Hey guys, I'm starting a new story here that I'm hoping you guys will enjoy. I've been reading a lot of the science fiction/fantasy stuff on nifty, and I'm really impressed by some of the work I've read (especially Gone from Daylight and Savage Moon -- Comicality). So I decided to give this a shot myself and see how it ends up. Please send me thoughts on what you guys think! I'm obviously hoping to make this a series, but need to know I'm sort of on the right track!
But anyway, here goes: the first part of a new gay fantasy series called Tainted Blood!
Prologue:
As soon as she was shoved into the room, Kristina sank to her knees, sobbing. She ignored the overly extravagant four poster bed looming ominously in front of her. She would touch none of the belongings of the wretched man who had thrown her here. With that thought, she felt the sobbing increase in its intensity, waves of mind-numbing hysterical pain coursing through her body like fire, forcing her to abandon control and start weeping until she could hardly breath.
Images of the carnage she had seen just hours earlier flooded her mind. Her beautiful baby brother ripped apart limb for limb, his soft blond locks matted with thick, coagulated blood: his once crystal blue eyes bloodshot from the internal bleeding he had suffered when one of the men had hit him in the face, breaking his nose. He was only three years old for FUCKS sake!
Next, unbidden, came pictures of her parents. Her father's normally loving, kindly face hideously mutilated beyond belief. His once kindly lips had been cut off to leave a ghoulish, sickening grin. His eyes gouged out, had been forced into his mouth and he had choked to death on them. Finally, her mother... Kristina closed her eyes tightly refusing to let the image envelope her like the others had. She had loved her mother more fiercely than the rest of her family. It wasn't to say that she didn't love the others, but her and her mom had been the only two of their kind in the whole of the Austrian Empire. They had shared a bond closer than that between a normal mother and daughter. They had shared a bond of spirit the likes of which only happened once a generation.
The thought of such a precious person in her life having been murdered in cold blood sent a torrent of anger shooting through Kristina's blood. She was to turn sixteen tomorrow, and had been told under no uncertain terms that she would be wed to the Prince of Sardinia come morning. The prince came from a fabulously wealthy family and had searched his entire Kingdom and all the surrounding areas for a bride to suit his opinion of himself. He had finally heard rumours of Kristina, whose beauty was fabled to be the most pure, the most amazing to behold in the entire Europe. It was her beauty that had led to the murder of her family. If the prince thought that she was just a pretty face, he was sorely mistaken. Fired with a rage that she would never be able to slate, she jumped from the floor, walking to the mirror. Without thinking twice, she threw the chamber pot against the mirror next the bed, causing it to shatter into a hundred pieces. There was a pounding on the door, undoubtedly one of the prince's lackeys.
"Hey, behave yourself in there or I'll have to restrain you!"
Ignoring the muffled voice coming from the other side of the door, she picked up one of the larger shards of mirror lying on the floor. She gripped the sharp end of it with her left hand and then savagely pulled it out, slicing a deep gash across her palm. Brilliant red blood quickly bubbled across her palm. Without flinching, she dabbed her right index finger in the blood and started tracing a patter on the cold, stone floor beneath her. It took her a full five minutes to finish the small picture she was tracing in her own blood, and she had to deepen the cut twice to ensure there was enough blood to continue. Finally, she stood back, admiring the pentagram she had drawn on the floor.
Without giving it a second thought, she started mumbling the incantations her mother had taught her. She had never tried this before, her mother had taught it to her only because it was tradition. She had forbidden the use of it, making Kristina swear a blood oath to never repeat the words after she had been taught them. Now, it didn't matter. Her family was dead, slain as a result of her own good looks. There was nothing stopping her.
The torches in the room started spluttering and the candles were blown out completely. Without turning around, Kristina felt the malevolent presence filling the entire room behind her. She knew what it was, but despite this, she felt nothing. If he tore her to shreds right now, she wouldn't even have flinched.
"Who summons the mighty Asmodai?"
*The voice was eerily beautiful, not at all suited to the dark, deadly force which had gathered behind her. It was sultry, dripping with raw sexual
prowess. It made the hairs on the back of Kristina's neck stand up.*
"It is I, mighty king, who has summoned you. I have come to offer my blood to you, to be made your servant."
Nine months later, to the day, Kristina was in labour for 17 hours, before finally dying after giving birth. The year was 1860.
Chapter 1: Fall, 2010.
