Sons of the Dragon

A persistent knock at the door interrupted Margaret. The chief waved his secretary to come in. "Chief, there are two people who keep calling and saying it is urgent. One is a Dr. Rutherford who wants to speak to Ms. Randolph. The other is someone from the hospital who wants to talk to Detective Schmitt. They are both on the line now, insisting that I get them."

"Go take the calls," the chief growled at Margaret and Cy.

Margaret returned first and sat silently, waiting for Cy. He soon came back in.

"A forensic scientist friend of mine examined the blood sample from the man who collapsed in the bar last night as he spoke to me. Dr. Rutherford maintains that the individual is not human, not in the normal sense of the word."

Then Cy spoke. "That man died two hours ago. His body is on the way to the morgue."

"God damn it!" the chief roared. "What in the hell is going on? Ray, you go to the hospital and check it out. Margaret, please get a written report from this Dr. Rutherford. Cy, get a sample of that blood to the coroner. I want his people to examine it."

As they exited the chief's office, Margaret asked Cy, "Do you have a family?"

"A daughter in college. Her mother died in childbirth. My parents are deceased. A brother in California. Two nephews. You?"

"My parents are also deceased. Just a younger sister. She is in a nursing home. One of the eight victims of last Halloween."

Margaret rushed out of the police station as Cy stood speechless in shock.

* * *

Feeling totally exhausted, Margaret returned to her hotel room to rest. She lay on the bed and retrieved the books of poetry from her luggage. She opened Lord Byron's Fugitive Pieces, published in 1806 in a very limited edition, which contained To Mary--toMary Ann Chaworth, Lord Byron's cousin and one of the first of many lovers. She closed that book and picked up Don Juan, Byron'sbrilliant work that to her rivaled Milton's Paradise Lost, Wordsworth's The Prelude, and Spencer's The Faerie Queene.

And then Margaret opened the folder, the folder that contained Lord Byron's shocking verse and notes pertaining to the Nosferatu he wrote in Arabic while in Albania in 1808. This material had never been published anywhere, although some of his later poems did touch upon vampires in a quite disturbing manner. She had obtained the contents of the folder during her travels to the nether regions of Albania.

The despot of Albania, Ali Pasha, became infatuated with Lord Byron, and fascinated him with unimaginable tales of Nosferatu, endowed with "supernatural" sexual prowess, seducing women and turning them into zombies. Ali Pasha introduced Byron to the "dark gift" of the Nosferatu, the poet wrote.

Margaret's thoughts drifted to Mary Shelley, who conceived Frankenstein while in the embrace of Lord Byron on June 16, 1816 at Villa Diodati in Geneva, Switzerland. She wrote that horror novel, but lived a more terrible nightmare. Lord Byron seduced her half sister, Fanny Inlay, and also Harriet Westbrook, Percy Shelley's wife. Both committed suicide. Harriet drowned herself and her premature baby fathered by Byron.

Mary Shelley never told her real horror story until on her deathbed in 1851 in London. The nurse who cared for Shelley in those last days wrote an account of the author's seemingly incoherent ramblings of sexual liaisons with a vampire in her youth. The nurse had read Frankenstein, and chalked up the diatribe to an over-active imagination, fueled by morphine given to combat the pain. Margaret had obtained that account from the nurse's great-granddaughter.

Of particular interest was the nurse's description of Shelley's recollection of an abnormal feeling of being unable to move or talk, as she believed her psyche was being manipulated by Lord Byron. She claimed he psychically penetrated her mind and whimsically induced in her a state of both incredibly intense fear, and extraordinary extreme pleasure.

Even perhaps more enlightening was the short story, "The Vampyre," written by Mary Shelley's close friend, Dr. John Polidori. The doctor also happened to be Lord Byron's personal physician. Yes, Lord Ruthven, the vampire of the story, was Lord Byron, or so Polidori told Mary Shelley. He also told her that Byron had an obsession with blood, often drinking it from a wine glass, and would ignore questions about from whence it came.

Margaret began to recite the verses from Lord Byron's The Giaour, which she knew by heart. "But first on earth as Vampire sent, Thy corpse shall from the tomb be rent: The ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the…"

The ringing telephone interrupted Margaret's morbid contemplation.

"It's me…Cy." His voice trembled.

"What is it, Cy? Is something wrong?"

"Ray…he's…Ray…is…he's dead."

"Wha…what?"

