PROLOGUE: The Blood Offer
Eighteen years had passed since the Church's Oracle prophesied the impending doom. In response, the gods chose two divinely consecrated souls, a Saint and a Hero, charging the Church with their protection and training. Recognizing the gravity of the prophecy, the Church summoned two noble families, each destined to bear one of these blessed children. This was not merely a prophecy; it was a call to arms against the encroaching darkness.
The House of Beaumont was stunned to receive a summons from the Church, and not merely for counsel but to present their youngest son, Avery, and his wife, Marie. Clerics devoted to humble service, neither had ever been called to the Cathedral of Valoria, home of the Oracle. The journey would be long and dangerous, forcing them to skirt the Dark Forest in both directions, and Marie had only recently confirmed she was with child. Even so, the urgency of the Oracle's call could not be ignored. With faith as their shield, they set out with two volunteer paladins from their local parish and traveled for weeks.
The House of Ashford received their summons soon after. Bartholomew Ashford, last scion of a long line of paladins and monster hunters, answered without hesitation. His wife, Diana, regal, scholarly, and in her second trimester, shared his resolve. Their lands lay much closer to Valoria, yet with the tone of the summons and Diana's condition, they refused to take chances. A contingent of knights and men-at-arms joined their carriage for the short but guarded journey.
By divine providence or design, both families arrived at the Cathedral on the same day. The Oracle greeted them and spoke of the blessings placed upon their unborn children: one destined to be the Saint, the other the Hero. The honor was beyond anything they had dreamed. For several days, they received instruction on how to raise, guide, and conceal their children's identities until the appointed time. Before either mother could be at risk from travel, the Church assigned a priest and a paladin to each family as tutors and guardians. The parents returned to their estates to await the births, and for eighteen years, to prepare their children for the day they would return.
Bartholomew and Diana Ashford were fortunate. Their journey from Valoria would take only a few days within the safe borders of Aranthor. With a small escort of knights and Diana well into her second trimester, they traveled at a careful but comfortable pace, and the road was well-patrolled. There was little to fear.
Avery and Marie Beaumont were not so lucky. The Church had generously gifted them a larger, more suitable carriage for their return trip, and Marie was endlessly grateful. Her morning sickness had passed, but fatigue and back pain made travel miserable. Even with the new carriage, she needed frequent stops to stretch her legs, slowing their progress. Still, neither she nor Avery were worried. Their journey to Valoria had been uneventful, and the adventurers they met along the way assured them the Dark Forest was calm this time of year. So long as they stayed to the outskirts, they would be safe.
It was in their final stretch of traveling on the forest's edge when things changed. The sun had barely begun to set when they called a halt and pulled off the road. It was early to camp, but dark clouds gathered overhead, and they doubted they'd find a better spot. The clearing was spacious, sheltered from the wind, and easy to defend.
Six months pregnant and self-conscious of her changing figure, Marie had begun wearing dresses to conceal it—but they could only do so much. Sore and stiff from the ride, she took her usual short walk while the camp was set up. Never far, and never toward the forest. Her maid stayed at her side, and they always returned within ten minutes. It never felt long enough, yet somehow always felt like an eternity.
As they turned back, walking back up the road toward their camp, Marie couldn't help but lament, "And to think, my feet will only become more sore as this goes on. If I were not carrying a girl, I'd refuse to have another!"
Jessabelle had known Marie long enough to know that wasn't true. "My lady will make an excellent mother to many heirs, I am certain."
Marie let out a woeful sigh. "Certainly, if Avery has anything to say about it. The man is insatiable and already has a dozen names picked out. I am not so confident I could manage that many."
"My lady will be sure to remind me of this each time. That is something else we can be certain of."
Marie looked at Jessabelle, "Perhaps I will not have to. I see how wide your hips are. You are here to serve our family, after all." Her maid's eyes shot wide as she began to stammer, but Marie only laughed. "Do not fear. I am only teasing."
Jessabelle's hand rested on her chest as she breathed in mock relief, but Marie's face had scrunched up in confusion.
"Jesse, do you smell that? It's not a campfire."
Her maid took a moment before shaking her head, "I smell nothing, my lady."
It only took a few more seconds for Marie to recognize the metallic scent. "We need to hurry back. I think it's blood!"
Marie was young, but even she could only move so quickly in her condition. It took nearly a minute to cross the remaining distance, and when they reached the camp, it was empty. Everything had been set up, yet the men and horses were gone. They circled the campsite before spotting signs of a struggle and bootprints in the soft earth, leading toward the forest's edge.
"My lady, we should get in the carriage. If they have gone after something, it must be dangerous."
