The Curse of the Vampire (Cursed Book 6) Page 2

  What confronted her wasn’t right, not right at all.

  The room was trashed, but that wasn’t a surprise, not in the least. Much of that of course was just surface damage – it was almost ironic how quickly her brain went onto auto-pilot and she mentally began totting up how much it would cost to replace the broken goods – most of the electronic stuff was insured anyway...

  ...what the hell was the matter with her? Was she fucking insane? She actually had to physically shake her head to refocus on what was occurring to her son, there on the bed and what that was, was not a pretty sight.

  Romain was lying there on his mattress, the covers, the pillows, the sheets, lay scattered around the room, some intact, some torn to shreds.

  Standing over Romain was someone, something, whatever it was, it seemed to be too much of a blur, and it moved around so fucking quickly, it was difficult to centre on it properly, no matter how hard she tried. It was making an eerie sound as it moved too, she couldn’t quite place it but she was sure she had heard it before.

  At least though, Romain was alive.

  Her son was fucking alive!

  For now anyway.

  Thunder and lightning exploded outside.

  Romain was trying his hardest to fight his attacker off, but he wasn’t being entirely successful. Blood poured from the many wounds in his legs, his arms, his stomach, his chest (he was naked except for a pair of shorts) – the thing was relentless in its attack, puncturing his flesh wherever it could, it was not discriminating – all flesh was good.

  All flesh was meat.

  Time for a quick decision – she couldn’t let the onslaught continue (what was it using? A knife...no...talons? The thing had talons?!), so she had to do something now before it was too late.

  Mother looked around for a weapon, like a bat or racquet but there wasn’t anything obvious to hand, so she did the next best thing and started picking up any heavy object that lay nearby and threw it at Romain’s assailant. Some landed true, some hit the wall behind the bed and she was even sure that some hit Romain himself! Collateral damage – she’d kiss and make up with him later – once this horror was over.

  She grabbed his Xbox, still connected to its controller by a lead – she ripped that out, and then flung the machine, followed by the controller. Both hit and must have had some kind of impact because the fiend ceased moving and made a horrendous screech. She fell to her knees, covered her ears, and began rocking backwards and forwards, what a god-awful din.

  “Shut up, shut up, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” she sobbed.

  The beast turned its attention to her. She took a deep breath, she could smell something musty, something earthy something perverted, contaminated, rotten to the fucking core!

  She looked up, it hissed. It bared its teeth. A taloned claw lashed out but then on the bed, Romain screamed: “MOTHER!” This seemed to divert the beast momentarily from inflicting any more pain. Distracted, it turned towards the window; it ran and crashed its way through the glass and wooden slatted frame.

  Mother got to her feet and hurried to the bed. Romain’s arm dangled over the side, he didn’t have long. She grabbed him, kissed him, and ignored the blood smeared over most of his body.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” A deep wound to the boy’s throat - the red stuff was pouring at an alarming rate, was saturating the mattress underneath, such a sweet sickly stench.

  She needed something to stem the outpouring; grasped a piece of torn sheet, pressed it on the wound as hard as she could. Prayed that the pressure she was applying would do some good.

  Romain groaned. He was white, the colour draining out of him with every heartbeat.

  She looked at her hands, the sheet; there was just too much blood.

  “Hang on my baby, hang on, please Romain.”

  Where the hell was his phone? He usually kept it close but...yes, there on the floor, most of it hidden by the cover of a hardback graphic novel (what was this crap her son was reading?). Using a combination of her foot and her other hand, she managed to reach it. Thank God too, the lock wasn’t on...she dialled the Emergency Services.

  Romain began to mutter something.

  “What? What was that?” she actually wasn’t paying him too much attention, she was concentrating on keeping the pressure constant on his wound but also to what the operator was telling her.

  Romain said it again.

  It was a name.

  She wanted to vomit. She had had her suspicions. Could this day get any worse?

  “Lucien,” he repeated over and over again until he lost consciousness...

  Paris...

  ...before

  One

  “Fuck you Lucien, do you hear me? I said fuck you!”

  The blonder of the two boys stood by the window, he stared out at the greyness of Paris and then at the blood that covered his hands, his wrists, the lower parts of his arms; there too between his fingers, under the nails.

  Such a contrast of colour and shade.

  A certain crimson too, that if he was honest, no matter how much he fought it, no matter how much he found it distasteful, he couldn’t help but find it erotic.

  He put a finger to his lips, sucked up some of the ruby redness. Even if his eyes had gone a dark, dark burgundy.

  And if he wasn’t erect before all this started, then he certainly was now.

  As hard as a fucking rock.

  Lucien turned back to the bed – the other boy lying there; his eyes wide in terror. Hands and feet tied to the posts. He was erect too but with a dick that diminutive, Lucien didn’t expect it took too much effort to get it standing proud.

  There was a large wound to the boy’s neck – the once white pillows that his head rested upon, now of a scarlet hue.

