Read Lord of the Vampires for Free Online Page A
Authors: Jeanne Kalogridis
fresh and cool, scented with pine and recent rain; the tall trees limbs and needles sparkle with droplets of moisture. I run and run, gasping and laughing, keeping my arm up so that the lower boughs do not slap my face.
But soon my glee turns to panic, for I hear footsteps behind me. Someone pursues me; I glance over my shoulder and catch a glimpse through the glistening boughs of Gerda, my wife. But it is Gerda monstrously Changed: her dark, dark eyes slant like the vampiress Zsuzsannas, and her teeth are just as long and sharp. Like a wolf she growls low in her throat as she gives chase, her long brown hair streaming.
I cry out and run faster, faster, for I know she means to destroy me.
Of a sudden, I stumble over a fallen tree trunk slowly, ever so slowly, with the great detail one experiences only in dreams. My forward foot becomes trapped between the damp earth and the heavy limb; my arms go flying forward as they scribe an arc in the air on their descent. My other leg goes up in the air also, following its own arc as I go down, down, my palms finally sinking into a thick carpet of wet twigs and pine needles.
My face strikes the fragrant earth. When I lift it at last, pushing up with my arms against the yielding ground, I see
(Why is this image so disturbing? Why does my pulse accelerate even now as I write?)
I see a great dark creaturedark in the sense of pitch blackness, of an absence of light so intense it seemed someone had taken scissors and cut away that small portion of the world. A wolf, I think in fear; but no, it is no wolf. A bear? No.
And, at a distance, my angelic mentor, Arminius, looks on dispassionatelyas shining and white as the hideous creature is black. His face is pink and unlined as a childs beneath his snowy beard, and his pure unsullied raiment gleams blinding in the sun. Like Moses, he holds a tall wooden staff, and beside him stands his familiar, Archangel, the tame white wolf.
Arminius, help me! I scream, and continue screaming until I am hoarse. But he gives no sign of recognition or acknowledgment, nor does Archangel; and he and the wolf remain detached onlookers.
Hopeless, horrified, I watch as the black silhouette metamorphoses from animal predator into human, shrinking first to a child, then ballooning swiftly to the shape of a man.
Who are you? I demand, trembling; despite my bravado, my cheeks are wet with tears.
No answer. An interminable length of time follows, during which the creatures outline gradually enlarges. I know it means to surround and absorb meto devour me utterlyand I am afraid.
Who are you? I demand again, and after a heart-stopping pause, I hear the answer whispered in my own mind, in my Gerdas voice:
The Dark Lord
I am engulfed, and swoon from pure nocturnal terror. Abruptly I wake, heart pounding against my ribs like a captive demanding freedom.
My occult research has proven to me beyond doubt that such dreams are omens. Yet, try as I might, I cannot ascertain its meaning. Does the Devil Himself approach me? I do not even believe strictly in the concept, though I know there are a plentitude of entities in this world and elsewhere which are not human, yet are possessed of equal or greater intelligence.
I yearn for the comfort and help of Arkadys presence, though I know he is dead and cannot help me. But there is one who can.
Arminius! Arminius, my friend and teacher, you who guided me in the most difficult times during my past, you who trained me as the slayer of the undead. So many years ago you abandoned me, and I do not even know how to summon you. You who are immortal are surely still alive.
Arminius, help me
Zsuzsanna Draculs Diary
2 MAY 1893.
For an interminable succession of years I have been trapped inside this castle watching the disintegration of my benefactor, Vlad, from strong, handsome immortal to the most piteously gruesome husk of a selfish monster. Worse, I know the same horrible change has overtaken me; when I braid my hair, I am
But soon my glee turns to panic, for I hear footsteps behind me. Someone pursues me; I glance over my shoulder and catch a glimpse through the glistening boughs of Gerda, my wife. But it is Gerda monstrously Changed: her dark, dark eyes slant like the vampiress Zsuzsannas, and her teeth are just as long and sharp. Like a wolf she growls low in her throat as she gives chase, her long brown hair streaming.
I cry out and run faster, faster, for I know she means to destroy me.
Of a sudden, I stumble over a fallen tree trunk slowly, ever so slowly, with the great detail one experiences only in dreams. My forward foot becomes trapped between the damp earth and the heavy limb; my arms go flying forward as they scribe an arc in the air on their descent. My other leg goes up in the air also, following its own arc as I go down, down, my palms finally sinking into a thick carpet of wet twigs and pine needles.
My face strikes the fragrant earth. When I lift it at last, pushing up with my arms against the yielding ground, I see
(Why is this image so disturbing? Why does my pulse accelerate even now as I write?)
I see a great dark creaturedark in the sense of pitch blackness, of an absence of light so intense it seemed someone had taken scissors and cut away that small portion of the world. A wolf, I think in fear; but no, it is no wolf. A bear? No.
And, at a distance, my angelic mentor, Arminius, looks on dispassionatelyas shining and white as the hideous creature is black. His face is pink and unlined as a childs beneath his snowy beard, and his pure unsullied raiment gleams blinding in the sun. Like Moses, he holds a tall wooden staff, and beside him stands his familiar, Archangel, the tame white wolf.
Arminius, help me! I scream, and continue screaming until I am hoarse. But he gives no sign of recognition or acknowledgment, nor does Archangel; and he and the wolf remain detached onlookers.
Hopeless, horrified, I watch as the black silhouette metamorphoses from animal predator into human, shrinking first to a child, then ballooning swiftly to the shape of a man.
Who are you? I demand, trembling; despite my bravado, my cheeks are wet with tears.
No answer. An interminable length of time follows, during which the creatures outline gradually enlarges. I know it means to surround and absorb meto devour me utterlyand I am afraid.
Who are you? I demand again, and after a heart-stopping pause, I hear the answer whispered in my own mind, in my Gerdas voice:
The Dark Lord
I am engulfed, and swoon from pure nocturnal terror. Abruptly I wake, heart pounding against my ribs like a captive demanding freedom.
My occult research has proven to me beyond doubt that such dreams are omens. Yet, try as I might, I cannot ascertain its meaning. Does the Devil Himself approach me? I do not even believe strictly in the concept, though I know there are a plentitude of entities in this world and elsewhere which are not human, yet are possessed of equal or greater intelligence.
I yearn for the comfort and help of Arkadys presence, though I know he is dead and cannot help me. But there is one who can.
Arminius! Arminius, my friend and teacher, you who guided me in the most difficult times during my past, you who trained me as the slayer of the undead. So many years ago you abandoned me, and I do not even know how to summon you. You who are immortal are surely still alive.
Arminius, help me
Zsuzsanna Draculs Diary
2 MAY 1893.
For an interminable succession of years I have been trapped inside this castle watching the disintegration of my benefactor, Vlad, from strong, handsome immortal to the most piteously gruesome husk of a selfish monster. Worse, I know the same horrible change has overtaken me; when I braid my hair, I am
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