Nico Raffaele sat languidly watching the water drip down the window of his bedroom. He was supposed to go into town with his brother in an hour, but his brother had bailed as usual, finding something better to do than re-register for their third year of university. Nico tried not to think about it. He had spent hours last week trying to convince his brother it was the right thing to do. Even so, he couldn't help but think that his brother would skip out on him once again. Sighing to himself, he stood up. He was still in his boxers after having woken up this morning. Without thinking about it twice, he pulled them down and threw them on the bed as he headed to the bathroom for a long shower. One of the maids could sort the room out later, when he was away.
Standing in front of the mirror while he waited for the water to heat up, Nico looked critically at his naked body. He had the distinct, masculine jaw most Italians sported, his cheeks despite being clean shaven, still hinting slightly at stubble. His thick mop of almost black hair just came down to his eyes. He had noticed that as far as most Americans were concerned, it was considered a little long, but as long as he couldn't force it into a pony tail, it was fine, he decided. That, however, was as far as his Italian heritage went. For some reason, he had inherited all his other features from his mother. The same ice blue eyes, coppery skin that looked almost gold in the sunlight. The same tall, muscular frame, which at just over 6 foot, he supposed wasn't really all that tall. He looked down to the rest of his body. His skin was the same coppery golden colour everywhere, no tan line. Well, why would there be one, he thought, it's not like he needed to tan. His cock was nestled in a thick patch of black hair, his only body hair apart from a similarly thick patch under each armpit. His legs, torso and arms were smooth, naturally. Nico wasn't one of those metrosexual guys: he left his body as nature had designed it. Yeah sure he loved sport: his thick arms, raised pecs, incredibly tight six pack and well muscled legs could attest to that. But he wasn't besotted with his own body, he just didn't see the point.
Seeing steam rise from the shower, he stepped in. To most people the shower would have scalded the very flesh of their bones. Nico found it amazingly refreshing, the searing hot water finally waking him out of his lethargy. He felt the energy slowly unfurl itself through his body, tingling as he felt his blood pump it faster and faster. This was the best part of the day for him, where he felt as strong as a god without it becoming an almost egotistical obsession he had to fight off to remain normal. It wasn't the way he liked to think, but the many years he had spent surrounded by the wealth and influence of his family had made him non-the-wiser that he even thought like that. Non-the-wiser, that is, until he had moved to America. Shaking his head, he tried to focus his thoughts. Now was not the time to wander down memory lane. He had things to do today, things that he had to do quickly if he planned on maintaining control over his own sanity. And he had better do them quickly. Even now, he could feel the tingling energy waking up his body was stronger than yesterday. He couldn't allow it to grow much stronger. He had to sort it out tomorrow or the next day.
Stepping out of the shower, Nico quickly got dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a tight blue t-shirt. He slipped on some flip flops and dragged some wax through is hair before heading out of the room. He preferred America by far to the stifled Italian environment he had grown he had grown up him. He thanked his lucky stars for making the move every day. Walking to the kitchen, he grabbed an apple from the bowl of fruit mounted on the granite table where he usually had breakfast. He'd get something proper to eat once he was done at the university. Hearing someone clear their throat behind him, he turned around.
"Buon giorno, mio signore. Che cosa ti paici oggi?"
Sighing, Nico answered.
"Morning Luciano, I want to go to the university to enrol today. And I told you before, stop calling me `my lord' and speak English man. We're in America, not Italy."
"As you wish, my lord," the fat valet said, bowing slightly to show his respect.
Nico sighed again. He would never get the man to stop being so formal. He had tried, god knew he did, but it was all in vain. It was one of the few conditions his family had imposed on him and his brother when they had decided to move to America. Every four years, the family would send over staff: Italian staff they knew they could trust. They wouldn't stand to hear that Nico didn't want servants. To boot, his brother had seemed pleased at the idea anyway, so Nico hadn't pushed to point. He knew a lost battle when he saw one. The staff that were sent to America every four years, despite being fluent in German, French, Italian, Russian, Chinese and English, insisted on speaking Italian to him and his brother. Their families had been servants in his family for longer than he cared to remember now. He supposed it would be difficult for anyone to acquire new manners simply because they had changed countries. As far as they were concerned, etiquette stayed the same, country be damned.
Luciano bowed once more before leaving to bring the car up front. The car, yet another one of the family's small wishes, didn't do anything but draw attention. Nico would much rather have taken the subway, but there was only so much he could insist on. The staff would report him to the family and there would be hell to pay.