  “What’s happened to you? The joke’s over. You’ve got to untie me Lucien. You have to let me go. I promise, if you get me to a hospital, I won’t press charges – we can forget all this happened. I won’t tell my father...I’ll tell everyone I did it to myself...you won’t have to go away for long, a year or two perhaps? We will need some time apart. I thought you and I were friends, how could you do this? How could you do this to me, of all people?” The boy started to cry. “You’re so much like your fucking father,” he sobbed.

  “Stop snivelling Louvois. I won’t be going anywhere.” He didn’t bother smiling, although the irony of the boy’s last words, were not lost upon him.

  “Then please...please let me go...”

  Lucien crossed the room, stood at the end of the bed. For the first time in a long time he felt strong, powerful, alive. He flexed his muscles, strained his sinews.

  “You have such a beautiful body Louvois, I cannot deny that. Your flesh is so generous too. It yearns for me to love it and I do, I love it, I love you. So please believe me when I say that I have dreamt of this moment for such a long long time. An eternity in fact. When you eventually, finally, agreed I could fuck you, after all these years...I was in ecstasy...”

  Louvois took a breath; his eyes fluttered but that wasn’t an affectation or even a come-on, it was because he was fighting for air, fighting for oxygen.

  “...but the fact can’t be denied, and I’m sure you realise this now, that all this, all this love should have happened much earlier in your life-time...you know...before...in fact, it should have always happened. We were destined to be together but because you fought against it, because you rebelled against me, against us, look at what I have become.” He held out his bloodied hands.

  “Lucien...no...you cannot blame me...that was you and you alone.”

  Lucien walked around the bed; the mattress creaked as he sat down. “We both know that isn’t true...don’t we?” he said, barely audible.

  “Let that go...let it all go...otherwise...it’ll kill you in the end...can’t you see what it is doing to you?” he licked his lips. “Such anger...it will eat you up...please, I’m begging you...untie me...get an ambulance...it’s not too late...for either of us...” Louvois w
ent to tilt his head but the strain on his neck was too much, he stared up at the ceiling. He focused on the shadows of light that filtered through the drapes. Outside the thunder roared, the lightning flashed, the rain smashed against the glass.

  “Before I went away...” Lucien explained eventually. “Things were so different then...don’t you agree...things were more...civilised. I wonder at times whether I should have ever come back.”

  “This hurts Lucien, it really does fucking hurt.”

  “You know Louvois, I expect it does, but please remember, what I did, I did out of love. Nothing else. Love. I always did love you.”

  He leant over, took hold of Louvois’ penis, rolled it between his fingers, slowly pushed / pulled what little foreskin there was, backwards and forwards...forwards and backwards. And despite everything that was happening to him, despite everything he was currently experiencing, the end of Louvois’ dick was wet, shining. A deep deep cherry-red. Full of blood. His scrotum tightened as Lucien continued to fondle; his chest rose and fell. At the post, his right hand closed...opened...closed...

  “It’s almost funny, looking at you lying there all helpless. You just don’t know what to do, do you? You don’t know which way to turn...that was always your biggest fucking problem,” Lucien contemplated.

  Briefly he stopped, he was distracted, a commotion...somewhere down the hallway...one of the other apartments....someone banging on doors...someone shouting...

  ...he let go of Louvois’ penis; his fingers delicately danced on the boy’s chin, he moved the boy’s head to one side, exposing that gash in his neck.

  “Shit...please....” Louvois muttered. “Please don’t do this...”

  “What choice do I have?” Lucien pondered. “It is too late for you...it is too late for me...we are done for...we are marked...” More than a reflective sadness in his words: desolation.

  “It...it might be for you Lucien, I get that...but not for me...I never asked for any of this...did I? I tried to put that...all that...behind me...” Louvois’ breathing was laboured now; it wasn’t going to be long...

  ...Lucien ran a finger along the boy’s lips, his check, to his ear, then down to the wound. First he circled it, he lingered, then with fore and index finger he widened and opened it completely. More blood gushed, a darker red hue now, so much thicker. Lucien waited then slowly dipped in his pinky, near the surface at first, then (yes, how easy it entered) deeper, as far as the knuckle, then further still.

  Louvois groaned.

  Lucien licked his lips.

  “You see, this is me fucking you my friend...at last...fucking you. There is no coming back from this.”

  He closed his eyes, grabbed the nearest bed-post. His nostrils flared.

  Damn, he was here. The hallway...

  “I can smell you,” Lucien whispered as he turned to face the door. “I’m ready, do your worst. If you dare.”

  There was a massive explosion which shook the very foundation of the building. Dust fell from the rafters, the room vibrated; there was the smashing of glass, of china plates, lightbulbs popped and fizzled; people screamed...

  ...he turned back to Louvois, after all the boy deserved his complete and devoted attention for these, his final moments.

  Christ, how the stench of blood was intoxicating.

  Lucien held back his animal instincts but once he put his finger to his mouth and allowed his tongue to dart across his own flesh and taste the blood of the boy...his mind drifted back to...no! Now was not the time for remembrances, sweet or sour, now was the time to fashion new memories.

  And time was certainly pressing.

  In the distance he could hear the wail of a siren; yes, it was some way off, but it was coming closer.

  It was now or never, he would never have this chance again.

