, to be witness to this. Everything in this night has led to this moment. There is no quietness on this bed. There is cursing, shouting, sobbing, rejoicing in the creaking bedsprings. Laurie is scarcely conscious of his stroking himself. As someone almost screams, as bodies bunch, he comes, an arc of semen erupting from his penis, caught golden in the morning light. As Laurie is taken on the edge of orgasm, he sees Chris’s face changed, his kneeling body looking as if he’s been stabbed while he comes outside of Kruinh, a white stream to match Kruinh’s own arc. They are moaning together, blacking out. Darkness, dawn light, darkness, darkness, relief, exhalation, little death like great, the thing they were born to.

In the early morning, when it was time for sleeping indeed, when Laurie slept deeply on the other side of them, the back of Kruinh’s hand touched Christopher’s cheek. His eyes fluttered, boylike, and Kruinh ran a hand over the slong sides of his slender body, smiled at the love he felt for long feet and long hands, touched palms he knew so well, He was surprised, as usual, by the strength in Chris’s arms, surprised when Chris drew him close.
“I wonder if you don’t like this Sunny because he is like and unlike me?”
“Eh?”
“When I was with Malachy, I thought how he was like and unlike you. You remind me of him, but you remind me of yourself. It may be that this Sunny reminds you a little of me, but mostly of himself. It may even be,” Chris said, thoughfully, “that I have always reminded you of him, only he never existed until now.”
“You may not be wrong,” Kruinh’s voice was quiet. “But I love you. I love you for your tenderness, for your strangeness. I love you for your youth, and your ancientness. I love you for your violence.”
“After Melek died, there was you,” Chris said. “And after Malachy, you again. We always come together for one another.”
Kruinh rubbed the spot over Chris’s heart, feeling its strong beat.
“That’s who we are.”


They moved through the hills, and the singing went on while the conch blew, piercing the night air.

Se mwen menm ki Pitit Bondye a,
yon fwa wè li toujou konnen!

Moun ki wè m 'wè papa a
Moun ki wè papa a wè mwen
Vreman vre, mwen menm ak papa a se Youn!

Tonight they came down through the hills, black and brown, Indian and African, and white, poor English, Irish, Scot, screaming with torches and machetes, and they came upon the plantations, burning, torching, and the power moved through Chris’s body. He was no Drinker, not yet, but this was more than the power of a man. This was the power of a man filled with magic and desire for a witch, and he hacked his way through overseers, always watching Melek on his horse, dropping his sword on those below like Ogun himself, and the words of the song continued in his head.
Thus it was that blood invaded his vision as Melek was struck and fell from his horse, and shouting, Chris lost his concentration. But as he turned to duck the blade, it struck him, and then another, and then another, and sword blows slicing him, battering his head and cutting up his body, his vision went red and then dark and then he knew nothing.

“Can you do anything?” he heard a voice above him asking.
“No,” the woman said, “but you can.”
The other voice, Kruinh’s, said, “That is not lightly done.”
“And this is no light thing,” the woman said.
Chris opened his eyes and, opening his mouth, coughed up blood.
“Wha….:” he began, his mouth thick with blood, his chest open with lacerations.
“What?”
And then he called, “Melek!”
“Dead,” Kruinh said simply.
“And you will be soon too,” the woman said. Her white hair was in a mushroom aureole about head. It was The Maid.
Chris’s eyes widened and then went dim. He coughed again.
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” The Maid said.
White faced, green faced now, Chris turned to Kruinh, and Kruinh said, “She is right. And if you make the choice, if the choice does not suit you, you can turn away from it, step out in the sun and end your life.”
Chris nodded rapidly, coughing up more blood, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was nodding to.
Kruinh bent down toward him, and for some reason, now Chris smelled the blood all over him. This close, Kruinh’s teeth were most visible.
“Do you wish to live?” Kruinh asked, “or to die?”
And Chris croaked, “Live!”
And no sooner had he done so, then the fangs, precise and sharp, were in his throat, and blood was being drained from him as something else entirely new entered, setting his veins, setting all of him, on fire.




While Chris watched Tanitha lay David’s body down he remembered:



When you Make, you Make with both the lower and the upper teeth and so, when Kruinh made me, I felt the pain of his teeth in my throat, the headiness of my life slipping away. But next I felt the pain of the lower teeth, and my body was filling with that thing which is life to a Drinker, but final death to one who is mortal. And so, my last minutes as a man, as a mortal human, were in the strong grip of Kruinh’s arms, my throat caught in jaws, pain lacing through my arteries and I…not drifted off to sleep, for it is not really like drifting to sleep...

At Visastruta Castle, in the middle of the night he felt Laurie’s hand, the hand of his sometimes lover and always brother, who had filled the castle with the screaming of Asenath while he fucked her, who would not have found David unless he had been fucking her. Laurie’s hands were so tender in his.

Chris, looking at the mystery of David’s dead body, whispered:

“I died.”


MORE THURSDAY

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a fantastic portion! Some hot sex scenes and some great story. Things really are a mess at the moment and I can’t wait to see how they are resolved. Great writing and I look forward to more in a few days!

 

[ChrisGibson]

WELCOME BACK, ITS BEEN A WHILE

He cannot really speak of death. Of course, he cannot remember it. It is not sleeping. You are not off dreaming. To be dead is to be not.
Later he would see others Made, but what happned when he was made, Chris could not say. If he saw a white light, he does not remember. If he went to heaven or purgatory, he could not say. Dealing death and having died, for a Drinker, death was still a mystery.
Even having passed through death but we do not know what it is.

