Night's Temptress

Chapter One

Virginia and Basarab stood on the balcony of their bedchamber and watched their children, Santan and Samara, as they raced their horses across the open fields surrounding the castle. It was early evening, but the moon was full, lighting a path for the riders. Basarab slipped his arm around his wife’s waist and heaved a sigh. Virginia laid her head on her husband’s chest, breathing in his scent.

They have grown since we arrived here seventeen years ago, Basarab commented.

Of course they have, Virginia laughed. That is what children do.

There was a brief pause before either spoke again. It is time, Basarab stated softly.

The moment Virginia had been dreading for some time now had arrived—the moment when her children would completely cross over to the world of her husband—the vampire world. The world she had joined some years ago. She’d had the occasional short-lived moments of regret, but they had been few and far between because she was with the man she loved.

What will it be like for them? Virginia asked. Will it be as when I crossed over?

No. Basarab withdrew his arm from Virginia’s waist. It will be much different.

Can you tell me what will happen—how it will happen?

No.

Once again, this tells me I will never truly be one of you… That does not seem fair. I am their mother, and I think I should know.

Her husband’s silence told Virginia it was a subject she should not pursue. When will this take place then? she questioned.

Soon. We must begin to send out the invitations. It will be quite the affair, especially since one of the children will be the heir to the vampire throne.

Santan, of course, Virginia stated knowingly.

Of course.

I sometimes think he does not wish that, Virginia said.

Basarab sighed. He was thinking of how he had—through no choice of his own—come to be on the throne because of the curse of the old Gypsy, Tanyasin. She had thought it would be like a slap in the face to Dracula, his uncle, who had been the real source of her anger. She had assumed if she cursed the unborn child of his little cousin to be the one on the throne, it would be like a dagger in his heart. We don’t always get what we wish for, he declared. Santan is a wise young man; he will rise to the occasion and do what he knows is his responsibility when the time comes.

Virginia sighed. She wasn’t sure her husband was correct on this matter. She had been watching her son of late, and he seemed withdrawn. Time will tell, I guess. She paused. It will be good to see some of the family again, and our friends, she added.

Yes, it has been a while. Basarab pointed to Santan and Samara, who had gone to the furthest corner of the field. Look…it appears they are getting ready for a race back to the barn. He laughed. I wonder if Samara will ever allow Santan to beat her. I don’t understand, his stallion is much faster than hers.

Santan is not all about winning, Virginia replied. I believe he allows his sister to win because she needs that for her ego. He has always known ways to control her and if letting her win…

He will not be able to keep doing that, Basarab interrupted. One day, he is going to have to step up to the plate and take a leadership role, even with his sister.

Basarab turned Virginia around gently and took her in his arms. No matter how many times he made love to his wife, it never seemed enough. He had never felt that way with his former wife, Teresa, despite how beautiful she had been. It saddened him, how things had ended, and he often wondered what Teresa was doing now that she no longer had her father with her. The news of Max’s death had hit Basarab hard; Max had been a faithful servant for centuries. Basarab leaned down to steal a kiss.

Virginia pushed him away. She was watching her children race across the field. Look! she pointed. Santan is winning.

Basarab laughed. For now…he always starts out winning, and then he pulls back on that stallion and allows his sister to cross the finish line first. Basarab sounded disappointed with his son’s actions. I have seen it happen time and time again, and our daughter laughs at her brother. She tells everyone Santan can never win against her!

Ah, you are right…look…here she comes, and as you said, Santan is pulling on Midnight’s reins.

Well, I’ve had enough of watching these two, Basarab said as he made another attempt to pull Virginia into his arms. Why don’t we go inside and see which one of us can reach the finish line first?

This time, Virginia did not resist her husband. She smiled. They both knew who would win their race, several times, before it was over. She allowed her husband to lead her into their bedchamber. At the entrance, Basarab scooped her up in his arms and used his foot to shut the door. He strode swiftly to their bed and laid Virginia gently on the heavy brocade quilt.

Basarab stepped back and stood for a moment, staring at her beauty, drinking it in as though it were his life’s sustenance. The long, red locks of hair had a sheen to them that they had not had before her turning, and they fell in a spiral of waves. Virginia trimmed her hair on a regular basis, once even cutting it short. Basarab had told her how much he hated the cut and then had laughed because he knew how quickly it would grow back, which it did.

Slowly, he climbed onto the bed and began to remove her clothing, bit by bit, piece by piece, until she lay trembling beneath him. Her skin, once pink with life, was now porcelain. Her veins meandered just beneath the surface, following the lines of her perfect body, well-muscled, with not an inch of extra pounds.

Are you not going to show me your magnificence, my lord? she whispered seductively, staring at him with eyes that had turned red, yet still maintained flecks of their former icy-blue.