  He climbed upon the bed.

  “I could say that I was sorry for this, so sorry...” He marvelled at his friend’s body for that final time before lovingly taking hold of Louvois’ penis once again. “But we both know I would be lying on so many levels.”

  Lucien moved to his knees, straddled Louvois, ran a bloody finger between his own legs, he readied himself for the agony that he imagined would soon be coming...he counted to three then lowered himself down.

  Both boys groaned as Louvois entered him. There was no pain; it went in so very easily.

  “I love you so very much,” Lucien stated. “That is gospel.”

  He began to grind his hips, moving in such a way, that whatever anguish he was in, Louvois had to move in time with him.

  Then, when the pounding came at the door, those orders barked in that foreign and guttural tongue, Lucien bared both teeth and claw.

  In his head he could hear the opera...

  ...he pounced. Fuck me, did he pounce.

  In his bloodlust, Lucien ignored the second explosion, but the explosion did not ignore him…

  Interlude

  It was a lonely place.

  He stood on the far side of the road, under the street-lamp, which only cast very slim shards of light.

  He had been waiting there virtually forever. He remembered that when he’d arrived, it was day-time but then dusk had come and now the sun had set...all that time though, he hadn’t moved from that particular spot.

  At one point, it must have rained but the water had hardly touched him or if it had, it had dried off instantly.

  Only a handful of cars had passed him too, none of which had paid him the slightest of attention. Generally the road was empty, devoid of life.

  No trees, no flowers, no plants.

  Concrete structures.

  Saturation by grey.

  He recalled looking at his watch once or twice but how long ago was that? No idea...it had stopped working.

  Something dripped from his nose. Thought perhaps it was an errant raindrop but once it landed on his tongue, he realised it was blood.

  He licked his lips. That salty iron taste...in his mouth...in his throat, giving him the strength to continue.

  Whatever the time, whatever the hour.

  Now was the time.

  He picked up his small holdall then making sure there was no traffic he crossed the road.

  He walked up to the large wrought iron gate, pressed the intercom buzzer.

  “Speak,” a metallic asked eventually.

  He paused for a moment before answering: “Lucien Moncrieff.”

  “Repeat that please.”

  Lucien did as requested.

  An electronic wheeze and the gate opened.

  “Lucien Moncrieff, you are expected.”

  He let go of the intercom and headed through the gates. “I bet I fucking am.”

  The garden, if that was what you could call it was grey. Not what he had expected at all. There were one or two lights working only which cast eerie shadows amongst the broken trellis, the pots and planters. Something had grown here at one stage – that was obvious, but it had been left to rack and ruin.

  There was also an odd, heavy aroma.

  Something that he had smelled before, something that he was more than familiar with, something from his past...

  …death.

  He titled his head so he could take a breath, he inhaled deeply. He went to expose his fangs but before he had time to do that or work out exactly where that aroma was coming from he saw the woman standing at the doorway.

  She didn’t beckon him, but he approached nonetheless. It was far too late to turn back now. The damage had been done.

  “Hello,” he called as cheerily as he could. Could he hear water, somewhere...

  The woman, holding her hands tightly clasped before her, nodded.

  “We have been expecting you for some time.” There was an odd cadence to her speech, an accent...Hungarian?

  “I didn’t realise I was late,” Lucien replied.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Late? No...expected...yes...” She pointed. “I can take your bag?”

  Lucien s
hook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

  “As you wish,” she bowed, stepped backwards, disappeared into the darkness of the house....no it wasn’t a house, it was a chateau. Run down perhaps, but a chateau all the same.

  “Creepy,” he shivered as he followed her in...not entirely convinced he had said it with enough humour...

  ...he had to keep his spirits up, he knew he was being watched...

  Two

  “Do you believe in monsters Lucien?”

  “Get back into bed will you Romain, please...”

  “Don’t be angry with me...”

  Lucien silently cursed under his breath, sat up, switched on the light. Romain was standing there by the door, he was clutching his favourite toy (some superhero or other), he was wearing his black rimmed rounded glasses, such a pained expression carved onto his face.

  “I’m not angry Romain, but it’s what...” Lucien turned to the clock flashing on the cabinet beside his bed. “Damnit, it’s half four in the morning, why are you awake?” His younger brother looked like he was going to burst into tears at any moment.

  Lucien pulled back his covers. “Get in.”

  The younger boy nodded, adding a slight lopsided smile.

  “But close the door behind you. In the morning we’ll put you back in your own bed so neither of us will get into trouble. We don’t want to wake mother...”

  Romain did as his elder brother asked (removing his glasses) – he quietly pulled the door then jumped into the bed. Lucien drew the covers across them both. He waited until Romain was firmly settled before switching off the light.

  “So, what is all this about?” he asked, keeping his voice as quiet as possible.

  “I had a bad dream...a nightmare...” his words trailed off.

  “You weren’t the only one,” he said with a faraway look in his eyes.

  “It was about the monster...about you Lucien, about how you almost died trying to protect me.”

  Lucien shifted uncomfortably, but attempted to make it a natural movement as if he was just making more room for his brother.