“When I woke up, everything assaulted me. Even though it was dark, the darkness was too much. I could see everything. Everything rocked and reeled. The low noises were too loud, every movement was too much. I opened my mouth and began to scream, but a hand lowered over my mouth gently, and my head was placed to a breast.
“Calm, calm,” a voice whispered, soothingly. “Calm, calm, there there.
“Drink,” he murmured.
And obeying, like any infant, not even thinking of the strangeness, I bit into his chest and felt Kruinh wince with a pain that he said, and I have experienced, was also a pleasure, and I felt, for the first time, the pleasure of blood entering my mouth, some of it, yes, going down my throat, but most of it saturating tongue and gums and roof of mouth, being absorbed directly into me, as if my body was a sponge, for that is what drinking is for us.
“Yes, yes,” Kruinh crooned, “Drink, drink your fill. You must have your first drinking. You are a child again. You are a baby. Drink.”


There were many things that Kruinh taught Chris, including that now he was a member of his clan, like any of his natural children. And there were also things he did not learn right away or, for that matter, within the next century. Chris has come into his new life in the hull of a slave ship bound for Hispaniola, and by the time it landed, far from Port au Prince, there was not a white man on it save himself. Black men landed on the beach and immediately went into the hills. Chris lived with them for some time, and there were other places he went, other adventures, but in time he was drawn to America. It was the new and savage land, but new and savage because of the Europeans, not because of the many who had lived there for hundreds and thousands of years.
“And we will go there,” Kruinh promised in the heat of the hills in the land that its people called Hyati. “We will go, and there will be rich feasting for you, and for me. I could pose as your slave.”
“I would not have it!”
Kruinh laughed and Chris could not tell if he was serious or not.
“We could,” Kruinh went on. “It would be the best way. What a harvest we would have.”
“Will have,” Chris said, kissing him, and it did not feel like the first time. How many times since his making, had Chris Ashby’s lips been on Kruinh’s body, had his teeth sunk into his breast and drank his blood, and in the intensity of the sharing how many times had Kruinh’s teeth grazed his neck as well?
In the Haitian night they kissed fully, again and again, and Kruinh felt in himself that old unwinding. He was fluid now, and so was Chris Ashby, and in the drowsy heat, the scent of orchids and verbenum and jasmine filling the night hair, the lamp in the room making a low amber light, the two of them stumbled to the bed, pulling at boots, and trews, at the great white shirts with their starched cuffs. All this cumbersome foolishness of wealthy barbarians who wore wigs and powder to cover up for the evil they did. Stripped of these things, they were only two wild creatures, naked before each other, joined together, lips pressed to lips , mouths pressed into shoulders, drawing blood and pleasure one from the other.

That first time he had made love to Sunny, Kruinh had surprised himself. Kruinh had never known a father. Osmunde had been killed before he was born, and it was as a boy, Kruinh had been dressed like a prince in Visastruta in times long past, stood up before his family, before his sisters and their husbands, and informed that he was the Lord of Visasttuta, prince of this clan. When his grandfather had gone into the sleeping death. Kruinh was king, and at such a young age. Young for what he was. Siblings in the world of Drinkers were not as mortal siblings. His closest in age sister, Miriamne, the baby of the family, was thirty two when he was born. Magdalene was over two hundred. From a tender age he had learned to command a household of old and very often recalcitrant vampires. By the time he was the age Magdalene was at his birth, he had put many of them to death.
So the surprise with Sunny was the lightness he felt. Everytime Kruinh made love he was surprised that he wasn’t a stone, that he could still feel innocent, that he and another could be naked and tender before each other. He was surprised that after so much of what he had seen and what he had done, he could fall asleep in Alexander Komnsky’s arms, have the back of his neck kissed over and over.
Chris was right. He and Sunny were much alike, and Kruinh longed to take Sunny into orgy. When one loved another, what you had with him was everything, but it deepened when you could bring two whom you loved together. Kruinh ws not sure this worked with mortals, or that it should, but the first time he had lain with Lawrence, being with him was like being Christopher being with him. It was like being with the version of Laurie Chris knew, and it was like being with Laurie. Being with the two of them at once was an experience upon an experience upon and experience, an orgy not only of sex, but of emotion and thought and persons and blood, and yes, blood. It seemed that when mortals made love it was not quite like this, but when drinkers came together, they became each other, If he and Chris and Sunny and Laurie were all to be together for a night, the experience would be echo upon echo upon echo. They would be bound in a way that, even were there not lingering feelings of resentment, one so recently mortal as Alexander Kominsky could have borne.


The night that Sunny said, “I want to introduce you to my friends,” Kruinh understood that something was about to happen. He understood it with the eagerness of a boy. He climbed on the back of Sunny’s motorcycle, and as the sun melted before them, they rode to Rawlston. Dan was playing at the Grey Note tonight, and when he came off stage he sat down at the table with them.
“Look at you!” he said to Kruinh. “I’ve never seen you look so young.”
Kruinh loved Brad and Nehru. He had always loved humanity and especially thinking humanity. Dan returned to the house in Glencastle, but Kruinh could not resist going up to the apartment that reminded him of the old coffee shops in Constantinople and in Baghdad which had found their way into Europe and eventually, much altered, into 1960’s America. He could never resist the electric of a coffee shop and late night conversation.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Here they were, altogether. All of these memories and centuries of memories before. Only a little while ago, Kruinh had lain deep asleep, dead asleep, beside Sunny Komisnky, and then had come the alarm, and now here they all were, Laurie, Dan, Chris, Mother, his sister, all but Rhodias. Here was his daughter, wailing on the floor while he knelt supporting her, their bodies rocking, and now the servants arrived, and they placed the corpse of David Lawry on a bier, and then, silently, they lifted it and carried him through the dining hall to the silent throne room. As other servants arrived to wash the blood from the flag stones, Hagar led her clan as they followed behind David’s body.

Making was never certain, and this Making, making one who was unconscious, who had said nothing, was very uncertain. Death was death. While Tanitha quieted herself, Mariamne, Hagar, a clearly disturbed Asenath, moved forward, stripping the bloody clothes from David’s body. Servants brought water and herbs, myrrh and frankincense, and carefully, singing wordless tunes, the women washed David, dipping cloths in water and tenderly running running them down his arms, over his long fingers, across his pale face. They bound his jaw, and covered his eyes in coins. They bound his feet and cleaned his nails. Hagar held the feet of the man she had just met, and kissed them tenderly, and Dan felt himself sobbing, shaking his head.