You forgot…and master, Basarab chuckled playfully.

It is not enough that you are my life? Virginia’s bottom lip quivered.

Basarab leaned over and ran his tongue along Virginia’s neck, and up to her ear. I shall never have enough of you, he murmured seductively.

Casually, Virginia began to unfasten the buttons on Basarab’s shirt, and then his pants, until all came undone. Her hands moved rhythmically, stripping her husband—her lover—of his garments, casting them aside to join her own on the floor. She wrapped her arms around him, drawing him to her, swirling her fingers in a musical dance upon his skin, searching until she found her prize. As Virginia took hold of his manhood, rock-hard and pulsing with energy, she heard Basarab groan.

Sorceress! he cried out as he skilfully lifted her from the coverlet and laid her upon his flesh.

Virginia placed her hands on Basarab’s chest, pushed away from him, and stood. She straddled his stomach, teasingly out of reach as she continued to dance for him. Basarab grinned as he reached up and gently took hold of her breasts, massaging the nipples until he heard her moan with gratification. He moved one of his hands to her posterior and pulled her back to him, grasping hold of her breast with his mouth, suckling her with a fierceness that spawned a fire deep within her belly.

Not being able to hold back a moment more, Virginia shifted her body and climbed onto her lover’s pulsing shaft, impaling herself into another world—one no one else could enter—theirs alone. Their children were forgotten.

It was hours before they were spent enough to sleep—deeply and contentedly—in each other’s arms.

Virginia hadn’t dreamt for a long time, and despite the satisfaction she had just had making love to her husband, her mind was in turmoil. She was disturbed by the fact she was not privy to the type of ceremony her children would have to endure as they crossed the final threshold into their father’s world.

Virginia’s dream took her back to another ceremony, the one performed soon after her arrival in Transylvania. She had stood by helplessly and observed, as she had watched once before during Santan’s infant initiation into the vampires’ fold. Only with Samara’s ceremony, Virginia had known what to expect.

Samara had been older than her brother had been for his first ceremony. Santan had been an infant of two weeks; Samara had been two years old. She had been excited about what was going to happen to her, not that she actually understood any of what was going on. She had bravely held out her finger when it was time to cut and draw her blood, and mix it with the blood of her relatives. She had clasped her little hands over her father’s hands, helping him to lift the bowl to her lips. She had drunk the blood thirstily, gulping it down in seconds.

Basarab had smiled as his daughter took charge of the situation. Virginia could tell how proud he was of the offspring he had only known for a short time. Santan had stood by Virginia’s side and had buried his face in her cloak as his sister consumed the blood. Afterwards, he told her he hoped he never had to do that, and she’d had to tell him he already had.

The dream moved forward from the past, and Virginia found herself in a room in the old dungeon of the castle. There were several individuals there, but she couldn’t see who they were because their faces were hidden deep in the hoods of their cloaks. The chanting began when Basarab walked in with Samara holding onto her father’s arm. Her head was held high as she looked around the room at each one of the faceless individuals awaiting the ceremony.

Virginia saw herself standing in the doorway, not allowed into the circle yet. She looked around for Santan; he was supposed to be part of this ceremony, too. Finally, she noticed him skulking in the hallway leading to the room. She held her hand out to him. He shook his head, and she saw tears in his eyes. She looked around and saw no one was paying any attention to her, so she slipped out of the room and went to her son.

This is what your father wishes, Santan, you have no choice but to go through with the ceremony, Virginia told him when she reached the spot where he was standing.

Santan looked away from his mother. I know what my responsibility to my father is, but you know I’d have it otherwise. Is there no other way for me, Mother?

Virginia found herself shaking her head no. She loved her son, and she loved her husband. Since she had taken the step and crossed over, she had been torn many times between what she knew were the sensitivities of her son, and what she knew her husband would eventually demand of him.

Suddenly, Basarab appeared in the doorway. He scowled, and began walking toward Virginia and Santan. What is happening here? he demanded.

Virginia opened her mouth to make an excuse for Santan, but he laid a hand on her arm. It’s okay, I’m ready. He extended his arm to Virginia, and they swept past Basarab and headed to the room.

A cry rang out. Shrill. Close. Virginia didn’t realize the arms around her were real. She didn’t realize the cry was real. Virginia, my love, what is it? Are you dreaming again?

Virginia opened her eyes and found Basarab looking lovingly into her eyes. Yes, I must have been dreaming, she finally managed to say.

I thought your nightmares were over; it has been a long time since you had one. Are they the old dreams coming back to haunt you? Basarab asked, his voice full of concern.

No…no…nothing like them. It’s okay, it was nothing. Really. I actually can’t even remember it, Virginia lied. She remembered all of it. She shifted under the covers and managed to turn over, putting her back to Basarab. I’ll be fine, it was just a dream, and it’s gone already, she reaffirmed, breathing in deeply, her breath catching in her throat. I think I just need some more sleep. You tired me out, my love.