It took them a full half an hour to get from home to the University. New York could really suck balls when it wanted to, Nico reflected. Once the car drew to a standstill outside of New York University, Nico got out. The pavement outside the school was swarming with students of all ages, obviously all there to register. He pulled a pair of almost black Police aviator sunglasses over his eyes, noticing everyone sneak sideways glances at him as he walked past them. He quickly bounded up the stairs to the University entrance, looking for the signs to inform him where registration would take place this year. It took him two hours before he was registered for all his subjects and had gotten all the information he would need for the classes. It was such a mission to change courses so late, but he didn't care. It wasn't like he had a limit on how long he could study for. Besides, language and literature would be so much easier than pre-law. God that had been boring. He was glad to have changed, even if it meant that he would have to take first year classes again. It didn't worry him at all. Like I said, he told himself, its not like im in a rush to finish this shit.
He was on his way out when he noticed a tall, blond girl standing in the passage looking completely lost. She was clearly not American, that much he could tell. In fact, if he had to hazard a guess, he would have put her down as more Scandinavian, maybe from Sweden or Norway. She had the tell-tale golden glow to her skin, the blond -- almost white- hair and sharp blue eyes. He noticed her glancing at him and he felt the energy creep up again, this time swirling in growing concentric circles from his groin. While no onlooker would have said there was anything untowards about him, he could feel his bodily instincts kicked in: the ones he DIDNT have control over, like the pheromones being released to increase his subliminal sex appeal, his blue eyes growing brighter to the point where they would sparkle an almost unholy sapphire blue, his voice becoming more gruff and rugged, the list went on. It was all small things, things that taken by themselves would not have made a difference, but when combined, had the lethal ability to conquer anyone.
Trying to get a grip, Nico smiled at her, and kept walking, quickly pulling his dark glasses over his eyes so that no one would see them. He stepped outside into the grey haze that was New York during fall. He looked up and down the street, looking for the black Maybach he had come here in, but he couldn't see the car anywhere. Luciano was probably parked off a side street waiting for him. Before getting the chance to second guess himself, Nico strode quickly away from NYU. He knew it was unfair to Luciano, but he didn't care right now. He needed some alone time, away from staff, family and his normal life in general. The worst that could happen was his family would stop giving him money. It's not like he really needed it anyway, he was more than wealthy in his own right. He was just trying to lead a normal life where he hurt others as little as possible. And it was sapping him of his strength. It was unnatural for him to live like this, he knew. Three years of living like this had taken its toll on his emotional strength, and his brother had been right to taunt him for it. His brother lived as he pleased with no regard for anyone, least of all the family back in Italy. He did what he wanted, when he wanted and defied anyone to criticise him and he flourished because of it.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Nico wandered into a small pub, Irish by the looks of it. A slight smile crossed his face as he realised what he must look like to others, always slightly shaking his head to clear his thoughts. It's not like he could help it though. It seemed to be the only way to actually clear his head.
Sliding onto a bar stool in the corner the furthest from the door, he ordered a beer. American beer was awful stuff. It was one thing he missed about living in Europe, being able to drink a strong, German or Belgian beer any time he wanted to. The swill these Americans called beer would have been chucked out into the street of any Germanic town long ago. But still, it was better than nothing.
Hunched over his beer, Nico didn't even notice the other patrons move around him. He looked into the amber liquid, staring at it as if it had every answer he needed if only he could interpret it properly. He was startled out of his reverie by the barman.
"Can I get you anything else, dude?"
"No I'm good for now thanks."
After the brief interruption, Nico looked up to see the bar had filled quite a bit more since his arrival. He must have been staring at that beer for almost an hour. He took a sip of the beer, and almost spat it back out. It was starting to get lukewarm. He must definitely have been staring at it for longer than he thought. He raised the beer slightly, indicating to the barman that he wanted another one. Within seconds, it was slid infront of him. At least the guy was efficient. Then again, he supposed, this wasn't some Italian city where everyone seemingly had hours to kill as they lazed away the afternoon. This was New York and everyone had too many things to do with too little time to do it in. Efficiency was sort of second nature here. Compared to Italy anyway.
It was as he was sweeping his vision across the other customers in the bar that Nico noticed her again: the Scandinavian girl. There were two drinks in front of her, a beer and a glass of wine, but she was sitting by herself. Clearly she was waiting for someone else. He increased his concentration as he saw a boy walk up to her and sit with his back to him. The guy was sturdily built, probably similar in size to Nico. Except like the girl, he had blond, almost white hair, and coppery skin. More than that Nico couldn't see as he was facing the guy's back. He tuned into their conversation, it taking a little more energy than it usually required. He was definitely going to have to do something about that later, he was becoming weak and it was time to do something about it. He brushed the thought aside, once again tuning in on the boy and girl's conversation.
"Ja, ek dink dat dit ok sal wees. Ma het gese sy't die geld in ons rekenings inbetaal. Dit behoort more op te wys."