“It’s going to be alright, right?” Dan said.

Chris looked truly troubled. He kept shaking is head.

“All of us have died,” Laurie said what Sunny was thinking, “but none of us have ever seen our death.”

When the women were done, they left David’s body naked, but for the feet binding and the jaw binding and the cloth over his loins, and then they draped a linen over his body. The men came now with other servants, setting up brass candlesticks, two at David’s feet, two at his head. Kruinh and Hagar lit tall beeswax candles and set them in those candlesticks, and Chris helped Dan fill the incense pot with myrrh and set it alight on the little table before David’s feet. Someone else had already taken the old clothes away.

They remained only a little while, surrounding the bier, the incense filling the room, and then they turned and left the great throne room, illuminated only by the hose four candles around that body. Tanitha lay weaker than she had ever felt in her father’s arms, and in her father’s chambers she would remain.

Miriamne said, “All we can do is wait.”

MORE IN A COUPLE OF DAYS

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a well done portion! So much going on. I really hope that David survives. Thanks for continuing to post your wonderful stories and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

They found her in the throne room. How huge it was, so much larger it seemed than yesterday, what a great grey space with a shadow of a throne like a gash on the wall, and past the middle of the room, catching all attention, the bier veiled over the outlines of a body, and the candles lit at either end of it. The incense pot was burning low, and just some time ago, Asenath had returned to refill it. Tanitha sat in black by the body, and no one told her to come away.
Not long ago, what they had all assumed had been discovered, Rosamunde was gone.
“We are going after them,” Laurie said. “We will bring them back.”
Sunny, Chris, Daniel and the cousins who had stayed away from the feast last night had dispensed with normal clothing and were in spiked leather, carrying wicked whips, daggers and chains.
Chris said, “We will bring them back here, and they will be punished.”
Not looking at them, her voice far away, Tanitha nodded her head.
“Yes,” she said.
“Do that.”


Kruinh remembered the Dollar General outside of VictorTerrace was an ugly and inhospitable place. When Kruinh went in looking for something, the scrawny woman who looked like drugs were a part of her life said, “You can’t carry that bag through the store. Bags have to be left here.”
“That’s fine,” Kruinh said. He placed his shopping bag there.
There was no one shopping at the ill kept store with its blinking fluorescent lights, and he heard the women whisper to the stupid black stock man with the cast eye to follow him.
“You ain’t trying to steal nothing, is you?” he asked Kruinh.
“Where is the Vaseline?” Kruinh asked.
The Vaseline was a rip off. Everything in this store with its boxes on the floor and half empty shelves was a rip off. The frazzle haired white woman came and said, “It’s not worth it. Don’t be stealing things in this store.”
Kruinh got four things. When he was about to ask the woman about something else she said, “You’ve been in this store long enough. You should know where everything is.”
Kruinh tipped the basket over.
“I’ve had enough of you,” he said.
“GET OUT OF MY STORE!” the woman shouted. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it wasn’t. She was in his face the way lords and princes would have known better than to do.
“Very well,” he said. His eyes swept over the entirety of the place. “But believe me, I will return.”
While she was shouting something else, he tipped his hat to her, and left.


Standing outside of the Dollar General in the October cold, Kruinh said to Sunny, “Alexander, what do you do next?”
“You have tested the people?”
Kruinh nodded. He said, “and you have listened from out here.”
“Nasty. In need of lessons.”
“Not killers. Not maimers, not rapists,” Sunny said. “Not technically what we do.”
Kruinh nodded.
“But the woman is of violent intent,” Sunny continued.
“Is she the only one you would take?”
“I would take the stupid box boy out of spite,” Kruinh said.
“Who else is in the store?”
“Just three people.”
“We could wait till the third leaves.”
The people in the store so lived in that world, that they had no idea that Kruinh and Sunny sat, calmly chatting about their lives, on the other side of the door.
“I’m not hungry,” Sunny said.
“Nor am I? So what do we do?”
“You want to kill her.”
“I want the bitch to suffer.”
“We can stun her. Store her for later. Store them both.”
“You’re learning,” Kruinh nodded with something like pride on his face.
The electric doors opened and out came the third person, the other woman.
“I almost thought it was her,” Kruinh said.
“What would you have done if it was?”
“In a case like that, I simply would have struck her.”
“In the open?”
“In a place like this you can,” Kruinh said. He put his head to the glass and he could see the frazzle haired woman cutting a box open.
“Maybe she’s out of drugs. Maybe she’s out of money. Maybe she’s in an abusive marriage and needs to get her rage out somewhere,” Kruinh murmured. “Maybe she’s worried about her kids, but doesn’t know how to say it…”
“Hey, you!”
She saw him and came marching to the electric doors, holding her box cutter fiercely.
“I thought I told you to never—”
“Maybe,” Kruinh cut across her, “it doesn’t matter.”



I’m glad you all could come over tonight,” Kruinh said.
“I’m just glad you invited us,” Nehru said.
“Are we the first,” Brad began, “ordinary people to be here?”
“You’re not the first,” Kruinh said, handing him the bottle of wine and an opener, “but you are some of the few. Alexander, how is the ghoulash?”
“I think it’s ready.”
“Here, let me check,” Nehru said.
When Kruinh looked at him, he explained, “My mother is a Hungarian Jew.”
“You’re from my part of the world,” Kruinh said.
“Kruinh, how did it become your part of the world?”
“That is a long story, a book length story, but if we can be said to have an origin, then my people left the sub Sahara in the time of the Roman Empire. In those days all people lived everywhere. When that empire began to crumble we were sent into what became Carpathia.”
There was a tapping on the pipes, and Nehru said, “One day, I’d like to hear that story.”
“We both would,” Brad said.
The tapping of the pipes grew more furious, and Kruinh said, “I’ll be back. Let me check on that.”