Basarab knew better than to say anything more. He had worried for months after the episode in Brantford. He had feared Virginia would never get over the trauma that had almost killed her, but she had. The dreams were horrific at first, but gradually they had lessened, only returning occasionally. For the past ten years, to his knowledge, she had been nightmare free. So, why now?

Basarab drew the cover up over Virginia, and then got up and left the bed. He had a lot to do to prepare for the ceremony for his children.

Chapter Two

The horses raced across the field. Samara was laughing as her horse, Golden, gained on Midnight. On your tail, brother! she shouted out.

Santan glanced back at his sister. He was smiling. It was time to pull up on the reins and let Samara have her way. Santan remembered how, when they were little, whenever she hadn’t gotten her way or didn’t win the game they were playing, she would go into a rage. He had been the only one able to calm her down. Then, he had done so by a form of mind control, which when he was younger was the best technique. However, as they grew older, he’d found it much easier just to step aside and let his sister have her way.

Midnight wasn’t pleased with being reined in. He fought against the pull on his bit, but Santan insisted, and the stallion began to slow his pace.

Midnight is getting sluggish in his old age, Samara shouted as she and Golden pulled up alongside.

Midnight snorted, as though he understood what Samara had said, and he stretched his neck in another attempt to overpower his master.

He’s just too much of a gentleman, Santan smirked. He doesn’t wish to displease the lady that always needs to win, he hollered over the din of the pounding hooves.

Smart horse, Samara laughed as she kicked her heels into Golden’s ribs. See you at the barn, brother!

Midnight gave another tug on his bit as Golden moved past him. Santan reached and patted the stallion on his neck. Give them some time, my friend. Let them get far enough ahead that my sister can win, and then I’ll give you your head.

Santan finally loosened the reins, and the stallion gobbled up the ground, bearing down on Golden and Samara, almost catching them before they entered the barn.

Samara was laughing as she jumped off Golden and turned to her brother. Beaten once again, brother! Father should get you a better horse.

Santan pulled Midnight to a stop and dismounted. Midnight stamped his front hoof disapprovingly and reached out to take a nip at Golden. Santan managed to catch him before his teeth dug into Golden’s rump.

Didn’t you see how quickly Midnight arrived here? Santan baited his sister.

No, there was too much dust behind me—Golden’s dust!

Santan laughed. There was no reasoning with his sister, and why should he even bother—it would spoil the game he played, the game of which she was totally unaware.

Samara turned and took hold of Golden’s reins, drawing them over his head. She led him to a hitching post and tied them loosely to the ring. As she was removing the saddle, she smiled to herself. She was aware of what Santan was doing. She knew Midnight could win any race his master would allow him to. She was intuitive enough to know whose horse was the fastest; she had observed the horses in the fields when they sprinted untethered. Golden never reached the other side of the meadow before Midnight!

She knew how much winning did not matter to her brother, and she knew he would rather have peace than have a confrontation. Santan was so like their grandfather, Attila.

Santan tethered Midnight at the pole outside his stall and began to remove his saddle. He reached into the box sitting by the stall and drew out two brushes, and handed one to Samara.

Thanks, she said as she took the brush from him, her fingers lingering on her brother’s hand momentarily. You’re always so thoughtful.

I aim to please. Santan began stroking Midnight’s coat. The stallion was barely sweating. Santan knew he had only just warmed the horse up, and that he could have gone on for hours. He brought the brush up to Midnight’s face and gently massaged the dish in his nose—confirmation of the Arabian bloodline.

You’re always trying to please everyone, Santan, Samara began. She paused thoughtfully. You know we’ve another ceremony coming up? Father told me it would happen on my nineteenth birthday, and that’s in three months.

Santan nodded his head but said nothing.

Aren’t you excited, Santan? I am.

Not really.

You should be.

Tell me, Samara, why should I be excited?

Samara stopped grooming Golden, and, waving her arm in the air exclaimed, Because, this is how we’ll look for eternity. I’ll be young and beautiful, and never have to worry a day about becoming old and wrinkled like a human. We’ll be full vampires, into the fold as one with them—the same as our father and mother—finally. We’ll never die; we can be together forever.

Santan, despite how wild and temperamental his sister was, loved her dearly. He didn’t know what he would do without her. She breathed life into his world. She was the side of him that, at times, he wished he could be, but knew he never would be. There was too much of his mother in him, and to him that was a good thing. Santan thought back to the day when his parents had announced his mother had changed.