"They found him at the morgue. In the locker where our John Doe from the bar had been put in cold storage. His body is now missing. Ray's body…" Cy's voice cracked.

"Tell me, Cy." But she already knew.

"Impaled. Wooden stake inserted through his anus. It came out his throat."

"Oh my God! Cy, I'm so sorry. I didn't like him, but this…"

"I identified the body. The look frozen on his face. Pure terror. Do you want some company, Margaret?"

"No, Cy. I'm tired. Need to rest."

He sounded very disappointed. "The chief wants to see us first thing in the morning."

"I'll be there."

"They must be stopped, Margaret--the Nosferatu. Your sister…now murder…torture."

"Yes, Cy, they must be stopped. My sister will be avenged. Soon, very soon. Tonight. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She hung up abruptly.

Margaret retrieved the vial of water mixed with arsenic she had hidden. Enough to kill a football team, but slowly, she reckoned, as she drank it.

* * *

At midnight Margaret changed into the figure-hugging black, latex catsuit, went out and got into the rental car, and drove off to let them take her.

They followed her, as she knew they would. Margaret pulled over on a deserted stretch of road, popped the hood, and got out and looked at the engine, as if there was some sort of mechanical problem. The van pulled behind her. Three of them got out and approached her. Margaret didn't resist. They took her to the motherhouse. The ominous atmosphere and a demonic luminous radiation terrified her, but she gritted her teeth. I must do this. I understand the nature of evil, which I must use to defeat evil. For my sister. For my parents. For humanity. I must.

They threw her at the feet of Radu. Margaret rose slowly and stared him down. He wore a chain with a medallion around his neck. She recognized the Order of the Dragon emblem.

"Strip her," Radu ordered. But she pushed their hands away, lowered the back zip of the catsuit, and slithered out of it.

The Nosferatu walked around Margaret, inspecting her nude body. He came back to the front and looked her up and down, licking his lips lewdly. "Spread your legs!" he demanded, and she complied. He began to explore. "Yes, as I thought. Her clitoris. A mekasefa, no question, as is her catatonic sister and was her deceased mother."

Margaret glanced over his shoulder at the gigantic iron bed in the far side of the enormous room. She recalled the words of Deuteronomy 3:11, "For only Og king of Bashan remained of the remnant of the Rephaim. Indeed his bedstead was an iron bedstead. Nine cubits is its length and four cubits its width." The bed in this room was about the same size, thirteen feet long and six feet wide. Yes, the ancient myths of the Rephaim, the truth behind the vampire legends of the Nosferatu.

Radu's brilliant eyes fixated on hers. He emanated thought waves, darting forth like an electric spark, directed by his powerful will. I am stronger than you--my will overcomes yours. You desire me. You will do as I say. You will yield to me fully and completely.

Margaret could "feel" the force of the unspoken words. She put out of her mind all fear of the Nosferatu. You have no power over me. I defy you--my inner power casts off your influence.

Radu laughed. In Margaret's head it sounded like gravel moving down a playground slide.

Stop fighting me, Margaret. You can not resist. I will win. You will submit. You will.

She fearlessly spoke the words the Nosferatu fear, "Mene, mene, tekel, upsharin."

The psychic wire between them snapped. The Nosferatu laughed again, the sound of broken glass.

He retaliated with, "Die Zauberinnem soltu nicht leben lassen," and jolted her with another charge of electrifying physic energy, which Margaret once again fended off. She recognized the words of Exodus 22:18 he spat in German. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."

Radu swept up Margaret suddenly and with ease carried her to the magnificent bed. He threw her down and lay atop her. He quickly released his huge, menacing penis from the constraints of the red pants. No foreplay. He entered her violently. Dry and tight, she screamed, and screamed, smelling the stench of death on him as he plunged ruthlessly into her innermost being.

"She walks in beauty, like the night," he chanted. "Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright, Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellow'd to that tender light, Which heaven to gaudy day denies."

She recognized Lord Byron's She Walks in Beauty as Radu ejaculated his semen passionlessly and silently inside her.

"Mene, mene, tekel, upsharin," she whispered in his ear as he then turned his attention to her neck, and inserted his fangs and drew her blood rapidly. She could feel his engorged member ripping her wide open as it continued to grow as he fed upon her.

Radu rose from her body, his still monstrous and erect penis oozing cum, and his mouth dripping her blood. Suddenly his face began to peel off, and his body disintegrated before her very eyes. The arsenic, which she knew a Nosteratu's system could not tolerate whatsoever, worked even faster than she had hoped.