The basement was labyrnthine, easily the size of another house, but it was not long before Kruinh reached the woman who had found a way to kick the pipe even though she was tied to a post. Her mouth was bound in duct tape, and quickly Kruinh ripped it off along with some of her hair.
She screamed, and Kruinh covered her mouth.
“No,” he said.
Then he said, “Your eyes are full of anger. Even now. One would think you would be frightened, contrite, but you are angry.”
“Who are you?”
“Kruinh Kertesz, with the face of a free modern Black man, which I have word, you hate. But unfortunately you did not know I was also a vampire.”
“You crazy son of a bitch!”
“No,” Kruinh said. “Well, son of a bitch, quite possible. You must take that up with my mother. But not crazy.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
When she opened her mouth to scream, he said, “Be silent,” and she was. She felt, as many who had been commanded to silence by Kruinh before, the sudden constriction of her larnyx.
“And really, I’m not going to kill you. I can’t bring myself to kill women. I know it’s not egalitarian. I know it’s medieval nonsense, but then, you see, I am medieval. You’re a gift. You’re a gift for my little girl. Not so little. She’s five hundred, but no matter. You’re going to stay here. No need for total sleep. I really want you to have time to think about who you’ve been. Most of us have so little time to contemplate that.”
She tried to open her mouth, but Kruinh whispered, “Shush.”
Then he said, running his hands along her sides, so that she felt herself seizing, paralyzing, “Be bound.”
Kruinh rose, ready to rejoin his company.
“Dinner smells lovely,” he said, and went back upstairs.



Before they’d gone to bed, he came down one last time.
“If you let me go…” the woman began. She reeked, having both pissed and shitted on herself.
“Then?”
“I’ll never tell anyone.”
“That’s a lie, and a useless one at that. You don’t know where you are. You’d never be able to find this house or me again.”
“I’ll do what you want.”
Her voice became a wail.
“You would tell the police,” Kruinh said. “You would put them after everyone who vaguely fits my description. Which would be every black man you saw. And we can’t have that, can we? I suppose the only one you might not be after is that stupid stock boy of yours?”
“Tyrone! Whaddid you do with Tyrone?”
“Oh, he’s gone. I was quick with him. And you will be gone. Soon.”
Her face changed, going red with fury. She tried to shout, but the energy was gone from her. She only hissed.
“You nigger. You nigger, you fucking nigger, you should take your black ass back where you—”
“And that’s enough,” Kruinh laid a finger on her lips.
“Now,” he said, as her eyes went wide and her cheeks, with lips unable to open, ballooned out with unexpelled breath.
“I think the best thing to do is leave you immobile, but conscious. I want you to know when death comes for you. And I want the satisfaction of knowing you know.”
Her terrified eyes rolled toward him, but Kruinh got up and told her, “Good night.”

 

[ChrisGibson]

Everything that needed to be said had been said. There was no drinking, no smoking, and only a minimum of light. Brad was still talking about politics, rent increases, poverty, resistance when, lazily, he paid attention to Kruinh, whose hand was unzipping his jeans. He helped him, working them down, pulling down his Jockeys. On the other side of Kruinh, Nehru’s trousers were already all the way down, and Kruinh was working him too. Now, Nehru whispered in Kruinh’s ear, and then Kruinh bent down and took Brad in his mouth, and Brad closed his eyes and plunged his hands into the thickness of Kruinh’s hair. He opened his eyes to look at the ceiling, and then to look to Nehru, who leaned forward to kiss him. Nehru’s mouth on his, Kruinh’s mouth on him.

In the dim light apartment, in the early autumn night, things happened slowly. They had not closed the blinds or the curtains. The windows were high and they were high up. As Kruinh undressed and Nehru helped to undress both him and Brad, Sunny remembered his first time with the both of them, before Rosamunde and before Gabriel, and his penis rose in a thrill. In a thrill on the soft carpet before the sofa, he took Kruinh. They both moaned and even Nehru moaned as Brad buried his thick cock inside him. Their sex was a moving thing. As he moved in Kruinh, Nehru’s hands gently shaping and tracing his back, he wanted Nehru’s hands on his ass. He shocked at Nehru’s mouth there, his tongue inside of him. Nehru in him, Nehru in him! Nehru in him! His fingers hooking down to yank his balls, his finger pressing into Brad’s asshole so gently so that Brad was caught between two exquisite pleasures. Sunny in Kruinh, Nehru in him, him in Brad, Brad groaning, “harder…. Harder” while Nehru urged him on, planting his hands on his hips, clapping his ass, pushing him deeper into Kruinh, his breath shallow, his wish high, “Fuck him, Brad… Fuck him…”

The four of them moved on the bed, on the floor, on the edge of the bed, between bed and four, passing energy through each other. Kruinh was harder than he could remember ever being in all of his longer years, and what long years they were! The sex thrill was at the base of his balls. Across the length of Brad and Nehru’s striving, mortal bodies, he gazed into Sunny’s blue eyes. The excitement rose higher and higher, took all of him up and up. The four of them were caught in a frenzy.



That night they slept deeply in each other’s arms, hardly hearing the night broadcast of the BBC from the tinny radio. In sleep they rolled together and embraced, woke up, rejoiced to be together, and embraced again.

Brad and Nehru were people of the night the same as Kruinh, the same as Sunny had become. Later in the morning they all woke up in the great bed, snuggling together, Kruinh spooning Nehru’s hot body, Sunny pressed to him, Brad’s arm over Sunny. Kruinh wanted this to be forever, but even right now he had to end it for a bit. Good things must end, or at least be interrupted. So must suffering.
A drinker’s movements rivaled those of a cat. Without waking anyone, Kruinh removed himself from the bundle of men, and wrapping his naked body in a long housecoat, he went to find Tanitha, who had just arrived, who may have stayed the night in David’s apartment.
She was in the kitchen slicing cheese, and her shawl was over the chair.
“Father!”
“There is something for you. Someone. In the basement.”
“You didn’t!” she said, and though her voice was chiding, her face was smiling.
“I imagine she’s had a long night of it, so don’t make her suffer too long.”
“Is it that bitch from the store in Victor Terrace, the one Nehru said gave him a hard time?”
“It is.”
“You went to check her out?”
“I did.”
“Oh, joy!”
Tanitha handed her father the cheese.
“I’ll go right now. I will be quick,” Tanitha promised her father. “But I will enjoy myself.”