It had been a difficult time for Santan. His mother had been ill for several weeks as the vampire blood sourced through her body, turning her into a monster. That is what Santan believed vampires were—monsters—and he was not looking forward to the ceremony. The usual age of a vampire child fully coming into the fold was nineteen. Santan had been glad when his father had decided to wait another year before initiating him—to wait until he was more physically mature had been his father’s reasoning.

Santan thought of his conversations with his friend, Randy, and he envisioned Randy’s beautiful daughter, Mia. He longed for a normal life, one that would be able to include Mia—one that would allow them to wed and have a family of their own. But the nagging voice inside Santan’s head kept telling him his father would never allow such a union.

There were times Santan thought his father was a bit of a hypocrite. After all, he had married a human woman—twice. But in their conversations, he had insisted Santan marry a vampire from the Dracul bloodline. So Santan had kept quiet about his love for Mia, biding his time until the moment when he would be able to stand up to his father.

Earth to Santan…you still there? Samara broke into her brother’s thoughts. Does the thought of being with me forever disgust you, brother? she joked.

Santan looked at his sister. It was true, they were close; they had been through so much together. But he knew, eventually, they would both move away from their childhood lives and embrace their responsibilities within the family unit. He knew what was in store for him—the throne. What Samara’s role in the family would be was yet to be decided.

No, Samara, he finally answered, you could never disgust me. Blood ties us, and nothing will ever sever that bond.

So, I ask again, brother, why aren’t you excited about this confirmation of who we truly are—who we were born to be? Samara came over to Santan and grabbed hold of his arm. Tell me…we should have no secrets from each other.

Santan grinned, and smoothly changed the subject. You have no secrets from me, sister? I think you have many.

How can you accuse me like that? Samara pouted. I have no secrets from you.

Santan laughed. Do you think your nightly escapades have gone unnoticed by your ever watchful brother?

Samara looked shocked. What do you mean?

Santan knew he had her right where he wanted her. I follow you, Samara—most nights that you venture out. I have protected you and your secrets for as long as you’ve been sneaking out and having liaisons with your boy toys.

You’ve known all along?

From the beginning.

I see. Samara turned around. Why didn’t you tell on me? she asked.

And have our parents’ wrath rain down on my beautiful sister? You are daddy’s little girl, but, despite his love for you, he’d never allow such behaviour.

Are you so sure of that, brother?

Very sure.

Santan was not about to tell his sister of a conversation he’d had with their father several years ago on his thirteenth birthday. Basarab had taken him aside and informed him about his expectations for him and his sister, and none of what his father said had included messing around with humans. His father had been quite firm when he had said he expected his children to stay within the family walls.

Well, thanks for your discretion, but I’m sure you’re wrong—Father would never be able to be angry with me.

Santan just smiled at his naïve sister. Better to not crush her feelings for her father; it’s enough that I know what he truly is. Santan knew that if it weren’t for his father’s word to protect his mother, he would never have come around to even liking, let alone respecting him. Nevertheless, Basarab had been a man of his word, and he had saved Virginia from those beasts that had almost killed her. Santan saw how much Basarab genuinely loved Virginia, so he had sat back and just kept vigil over his mother and sister throughout the years. He knew there might come a time when they would need him as more than a son and a brother.

Maybe you’re right, Samara; how could Father ever be angry with you? Santan decided it was not worth the bother to carry on any further—to burst Samara’s bubble.

Samara chose to return to the subject at hand. You’ll be on the throne one day, Santan—aren’t you excited about that?

Do you want the truth, Samara, or should I tell you what you want to hear?

What do you think I want to hear, brother?

Are you able to keep a secret, as I’ve kept yours these past couple of years? Santan took his sister by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. He knew she would not be able to lie to him.

Of course I’ll keep your secret, Samara replied. She knew better than to lie to her brother, having done so a couple of times. He was not fooled easily.

Santan hesitated a moment more before continuing. I don’t wish to take the throne when our father is ready to step aside.

But you’re his heir; you’ll have no choice. Samara knew there was something else bothering Santan. I know you better, brother, there’s something more. What secret are you keeping from me?

I’m in love with someone whom Father would never approve of, Santan stated. Mia.

Samara stepped back from Santan, a look of shock on her face. She had never paid much attention to Randy and his family when they visited, especially the beautiful Mia. You’re in love with Mia? she spit out. You know Father will never allow that!

Of course I know, Santan stated. And, I know there’s nothing I can do about it. He took a short breath before continuing: Unless you’d like the throne and we can convince Father you’d be the better choice—would you like that, Samara?

You’re crazy! You know our father wouldn’t even consider such a thought as to have a woman on the throne of power, nor would any one of those stuffed shirts he has on his council approve such a move! That’s the reason he went out of his way to have you, brother—his own little prodigy! She giggled. He ensured his direct bloodline would remain on the throne—should he ever decide to step aside.

"Well, it’s settled then, isn’t it? We each