The Tomes of Bathoria
Tome 1
Book 1
PROLOGUE
I, Countess Roselina Bathoria-Hunt am not yet turning in my grave however, as I am unsure of how this tale ends, I will not utter those words lightly. I fear a serious error of judgement on my part will be my downfall. The last Bathoria Vampyress misjudged the situation and I fear for not only my life but for the life of my love Lucius. The fate of our exquisitely wanton lives is uncertain as the maniacal sadist Bratanovich ravages the land with his diseased hordes cutting a swath south towards Bathoria Castle.
The salacious desire that keeps us together on this immortal coil has never waned in over six hundred years however, the ancients, echoing their displeasure in the bowels of the earth, wreak havoc with my dreams and I fear for our Machiavellian paradise...
The Tomes of Bathoria
Book 1
The Dungeon Mistress
Chapter 1
That waking moment when I take the first deep breath, knowing the blood still flows through my veins is usually my best time. Tonight however, is different. Tossing and turning has left me weary and my mind unsettled. Stretching with difficulty, in my confined resting place, the chill feeds my aching bones and I rise from the coffin. Dreadfully old fashioned, I muse while looking at the highly ornate box decorated with ancient symbols, which my maker lovingly carved six hundred and fifty years ago as I lay pale from his first bite of love.
My dreams of late have troubled me. The meeting of the great houses would take place tonight, here in the castle. This is always a tense time. The Chinese hate the British, the contingent from Mexico are hell raisers, and the Romanians - who decided centuries ago that theirs was the only true blood line - are sending their coup de grace, Count Bratanovich. A maniacal sadist, Bratanovich, due to his vast inheritance, spends most of his time sleazing around the nightclubs of Budapest, lavishing his ill-gotten gains on his drug-addicted, alcoholic converts, making his house dangerously volatile.
Lucius rises as I enter his room and smiles as I lean over to kiss him, “Good evening my darling, are you ready for the nights celebrations?” I murmur as he swings his legs onto the floor.
“Can one ever be ready?” He replies, tracing the mound of my breast as he runs his fingers over my satin gown. The arousal of my nipples immediately becomes evident as his hands continue to follow the curves of my body down to his deepest desire, which stirs beneath his touch.
“Later my sweet, later,” I whisper. Taking his hand, I kiss each of his fingers in turn. He sighs as I turn away and I feel him watching my curvaceous bottom swaying from side to side. I know he longs to gather me in his arms and raise me to exquisite heights, as is our way at the onset of each night. However, not tonight. Tonight he would have to be patient.
We finish our ablutions and dress, he in a white shirt, favorite waistcoat, and close fitting trousers; I choose a slightly more daring outfit than usual, consisting of no more than a long Basque and thigh high boots. His approval is obvious as he slides his hand up the inside of my legs while nuzzling my neck. Lucius did so like me wearing long dresses, cut in tight to my bosom but this special occasion called for a special ensemble. Tonight I am dressed to kill... Literally.
As the clock strikes ten, the guests begin to arrive. The dining room soon rings with the sounds of laughter and growls as old friends greet new, some with intentions a little less honorable than others, I think while watching the gathering throng. The Romanian Count catches my eye. He is handsome and suave in his dashing leather as he weaves his way amongst some of the oldest bloodlines in the world, wooing the ladies with his charm and aggravating every man with his banter. I feel on edge as the mood of the crowd becomes obvious, they hunger for blood... Bratanovich’s blood.
The fire blazing in the large hearth, together with flickering candles set upon tall twisted wrought iron stands, casts a welcoming glow over the old banqueting table. The highly polished wooden floors show their age as they creak and groan under the extra weight. Tapestries on the walls, each woven intricately with the crests of the great houses handed down through the ages, hang like rotting shrouds as reminders of our roots. Serving staff bustle around with blood shots and slivers of pig’s liver to whet the appetites of our guests.
I turn my attention to Lucius, my tall, handsome husband who is such a winner with the fairer sex. More subtle than most, he slips his arm around a fledgling vamp and winks at me while I frown and wag a disapproving finger at him; he is hungry, poor love. Sighing, he simply inhales the young woman’s scent and peruses the skin on her neck then with a crestfallen look, moves on to welcoming some friends.
“Behave yourself Count,” I snap, slapping away a hand that suddenly roves over the cheeks of my buttocks.
Turning to face him, I see his eyes flash and his teeth glint in the glow of the light. “But Countess Bathoria, cousin, you look truly ravishing tonight,” he growls in my ear.
As the only direct surviving member of Dracul’s union with my ancestor, who revelled in baths of virgin blood, I, the Countess Bathoria-Hunt have the misfortune to have the sleaze with the roving hands as my blood relative.
“That gives you no rights over my body.” I lower my voice but to no avail. Lucius is there in a flash and the raw primitive testosterone sparks as fangs are unsheathed and deep rumblings echo around the cavernous hall. “Boys, boys, let us remember who and where we are,” I chide just as the dinner gong rings. Saved by the bell, I heave a sigh of relief.
Most of the guests eat very little or nothing at all, preferring instead to dine on fresh blood, therefore the fare is simple. Sanguine steak and mutton, ruby red wine and fruit served with sorbets - tinged red with a virgin’s life force - and of course, no meal is complete without its port and cigars to finish.
As the witching hour approaches, the meeting begins. The first item for the record is the yearly report. While varying members drone on, my interest wanes. This past year has been extremely fruitful for the houses. There have been many new recruits, stocks have risen, the blood banks are full, money is pouring in etc, etc. The final subject on the agenda, which is what I have been waiting for, is my cousin. His wrong doings go far beyond the imagination and as the throng bay for his blood, I decide to step in. Lucius, Governor of the Inner Circle, gives me leave to speak.
“Honored guests from the world’s great houses, spill his blood if you will, but there is nothing to be gained from such actions. Count Bratanovich is young, no more than two hundred years, and he has much to learn. I say restrict his feeding!”
A sudden hush falls over the gathering however, this less drastic measure brings about nods and mutterings of approval. The whispers grow to a cacophony of shouts and cheers as the Count rises to his feet, and bows to my lenience. The relief on his face is obvious, for without my interference he would have faced the sun this very dawn; we Vampyres are extremely unforgiving. His fate, now decided, would bring the heads of the houses back to the castle tomorrow at the stroke of midnight, to meet out his punishment.
The clock strikes the hour of one and with all our business concluded, the guests take their leave. As the last carriage departs, Lucius and I retire to a more secluded spot. This highly charged night deserves a satisfying ending and we know just where we want to sate our pent up emotions. Opening the old wooden door and entering the beacon lit room; I smile as the dungeon sighs a welcome to its most honored guests.