“My child,” Kruinh said, stroking his daughter’s hand, “you will enjoy yourself again.”
Dried tears lined Tanitha’s face, and she looked to the covered body.
“I was merciful when I should not have been. Magdalene would never have stood for it. Or Mother. I will enjoy myself… When Rosamunde and Rhodias and Gabriel are before me, and I rip the teeth out of their heads.”


“Tan, it is time.”
“No,” she said. But her voice was like that of a child.
“Tan,” Kruinh said tenderly.
“I… If I uncover him. If I uncover him and what I see is … I cannot.”
“Then I will,” Kruinh said with a gentle firmness.
He rose and he went to the shroud, lit golden under the lower glow of candles which had burned all day, with its hints of body beneath,. He leaned over the body of David, and slowly pulled the linen sheet away. Here were the signs of true death, the cramping of the flesh, the slight twisting of limbs, the discoloration and the bruising, the deep gash in the chest from Rosamunde of Gabriel’s knife. His cheeks and eyes were hollowed ,the skin waxy.
“If you do not wish to see,” Kruinh said, “I will walk you away.”
“I will remain,” Tanitha said.
She had remained for nearly a day. She had remained when one by one Sunny, Dan, her various cousins, Lawrence and Chris had returned from the relentless snow in the grey sky, defeated, not having caught Rosamunde or her mother and brother. Now the day of death was nearly up.
Kruinh said nothing. Eyes saw what eyes wished to see. In this light, even for a blood drinker, nothing was certain. But he looked again and now he was sure bruises were fading. It was only when the deep gash in the chest, like a raw mouth. suddenly grew together, and then was no more, that Kruinh touched his daughter.
If there was to be a return, then it was to be now, a day after the death. Kruinh knew that outside the door others were waiting. He stood beside his daughter and watched the slight alteration of limbs, the change from rigor mortis to muscular strength, the righting of a body as it went from one dead to one sleeping. The body, sunken into itself rose up as the muscles of buttocks and thighs regained their form. Together, father and daughter watched as the dead face which, without being bound, would have been slack jawwed and open eyed changed. Kruinh removed the coins, and dead dried eyes closed and became sleeping ones as Tanitha undid the jaw binding and moved to the feet. At last, the thing they awaited, the thump, thump. thump of the heart, the beginnings of breath, the change in skin. David had always been pale, but the waxen grey and green changed to white. was flushed with red. Kruinh lifted the towel from over David’s sex because Drinkers were born naked as all were, and shoulders, shaking, eyebrows fluttering, David opened his mouth, and looked around.
“My husband,” was all that Tanitha said.
Sitting up on the bier, under the light of four candles, David said, “My wife.”
“Forgive me. It was because of me they did what they did, and now because of me you are what you are.”
“A Drinker,” David said, quietly.
Tanitha nodded.
“My dear,” David said. “There is nothing to forgive.”
“They have gotten away,” Kruinh told him. “Rosamunde and Rhodias. Gabriel. “The others could not catch them.”
“Then we will catch them,” David said, his voice still calm and subtle, more calm and more gentle than anyone Kruinh had ever known who had been Changed. “You and Tanitha and I.
“After all, I’m a detective.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was an interesting portion! I am glad David survived. I also glad that bitch from the convenience store got what was coming for her. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

That was an interesting portion! I am glad David survived. I also glad that bitch from the convenience store got what was coming for her. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!

How vengeful of you! I thought you might hate what happened to the convenience store woman. Well, I enjoyed her demise. I'm glad you did too. Manners.... they can save your life.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Kruinh did not doubt the will of his clan to find Rosamunde, Rhodias or Gabriel, but they lacked knowledge. Full of rage they hunted the forests and hills the way they would have long ago. David calmly went to his rooms with Tanitha, sat down in a chair and began asking questions.

The Courts had three estates in England.

“Unless they’re completely stupid they won’t go to any of those,” Kruinh said.

“Would they have flown on a plane? Would there have been time?”

“It would have been private, one of ours.”

“The records must be checked.”

“Did they have friends?”

“Evangeline,” Sunny said, the same time Chris opened his mouth.

David looked at the both of them.

“My sister,” Chris said, playing with his lower lip.

“Evangeline was one of Rosamunde’s first experiments with disobeying me. She made Christopher’s sister a drinker. I gave Evangeine the choice to swear allegiance to me or die,” Kruinh said.

“She swore allegiance and then fled to Rosamunde. She is her oldest creation,” Chris said. “It is entirely possible that they are staying at her house.”

“Which is where?”

Chris said, sounding surprised, “Bavaria?”

Kruinh nodded.

“I will put it about that we are looking for them. It shouldn’t take long to bring them back.”

“Do you think we can really find them?” Dan whispered to Laurie.

Laurie said, “I don’t think anything can hide from Kruinh for very long.”



Not two days passed before a letter arrived at Visatruta addressed simply to “Kruinh.”



Dear Basileus Kertesz,

My grandfather, an old ally of your family, has discovered some things in his possession which belong to you. He is sending me back with them, and we hope you will receive us one day hence at your private landing strip outside of Bucharest,

Most humbly yours,

Ethan Dunharrow





The wind was high when they arrived outside of Bucharest, and once the plane had touched down and the stair was lowered, the door opened and out came a stately, almost frosty, tall, caramel skinned man in snap brim cap and a great black coat, scarf snapping in the breeze as he came down the steps. Sunny. Laurie and Chris could see that his leather gloved hand carried a silver chain, and at the end of the silver chain—no, three silver chains, and at the end of these chains, miserable, angry, exhausted, were Rhodias, Gabriel and Rosamunde.