The others ran in terror as she rose from the bed and stood naked over the smoldering dust that had once been their leader, and screamed, "Mene, mene, tekel, upsharin! The Lord of this world has numbered your days. Your kingdom is finished."

* * *

Margaret had managed to call Cy on her cell phone just before she lost consciousness. He had sped to the address she gave him with the siren on and rushed her seemingly lifeless body to the hospital.

Now, forty-eight hours later, she opened her eyes for the first time to find Cy sitting beside her, holding her hand. She tried to smile.

"I'm going to die, Cy," she said weakly.

"The doctors have administered British antilewisite, the common antidote for arsenic poisoning."

"It's not working." She squeezed his hand tightly. "I am living, but I am dead. Soon. I want one last grasp at humanity before I pass. One last moment of human emotion. Help me, Cy. Please help me. Please?"

"Of course, Margaret. What do you want me to do?" Yes, I know the antidote isn't working. The doctors told me.

"Make love to me, Cy. I feel so violated, by evil. Violated by a darkness so black. Violated by the Devil himself, I would say. I can not stand the thought that the last one who knew me intimately was…was…"

What can I possibly say to her? he pondered. "Margaret, your sister has…is…she's fine. She wants to talk to you."

"Oh my God! Yes, I had hoped but couldn't be sure. Once the telepathic power controlling her was disrupted…the cataleptic phenomena…the…"

"Margaret? Margaret?" Her voice tailed off and her eyes closed once more.

* * *

On Halloween Margaret miraculously recovered. The nurses called the doctor on duty who examined her thoroughly. He explained, "You were close to death. That police detective who is usually here with you obtained an experimental antidote, DMPS, dimercaptopropane sulfonate. It's not approved by the Food and Drug Administration. He obtained it from some medical center in Bangor. How, I have no idea. We injected a massive dosage into your system as a last resort. Apparently, it worked."

"Apparently."

"Well, you rest, young lady, and I'll check in on you later."

"Yes, doctor."

As soon as he left, Margaret showered, fetched the catsuit from the closet and dressed, covering the garment with a hospital frock. No one saw her sneak out.

* * *

Cy answered the persistent knock at his door, with candy in his hand.

"Trick or treat?" the beautiful creature in the catsuit purred. "It's Halloween!"

"My God, a walking, talking miracle."

"Yes, Cy, thanks to you. You saved my life. I'll answer the question for you." She pushed him from the front door where he stood into his house. "I'm going to give you a treat, mister. Me."

Margaret pressed up against him tightly as they kissed passionately. His lips found her neck.

"She walks in beauty like the night, Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright, Meet in her aspect and her eyes…"

Oh my God, he reads Lord Byron? "No! Cy, no! Not…not you?" She squealed, struggling and thrashing frantically in his grasp.

"Hush, Margaret, hush. I'm not a vampire. You talked while under the influence of drugs as I held your hand at the hospital."

"Oh Cy, I hate you!" She cried, but tears of joy. "Why did you frighten me like that?"

"Like you haven't scared me?"

"I hate you, but make love to me. Lick the garlic off my body," she joked, "but why are you wearing those fake fangs? I knew you weren't really a vampire."

"All the better to eat you, my dear."

"Really?" she cooed seductively.

"Can that be my treat. Eating you?"

"Well…I suppose. Eat a beaver and save a tree. I'm into ecology, you know." She giggled like a school girl. "But do you think I could have a glass of blood first?"

"Of course, my lovely vamp." He quickly found two glasses and a bottle. "Red zinfandel. 2000 Montevina Terra d'Orod Deaver Old Vines. Hefty and hedonistic."

"To what should we toast?" she asked.

"To the one who walks in beauty, like the night," He tipped his glass towards Margaret and clinked hers. They drank.

"I am yours, my lord. Bite me, please. Take me to your ethereal world. Take me!"

Cy kissed her tenderly, her face, her lips, her neck. Margaret found the back zipper of the catsuit and lowered the front tantalizingly, slowly exposing her breasts. No bra.

"They are lovely, Margaret." His hands and mouth moved to embrace them. He slowly licked in a circled outside the areola of her left breast, and circled closer toward the nipple as he would an ice cream cone. Teasing her by zeroing in with his tongue, and retreating, he then quickly flicked her nipple, and very delicately bit it. She shivered.