It was the boy speaking. He had a soft, almost shy voice, but it was undeniably masculine, almost sensuous. He was speaking a language similar to German, Nico knew that much, but it was one he wasn't sure about. Flemmish maybe? Or Dutch? He listened closer.
"Is pa al terug van Johannesburg af? Wanneer vlieg hy terug Kaapstad toe?"
The language became easier to understand the more he listened. It was one of his gifts to quickly decipher languages, but since he had come to America, it was one he used seldom. Everyone here spoke English. It was the girl that had spoken and she had a much deeper voice than was usual for a girl, but not so deep as to be unattractive. It was more gruff than anything else, as if she had just woken up. Nico found the energy starting to swirl from his loins again, in wider circles.
"Nee, hy vlieg oor-more terug Kaap toe. Dan het ma gese dat hulle miskien volgende maand sal kom inloer om te sien hoe ons doen. Pa wil Vegas to gaan anyway. En vlugte is goodkoper deur New York."
That was it, they were speaking something very similar to Dutch called Afrikaans. It was a language with its roots in South Africa, and many of the Afrikaners travelled to Europe to get back in touch with their European heritage and family. They were talking about their father and mother going to Las Vegas via New York from Cape Town, or "Kaapstad" as the girl had called it. That must mean that they're siblings. That would explain the Scandinavian looks too. He knew a lot of the white people in South Africa were descendant from Northern Europeans and as such had inherited their features. The fact that they both had the same general physical features was obviously because they were brother and sister. Hell, even their language was sort of a Northern European dialect, so he supposed it wasn't that ineloquent to assume their ancestry was also. As they were talking, Nico noticed the boy had finished his beer. He continued to listen to the boy, still speaking in Afrikaans, but Nico had figured the language out and understood it completely now.
"I'm grabbing another beer. You want something, sis?"
"Freak, Christian, you maybe wanna slow down. We still gotta get home and this subway thing is crap confusing."
"Chill out sis, its only my first one. You never tuned me bout drinking like this back at home."
"Yeah well, back home I would know how to actually get home."
"Ok, jeez, one more and we can chuck? OK?"
The girl grumbled but nodded her head anyway. Haha, she must be the older one if he had to hazard a guess. It wasn't like her brother would have taken that type of command from a younger sibling. It was then that the boy turned around to head to the bar and Nico got a clear, full look at him. Nico felt the energy in his groin tingle with a viciousness he had never felt before. This time, he actually got fully hard from the sensation: something that had never happened to him in all his years. The electric sensation swept past his loins into other parts of his body, making him shiver very slightly. It felt like his body was alive with a feeling so delicious, so amazing, that he didn't care what others thought. He just wanted to abandon himself in it, to bask in the glory of it. Shaking his head, Nico tried to get a grip of himself. He hoped that he hadn't calculated his timing wrong and had spent a few days too many without satiating his hunger. The effects would be disastrous. But still, the guy over there...
As soon as he thought about the boy again, Nico felt his eyes once again slide calmy towards the boy. He could feel that ice cold determination mixing with the electrical current running through his body. What was his name again, Christian. Yeah, that was a hot name. Suits the boy perfectly. Nico felt his thoughts sliding along the familiar path as they became darker and darker. He stood up, pulled fifty dollars out his back pocket and threw it on the counter. He grabbed his jacket and before his body could realise what he was doing, he stepped out of the bar into the fresh air. The cold enveloped him almost instantly, making him calm down. The cold was good for him, always had been. It made it easier to control himself. He revelled in the feeling, noticing a few awkward glances at people walking past him. He was standing in the same thin blue t-shirt and jeans he had put on this morning. He hadn't put his jacket on yet, his hand still clutching it so hard his knuckles were white. People must have thought he was crazy to stand outside like that. The weather was, after all, viciously cold. That was just another part of who he was, however. Nico didn't feel the cold. He was impervious to the weather, except for the heat. The heat made it harder to control himself. It wasn't so much the effect it had on his body as the effect it had on his mind. But still... the cold was good.
Feeling a little more in control, Nico swung the jacket on quickly, more to stop others from staring than any real need on his part. He walked back to NYU to look for Luciano. He had to get home, he had to feed his hunger, he had to get a grip. He had almost lost it in that bar. As he walked off, the feeling of the boy in the bar, Christian, was still making him feel slightly uneasy as it hung in the back of his mind.
Hey guys, that's the end of the first part. Hope you all enjoyed it. If it feels a bit slow paced, just bear with me, im building it up slowly! Please let me know what you guys think! I really need the input! I do things so much quicker and more easily when theres messages in my inbox!!! Hehe.
Peace,
Luca.
lucawarberg@gmail.com