Behind them was a woman who looked much like the man. At her side she wore a long slender sword, and her black hair was lustrous and hung down her back.

“Are they Drinkers?” Sunny whispered.

“No,” Chris said, his face solemn as the two who had brought back the captives walked toward them, “they are witches.”

“That is why they can hold them on leashes,” Tanitha said. “No drinker can strike a true witch, and a powerful enchanter can command even us.”

The man bowed.

“Ethan,” Kruinh stepped forward.

“Basileus,” Ethan pronounced, bending to kiss Kruinh’s hand.

“You will stay with us.”

“If you plan to do what we discussed, then we had better. Please let me introduce you to my sister, Eve.”

Eve bowed.

“I’m sure you have much to tell us,” Kruinh said.

Ethan nodded.

“I’m sure you are right.”



“Over the years, Evangeline has cultivated a friendship with my sister,” Ethan explained over supper.

“I’m afraid your kinsfolk thought this extended to them.”

“It may well have,” Eve said, lifting the wine glass to her lips, “but Grandfather would not allow it.

“He heard you were searching for them, and thought I would know where they were?”

“Were they in Bavaria?”

“They were,” Eve said to Kruinh. “And they were leaving. I believed they thought they were coming to us.”

“I sent a message to a cousin of yours,” Kruinh said. “David, I’m sure, has even met him. One Uriah Dunne.”

“The professor in Rawlston?” David said.

Eve nodded.

“He is a nephew of the head of our clan, the one whose sword I hold. This is how it came to Grandfather’s attention. He and our cousin Owen do not agree on much, but Owen agreed on sending the sword so that what must be done can de done.”

“What must be done can be done?” Sunny mouthed to Dan.

Eve dipped her spoon into the red soup.

“Excellent borsht!”



David Lawry wasn’t afraid of anything anymore.

As he followed Tanitha down the steps, he realized that what he had feared more than anthing else was himself, his horrible impulses, the lonely him who, with no understanding of what he was doing, found himself masturbating at his bedroom window. How different he was now, how far he had come. How low, lower and lower down this winding stair and through the wide, low ceilinged halls that ran around the underpart of Visastruta. Behind David came Sunny, and behind Sunny was David. After him came Eve with the sword, and Ethan and lastly, Kruinh.

When they arrived at the great cell where the three criminals were, David was a little surprised that there were no bars. But what would bars have done? Rhodias and Gabriel were chained to the wall, but Rosamunde stood in the middle of the cell, eyes defiant.

Tanitha moved into the cell, and she came straight to Rosamunde.

“I should have done this long ago,” Tanitha said.

“Done—” Rosamunde began, but just then Tanitha seized her jaw, pushed her to her knees, and reached inside of her mouth, and there was a sound of ripping, a muffled screaming, a great tearing, that turned the stomachs of David and Sunny, and when Tanitha raised her bloody right hand, David stared in horror to see she held a blood loop in her hands, some manner of necklace, and while Rosamunde fell to the ground wailing, blood pouring from her mouth, Tanitha came to Dan.

“Wear this, and remember what she did to you, and how you are now avenged.”

And David’s eyes widened to see that it was a bleeding necklace of teeth, that Tanitha had ripped out her cousin’s jaws, and four fangs hung at the corners.

While Rosamunde still gave gurgling screams, a savage looked passed over Dan’s face, and he slipped off his jacket, took off his shirt, and now bare chested, bent his head and allowed Tanitha to place the bloody chain around his neck.

Next, Tanitha approached Rhodias, and while her aunt screamed and cursed her, suddenly Miriamne was there and she pronounced, “Take her teeth.”

Slowly, ignoring Rhodias’s screaming, Tanitha did. She did not make a necklace of this, these teeth came out in chunks, dark red hunks of gum and tooth, and when Rosamunde had moved away, Rhodias’s mouth was a mass of blood.

Tanitha stopped before Gabriel, and she did nothing. Her cousin looked at her, horrified, but she did nothing. And then Tanitha turned to Sunny, and Sunny understood.

Alexander Kominsky walked to Gabriel and Gabriel’s face softened.

“I told you, I told you,” Gabriel almost sang, “I would be honored to die at your hands. I told you if one day you were the stronger and I was befoe you then it would be my—”

His words died in a rush of blood as Sunny wrenched out a great red tongue, and then, surprised at the ease of it, popped out, one by one, Gabriel’s fangs.

“In time they will grow back,” Miriamne whispered to David, while he watched Sunny showered in blood and Gabriel, screaming in pain, falling to the floor.

“But the Maker teeth never come back,” Miriamne said. “That power is forver gone.

As if there were no bloodshed, or as if it did not matter, Ethan and Eve stepped forward, and while Ethan began to whisper words over them, Eve handed the sword to Kruinh and, without care, he closed his hand over the blade and ran it down the sharp length, giving his blood. Tanitha did the same and next Miriamne, and then, dipping the point into Rhodias’s blood, Eve traced a circle around her, and next around the moaning Rosamunde and lastly around Gabriel. As David watched, a faint blue light followed the tracing of the sword so that three circles appeared and vanished.

“Now you all are bound,” Ethan said. “Wherever your lord commands you to remain, there you will remain. Now what protection you once had is gone, and should you ever leave the place your lords choose to imprison you, you will be just as a new made Drinker in the light of the sun, consumed. So say I. So says the sword, so says the blood.”

With that, Eve sheathed the sword.

“I will send them to their old house in Yorkshire, far from me,” Kruinh said.

“And if they leave—” David began.

“If they so much as set foot on the doorstep,” Kruinh said, “they will explode into flames and burn to ash. Daylight or nighttime. It is the oldest spell of punishment. It can only be done with the blood of the punished and punisher and with the will of a witch.”