"Ouch!" she complained insincerely. "Oh Cy," she moaned, "the other one is lonely." He remedied that in a hurry, as her right breast now became his focal point, as he alternated between licking, touching, and sucking.

"There is something to be said for a witch's teat," he quipped, as he tried to get as much of it in his mouth as he could, while tugging the tight catsuit to below her waist. He smothered the round curve of her belly with wet kisses. Lower and lower he pulled the garment down until it got it past her thong. He stroked her subtly through the silky fabric with his fingers, and then his nose.

"Are you trying to drive me crazy, Cy? It's working, you know. Soon you'll find out just how well." Margaret backed away a little, removed the catsuit the rest of the way, and kicked it aside.

"That is quite some Halloween outfit," he commented, glancing at the cast-off apparel.

"It's actually what I wore in "Misalliance."

"Of course. I knew that. I've seen the play. The gorgeous female Polish acrobat, mysterious passenger of the adventuresome young aviator. The setting of the play is the country estate of self-made underwear magnate John Tarleton. Speaking of underwear…"

Cy began to lower her thong with his teeth.

"What is that costume you are wearing, Cy?"

"Undercover detective."

"Oh, and just what might you be detecting tonight, under the covers?"

"This." He blew delicately on her clit, which was already exposed. "You have a very large clitoris, Margaret. I think you are a witch. Did you know that the word 'clitoris' comes from the Greek kleitoris, which means a divine, or goddess-like little hill? And I'm going to worship yours. I love that little patch of red hair." He nuzzled it with his nose. "In my wildest dreams I never could have imagined myself being with a woman as beautiful as you. Why me?"

"Because you are a cunning linguist, Cy." She laughed delightfully. "Not to mention the fact that you saved my life. Tonight, Halloween, I'm your witch, or anything else you want me to me."

"Tonight, I would like you to be my lover, Margaret. I want to touch and taste everything about you, your innermost being. I want to worship your fantastic body, know the thoughts of your incredible mind, and…"

"Cy, what you are touching is my heart. And I would love to be your lover tonight. You are a cunning linguist. Am I making myself perfectly clear? You got me wet, writhing, horny, and begging for you to do me. Now do me!"

"Yes, Margaret, my dear witch, your witch…uh…wish is my command." He licked from the back of her knees to her faint bikini line, and then traced the crease of each inner thigh up and down with his tongue. He still hadn't touched her clitoris or vagina, but he had her melting. "You have great legs, Margaret, so long and lovely."

"Oh yeah. Ohh yeah. Do you think you could get to where my legs meet pretty soon? I'll beg if I have to. Please, baby, please?"

"You're such a slut," he kidded. Suddenly Cy inserted his finger inside her sex, but quickly pulled it out, smelled it, licked it, sucked the juice of it, and sighed. "A slut with a hot, wet slit."

"Damn you, Cy, quit torturing me! I'm going to pull your ears right off when you really get going, if you ever do. But I think I better lie down. I don't think I can take any more of this standing up." Her knees buckled as he caressed her little patch of pubic hair, licked her inner lips, and then stuck his tongue inside her, moving it in an out.

Cy pulled out the futon flat and helped her onto it. He put a large pillow under her hips to tilt her pelvis up, got between her legs, and raised them over his shoulders. He spread her outer lips with his fingers, and began to flick here and there with his pointed tongue. Then he lapped her up and down with his tongue soft and flat. Her clit trembled noticeably as she groaned loudly, and started to grind against his mouth.

"Oh my God, Cy…ohh…my…ahh…"

Cy took her throbbing, eager clit into his mouth and gently sucked on it, at the same time flicking his tongue all around it. She put her hands on his head, pushing him down on her sex as she tugged on his ears playfully. But then he moved his mouth away from her clit, looked up, and made eye contact.

"No, Cy, don't stop!" She pulled on his ears, roughly this time. He laughed, and sucked her clit back into his mouth again. Flicking, sucking, flicking, sucking. Tongue, lips, tongue, lips.

Margaret screamed and bucked, and pulled him down to her in a frenzy, practically suffocating him. Harder and harder she rocked her pussy back and forth on his mouth. Faster and faster.

"Ohh…ahh…oh my fucking…I…oh fuck…"

Cy reached up with his hands and toyed with her hard, erect nipples as he sucked her clit and felt her love juice as she wailed and screamed like a banshee.