Marie nodded, stepping back as she reached for the carriage door. Jessabelle was already there, hand out to help her up. Gratefully, Marie took it and began to climb inside—when the hand was suddenly yanked away. She looked back. Jessabelle was gone.
"Jessabelle?" Her voice shook. She turned in a slow circle, searching the clearing, but she was alone. She fumbled for a spell, but panic scattered every thought. The carriage door creaked behind her. She whirled, only to find it still hanging open just as she left it, empty darkness inside.
She had to protect her child. That single thought cut through the fear. Marie planted her foot on the step and grabbed the rail to pull herself in—
Her body seized. Pain lanced from her neck and shoulder like an electric current, and her muscles refused to obey. Warmth spread down her collar as her strength bled away. The world tilted. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed backward—into waiting arms.
And then, she knew no more.
***
Lord Dragomir Costin walked the last lines of his ritual around the two coffins in the center of his laboratory. Within them lay the drained and nearly dead bodies of Avery and Marie, the blood of their friends, guards, and horses filling the space around them so that only their faces were exposed. Dragomir had used his own blood to write the runes across their faces. The ritual was nearly complete, and he only waited for them to awaken. Avery opened his eyes first. It was slow, and he groaned in pain, too weak to move.
"Where..?" he tried, but words failed him.
Dragomir walked to his side. "What is your name, boy?"
Drunkenly, Avery managed to say, "A-Avery." He opened his mouth to try and say more, but Dragomir held up a hand for quiet.
"Avery, I am Lord Dragomir. You are dying. I will offer you this chance for immortality. If you accept and agree to serve me, you will survive. If you do not, then you will live for eternity as a mindless undead slave. If you accept, you need only to swallow."
Without another word, Dragomir drew a knife across his palm and covered Avery's mouth with it. Avery had no time to think or consider. He was horrified, but he was also helpless. He couldn't stop worrying about Marie and their unborn daughter, and in his panic, he swallowed a mouthful of blood involuntarily. Immediately, pain shot through his entire being as he began to convulse. Dragomir nodded to a thrall, and the last thing Avery saw was the lid being placed on the coffin over him.
Dragomir did not wait long before Marie began to stir. She was even weaker, seeming lost and confused, and did not say a word. He gave her a moment to ensure she was awake.
When her eyes met his, he asked, "What is your name, girl?"
"Where… how did I? I am Marie. My… Avery?"
Dragomir answered, "Avery is here. I am lord Dragomir. You are dying. I will offer you this chance for immortality. If you accept and agree to serve me, you will survive. If you do not, then you will live for eternity as a mindless undead slave. If you accept, you need only to swallow."
He cut his already healed hand again, placing it over her mouth. She tried to say something, but it was muffled as her mouth filled with blood. Tears began to roll down her face, and she shut her eyes as she swallowed. She knew she had no choice but to try and survive. Her reaction was more pronounced, something Dragomir took as a good sign. Just as before, he nodded, and the thrall covered the coffin. Marie managed to raise her hands to hug her baby as best she could as the darkness closed in.
Thirteen days later, Dragomir stood by to watch his thralls dig up the two coffins. Avery was first. He was the higher level of the two and most likely to successfully turn. As the lid cracked up and he saw the new thrall still lying in the pool of blood, he couldn't hold back a growl of frustration. This was the seventh failure in a row. It was difficult to create new vampires, but the failure weighed on him. He ordered the thrall out of the coffin and out of the bloodied clothes before putting him to work, helping to dig up Marie.
Her coffin rose from the ground in silence. There was no wet slosh of blood, and it settled gently on the ground, empty of the extra weight. Dragomir stepped forward to open it himself, eager to welcome his newest progeny.
The coffin's cover flew aside, and his almost-smile froze. Confusion replaced anticipation. Inside lay a thrall. Another failure. But she was emaciated. The softly rounded woman who had entered the ritual was now little more than skin stretched over bone, save for the swollen curve of her belly. Even from where he stood, he could hear the heartbeat inside, steady and strong. An infant.
Only then did he realize his mistake. An unborn child never survived the turning of a vampire, whether the ritual succeeded or failed. He would never have tried to turn a family if he'd known, but he had been careless. He understood that grief too well, and the hatred it birthed.
Yet the ritual had failed, and still the infant lived. Impossible… but undeniably alive, sustained within an undead host. Dragomir could not yet grasp what this meant, but he intended to learn.
He instructed the thrall to return to the castle, feed, and wait for him in his laboratory. He did not need to explain further. She was his thrall now. She would obey, and she would know where to go.
TO BE CONTINUED...