“Can such a thing be undone?” Miriamne asked.

“Not now,” Ethan said, “And certainly not by me.”


NEXT WEEK WILL BE THE BEGINNING OF THE END OF OUR STORY. UNTIL THEN, HAVE A JOYOUS WEEKEND

 

[CharmedFan28]

Well vengeance was definitely had. Rightly so I think. Things are really coming together and I look forward to reading how it ends. Great writing!

 

[ChrisGibson]

AS WE BEGIN TO END OUR STORY, TODAY'S PORTION OPENS IN JOY AND AND ENDS IN LUST


Under the domed golden roof painted with the solemn face of Christ Pantocrator, the choir sang, the womens’ voices high and skin tingling, the mens’ deep as the earth, some flowing like the river:



“Énas Ángelos tis Eirínis, énas pistós Odigós,

énas Fýlakas ton psychón kai ton somáton mas.

As zitísoume apó ton Kýrio.



Synchóresi kai áfesi ton amartión kai ton adikimáton mas.

As zitísoume apó ton Kýrio.”





Through incense, sweet and tart, the lamp like sparkled against the walls in the jewel box of a chapel where gold and brass lined walls were filled with enameled ikons. The priest from Biatsu who was one in a long line of priests kept by the House of Ketesz, and who knew how to keep secrets, raised his hands while the choir sang on.



“Óla ta prágmata pou eínai kalá kai ofélima

gia tis psychés mas kai eiríni gia ólo ton kósmo.

As zitísoume apó ton Kýrio!



“Gia na borésoume na oloklirósoume ton ypóloipo

chróno tis zoís mas me eiríni kai metánoia.

As zitísoume apó ton Kýrio!”



Behind him was the glittering ikoostasis, the wall between the congregation and tha altar where priest changed bread and wine into the body and blood of the One whose immense figure was painted on the golden dome, huge Byzantine eyes gazing down solemnly. On the ikon wall, in similar Orthodox unwillingness to bow to realisim, wide eyed Mary Theotokos was painted along with John the Baptizer and Saint Joseph. White incense rose, and before the priest was a miracle he could not perform, the dead made alive, the human made something different, David Lawry all in white, tunic and trousers, feeling a little silly, but willing to feel silly as he stood before Tanitha Tzepesh, swathed in white, veiled in white and the choir continued, more a force than a song.

The priest who held two green laurel crowns over their heads chanted in Greek:



“Blessed is everyone that fears the Lord.”



The choir sang:



“Glory to You, O our God, Glory to You.”



The priest cried out: “That walks in His ways.”



And again the choir sang:

“Glory to You, O our God, Glory to You.”



“For you shall eat the labor of your hands.”



“Glory to You, O our God, Glory to You.”



“Blessed are you, and it shall be well with you...”



In time, the white bearded priest placed in David’s hand a tall white candle that reminded him of the four candles that had been around him when he had risen. He walked about Tanitha seven times, unable to take his eyes from her, and then he handed her the candle, and she did the same. The priest placed the dark green laurel crowns on their heads.



“May He, Who by His presence in Cana of Galilee declared marriage to be honorable, Christ our true God, through the intercessions of His all‑pure Mother, of the holy, glorious, and all‑praiseworthy Apostles, of the Holy Desert Fathers, and of all the holy Saints, have mercy on us and save us, as our good and loving Lord. Through the prayers of our holy Fathers, Lord Jesus Christ Our God, Have Mercy on us and save us.”

And the choir sang: “Amen.”





At the great feast, wearing the laurel crown with its red ribbons, David said, “I always thought I’d have a Catholic wedding.”

“That’s the one thing about the last few weeks that surprises you?” his best man, Sunny said.

“It was Catholic enough, I suppose,” David said.

Sunny did not answer.

At the wedding there were people in Visatruta whom David had never seen. He heard of Asenath’s children, but now he saw them, and they were all ages and all colors, for they came from all over the world and from many times. The oldest of them had several generations of children and grandchildren and some of these were mortal or mortal wed. Among them was a very black woman, darker than Tanitha with a Caribbean accent David could not place, but also there was a hawknosed, loud American Greek boy, white as David. The other cousins who lived in Visastruta and usually kept to themselves were in dazzling colors, and then there where some who when David asked, “Are they also Drinkers?” Kruinh simply smiled and said, “I know all manner of people.”

Also, to the wedding came Avery Kominsky, and she was wide eyed with wonder.

“You okay, Mom?” Sunny asked, and Avery, looking up and around, said, “I’m… not…. Sure.”

Nehru Alexander and Brad Long were sure however. They had both been scholars in another life, and locked themselves in the library, pouring over books, and spent the days before the wedding entranced by every window, every banner, every pillar. They had brought suits, but they walked the castle in their normal faded jeans, the flaired kind that fit snug in the right places, and the two of them, one tall and olive skinned, the other brown and shorter, looked so sexy together and reminded Sunny of the sex they’d all had before. Their embraces were long and lingering, and when they looked to him or Kruinh, their hands, their eyes, their nods, promised delights here, as there had been in Ohio, as there would be again.

As for Avery, Miriamne came to her and said who she was and added, “I did not want you be overwhelmed or frightened. Come, let me show you the house, for Alexander is family, which means you are family as well.” Sunny thought of Jack, his one time best friend and lover, and how he would have liked for him to know about his new life, and Dan, glad to see Brad and Nehru, wondered about Myron and telling him the truth. One day, Dan decided, they all will know.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Done with being a host, Kruinh wound his way to his chambers. Soon it would be day.

Alexander Kominsky nearly flew through the balcony doors of Kruinh’s apartments, high in Visatruta. His color was high and his skin hot. His eyes blazed. Kruinh saw the signs of feeding. Had they all gone out? Him, Dan, Laurie, Sunny and the others? They would have had to go to Bucharest to find sustenance. Kruinh did not ask, and Sunny did not offer to tell. In fact, he was quiet when he sat down beside Kruinh, who thought they were both ready for a quiet night after the revelations of the day.

But it was Kruinh who put his hand on Sunny’s thigh, and then Sunny put his hand on Kruinh’s and Kruinh moved closer. He began to massage Sunny’s thigh, and then, in a surge of passion, he opened up his trousers, and started to stroke his cock through his underwear. Sunny made a moan like a cat purr and leaned his beautiful head against Kruinh’s shoulder, opening his mouth a little, his green eyes closing into slits. His mouth reached up for Kruinh’s the same time Kruinh squeezed him, and when Sunny turned and thrust his tongue in Kruinh’s mouth, the flat of Kruinh’s hand held Sunny’s balls, and they were hot and heavy in his hand.

Kruinh went to his knees because he knew Sunny couldn’t ask, and he pulled down his pants and his briefs, and pulled Sunny into his mouth. He was firm and heavy, large and growing larger.

“Kruinh,” Sunny moaned, stroking Kruinh’s hair. “Kruinh.”

In a moment, they were both naked, moving to the bed, then on the bed, twisting together. Sunny pulled Kruinh’s face up. It wasn’t just head he wanted. He wanted eyes and arms and lips and tongues and kindness. He wanted to look up at Kruinh in adoration and pull his face down, kiss him, press their bodies together.

In the end he asked Kruinh to fuck him. They had stopped to relax and hold each other after this. Now Sunny took oil and rubbed it over Kruinh’s swollen cock. Kruinh knew just what to do. He fitted himself tightly inside of Sunny who closed his eyes and moaned with Kruinh’s entry. They moved together, Kruinh moaning in the shock of his pleasure at every thrust. The bed shook and they laughed in their pleasure as they fucked, and then lay side by side, breathing.

Kruinh thrust, his breath whistling between his teeth, and then the two of them lay side by side. Now they kissed hungrily, side by side, laughing, and love was there.

Thin as Sunny looked, he was well built with healthy thighs and buttocks that longed to be stroked, caressed massaged. Kruinh had already thrusting his tongue inside of Sunny

“Ohhh, fuck!” Sunny cried, his dick jumping.

So Kruinh kept at it, rubbing his hands up and down Sunny’s back, caressing his shoulders, running his hands through his hair, pulling his face down to kiss him, running his hands back down. Now they were face to face, bodies shuttling together. Sunny drew close to him, fitting his cock between Kruinh’s thighs.

“I’m about to…” he began, his voice shallow.

“It’s okay,” Kruinh said, putting his hand on Sunny’s cheek.

“But I’m about to…”

“Do it.”

With a relieved groan, Sunny came, and Kruinh felt the load, hot and thick between his thighs. He kept pressing his dick between Kruinh’s thighs until everything was spilled out, and Sunny came out, the length of his cock red and wet.



Kruinh was in light ecstasy. He was moaning in pleasure. There had been many times when he had dreamed of sex, and as he approached wakefulness, it came with the regret of knowing the sex was not real. The mouth that was kissing revealed itself to be dry and open to a pillow. The loins that were thrusting, thrust into nothing.

But right now, the more he came into wakefulness the more he felt, pumping up and down, thumb massaging the head with the gentle attention of a lover, Sunny’s hand on his cock, making him grow and grow, making the veins rise as they stroked life into him, Sunny’s hand gently squirting fluid onto him, polishing his knob to ecstasy.

He blinked in the darkness, and his eyes knew the face as his penis remembered the feel of the hypnotic hand. Nehru standing over him, his eyes shadowed but glistening with tears, naked in the dark, his own penis, strawberry tipped, jutting out. And beside him, silent, stood Brad Long.

Kruinh lay there, milked by Nehru, and Sunny had awakened and gently turned on his side, not angry, only mildly curious, watching. It was one of those things, one of those magic things where you knew your life was on a very different path from the daylight one, where you entered into different rites than were commonly noted, and Sunny’s tongue was rolling in his mouth. His blue eyes, almost savage under his white blond brows, looked to Brad and then Sunny lay on his back, his penis thick and high, arching into the air, and he stroked it, more as a signal than from need, and like one entranced, Brad came around the bed and began to stroke Sunny.

In almost silence this stroking continued until, finally, with an almost savage groan, Sunny reached out, took the tall, Byzantine man with his dark hair and his olive skin, and firmly placing Brad under him, the other man’s long legs effortlessly rising, draping over Sunny’s back, and pulling him in. Mortal and immortal moaned, and their bodies moved in a deep, savage fucking as Nehru quietly mounted Kruinh and began to ride him.





In the night, the bed creaking in quiet witness under them, Sunny and Kruinh rode Brad, rode Nehru, their faces slack. Power was always in their hands, but these boys had taken their power and made them into studs, and they rejoiced to be fuckers, blissed out, eyes half closed, the only pleasure the pleasure of the hard cock, the only journey necessary the slow, gently, insistent ride home to orgasm. Under Sunny, firm, hairy ass lifted, Bradley Long gripped the pillow and opened his mouth, moaning. Before Brad’s mind passed, for some reason, every sorrow he had ever known, mistakes he could not turn from, people long gone, and places abandoned. Tears ran down his face and as he moaned, he mourned, and as Sunny fucked him, he rejoiced. He rejoiced, and his eyes turned to Nehru’s angel face, his perfect caramel body pummeled under Kruinh, and he touched Nehru’s cheek gently and then, feeling Nehru’s soft hand in his, he clasped it. Sunny in him, Kruinh in Nehru, Kruinh’s fucking thrumming through Nehru’s hand into Brad, thrumming in his asshole, all through his body… All together…. All together.


MORE IN A COUPLE OF DAYS

 

[CharmedFan28]

Well a wedding happened and quite a lot of sex. A good portion all around and I look forward to reading how this all ends!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well a wedding happened and quite a lot of sex. A good portion all around and I look forward to reading how this all ends!

I like my weddings with lots and lots of sex!